Text
oh my GOD i love remmick i need him so bad
Too Much, Not Enough
| fem!reader x remmick
word count : 12.6k
A/N: first, i'd like to thank my wonderful boo thang @iceemochaa for this idea. everyone go give her a kiss. i'd also want to thank some fellow people from the server for very horny-fest ideas: @crxw1ey @itsaaudraw @remmicks-salvation @madkingcrowley
ALSO this is in lowercase because i typed it on my phone (default lowercase squad) and i was already so far in that i didn't feel like going back to capitalize everything
synopsis : he catches you one nightâdrinking from you as you try to get away. but suddenly, something shifts in him; he starts to feel strange, aroused to the point that you can feel him pressing against your backside. a couple of nights pass before he shows up againâonly this time, heâs not after blood. heâs hoping youâll help him release all the pent-up sexual frustration heâs been carrying.
warnings !! (MDNI 18+) : unprotected sex (p in v), drool/spit, overstimulation, handjob, oral (f receiving), very soft dom remmick, virginity taking (both?), dream sex
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blearing, white-hot pain shoots through the side of your neck, and a gasp tears through your throat. it is so suddenâso sudden, and you barely have time to understand how you ended up how you did.Â
he had grabbed you, holding you so close to himâhis arms wrapped around your waist, holding you upright while his tongue licked lazily up your neck.Â
âshhâŚdonât cry. itâll be alright.â
he had murmured against your ear, breath hot and dripping with thirst.Â
it was a cruel thing.
cruel in the way it stole breath before you could even scream, in the way it mocked the simplicity of your nightâhow only minutes earlier, your hands had been warm, reaching for the last pair of drawers on the line, the wind tugging gently at your nightgown like a teasing friend. you had only stepped off the porch. just a few steps. just to gather what was yours.
and then he was there.
the roughness of his grip was so sudden, so wrong, it split the air like a crack of thunder. your body flinched on instinct, mind fumbling to catch up to the momentâwas this real? did you know this man? were you dreaming? but the pain blooming beneath his fingers on your arm told you otherwise. told you this wasnât the kind of nightmare you could wake from.
you had opened your mouth to say somethingâanything, but no words could escape before his teethânoâfangs punctured your neck.Â
his rough tongue darts quickly, his mouth slurping as your bloodâwarm and tangyâleaks down your neck from where his mouth hadnât been quick enough to catch. the splatter of it spills onto your cotton nightgown.
a movementâsudden, but clear, spills from him. more so, from the space where he is pressed up against you. a stuttering breath passes through your lips at the contact.
heâs flushed up against you, and aside from the blearing pain flying through your body, you feel him pressing into your bottom.
he ruts against you, chasing the friction provided. he lets out a soundâa whine, you assume through the mind fog.Â
a heat flushes through youâsudden, unprovoked, and sickening. it crawls beneath your skin like a fever you didnât ask for, one that sets your nerves on fire in all the wrong ways. shame follows fast behind it, swallowing you whole. it pulses in your fingertips, clenches in your gut, coats your teeth like bitterness.
you hate that you feel it.
hate that your body reacts at all.
because the painâsharp, raw, burningâshouldâve been enough. but somehow, itâs the shame that lingers heavier. shame that makes you feel small. shame that makes your skin feel too tight. shame that makes you wish you could disappear, not because of whatâs happening, but because some awful part of you believes youâre supposed to bear it.
the suction of his mouth grows sharper for just a secondâyou swear heâs going to drain you. just before he can, you feel his head snap back, the crimson fluid he just stole from you dripping down his chin, coating his cheeks.
âohâŚ.oh.â
your head slowly turns, and you spot his eyebrows furrowing as he glances down to the spaceâor the lack ofâbetween you.
he seems confused as his eyes scan the way he fits against youâfirm and hard, like instinct. like muscle remembering what the mind had long tried to forget. Like something inside of him is remembering something he had buried and traded for the concept of survival.Â
his mouth opens with a smack, before it slowly forms into an âoâ.
youâre sure heâs about to say something when suddenly, he presses forward, flushing his chest to your back, ripping a gasp from your throat.
âiâŚi donât think this is âposed to happenââ
his breath ghosts over your ruined neck, and the confusion falls from his lips.
a groan, low and abrupt, passes through his blood-stained lips. itâs a sound that doesnât belong to hunger or pleasureâitâs uncertainty. reluctance. it rumbles like a warning he doesnât understand himself, and it sends a jolt through your body, sharp as a spark beneath the skin. your breath catches. youâre not sure if itâs fear or revulsion or some terrible, trembling mix of both.
your eyes flit back to the porchâto the basket where your clothes lay, spilled and crumpled in the dirt. a shirt hangs over the edge like itâs reaching for you. the sight guts you.
you had dropped it when he grabbed you.
your arms had been full of ordinary things.
of clean linen, still warm from the sun.
and all you want nowâachingly, desperatelyâis to return to it.
âplease,â your voice comes out with a breathâchoking up in your throat, ââŚlet me go.â
he pauses.Â
the arm around your waist tightens and it causes a soft gasp to sound from your throat.Â
âwhy you wanâ me to let you go?â
his nose pokes into the bite mark on your neck, eliciting a wince from you. the question comes out a bit uncertainâlike heâs confused as to why you want to leave him like this.
âyou donât feel this,â he punctuates his word with a rut against you. âyou canât leave me like this.â
the tone in his voice is desperateâneedy even, causes you to freeze.
confusion laced with desire falls from his mouth. his rough, hot tongue darts out to lick at your neck once more.Â
a sound of disgust slips through your mouthâsharp and guttural, rising before you can stop it. itâs instinct, raw and trembling, the only thing you have left to give.
he pauses.
just for a breath. just long enough for the air between you to shift.
then he pulls backâconfused, maybe stunnedâand that retreat is all you need. you donât think. thereâs no space for thought. only a surge of heat.
you ram your head back, hard into his chin. bone meets bone. the crack echoes inside your skull like a church bell rung wrong.
a grunt tears through his lips, and his hold falters.
you move. not gracefully, not cleanlyâ
just fast. just desperate.
you push forward, wrenching yourself out of his arms. your feet slam against the cold grass, slick with dew, and the ground tilts underneath you. your vision veers sideways, spinning from blood-loss, from panic, from the weight of everything all at once.
âs-stop! you canât leave me like this.â
his voice rings out behind youâdesperate, yearning, maybe even startledâbut it feels distant, like itâs echoing from underwater. you donât dare look back. the only thing you see is the porch rising in front of you like salvation.
your legs nearly give out as you reach the steps, but you launch yourself upward, stumbling and scrambling until your body crashes against the door with a dull, aching thud. pain flares along your shoulder, but you donât stop. you brace for the worstâfor the hard slap of wood refusing you, for the cruel slam of a locked world.
but youâd left it cracked.
you donât even remember doing it, but thank god you had.
your body falls forward, toppling past the frame in a blur of heat and breath and blind panic. the wooden floor meets you with a thud, and for a heartbeat, you just lie thereâhalf-sprawled, half-curled, heart pounding against the floorboards like itâs trying to get free of your chest.
past the threshold.
inside.
safe.
the door was still splayed open, and you could hear the heavy boots of him pacing on the worn wood of your porch, but you didnât care. didnât care how or why he couldnât just walk in and take you right back out.
no. you didnât think that far, and as the weight of the blood-loss settles over your body like a wet blanket, your eyes roll to the back of your head.Â
ââââââ
it had been a week.Â
a week since you had stepped outside your house at night.Â
that morningâwhen the light finally broke across your floorboards like a quiet apologyâyou woke with your head pounding and your mouth dry as cotton. every part of your body felt sore, like youâd been wrung out and left in the sun too long.
he was nowhere to be seen.
no shadow. no sound. no sign heâd ever been there at all.
but you knew better.
you didnât step outside. not even once.
you stayed inside your home, locked behind the door like it was the only thing keeping the world from splitting open again. a strip of cloth was pressed against your neck, stained from the wound that throbbed beneath it. the ache pulsed steady with your heartbeatâa quiet, cruel reminder.
your fingers stayed curled around the handle of a kitchen knife, white-knuckled and still trembling, long after the sun had crept across the room. even when your hand went numb, you didnât let go.
he didnât return that day. or the next.
you didnât want to worry, but a part of you still clung to the idea that he was out there, waiting. waiting for you to slip up so that he could grab you once more.
by the third day, you decided to continue on with your life. stepping outside onto the porch with your breath held in your throat.
he wasnât there.Â
the sun beat down heavily across your home, and the clothes line danced with the wingârustling gently.
that night, you dreamt.Â
your body jolted with each thrust, already caught in the storm, and his voiceâragged and wildâonly pulled you deeper under.
âsay it⌠s-say my name!â
it came out in a near-snarl, not cruel, but desperate. like the sound of a man barely holding himself together, trying to find something to anchor to as he pounded into you with reckless, trembling need.
but your voiceâ
it wouldnât come.
your mouth opened, but nothing formed, just broken gasps and choked cries, your face still buried in the pillow, now damp with sweat and spit. your throat ached with moans you hadnât meant to make. you were unraveling, bit by bit, your body pulsing around him, clenching tight as the pressure in your belly twisted into something unstoppable.
his hand on your clit didnât let up. if anything, it grew more deliberateâruthless in its rhythm. his thumb swirled over you, hot and slick, heavy and rough as your hips twitched uncontrollably. every nerve in your body was alight, the sound of his groans behind you nearly as dizzying as the slaps of skin and the bed frame straining beneath the force of him.
his cock throbbed inside you, each stroke deep and hurried now, dragging against your swollen walls like he was trying to carve his name into you from the inside out. the sound of itâwet, sharp, filthyâfilled the room like a song that only your bodies knew how to sing.
and then it happened.
your body locked.
your toes curled.
and your lungs emptied.
a sharp cry tore from youâhis name half-formed, almost thereâas your climax hit, sudden and all-consuming. your vision blurred as your body convulsed, waves crashing through you so hard you nearly forgot where you were.
he let out a strangled groan behind you, his hips jerking erratically, chasing your release with his own. his cock twitched deep inside, and with a hoarse, broken sound, he spilled into youâwarmth flooding you, filling you, marking you.
he rode it out, his body pressing down on yours, hand still moving, dragging the orgasm from you until it left you limp and shaking beneath him.
your fingers finally released the sheets, trembling, and you gasped into the pillow like it was the first breath youâd taken in years.
your mind blanked.
you woke with a startleâyour body jerking, breath caught sharp in your throat like youâd been yanked from the depths of something unspeakable. heat flooded you, thick and sudden, pooling beneath your skin as if you were still there, still lost in it.
your chest rose and fell too fast, lungs aching from how hard they worked to steady you. your hands clutched the sheets without realizing, the fabric damp beneath your palms. your mind, still fogged with fragments, tried to twist back into itselfâtried to make sense of what was real and what had only felt that way.
your thighs rubbed togetherâand you felt it.
a wet, sticky warmth clinging to the soft skin between them. slick and unmistakable. your breath hitched as the realization hit you, and a wave of shame surged through your chest so suddenly, you flinched.
âfuckâŚâ you whispered under your breath.
your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of your nightgown, bunching it against your stomach as if the pressure alone could make the feeling go away. like you could press the memory down, flatten it, bury it under cotton and guilt.
your mind spun, trying to make sense of why him.
why that.
you didnât understand why you dreamt of him in such a scandalous, filthy wayâwhy his hands, his mouth, his body had felt so real.
why your own body responded like it wanted it.
like it remembered.
your face burned.
hot and clammy to the touch, even in the cool quiet of your room.
you squeezed your thighs together, trying to contain the pulsing ache that hadnât yet faded. it sat there, low and heavy in your gut, begging to be soothed. your fingers twitched at your side, and for a split second, you almost let them drift lower.
but you stopped yourself.
you clenched your jaw and shut your eyes tight, pressing your legs together like a seal. like that would hold back the memory of his name falling from your lips, the feel of him stretching you open, the sound of skin slapping and breathless groans in your ear.
ââââ
by the end of the week, you felt as though he was truly gone for good.
the silence had settled again, not like a threat this time, but like dust returning to undisturbed corners. no voice behind you, no shadow in the tree line, no sudden breath against your neck. just the wind. the sun. the familiar creak of the porch beneath your steps.
it didnât take long before you slipped back into the rhythm of your daysâthose quiet, outdoor chores that had always grounded you. you began hanging clothes again, your fingers brushing the warm fabric, sunlight catching the edges of the sheets like a blessing.
in the back of your home, you knelt beside your small herb garden, pressing your fingers into the dirt like it could anchor you. rosemary. sage. thyme. they greeted you like old friends, unaware of what youâd endured. or maybe they knewâand simply chose not to ask.
the peace didnât last long.
on the sixth night, he returned.
youâre taking the clothes down that had been drying all dayâlike you had before, when he first got you.Â
a crack sounds behind you.
sharp. sudden. too close.
your body jerks, instincts sharper than thought, and your head whips aroundâfists clenched tight around the soft fabric of a freshly-dried gown. your heart lurches upward, caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat.
your body knows before your mind.
knows the rhythm of danger. the hum beneath the skin.
and without a thought, your feet begin to moveâgravel crunching beneath them as you pull yourself toward the front door like safety is just inches away.
âwait.â
you hate how you stop.
how the sound of his voice roots you in place.
thereâs something in itâsomething cracked open. desperate. searching.
and for some godawful reason, it reaches you.
your feet freeze.
your head turns, slow and reluctant, toward the right.
and there he is.
dressed in dark pants, suspenders hanging loose like theyâd been tugged too hard, too fast. a pale blue button-up clings to his frame, sleeves rolled, top buttons torn clean open. it mightâve once looked neat. now it clings to him like second skinâfilthy, sweat-soaked, streaked in places with grime and something far worse.
blood.
so much of it.
his brown hair is tousled and damp, the front sticking to his forehead in matted curls. and beneath the fabric, the white of a wife-beater peeks outâthough itâs barely white anymore. more a rusted red, like someone had tried to scrub the stain but it refused to fade. a thin gold chain glints against his collarbone, catching the moonlight like it doesnât realize itâs resting on a monster.
your eyes widen.
your breath catches.
you take a step back. your heel digs into the dirt. and still, your gaze is fixed on himâon the smear of blood across his cheeks, dried and flaking at the edges, like war paint. it trails down his throat, painting the lines of his neck, seeping into the cotton of his shirt. it looks fresh.
his mouth opens as he takes a step forward.
you take a step backâslow, deliberate, your heel skimming the earth like youâre testing the ground beneath you, unsure if it will hold.
âi ainât goinâ to hurt you.â
his voice is soft. too soft. like heâs trying to fold himself into something harmless, like he doesnât still have blood on his face, like he didnât tear through you once already. itâs a tone that mightâve calmed you in another life. in this one, it makes your stomach turn.
your fingers clutch the dress tighter, knuckles paling with the strain. you can feel the seams of the fabric pressing into your skin, grounding you, even as your body begs to run.
you wantâdesperately, urgentlyâto look back. to see how many steps remain between you and the safety of your door. but you donât dare move. not even your eyes. not when heâs watching you like that. not when you know how quick he can close the space between you.
even the smallest glance away might invite him forward.
âyou hurt me before.â
the words fall from your lips before youâre ready. soft. strange. unfamiliar.
the sound of your own voice jars you. it doesnât sound angry. it doesnât even sound afraid. it sounds⌠disoriented. like the memory has begun to blur around the edges, melting into something that doesnât make sense anymore. like youâre not certain if it happened the way you remember. if it happened at all.
and that terrifies you more than anything.
because you know what he did.
your body still remembers, even if your voice has started to forget.
your mind flits back to the dreamâthe dream that had you gasping for air once youâd awaken.Â
itâs strange.Â
here, in front of you, was the manâthe beastâwho had held your life in the palm of his hand, threatening death with a final pull of your blood into his mouth.Â
and now, all you could think about was the way he rubbed against youâlike the feeling was both foreign and enticing to him.Â
he lets out a strained laugh.
âyeah. youâre right about that, b-but, i ainât goinâ to do that again.Â
âhow can i trust you?â
your voice is more certain this time around, and your hands fall to your sides, still holding the dress in your hand as your chest moves with your breaths.
the wind sweeps between you.
he takes another step forward and you mirror by taking another step backward.
his arms lift, elbows jutting out wide as his hands settle on top of his head. his fingers thread through his messy hair, gripping at the roots like heâs trying to hold something inside from breaking loose.
then comes the sound.
low, crackedâsomething between a groan and a whine.
âplease⌠why is this happeninâ to me?â
his voice trembles at the edges, and for a moment, it almost sounds like grief. like confusion twisted into something uglier. and that unsettles you even more. because this isnât remorse. this isnât shame. itâs self-pityâsharp and misplaced.
you blink, heart rattling in your chest.
you have no idea what heâs talking about.
and the not knowingâitâs beginning to twist in your gut, cold and tight.
he starts pacing, erratic and restless, but still a good distance off. far enough that you can breathe. far enough that you donât yet have to run.
âiâve been runninâ âround everywhere,â he mutters, almost to himself, his voice thick with something that borders on frustration. âdraininâ folks left anâ rightâŚâ
he pauses, his body stiffening.
âbut i ainât do this with them.â
his arms drop heavily to his sides, and then one hand presses flat against his pantsâlower. against himself.
your breath stutters.
the gesture is crude, almost unconscious, like his body is betraying him, like he doesnât know what to do with what heâs feeling. and thatâs what makes it worse. not the motion itself, but the fact that heâs unravelingâright there in front of you.
and youâre the one heâs unraveling over.
you take a step backward, slow and cautious, and the snap of a small branch beneath your foot cuts through the quiet like a shot.
he stops.
his head turns toward youâslow, deliberate, like he already knows exactly where you are. his eyes lock onto yours, and something in your chest flinches. not from fear. not entirely.
no, itâs something else.
something low and stirring, unwelcome but real, curling hot in your belly beneath the weight of his gaze. it shames you the moment it blooms, but it doesnât leave. it sits there, twistingâbecause the look in his eyes isnât hungry for blood. not right now.
he looks torn.
like a man fraying at the seams.
like something inside him is breaking open under the weight of a need he doesnât understandâhad forgotten was possible. a craving that wasnât sharp teeth and crimson thirst, but touch. closeness. something unbearably human.
he takes a step forward.
you donât move.
âhelp meâŚâ he breathes, voice cracking as if the words pain him. âi wonât hurt you. just help me feel better. yeah?â
he inches closer, each step careful, almost reverent, until heâs within armâs reach. and now, this close, you can see it allâhis chest heaving, the tension in his shoulders, the way his pants strain from how tightly heâs wound. how unbearably pent up he is.
your eyes flick down. just for a second.
your cheeks flush hot, instant and humiliating, and you curse yourself silentlyâclenching your jaw as if that alone could rewind the moment. your body had again. as if it hadnât learned.
he doesnât let you answer.
he takes another step forward, slow and deliberate, like heâs afraid any hesitation might send him unraveling again.
your empty hand flies up on instinct, palm raised between you like a barrier made of sheer will.
âstop,â you say.
but your voiceâgod, your voiceâcomes out too soft, too unsure, trembling on the edges. it betrays you, just like your body does.
he doesnât stop.
he keeps moving until your hand meets his chest, firm and burning beneath your touch. his skin is hot through the thin fabric, and the moment you make contact, a sound spills from himâdeep and broken. a groan laced with something softer, needier. a whine.
his head dips slightly, his breath brushing your skin.
âsee?â he murmurs, voice thick, ragged. âsee what youâre doinâ to me?â
it takes every ounce of strength to keep your gaze on his, to hold steady beneath the weight of him. but the tension in his body, the ragged rise of his chest, the way he looks at you like youâre both his torment and salvationâit all pulls your eyes downward.
just for a second.
just long enough to see his hand again, pressing against himself, slow and deliberate.
resuming what he had started.
and your breath stutters.
âstop. i donât know you.â
your voice is firmer this time, but thereâs a crack running through it.
a hairline fracture of fear, of confusion, of something far more complicated than either.
his eyes stay locked on yours, wild and pleading.
âremmick,â he breathes.
âwhat?â
you blink. it comes out before you can process it.
âmy name,â he says again, faster this time. âremmick.â
he says it like it means something. like it should unlock something in you.
he pauses, as if waiting for it to take hold, and then looks upâright into your eyes.
âsay it. please.â
your hand is still on his chest, trembling now, caught between pushing him away and holding him there. your lips part, hesitating, uncertain. but the sound slips out anyway.
âremmick.â
thatâs all it takes.
his body shiftsâsubtle but unmistakableâas if the word pierced straight through him. he leans forward, just slightly, like heâs being drawn into you by gravity itself. one of his hands lifts, and he presses yours harder against his chest, like he needs to feel it. like he needs proof that you said it. that itâs real.
a soft moan escapes him, low and shivering, the sound pulled from somewhere deep. it curls around you like smokeâdangerous, intimate, and far too close.
a sensation shoots through youâsharp and strangeâsparking low in your belly and crawling up your spine like a current. your body shudders, betraying you before you can make sense of it. you suck in a breath through parted lips, and thatâs when you catch it.
heâs close.
so close, you can smell him.
not just blood, though thatâs thereâmetallic, sharp, and thick like it clings to him from the inside out. not just dirt either, though earth clings to his clothes, the scent of sweat and soil mingling on his skin. thereâs something else. something older. colder. something that reminds you of decay, of things buried and forgotten. it lingers in the air around him like a warning.
your voice trembles as it slips past your lips, low and unsure.
âifâŚâ
you pause, swallowing hard as your thoughts struggle to take shape.
âif i help you⌠will you let me live?â
your eyes dart away from his, just for a second.
you donât mean to. but holding his gaze for too long feels like surrendering.
remmick pauses.
itâs slightâbarely a beatâbut you feel it in your bones.
âi was always planninâ on keepinâ you,â he murmurs, and something about the way he says it makes your stomach twist. âcouldnât do that if youâre dead.â
his voice has changed. not just the wordsâhis whole way of speaking. the southern drawl softens, thins out, and something else bleeds through. a different cadence. older. maybe even his real voice. it startles you, but you canât quite place why. it sounds less put-on. more him.
he studies your faceâeyes flicking across your features like heâs trying to read a language only he remembers.
then, a slow smile curves his lips. not smug. not cruel.
curious. certain.
âtell me you feel it too.â
you want to say no.
you want to recoil, to push him away, to scream that this is wrong, that none of this makes sense, that nothing about him feels safe.
but your bodyâtraitorous, aching, aliveâgives you away.
because as you look at him, at the hunger and confusion tangled in his expression, something warm begins to spread through you again.
you gather the courage to turn from him, your eyes flicking toward the back doorâyour door. the one that had always meant safety, the one you werenât sure would feel that way ever again.
âi canât let you in.â
the words leave your mouth like something sacred. like a boundary you hope he might honor.
his smile deepens, slow and knowing.
âi know, darlinâ,â he says, voice like worn velvet. âyouâre not stupid.â
the way he says it isnât mocking. it almost sounds like admiration. like he means it.
you glance back at him, chest tight, and exhale a shaky breath. your hand softens against his chest, settling there beneath the warmth of his palmâno longer resisting. not quite yielding. something in between.
âokay.â
you barely get the word out before the world shifts.
suddenly, youâre in his armsâlifted with startling ease, pressed tightly against his chest like you belong there. a shocked gasp rips from your throat, your arms instinctively grabbing hold of whatever they can, unsure whether to brace or cling.
his feet move fast, sure, and then the cool slam of the outside world hits you againâyour back porch beneath you, the creak of old wood under his boots.
your feet touch down onto the dirty boards, but you barely feel them.
your back hits the wall of your house, and his chest meets yours.
youâre trappedâsurrounded by the scent of him, the warmth of him, the tension that radiates off his body in waves. the wall behind you is cool and hard, but his body in front of you burns like fever. heâs close. too close. and yet somehow not close enough for him.
something in him shiftsâslow, subtle. like the current inside him changes direction and he doesnât know how to follow it. you feel it in the way his body stills, then trembles slightly, pressed so tight against you that every breath he takes stutters against your chest.
you can feel himâhard and insistentâpressing into your thigh through the worn fabric of his pants. the weight of it, the heat, the way it pulses with no rhythm but his rising need.
he seems⌠lost.
remmickâs eyes flicker, wild and unsure, and when you meet them, thereâs something desperate there. not hunger like beforeâbut confusion. like his body remembered something his mind didnât. like he had no idea what to do with this kind of ache.
you search his gaze, trying to find a map inside him. something that tells you what he wants. what he expects. but thereâs nothing clear. only the trembling look of a man who doesnât remember how to feel without violence.
then he lets out a groanâlow and helplessâas his hips push forward, grinding against your thigh with a need he doesnât seem to know how to contain.
your body jerks in surprise.
a sharp breath tears from your lips as the movement drags heat through you, low and dizzying. it coils in your belly, thick and sudden.
you hadnât meant to respond.
but now that you have, you canât pretend not to feel it.
âdo something, please.â
his voice breaks apart as he speaks, breath coming in fast, shallow bursts. he begs through itâthrough the way his hips keep chasing the friction, rutting against your thigh like itâs the only thing anchoring him to the earth.
you swallow hard, nerves tangled with something warmer, something you donât want to name. your fingers twitch where they rest, and you shake your head, barely able to speak.
âiâi donât know what to do,â you confess, voice thin with uncertainty.
and itâs true.
youâd never been with a man like thisânever one so far gone, so undone, so completely at the mercy of his own body. and even if you had⌠you never learned how to give this kind of touch. never learned how to bring pleasure to anyone other than yourself, never thought youâd have to.
but something about the way he presses into you, so frantic and confused, stirs a reluctant kind of empathy in youâmixed with fear, with heat, with a strange pull you canât understand.
your gaze drops.
his hips are still moving, slow but desperate, grinding into your leg like he needs more and doesnât know how to ask for it. something about it makes your breath catch.
almost without thinking, your hand moves downâhesitant, shakingâand you press your palm gently against him, through the fabric of his pants.
he freezes.
utterly.
and then a sound tears out of himâa moan, raw and broken, rising from the pit of his throat like it surprised even him.
his body shudders under your touch, rigid with restraint, but trembling like heâs seconds from falling apart. your hand stills where it rests, the heat of him burning through the cloth and into your skin.
your palm presses down harder, instinct guiding your movements more than experience. and thatâs when you truly feel himâsolid, straining beneath the fabric, the heat of him radiating through your skin like a fever. the bulge stretches wide beneath your touch, filling your entire hand, every inch of him throbbing with need you canât begin to comprehend.
he lets out a choked breath, and then his hand shoots downâlarger, rougherâcovering yours. he presses it harder against himself, hips stuttering like heâs chasing something that keeps slipping just out of reach.
âitâs not enough,â he pants, voice cracking as his brows draw together, his face twisted in a mix of agony and need.
you feel your face burn at the wordsâat the implication of what âenoughâ might mean. your breath falters, throat tight, but your hand doesnât move away.
instead, your fingers twitch.
they curl slightly, without thinking, just enough to grip.
the reaction is immediate.
he wincesâa shudder running through his body like a jolt of lightningâand his mouth parts with a sound thatâs somewhere between pain and pleasure.
âdonât stop.â
his voice is strainedâhoarse, almost fragile beneath the weight of his own desire. like stopping would shatter him entirely.
your mind flickers back, unbidden, to the dream from a few nights ago. the one that clung to your skin even after waking. in it, he had been so sure of himselfâso commanding, so in control. his hands had known where to touch, his mouth had known what to say, and you had given yourself over without question. there had been no trembling. no hesitation. only heat.
but thisâthis trembling, panting version of him pressed against you nowâthis was the opposite.
and yet it didnât cool the fire in you.
it stoked it.
your heart pounds harder, your face flushing hot as the realization settles deep: he hadnât felt this in a long time. maybe ever. the touch, the friction, the aching pleasure that left him shaking in your handâit was unfamiliar to him. and yet he clung to it like it was the only thing keeping him whole.
and you⌠you were the one giving it to him.
thereâs power in that. not the kind that demands or dominatesâbut the kind that hums quietly under the skin. the kind that says he needs you. not just for blood. not just for survival.
but for this.
and that truth alone makes your breath catch, your thighs press closer, the warmth between them blooming hotter, heavier.
you tighten your grip just slightlyâjust enough to feel him shudder again.
his breaths come out ragged nowâuneven, trembling, like every second that passes without release is too much for him to bear. his hand stays pressed over yours, holding you there, grounding himself in the heat and pressure of your palm.
âtake âem off.â
your voice is steadier this time. firmer.
and it surprises even you.
not because of the words, but because of the confidence. the realization blooming slowly but surely in your chestâthat you hold him. literally. completely. his need is cradled in your hand, and his body responds like itâs never known this kind of touch before.
remmick glances down, eyes locking onto the way both of yâallâs hands are still cupping him. and something flickers across his faceâraw, unfiltered desire.
he doesnât speak. doesnât hesitate.
he scrambles, fingers fumbling at his belt, unbuckling in rushed, uneven motions like heâs afraid youâll change your mind if he takes too long. the sound of metal scraping against metal, the zip of fabricâitâs frantic, loud in the quiet space between you.
you watch the way his hands moveâdesperate and clumsyâand when you glance up, your breath catches.
drool.
thick, glistening, slowly spilling from the corner of his mouth. it stretches into a line, gleaming in the light, trailing from his parted lips as if his body is unraveling faster than he can control it. his jaw hangs slack with need, his eyes half-lidded and glazed.
then his pants fall open, and your hand moves without thoughtâslipping beneath the waistband of his underwear to grasp him fully.
he gaspsâloud and shudderingâand his hips buck the slightest inch forward, as if chasing the warmth of your palm. in that same instant, the line of drool falls, landing wet and hot on your wrist, sliding down over your skin like a mark.
the feeling of his drool sliding warm over your wrist sends a jolt through your bodyâstrange, electric, exciting in a way you canât fully explain. your thighs press together instinctively, the heat between them building with every breath he takes.
heâs heavy in your hand.
hot. stiff. pulsing with need.
his body leans forward, barely held up by the tension in his muscles. his head tips back, exposing the column of his throat, jaw slack as he pants through parted lips. heâs a mess in your handâcompletely undone, breathless and sweating, helpless to anything but the touch youâre giving him.
but your strokes falter.
heâs slick with sweat, and itâs more of a struggle than you expected. your hand catches slightly with each movement, and you glance back up at his mouth, remembering the way that thick drool had spilled from his lips.
you pull your hand from his pants.
at the loss of contact, he stuttersâbroken and breathless.
âwhy?â
your face flushes, warmth rising all the way to your ears at what youâre about to ask.
âspit in my hand.â
his eyebrows pull togetherânot from refusal, but from the sharp spike of desire and confusion. his mouth parts slowly, and then he obeys, cheeks hollowing as he draws the drool forward.
his tongue slips out, mouth wide and willing, and thick strings of spit fall heavily into your waiting palm.
you watch it.
watch how it glistens, how it coats your skin, warm and obscene and intimate.
your hand stills for a beat as you take in the weight of the momentâhow close he is, how his body is giving you what you need to bring him pleasure.
then, slowly, you lower your hand again.
your fingers wrap around him, slick now, and the difference is instant. your strokes glide smoother, faster, and his body reacts with shudders and gasps. his hips twitch and his head falls forward, forehead nearly brushing yours.
a ragged moan rips from him, and his hand slams against the wall beside your head, bracing himselfâbecause now heâs truly falling apart.
âsâshit!â
it rips from his throat, a sharp groan laced with more than just surprise. thereâs something else in itâsomething raw, starved. hunger, yes, but not just for release. for you. for more of your touch, your attention, your hand wrapped around him like it was meant to be there.
you move with growing confidence now, dragging your hand up his length until you can tug him fully out of his pants.
he winces as the cool air brushes over his flushed skin, a tremor running through him at the sudden contrast. the heat of his body meets the cold of the world, and he shiversâbut doesnât stop you. not even close.
you see him fully now.
hard and flushed, the tip red and glistening, a thick vein running the length of him like a path carved straight to your hand. pre-cum beads at the head, already smeared down his shaft from where your palm had moved over him before, mixing now with the slick sheen of drool still coating your fingers.
your fist wraps around him again, deliberate and slow, and the combined wetness allows you to stroke him with ease. the sound is soft, wet, and rhythmicâhis breaths syncing to the motion like he canât help it.
his body bows slightly, every muscle tensing, like heâs trying not to collapse from the overwhelming pleasure youâre building in him.
he tenses beneath your hand, muscles locking as your strokes grow faster, more assured. his body is trembling nowânot from fear, but from how close he is to falling apart completely.
another thick line of drool slips from the corner of his mouth, trailing slowly down his chin. you watch it for a moment, caught in the daze of his unraveling, until your eyes liftâdrawn instinctively to his face.
and then you gasp.
his eyes are open.
not fully, but enough.
cast downward, glazed over with pleasure. but just enough to catch it.
a glint. a glow.
red.
dark, pulsing, unnaturalâlike embers caught in the low light. your breath hitches in your throat as you stare at it, transfixed, and thenâalmost like he knowsâhe slams them shut, a sharp whine escaping him.
âaah⌠wait,â he pants, his voice trembling. âsomethingâs happeningâŚâ
you know exactly what.
you feel it in the way he twitches in your hand, in the pulsing warmth building at your palm, in the desperation threaded into every sound that falls from him.
so you donât stop.
you go faster. tighter. focused.
his hips jerk forward, chasing the friction like he canât help it, and a strangled moan breaks from his throat. his whole body hunches over you, trembling, until his forehead comes to rest against your shoulder, breath hot and ragged against your skin.
âplease,â he gaspsâvoice small now, breathlessâas his head turns just slightly, his mouth nearly brushing your neck.
you smell it.
blood.
copper-sweet and heavy on his breath.
then a deep, guttural sound tears up from his chestâa growl soaked in something ancient, primalâbut it breaks halfway through, collapsing into something softer. weaker. almost⌠pathetic.
and then he tenses, hard.
his whole body locking, shaking in your grasp as he finally lets goâspilling into your hand and across the front of your nightgown in hot, thick pulses.
thereâs a moment of silence.
thick, heavy.
the only sound is his breathingâhot and unevenâghosting over your neck, brushing the skin there with every exhale like heâs still tethered to you by need alone.
your hand remains around him, even as he begins to soften, your fingers still slick and warm. only once heâs completely spent do you slowly pull your hand away in one long, fluid drag. the motion makes him flinch, a gasp slipping through his lips at the sudden overstimulation. his hips twitch, but he doesnât speak.
he stays still, suspended in the hush between you, before his head tilts up. thereâs something open in his expressionâtender, maybe. something youâre not ready for. his lips move closer, and you know before it happens what heâs trying to do.
he wants to kiss you.
your head turns, just slightly. your eyes soften, but the word comes quiet.
firm.
âno.â
itâs barely louder than a breath, but it lands like a weight between you.
his eyes close slowly, and he leans his forehead back against your shoulderânot angry. just⌠quiet.
your legs are still pressed together, thighs tense, breath held. your nightgown clings damp against your stomach, the fabric sticking to your skin where heâd spilled across it. the reality of it hums through you, the scent, the heat, the knowledge that you let it happen. that you made it happen.
then you feel it.
his nose against your neck.
the slow inhale.
heâs smelling you.
your body stiffens.
for a second, terror scrapes at your spine. you thinkâmaybe he lied. maybe this is the moment. maybe heâs going to sink his teeth into your throat and finish what started a few days ago. your heart races.
but he doesnât bite.
instead, he pulls back slightly, brows furrowed, nostrils flaring as he sniffs the airâcurious. drawn.
you follow his gaze.
he leans in again, closer this time, his softening length pressing faintly against your stomach, dragging heat across your skin through the nightgown. and then, his voiceâlow and hoarseâscratches its way up.
âwhatâs that smell?â
your stomach tightens.
you hear itâthat hunger tucked just beneath the question. not for blood this time. something else. something that makes your skin tingle with anticipation and shame.
his hands move slowly, tracing the shape of your waist, until they settle at your hipsâgripping them gently, but firmly enough that you feel the intent behind it.
your brow creases in confusion⌠until his eyes drop.
you follow the look.
and then it hits you.
you know exactly what heâs asking about.
because while you were focused on himâwhile your hand moved over him, while you whispered his name and watched him fall apartâthe warmth between your thighs had bloomed into something undeniable. your panties are soaked. clingy. shamefully damp against your skin.
your face burns hot as the realization settles.
he smells you.
remmickâs eyes slowly rise to meet yours, and what you see there sends a ripple through your chestâhunger, thick and molten, pulsing just beneath the surface. another line of drool spills from the corner of his mouth, thicker this time, stretching as he breathes through it.
his hand movesâslow, sureâand drags down, curling behind your thigh. then, without warning, he lifts. your leg rises with the motion, guided by his strength, and your breath catches.
a gasp slips from your lips as your hands press instinctively against his chest, trying to ground yourself, maybe even push him backâbut your limbs are shaking.
âwhat are you doing?â you stammer, voice barely stable as you feel his hand slide higher. it skids up your thigh, rough fingertips brushing hot skin, slipping under your nightgown like theyâve done it a hundred times before.
âyouâre leaking,â he says, simply.
like itâs an observation. a fact.
like itâs not the most shameful, intimate thing he couldâve said aloud.
drool slips over his chin, unbothered by the mess heâs making, by the mess youâre in.
your body burns. flushed and twitching beneath his touch, thighs trembling around the hand that now glides so easily against your damp skin. his fingers drag through the heat gathered between your legs, and your hips jolt, a quiet sound caught in the back of your throat.
his mouth hovers just beside your cheek now, voice ragged and breath thick.
âlet me taste ya,â he says.
almost pleads.
and thereâs something so raw, so utterly stripped of pride in the way he says itâlike heâs not asking just to take, but because he needs it. like the ache inside him will never fade unless you let him have this one thing.
you turn your head slightly, breath hitching as you meet his eyesâhis mouth still hovering beside your cheek, so close you can feel the heat of his breath skating across your skin.
âiâŚâ you begin, voice quiet and uncertain, âi ainât never had that done before.â
he lets out a groanâdeep, throaty, almost pained.
it vibrates against you like a confession.
âlet me do it,â he murmurs, eyes dark and pleading. âplease. show me where you like to be licked.â
the words make your heart stutter, but before you can even respond, you feel itâhis fingers pressing firmly against your clothed heat, dragging slow and deliberate along the soaked fabric.
âremmickâ!â
your voice breaks, sharp and startled, rising without your permission.
your face floods with shame, your body trembling at the sound that just tore from your throat. but desire drowns it out, thick and surgingâbecause the pressure feels too good to ignore, and his touch is reverent, not cruel.
he pulls his head back, just enough to look you in the eyes.
and he waits.
thereâs no smirk, no demand. just remmick, gaze burning into you with raw need, silently asking for something he doesnât know how to take without permission.
you stare at him for a long, aching secondâheart racing, chest heavingâbefore you nod.
slow.
shy.
but real.
thatâs all he needs.
he sinks lower, descending to his knees with a hunger in his movements, yet carefulâlike youâre something sacred. both his hands slide along your legs, settling at the backs of your thighs, his thumbs rubbing gently into your skin as he looks up at you from below.
his face is flushed, his hair damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead, his lips parted and still shiny from where drool had spilled earlier.
âtell me what to do,â he groans, voice rough with restraint, with admiration.
his mouth is inches away.
but he wonât move until you tell him how.
your body is burning now.
inside and out.
the sound of his voice asking to be guidedâtell me what to doâechoes through you, wrapping around your spine and sending a shiver up your back. no oneâs ever asked that of you before. not like that. not with that kind of hunger barely held back by restraint.
when you glance down at him again, you find his eyes already on you. waiting. not impatient. not demanding. eager. wide, dark, full of wantingâbut still waiting. like youâre the only one who can give him permission to breathe.
âuse your fingers,â you say softly.
your voice wavers, shaky at the edges, but it doesnât matter.
he hears you.
he obeys.
you catch the way the corners of his lips twitch upwardâjust for a momentâbefore one of his hands slides up, lifting your thigh gently and settling it over his shoulder. the stretch of it opens you, exposes you, and you gasp as the new position presses your nightgown higher.
then, his other hand movesâslowly, reverentlyâuntil his fingers are back at your panties. theyâre soaked now, clinging to you, and you can feel every brush of his knuckles against the sensitive skin there.
his eyes flick up to yours againâchecking. asking.
and then he slips a finger past the damp fabric, the tip curling just inside you.
your breath stutters in your chest, a sound catching in your throat that you didnât mean to let out. he watches you. his gaze never leaves your face.
and thenâ
with a sudden tug, he rips your panties clean.
the sound is loud, sharp in the silenceâthe tear of fabric quick and finalâand the cold air hits you immediately.
your body tenses, thighs quivering around him as the sudden exposure leaves you breathless. every nerve is awake now, burning, aware of the way his hands hold you open, how the cool air contrasts against the heat pooling between your legs.
youâre bare to him.
and heâs still kneeling.
still looking at you like youâre holy.
you let out a soft pant, your breath catching as you feel his finger slowly trail up the inside of your thigh. his touch is warmârough in texture, but gentle in pressureâand your skin tingles beneath it. his movements are slow, careful, like heâs learning your body inch by inch.
he stops just at your entrance.
he doesnât go further right away.
he lingers thereâtesting. waiting. seeing how you react to the nearness, the quiet promise of what comes next.
then, without warning, he slides a finger in.
his middle fingerâlong, thickâand the stretch of it makes your walls flutter around him.
a low moan tumbles from your lips, your head tipping back slightly as your muscles clench. itâs more than just the intrusionâitâs the heat of him, the weight of that single finger inside you, the way it already fills more than you expected.
your hand reaches down, gripping the hem of your nightgown tightly, bunching the fabric against your stomach as if anchoring yourself to the moment.
he draws his finger back outâslowly, deliberatelyâand then pushes it back in with a soft, wet sound that makes your cheeks burn. your body clenches around him again at the sensation, and the lewdness of it, the intimacy of being this bare and open, sends another wave of warmth washing over your skin.
he breathes in through his nose, like heâs memorizing the scent of your arousal, and you can feel him growing more confident in the way his finger curls just slightly on the next thrust.
the thrusts of his finger continueâsteady, slow at first, then building into a rhythm that leaves your legs weak. each movement sinks in with purpose, the tip curling ever so slightly, brushing against a place inside you that makes your hips twitch.
your walls clench around him, instinctive and aching.
âyouâre so warm,â he pants, voice husky with awe, like heâs never felt anything like this before.
you glance downâeyes glazed, breath unevenâand see his free hand working at himself again. his fingers wrap around his cock, now slowly thickening with each stroke. the sight makes your stomach flutter, your lips parting as another moan slips from your mouth, uncontained and needy.
your mind is fogged with sensationâhis hand inside you, his hand on himself, both moving in tandem like some unholy harmony of want. your body is no longer your own. it belongs to the rhythm, the heat, the burn of it all.
then you feel it.
another finger at your entrance.
his ring finger this timeâthicker than the first. he eases it in beside the other, stretching you slowly.
you wince. not from pain exactly, but from the sudden fullness.
youâd touched yourself before, sure. but your fingers had never felt like this.
his are longer. rougher. firmer.
they reach deeper.
your walls stretch to accommodate him, muscles fluttering as both fingers begin to pump in and out of you. slick sounds fill the airâsoft, obsceneâand every time he curls them just right, you whimper.
meanwhile, his other hand strokes himself in slow, languid motions, the pad of his thumb brushing over the tip. he groans aloud, the sound low and wrecked, spilling from his throat like itâs being pulled out of him.
and all of itâhis fingers inside you, his pleasure building in front of youâpulls you deeper under.
he starts to move closer.
you can feel it in the way his breath warms your skin, see it in the way his shoulders shift, the subtle rise of his body as he inches toward you like gravityâs pulling him into place.
a low growl rumbles in his throat as he presses his face in, and when the bridge of his nose brushes against that sensitive bud, you tenseâhard. a full-body shudder rolls through you, your breath catching sharp in your chest.
then suddenlyâhis fingers leave you.
you gasp at the loss, clenching around nothing, your body pulsing with the need to be filled again, to feel something.
âlet me eat you, baby,â he pleads, voice raw, mouth just a breath away.
his words hit you deepâboth filthy and tender, desperate and reverent.
you hesitate.
not from fear.
but from the overwhelming weight of it. the way your body is already responding without needing to be told.
then, you nod.
he doesnât look up.
but he must feel itâthrough the way your thigh tenses over his shoulder, through the way your hips shift just the slightest bit forward, offering yourself.
he takes that as his answer.
his mouth descends, and you feel itâhis tongue drawing a slow, deliberate line between your folds, tasting you for the first time. your back arches off the wall, sharp and sudden, your thigh slipping, and he readjusts it with one hand, holding you steady with a strength that borders on possessive.
then he licks again.
this time deeper, firmerâand a moan tears from his mouth. the sound vibrates directly into you, and your head falls back with a strangled cry.
âyouâre so sweet,â he breathes.
then he presses a soft, almost reverent kiss to your entranceâlike a promiseâbefore his tongue pushes inside of you.
you cry out, the stretch of it unfamiliar and overwhelming, but so, so good. his tongue thrusts harshly, rhythm building fast, and every movement sends you spiraling, moan after moan clawing out of your throat as your body writhes against the wall.
your hand flies down instinctively, fingers diving into his hair, clutching at the thick strands. you donât even realize how hard youâre holding on until you feel him groan again, deeper this time.
and thenâhis mouth rises, lips closing around that bud.
he sucks.
you break.
completely overwhelmed, shaking with the intensity of it, clenching around nothing but air and the feeling of him devouring you.
your head flies back, colliding with the wall behind you with a dull thud, but you hardly feel it. the pleasure ripping through you overshadows everything else. your free hand reaches up, grasping at your hair, tugging gentlyâdesperate for anything to ground yourself as his mouth continues to assault your core with relentless devotion.
âremmickâŚâ
his name falls from your lips in a moan, soft and broken, like a prayer caught halfway through a plea.
he doesnât stop.
his tongue licks, flicks, drags through your folds, then closes around your clit again, sucking it into the heat of his mouth with rhythm that borders on sinful. the sounds he makesâlow, guttural moans and hungry gruntsâvibrate directly into you, sending fresh waves of sensation surging through your thighs, your belly, your spine.
heâs pumping himself with the same desperation, his hand moving fast and slick over his length, the sounds of it mixing with the wet noise of his mouth working between your legs. and every time he moans into you, you feel itâfeel it everywhere.
then he shifts.
the hand that had been resting firm on your thigh over his shoulder suddenly moves. it slides downâstrong and sureâuntil his fingers press into the flesh of your inner thigh, right beside your entrance. and then he pullsâgently but firmly, opening you wider for him.
a soft gasp slips from your mouth at the stretch, the exposure. you feel so bare, so utterly open. his tongue immediately returns, working deeper now that youâre spread wider for him, and it feels devastatingâlike you might come apart entirely just from the way he holds you open and tastes you like heâs starving.
your eyes squeeze shut as a stuttering moan tears its way out of your throatâuncontrolled, raw. your fingers twist tighter in his hair, clutching at the only thing tethering you to the earth as his mouth continues to work you open and undone.
and thenâ
something shifts.
a feeling. strange. unfamiliar.
it starts low in your bellyâtight, electric, and rising fast. it coils, curls, builds like pressure behind a dam, and you donât know what it is, only that itâs coming hard and fast and you donât know how to stop it.
your breath hitches.
panic flutters in your chest.
your eyes snap open, wide with the sudden fear of losing control, and your body tenses as if to brace for impact.
and thenâ
it hits.
a violent, blinding explosion rocks through your body.
your mouth opens, but no sound comes at firstâjust the air being pulled from your lungs as your release rips through you.
your eyes roll back, vision swimming, and your legs nearly buckle beneath the weight of it. your thighs twitch, body quivering uncontrollably as your climax washes over you like a crashing wave you were never prepared for.
but remmick doesnât let you fall.
his hands grip you steady, firm and reverent, holding you together even as you come apart in his mouth. he moans into you, greedy and satisfied, lapping up every drop of your release like itâs the only thing heâs ever wantedâlike itâs the only thing thatâs ever mattered.
you tremble above him, caught in the aftershocks, completely undone.
when he finally pulls back, his cheeks and chin are drenchedâslick with you, shining in the low light. his mouth parts slightly as he breathes, dazed and wild, and you can still feel the ghost of his tongue between your thighs. youâre still catching your breath when he moves againâthis time, pulling you gently down with him.
your back meets the wood floor of your porch with a soft thud, the cool surface a harsh contrast to the heat blooming in your skin. before you can process it fully, heâs leaning over you, body caging yours in, his cock already hard again, flushed and leaking at the tip. the sight of him above you, thick and heavy, makes your breath stutter.
you barely have time to react before you feel himâhis tip brushing against your entrance, slicking over sensitive skin, nudging.
you snap out of it instantly.
your hands press to his chest.
âw-wait! stop!â
his body stills.
he freezes above you, panting, chest heaving as he stares down at you. the desperation in his eyes is immediateâsharp and pleadingâbut he doesnât move. instead, you feel his fingers tighten around the bunched fabric of your nightgown, clinging to it like an anchor.
your mind is racing.
he wanted to go this far.
he was going to go this far.
and youâgod, your face burns even hotter as the thought settlesâyouâd never done this before.
not with anyone.
not like this.
and the fear coils tight in your belly.
âi wonât hurt you.â
his voice comes soft.
echoing what he said earlier.
but it lands differently nowâcloser to a promise.
you look up at him, searching.
his hand on your hip is strong, grounding, and though he grips you tight, thereâs no force in it. only restraint.
you search his eyes for anything that might read as a lie, some shadow of cruelty or indifferenceâbut thereâs nothing. only tension. only waiting.
so you nod.
his gaze softens, and the hand holding your gown lowers, moving between your bodies. he grips himself, lining up carefully, guiding the head of his cock back to your entrance.
you inhale, slow and deep, trying to ready yourself.
thenâhe meets your eyes.
and begins to push in.
your jaw clenches hard as the stretch begins. the pressure is immediate, unfamiliar, so much. heâs thickâthicker than anything youâve ever felt beforeâand your walls struggle to accommodate him.
âs-slowlyâŚâ you manage to stutter, breath caught in your throat.
he nods, sweat beading at his brow, his own face twisted with the effort of going slowâof not losing himself completely in the heat and tightness of you. your walls clench around him, instinctively, and he groans low in his chest.
inch by inch, he presses deeper, untilâ
you feel a pinch. sharp.
not enough to cry out, but enough to make you tense again.
your hand flies down, gripping the wrist on your hip.
âwait!â
he halts immediately, eyes flying up to yours.
âalmost thereâŚâ he moans, voice strained. âiâm almost there.â
his hand tightens, holding himself stillâwaiting for you to give him more.
and when you finally nodâheart hammeringâhe moves again.
he pulls out slowly, carefully, then pushes back in with more urgency this time. the stretch returns, but this time the pain dulls quickly, fading into something else. something thicker. warmer.
his hand plants beside your head, fingers splaying against the wooden floor for balance, and he pushes the rest of the way in until he bottoms out inside you.
you both still.
your bodies tangled, your breath ragged, your skin burning where it touches his. and for a long, pulsing momentâthereâs nothing else.
just the sound of panting.
just the feel of him inside you.
just the overwhelming, terrifying intimacy of being this connected
slowly, but surely, he pulls outâjust an inch, just enough to make you feel the lossâbefore pushing back in with a deep, guttural groan. the sound of it vibrates through your chest, and your own moan answers his as your hand flies up, gripping the wrist of the hand planted beside your head.
your grip is so tight your knuckles turn white.
âaah⌠yeaâŚâ he stutters out, breath shaking as his hips roll forward again, his thrusts slow but deliberate, each one more assured than the last.
the drag of his cock inside you leaves your body stutteringâyour breath catching in broken gasps, your thighs trembling with every deep, slow stroke. heâs thick. so thick. every movement stretches you wide, your walls struggling to take him and clenching around him with a mind of their own.
he groansâmouth falling open in something pathetic, raw, achingâand the sound shoots straight through you. the hand on your hip tightens, guiding your body with each thrust, steadying you, grounding himself in your warmth.
your walls flutter around him, and he sees stars behind his eyes.
every time you clench, itâs like heaven and hell collide inside him.
your back begins to slide against the porch beneath you, the wood warm and rough, dragging lightly at your nightgown as his thrusts gain rhythm. the pace buildsânot fast, but firm, deeper. every push rocks your body just enough to knock the breath from your lungs.
the sound of skin meeting skin fills the air nowâwet, rhythmic, desperate.
his grunts are low in his chest, slipping out between clenched teeth.
your eyes open slowly, jaw slack, mouth parting as choked moans tumble past your lips.
and thenâ
you see it.
his mouth hangs open, panting, and in the haze of your half-lidded gaze, something catches the light. not just teeth. fangs.
sharp. monstrous.
inhuman.
you let out a sharp gasp as his hands suddenly moveâgrasping the backs of your thighs with a strength that steals your breath. he drags you toward him with ease, your slick skin sliding across the wooden porch until your thighs rest on his, legs spread and trembling as he settles into the new angle.
once youâre in place, his hands return to your hipsâstrong, possessiveâand without pause, he begins pounding into you again.
but now, itâs different.
his rhythm grows more erratic, more primal. he groans through gritted teeth, fangs fully bared now, glistening with spit as his mouth hangs open in pleasure-drunk awe.
he finds that spot inside you againâ
and again.
and again.
each thrust is a strike of lightning behind your eyes, drawing stars out of thin air, making your body convulse in helpless rhythm beneath him. you try to say his name, to moan it into the thick air between youâbut all that escapes is garbled, slurred noise. syllables tangled in pleasure too strong to form words.
you donât notice it at firstâ
the way his fingers change.
the grip on your waist grows tighter, rougher.
his nails stretch, curling longer, sharper, claws forming in real time as his body reacts to you. to this. to everything heâs holding back.
he groans through clenched fangs, jaw twitching with restraint. it takes everything in him not to pierce your skin. not to lose himself to what he is.
your hands reach down, fumbling for the hem of your nightgown, wanting it off, wanting to feel the air, feel him. remmick sees the motion, and something feral flashes in his eyes as he helps youâtearing the gown up and over your head.
it now lays beneath your upper back, your spine pressing into the fabric as your body arches.
the cold air hits your bare skin and a shiver runs through you. your breasts bounce with each thrust, each impact sending them upward and down in hypnotic rhythm.
remmick lets out a guttural soundâdesperate and overwhelmed all at onceâas drool escapes the corner of his mouth and spills messily across your stomach. you gasp at the sudden warmth of it, the contrast between cold air and wet heat making you twitch.
then his hand moves again.
he lowers it between your legs, and suddenly heâs rubbing your budârough and unrelenting. the pad of his thumb swirls over it in frantic circles, careful not to scratch you, using just enough pressure to send another bolt of pleasure through your spine.
you cry out, louder this time, your back arching as your body tenses up around him.
his other hand rises, large and trembling, and cups one of your breasts, kneading it with a kind of reverence thatâs quickly undone by the bite of his claws. one scratches just slightlyâa soft sting blooming across your skinâand instead of pulling back, you moan louder.
the pain only sharpens the pleasure.
and remmickâŚ
he watches you fall apart like heâs witnessing something sacred.
and heâs the one dragging every sound, every shiver, every tremble out of you.
youâre losing yourself.
your vision blurs at the edges, body flushed and trembling, unable to hold on to anything solidâexcept him. your hand reaches blindly, desperate to touch, to anchor yourself in something, someone. your fingers find itâthe chain. that gold chain around his neck, damp with sweat and heat.
you loop your fingers through it, gripping tight.
the moment you do, his body respondsâhis thrusts picking up speed, harder now, deeper. his hips crash against yours with ferocity, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing across the porch. each thrust sends his balls slapping against your ass, adding to the filthy rhythm of it all.
âlâlook at youâŚâ he pants, voice breathless and broken, eyes wild as he stares down at where youâre joined. âso beautiful⌠and speared on meâŚâ
your head falls back, jaw slack as he slams into you againârough, desperate. his thumb is still on your bud, circling fast and tight, and the pressure spirals out of control.
you feel it.
again.
rising.
but this time, you donât panic.
you welcome it.
your walls flutter, then clamp down hard around him, squeezing his cock in perfect rhythm with your unraveling. your moans tear from your throat, raw and choked, as your body convulses beneath him.
remmick chokes on a moan of his own, hips stuttering as you clench around him. but he doesnât stop. not for a second.
he pounds through itâthrusting through your orgasm, keeping the rhythm alive, drawing it out until you canât tell where the high ends and the overstimulation begins.
the sounds are obscene.
each time he pulls out, itâs wet and loud, a slick drag that makes your stomach tightenâand then he slams back in, deeper, filling you again with a moan.
your walls twitch, overly sensitive now, and a sharp little wave of discomfort flares in the middle of the lingering heat. it stings, but not enough to stop. not when he keeps going like that. not when your body canât decide if it wants to push him away or pull him deeper.
your grip on his chain tightens.
remmick moansâloud and brokenâas the gold links dig into his neck, and still, he doesnât stop.
his hips drive into yours with punishing need, his chest brushing yours with every thrust, and you realizeâ
heâs not just trying to fuck you.
heâs trying to stay inside you.
to live there.
to lose himself in the place where you melt around him.
and itâs becoming too much.
your body is trembling, wrung out and burning, nerves raw from how he keeps moving inside youâdeep, relentless, nonstop. the sensitivity spikes, each thrust dragging along your pulsing walls like fire and silk, sending you over the edge and right back again before youâve even caught your breath.
your mouth opens in a soundless moan, your legs twitching, body locked in that unbearable space between pleasure and pain.
remmick groans above youâdeep, rough sounds torn straight from his chest. they rumble through his body and into yours, and you feel the way heâs struggling. holding back. holding in.
his fangs flash as his lips part again, saliva stringing between them as he pants like an animal. heâs tryingâtruly tryingânot to sink them back into your neck. not to bite down and mark you like instinct is screaming at him to do.
you see it in the way his head tilts, the way his mouth hovers near your throat before he jerks back again, forcing himself to focus.
your hands are full nowâ
one clutching his gold chain so tightly the links dig into your fingers,
the other gripping his wrist, fingernails pressed to his skin, grounding yourself as your body thrashes beneath his.
you whine, high-pitched and breathless, overwhelmed as your thighs threaten to close, but his grip on your hips is unyielding.
his eyes glowâdeep, dark redâand when he looks down at you, itâs through that glowing haze of instinct and want and near-unraveling. his jaw clenches hard, fangs bared as he fights the shift overtaking him.
then he tenses.
you feel itâ
in the way his rhythm falters,
in the way his thrusts grow sloppy, uncontrolled, missing that sweet spot as his hips jerk with no pattern.
heâs close.
he hunches forward, his whole body curling in on itself, and a loud, broken groan tears from his chest as he spills inside youâhot and thick, pulsing with each wave of release.
you moan, long and soft, as you feel him flood youâcoating your walls in warmth as his hips keep moving, fucking his orgasm into you.
he pounds through it, chest heaving, sweat dripping onto your skin. the mixture of you bothâslick and steadyâdrips down from where he stretches you open, forming a glistening ring around the base of him each time he pulls back.
âremmickâ!â
his name bursts from your lips, sharp and breathless, as your thighs snap tight around his waist, trying to anchor yourself to himâto anything.
your entire body trembles beneath him, and you feel like you might fall apart again, even though thereâs nothing left in you but the aftershocks.
âi k-know, babyâŚâ he groans, voice low and shaking, still thrusting inside you. his movements are uncoordinated now, sloppy and feverish, driven more by need than rhythm. his hips jerk like heâs chasing the last of it, like he doesnât want to let go of the feeling of being inside you.
your eyes squeeze shut, and your fingers finally release their grip on his chain, the gold slipping from between your knuckles.
you trade it for flesh.
your now-free hand reaches up to grab his other wrist, mirroring your other handâholding him completely. your body, your breath, your trembling form says stay.
his breathing stutters again, another broken groan ripping through him as he thrusts deepâhardâlike something inside him is unraveling one last time.
at this point, you feel itâ
the steady leak of your shared pleasure slipping out of you, warm and wet, trailing down your thighs and pooling on the floorboards beneath you. the sounds between you are slick and endlessâevery movement, every shift punctuated by the lewd, messy wetness of it all.
then he pulls backâjust slightlyâto look.
his eyes drop to where his cock still moves in and out of you, glazed with the evidence of everything you gave him. you feel his stare deepen, and you swear heâs ascendingâhis lips parted, eyes wide, breath stolen by the sight of you stretched around him, milking every last wave of his orgasm.
his hips slow.
slow again.
until they still.
his chest rises and falls, frantic and wild, then slower, steadierâas he begins to return to himself.
he looks up.
eyes searching yours.
his mouth opens, like he wants to say something. like he needs to.
but nothing comes out.
instead, he leans down.
his lips hover just above yours, breath brushing your mouth, waitingâasking. not like before, when you turned your face away. this time, he lingers.
and this time, you donât pull back.
you tilt your chin just slightly, and your lips meet his in a kiss.
slow. warm. breathless.
not demanding. not frantic.
just real.
and in that quiet moment, with him still inside you, your bodies still joined in the mess of it all, he kisses you like it means something. like heâs trying to remember what it feels like to be human again.
#needy men for the win#needthat#i need him so bad yall don't get it#give me five minutes with him#please#remmick smut#remmick#remmick x reader#sinners#sinners 2025#smut#i was breathing so hard while writing#drabble
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he's so sweetđđđ

Warnings : SMUT! This is almost sappyâŚidk Remmick yearns for connection and heâs so so angry he canât have you without hurting you ⌠erm anyways heâs also a PERV!!!
âI should hate you.â
You rasped it out, like finding the strength or will to say anything else might stop whatâs happening - and you mean what you say. You shouldnât be as sticky and wet between your legs as you are right now, shouldnât feel like keeping your eyes open is impossible - but itâs too good, heâs so deep you feel him twitch against your cervix.
Your insides are being rubbed and prodded over and over by his length, the pleasure is white hot and spreads all over, inside and out. A tightness inside of you, a pressure that feels overwhelming.
âY-you should,â he pants, wet mouth glued to the side of your neck - his canines graze your skin and he teases himself with the idea of wrapping his lips around your shoulder and pressing his teeth into you - a shiver wracks your body. You sense it in him, get goosebumps everywhere.
You cling onto his tattered tank top with all your strength, ensnaring your thighs around his strong waist and holding him inside like a vice. He feels so heavy, so deep inside of you - a slow pace with the force of something, not someone.
âBut you take it- oh god, yâtake it so gooooood.â He mewls, eyebrows pinched together. Red irises glare at you - stare like youâre the sun he hasnât had the pleasure of basking in for centuries. You see the void, the depths of despair- it feels like a beckoning.
Heâs being loud and lewd, peering down between your bodies and the thatch of his dark hair- watching his slick soaked length go in and out and in and out, the sounds are squelchy and obtrusive and fuck heâs somewhere in your stomach, feels like.
âWhy are y-you fucking me li-like this?â You plea, and his mouth is on yours before you can take another inhale. Wet, hungry.
Heâs moaning against you like heâs never felt the touch of anything good, anything as whole and divine as you - while he spears you - curling his hips upwards while clawed fingers hold your face preciously. Softly.
âTold you - mm, I love you, didnât I?â He punctuates between thrusts, juices dripping down to your ass and forming a wet spot beneath your bodies. Your old bed is weary, your sheets tired.
You whimper like a hurt, small thing. It makes him feel crazy - makes his instincts become a real palpable thing - if you werenât the closest thing to salvation something like him could have, well - he doesnât like to think about that. Would be messy.
So he softens his lip bruising kisses, makes sure to use his tongue and lick all the knicks from his teeth on the spongy surface of the inside of your bottom lip.
âOh sweetheart, youâre throbbing around me, yâknow that? Yeah thatâs it - awe baby take it just like that.â
His hips lose a bit of control- his stomach is tensing at the bottom, thighs tight and balls sore - aching to release, aching to soothe this insatiable need to rock you back and forth on his manhood till heâs raw.
Youâre a mess down there, swollen and puffy and your arousal mixed with pre cum has coated his cock in this white translucent slick - itâs gorgeous, he wants to suckle your clit and clean you up.
âLove you, R-Remmy.â You hiccup, and if he had a heart that could beat - itâd be hammering out of his chest. Heâd do anything, anything, to give you his babies, build a nice big garden out front - dine between your legs for dessert after the house is asleep.
Itâs pathetic. Thatâs what does it for him. It washes over him like a spell - a lucid dream that shatters his ability to hide. He rips the sheets between his fists - and his mouth is buried into the mattress between the empty space of your neck and shoulder.
Heâs ripping the material with his teeth, thrashing while his hips form an unsteady, frantic rhythm - you feel it inside of you, his release. Itâs warm because he fed earlier - you donât think of it too hard - and you canât when your body is quivering and trembling underneath him.
âCumming, cumming - oh god, Remmick, Remmick.â
Youâre fucking yourself on him while the otherworldly feeling creeps in - youâre not sure how he does it, or why it happens - but his release almost always spurrs your own and itâs an unbearable sort of pleasure.
You want to cry, but your voice doesnât work. Heâs still pumping cum into you, youâre coated between your legs with its abundance - and your fingers tangle within his sweat soaked strands of hair.
You tug him up, like you need him to breathe. You kiss him so roughly, he almost finds it cute. But heâs got you pinned to your mattress and heâs sheathed inside of your cunt and heâs a fucking vampire. Ainât that a bitch?
âFeels good honey? Yeah I know I know, shhh.â
He pecks your mouth, moving your hair out of your face, admiring his work on you. Youâre kiss bitten, fucked out, barely here but youâre so completely locked into him - a spirit to the void. A match into the darkness. You are so alive beneath him, a perfect, delirious daydream.
He gives you a second. A human second. Knows you need it the most after he makes love to you, deflowers you over and again. He canât feel shame. Maybe if he could, heâd feel something close to it - but how can he?
Youâre staring up at him, thumb squishing into the soft flesh of his mouth, prodding the fangs behind the pink skin. You trace the lines etched into his skin, wonder what he looked like as a human man. Doesnât matter now. Heâs yours.
You press your nose to his, and he pulls out - you wince and you blink once - heâs in between your legs, licking you clean, sucking and resisting the urge to draw blood - you try to squirm away but he doesnât let you - itâs almost endearing if you werenât so overstimulated.
Heâs doing it so lovingly, just cleaning up his mess, licking his plate clean. Your clit, your folds, everything he can reach. Kisses your bundle real sweet when heâs done. Heâs satisfied, stands up and heâs still not yet fully soft as he pulls his trousers back on.
âStay.â You say it like youâre surprised it came out of your own mouth. But it was bound to be said at some point. Every time youâre with him like this - the pull gets worse and worse. It doesnât feel natural, but it doesnât feel unnatural either.
Youâve got it bad.
He pauses, stares at you in a way that should scare you to death - should make you run. Itâs creature - like, as if heâs trying to figure out if youâre a threat or not. Youâre used to it, know itâs just part of his nature now.
âYou mean that?â
He shouldnât sound so breathless. He hasnât had a need to breathe in centuries. He steps closer, slowly. And you know that itâs on purpose, makes you smile a little.
You pat the bed, ruffling the covers. His ears twitch, nostrils flare and the scent of you is so perfumed in the air he almost moans.
âI always did like taking strays in.â
He smiles, even chuckles, irises a crimson and obsidian melt of admiration.
âKeep feedin me, and I might stick around too long.â
#i'd definitely fall for it#no doubt#he's too beautiful#remmick x reader#yummm obsessive remmick#remmick#sinners#remmick smut#sinners smut#vampire x reader#monster x reader#eheeheeeheh#drabble
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bye i love this
"Mmm. Keep cryin' darlin', makes you tighter." He grits out through his teeth. "You- hah, you like it, yeah?" He shakes his head at himself loosing his own composure. "Told you I'd fuck the god out of you. We ain't done yet."
Remmick huffs above you, claws digging into your throat, hips pistoning into yours. The half-smirk he wears has been dipping all night, sweat dampening his brow. He's been switching between babbling incoherently and mouthing off the whole night.
He watched you like he was starved. And maybe he was- but not for food. Not for blood. For the one thing your daddy always said was sacred. Private.
Daddy told you men like him were the devil. All they wanted- the sweet little preachers daughter. Remmick's fingers hook around the lace on your church dress. Cock pumping deliciously inside you. Your daddy was right. The devil was awfully pretty.
The devil was also awfully persistent. He'd want to consume you- not just your soul, but something deeper. From the root inside you. Not just your womanhood. Your love.
"Shit," He murmurs, pleased, struggling between breaths. "This what you wear to your...ah-...Sunday service? Thought good little girls covered up. You wore this for m-me, yeah?" He toys with the straps, before diving down to your neck. Licking. Sucking. Before biting gently.
When you squeal, he chuckles breathlessly, before groaning when you clench around him. He makes a noise that's borderline animalistic- and you briefly wonder if your daddy ever taught you if even the devil could lose his composure.
Effectively, he can. Because even as he presses you against the wall, caged, trapped like a flightless bird- all you have to do is reach up and tug on his hair. And he hisses in raw pleasure, body tensing up, fangs protruding so far he has to bare them so it doesn't hurt him.
"Fu-fuck-, lo-love you-" He stutters out, claws clenching tighter around the base of your throat.
But daddy never told you the devil would whisper those three little words. Daddy never told you he'd kiss you so gently you'd cry. Daddy never told you the devil would knock on your window every night, beggin' to be let in, just to recite Irish poems and prayers while you sleep in his arms.
"Say it- please darlin', say it back," He tries to demand, but it sounds more desperate than anything. He's close. He's so close, holding on tight. He's pleading with you. You feel the heat building up inside you. The way his fangs struggle against your pulse point, drool slipping down, holding back. Forcing his mouth to pucker into kisses instead of biting.
"I love you." You whisper. If this is how the devil loves, you think you'd rather burn forever then ever let him go.
And when you cum, itâs violent. Blinding. You scream his name- not Godâs. And Remmick whispers yours all the same, pawing at you, eyebrows scrunched together as he finishes deep inside. He doesn't let go. He never let's go.
His voice his hoarse when he just barely pulls away to look you in the eye. His chest rises and falls with each heavy breath.
"Let me- let me stay like this- inside you, lovinâ you, beinâ yours- please. Just a little longer. Just a little longer, okay?â He strings together, giving you those eyes. His clawed finger lifting to your lip, tracing the contours, gaze flitting down to watch your mouth part as you speak.
When you give him the go ahead, nodding, body exasperated, he inhales with a shaky smile. He presses a light, chaste kiss to your temple, breathing you in.
You close your eyes, feel him throb sweetly inside you, and think maybe Heaven isnât up above. Maybe itâs bloody, needy, and whispering your name in the dark.
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this is so cute i love
Can you write something for Sephiroth(pre-nibelheim) or Astarion? Your work is absolutely fantastic btw Iâm in love with it â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸
Not So Subtle

pairing : sephiroth x female!reader
summary : you have a teenage girl level crush on him, that you and zack talk (very loudly) about when you think no one can hear. but he does.
a/n : this takes place pre-nibelheim so everyone is happy and well! in honour of ff7 rebirth :)

âClose your mouth or youâll catch flies.â You snap your jaw shut, eyes moving to glare at the young, dark haired boy who has decided to break your daydream.Â
âIt wasnât even open.â He plops down beside you, shoulder touching yours.Â
âMhm.. and you werenât drooling over our superior.âÂ
âYour superior,â you correct, eyebrow lifted with pointed sarcasm. If you could stick your tongue out at him, without it seeming childish to everyone around you, you would.
âLast time I checked, you werenât a first class soldier either,â He points out, amused. Your elbow makes contact with his arm, and his hand reaches to cover the area as he laughs.
Zack was younger than you, though he certainly never acted like there was an age gap. In his mind, you were the same age as him in some way or another. You had always trained together so you felt much closer in age even though you were at least 3 years older than him. At times, he felt like a younger brother to you.
Even more so when he found out you had a crush on the man he spent everyday training beside. Constant teasing, constant threats to spill your secrets, constant blackmail. You couldnât even count the amount of times he had used your crush to his advantage on one hand.Â
There was a time you had to put your foot down and tell him no more, cause it was wrong of course. But also mostly cause you were running out of money to buy his silence.
âYeah but I'm older, closer to his age. So I don't have to talk to him like I'm below him, unlike some people.âÂ
âCan you even talk to him?âÂ
âYes.âÂ
âThen why are you sitting here staring..?âÂ
âHeâs training..âÂ
âMhm.â The look on his face tells you heâs not convinced. Right now, it was the truth, Sephiroth was swinging his sword in the domed combat simulator, glass walls clear enough for you to see through. So the excuse of not being able to talk to him, out of fear of being sliced in half by his giant sword, was plausible.Â
But any other time that you had sat staring at him, making no effort to speak to him, rendered that excuse inapplicable.Â
âShut it..â You push his shoulder with your elbow once more, and he snorts out a laugh.Â
âI donât get why you canât just talk to him..âÂ
âOf course you donât.. because you're obviously blind. Or youâve been hit in the head one too many times in combat training.â You turn your gaze away from Zack to look back through the glass enclosing Sephiroth.Â
His hair is tied up, hanging loosely against his back. Itâs a rare sight, so you indulge yourself and stare a second longer than you should. Itâs so relaxed, you think, compared to the seriousness of always having it pristinely down. There are stray hairs, flyaways, falling from the hair tie and hanging against his face. Itâs unkempt, a nice contrast to his seemingly perfect lifestyle.
He swings his sword with calculated grace, a grace that you (or Zack for that matter) had yet to achieve. The control he held over his blade was impeccable, it never slipped or moved from his hold even when his hands were moving faster than his body could keep up with. Just another thing that had to be perfect in his life.
âHow could I ever speak to him and not make a fool out of myself? For one, heâs first class, I'd totally ruin my chances of making first class if I said something totally outrageous. And knowing me, my mind would be so jumbled, I wouldn't even realize the words had left my mouth before he put me on some kind of âdo not promoteâ list.âÂ
âOh so.. the only reason you wonât talk to him is because you're worried about making first class? Not.. I donât know, maybe, the 12-year-old-girl-level crush you have on him.â Your hand slaps over his lips, eyes scanning around you. For the most part, no one looks at the two of you, and you figure the ones that are looking are doing so because of your hand covering Zacks blabbermouth.Â
âWould you shut it?â Even with your hand covering his mouth, he manages to laugh at your widened eyes. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes are a dead giveaway of his amusement. You remove your hand with a pointed look, one that says âkeep it downâ in a far more subtle way than a hand over his face.Â
âYouâre so lucky youâre younger than me.âÂ
âMore like so lucky you donât want to make your boyfriend angry. Besides, you know Iâm stronger than you.âÂ
âMhm..â You roll your eyes, and with a sigh, you turn back to face Sephiroth. He stands still now and you realize all of the practice dummies have been broken. From your position, he doesn't even seem to have broken a sweat, even though heâs been in there for over an hour. His sword lies on the ground, thrown without care.Â
Even with Zack beside you, and the silent teasing that exudes from his body, your eyes remain trained on Sephiroth. You realize itâs childish, to stare and never approach, but the idea of even standing next to him is enough to intimidate you.Â
He runs his hand over his back, pulling the hair tie from his hair, allowing it to fall against his shoulders once more. He turns, presumably to leave the combat simulated, and his eyes meet yours through the glass. You knew your staring wasnât subtle, it had never been before, but you had never expected to get caught. You had never been caught.Â
You turn your head away so fast that Zack almost flinches, probably thinking you were going to hit him again.Â
âJesus,â he looks at you with confusion, âWhatâs the problem?âÂ
âHe saw me.âÂ
âWhat?âÂ
âHe saw me! Through the glass! He totally caught me staring at him..â You stare at Zack with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, before you head falls into your lap in shame.
âWould you relax? I guarantee he doesnât care or he didnât even see you. Maybe he was just looking at his reflection.â
You look back towards Sephiroth to see him leaving through the doors of the dome, and then you turn back to Zack with a pitiful whine.Â
âThis is so patheticâŚâÂ
âI agree,â he smiles when you shoot him a glare, âJust talk to him.âÂ
âTalk to who?â A deep voice sounds from beside you, higher up than where you sit. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stick up, and Zack's expression is enough to confirm your suspicion about who stands next to you.Â
You turn your head to face Sephiroth, and he stares at you expectantly. You think you catch the slightest smirk building on the corner of his lips, but you also think you might just be trying to make yourself feel better. Standing, nowhere close to his height, you hold your hands up. Zack takes this as his sign to stand too.Â
âNobody! Angeal!â You fumble out words, trying to throw out a name before he grows suspicious.Â
âWell which is it, nobody? or Angeal?âÂ
âAngeal. Yeah! Angeal, so.. um.. I should probably go find him.âÂ
âIt just so happens that I have to find Angeal too, allow me to join you.âÂ
You want to throw the nearest chair at Zack, curse him for speaking so loudly. And you curse yourself for not thinking of an excuse in a reasonable time frame, so you just nod, and excuse yourself from Zack.Â
He gives you a pitiful smile, and when you turn to look behind you for support one last time as you walk away he gives you a thumbs up. His face contradicts his hands, and he seems like heâs in a far less teasing mood.Â
âWhatever you have to say to him, it must be important.âÂ
âHm?â You tilt your head up and to the side to look at Sephiroth, youâve been walking together for a few minutes now, mostly silently.Â
âYou're walking fast.â You shrug your shoulders and continue walking.Â
At least until your steps are interrupted by him stepping in front of you.Â
âIs there a problem?â
âWhat? Of course not!â He practically glares down at you, arms crossed over his muscular chest. You can see the outline of his defined chest muscles through the straps of his top. And you realize you're practically drooling over him, right in front of him so you force your eyes to meet his once more. But his glare is replaced by a smirk, and amusement in his eyes.Â
âI see now..âÂ
âSee what?âÂ
âReally? Do you think youâre subtle?â Your face flushes and once again you want the floor to open up and consume you whole, but you're stuck here.Â
âI donât know what you're talking about.â Step back, you scream at yourself, but he moves closer and itâs impossible to move your feet. They feel like lead underneath you, not even giving way to a small shuffle backwards.
âNo?â His hand reaches up to rest on your cheek, it's gentle, far gentler than you wouldâve expected. But the way his fingers tense against your skin has you feeling fuzzy, âYou think I donât notice the way you stare? Hm?âÂ
He stares at you, thumb moving to the other side of your chin, holding your face in his hand. He maneuvers your face, moving it however he likes. You realize heâs examining the flush in your cheeks, the way your lips part like you want to say something. His tongue gives a humiliating click when your lips close, and the words are lost.Â
âI hear you, when you talk to Zack,â he stops his movement, stilling your face to look directly at him, âYouâve never been a quiet girl. Why are you so quiet now?âÂ
When you donât respond his eyebrows scrunch, its subtle and almost missable because itâs gone in seconds. Heâs not satisfied by your silence.
Sephiroth bends his shoulders, moving closer to your face, âAlthough, I suppose youâve never been very talkative around me.â He moves closer still, swerving his nose to the side of your face until heâs able to speak in your ear, âThatâs not very nice. You might hurt my feelings if you keep ignoring me.âÂ
âIâm sorry,â you mumble out meekly, you're honestly not even sure itâs audible at first but he laughs quietly, breath fanning on your ear. His other hand, the one that doesnât hold your face, reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before he pulls away. The breath that leaves your body is almost embarrassing.Â
âWhatâre you sorry for, hm?â He stares expectantly down at you, eyes never leaving yours.Â
âFâŚfor ignoring you.â
âSo you ignore me?âÂ
âNo!â
âSo youâre lying?â You shake your head as much as you can within the hold of his fingers, âThen what are you sorry for?âÂ
âFor not talking to you.âÂ
âAnd why donât you talk to me, I'm sure you know itâs rude to stare and never speak to someone.â
âBecause..â His grip loosens, hand moving back to your cheek, thumb resting on your cheek bone.Â
âBecause why? Cmon use your voice, the one you use to talk about me with Zack.âÂ
You stare up at him pitifully, and the way words fumble from your mouth has you wanting to throw up, âBecause I have this stupid crush on you, and I can't talk to you without getting nervous. I know itâs stupid and I should have told you sooner so you could reject me and I could move on and I never meant to offend you or-â
You hadnât realized he had gotten so close until his nose touches yours, top lip brushing against yours as he tips your chin up towards him. Your words fall flat on your tongue when you meet his eyes, or rather when you see his eyes that are focused on your lips.Â
âOffend me.. thatâs sweet..â Heâs so close to you, that every word has his lips brushing against your own again and again.Â
âSephiroth..?â You suppress the urge to move the tiniest bit forward so your lips can fully meet his. And you're sure your face is impossibly red.Â
âYou shouldâve told me about this âstupidâ crush sooner, such a foolish girl. May I?â You're confused, what is he asking for? His eyes flicker up to yours before moving back to your lips. When you realize what he means you nod your head perhaps too eagerly.Â
Slowly, to tease, his lips press against yours, palm pressing into the skin of yours to keep you in place. Eyes fluttering closed, your hands find his chest, silently screaming about the position youâve found yourself in.
His lips overpower yours in every regard, moving languidly against you. His other hand reaches up to the free side of your face, fingers tickling the skin on your neck and thumb resting on your jaw.Â
When he pulls away you can only look at him with half lidded eyes, dazed.Â
Al he does is chuckle, rubbing your cheek with his thumb and patting your head. One hand holds the back of your head, leaning down to kiss your temple, before stepping behind you, âDonât be so shy from now on. Maybe weâll end up here again.â
His steps echo through the empty hall as he walks away.
âWait⌠wait.. I thought you had to go see Angeal?â You turn, taking one step in his direction, then stopping yourself in your tracks hesitantly.Â
âI didnât. And I know you didnât either.â He only turns his cheek towards you to speak and then continues on down the hallway, tall and brooding.
#my husband#he's so cute#x reader#oneshot#drabble#sephiroth x reader#sephiroth#ff7#sephiroth ff7#final fantasy x reader#final fantasy vii#female reader
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i love youđđ
min ho who claims to hate you, insists that you're the most annoying, bothersome person in his life, but is also the one who knows every little thing there is to know about you.
min ho who complains that you talk too much, that he's never given a moment of peace whenever you're around because of your incessant yapping, but he's the first person to bring up the latest episode of your favorite show. the topic sends you into an unstoppable spiral, has you going on and on and on that you don't even have the time to think about how he knew there was a new episode to begin with. min ho rolls his eyes once your rambling ends, makes a quip about how he didn't know you'd talk that much, and acts as if he hadn't been listening intently to every word that came out of your mouth. like he didn't ask you questions, brought up details from past episodes that he knows would get you to talk more.
min ho who drags you through the mud for being such a picky eater, eyes the vegetables you shove to the side of your plate with disdain, but he wordlessly reaches into your plate to pick out everything you don't like before you can do it. he leaves just enough of it, though, if he knows it's not something you're allergic to. he doesn't give you the chance to whine, claiming that your not eating of those nasty veggies is the reason for your skin breaking out. but really, min ho just wants you to eat something healthy for once.
min ho who comments on your less than decent grades, borderline making fun of you, but he gives you a copy of his meticulously written notes complete with a set of practice problems. he tells you to meet him in the library after your classes, and you find him in one of the tables tucked at the very back, away from prying eyes. he's got almost every inch of the table's surface covered with notes and books and flashcards, and you spot a bag of snacks he'd smuggle in hidden beneath. you gather the courage to ask him why he's putting in so much effort for you, and he says it's because your grades are pitiful, that he can't let anyone associated to his name horrendously failing.
min ho who confesses in the quiet of the night, just before a week long break from school when he knows no one will be checking the dorms. who remembers that you like confessions that are intimate, none of those grand, over the top gestures in public but rather, something that's shared between two people. between the only people who really matter.
it works for him, too, because in all the years he's spent dating, asking girls out left and right like it's as easy as breathing, you're the only one who's brought him to such a state. an embarrassingly deep shade of red dusting his cheeks that's thankfully hidden by the darkness of his room. the hesitation in his voice that's so unfamiliar, it tastes like acid on his tongue. the way he stumbles over his words, flailing helplessly as you stare at him wide eyed.
it's maddening, what you've done to him. how you seem to have no knowledge of just how deep his feelings run for you.
but it's worth it, min ho thinks, when your stunned expression morphs into one of delight.
it's worth it, when you take his hands into yours, clutching at his fingers for dear life as you tell him that you like him too.
it's worth it, now that you're his.
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please god i need this
Okay so I just thought of this. I had to share. How about a fic where an older Leon casually called the reader a âgood girlâ BUT the reader has a praise kink and he like. Teases them MERCILESSLY about it.
đâš have thought about this one too many times to be honest .., also this is kinda short, but i didnât want your ask to sit in my drafts for too long:( thank you for sending something in:3 !!!

content warnings: afab & fem!reader, age gap (reader is 18+), praise kink, leon being a little shit but whatâs new, teasing, sloppy writing to be honest, some smut sprinkled in the middle & towards the end, reader is referred to as a âgood girlâ and other pet names (baby and sweetheart).
â ę° masterlist ęą ę° nav ęą
you knew from a young age that you never had the greatest poker face. in serious situations, you could muster up a decently straight face. but around your boyfriend? yeah, good luck.
you never thought it would come back to haunt you. you never thought your own body could betray you in a way that lead you down the path to your current predicament. well, to be fair, it was more-so your nasty thoughts that translated into the pool that sat in the gusset of your panties whenever your boyfriend decided to give you his appraisal.
it wasnât always like this. usually, youâd do something to make him proud and heâd pull you in for a hug, his scratchy stubble intertwining with the hairs on the top of your head. heâd place a kiss on the crown of your forehead, a small âmwah!â tumbling past his lips, soon followed by a âiâm so proud of you, sweetheart.â
sweet ân sappy stuff like that never sent pulses to your clit. it made your heart throb for sure, but never your pussy.
that all changed when you were lounging about your old manâs home office, bored out of your mind. youâd recently caught up on the show you had unintentionally binge watched in under a week, which according to leon, he didnât know if he was more impressed or shocked.
so, what did you decide to do? bother him, of course. it wasnât anything too annoying or too distracting, all you did was stand behind him as he typed away at his computer, reading glasses barely staying on the tip of his nose. maybe you placed a couple little kisses to his neck. there was also a possibility that you played with his hair, tugging softly at the dead ends. he could use a trim, something he only entrusted himself to do.
and okay, maybe your hands slid down his chest, your fingers toying with the top button of his shirt. it was all in good and innocent fun, truly! but he didnât seem to think so.
the low timber of his voice sounded throughout the little nook he called a desk that the two of you were tucked behind, words telling you that he loved you but he really needed to get some of this stuff done.
you relented with a quiet sigh, a small smile on your face, one of understanding. you pressed a kiss to his cheek, stubble pricking your lips in the process, and headed for the office door. youâd find some new show to start up and inevitably finish in the same week. leon let you part away from him with a small pat to your ass and a comment that had you nearly tripping over nothing.
âgood girl.â
yeah, youâre sure youâve never drenched a pair of panties quicker, which is saying something considering who your boyfriend is. this old oaf was breaking records he didnât even know of. you fought the urge to whip your head around, toying with the idea of asking him to repeat what he said. but then heâd know. heâd know that he had you wrapped around his finger with just two simple words.
you did your best to scurry out of that damned office as quickly as you could, silently praying that he didnât see the way your thighs clenched with every step you took.
your prayers proved to be futile. being the loving and attentive boyfriend he is, he didnât have to look up from the bright screen in front of him to know the effect those two words had on you.
in the following weeks, you noticed a little shift in the older man. you never minded his vocal approval, hell, one might even argue you craved his validation. but in all honesty, it was starting to make your eye twitch with the way he was incessantly showering you with his praises.
you did your share of the house chores? âwhoâs my good girl?â you let him know where you were heading to and what time youâd be back? âoh, thank you. such a good girl for me.â you completed a favor he asked of you? âwhat a good girl.â
did that thing where your cunt grips his dick like a vice? âfuck, thatâs a good girl.â hollowed your cheeks and slid your tongue along the underside of his cock when you were giving him head? âshit, just like that. such a good girl fâme.â
you swore you could breathe a certain way and heâd be breathing down your neck, telling you what a good girl you are for doing the basic human deed of moving air into your lungs so you can flush out whatever chemical process is going on in there to bring in oxygen. and maybe that was his way of teasing you, getting back at you for all the jokes you make about his age. maybe itâs his way of showing you your old man still has it in him.
not that you ever doubted that. especially with the way you were starting to find yourself on most nights, and tonight was no different.
your back was pressed up against his chest, head tucked between the meaty muscle of his bicep and forearm. his hips slapping the plush of your ass with every thrust. you were practically seeing stars with the added bonus of his muscles squeezing your neck every now and then.
your head drooped downwards, your hair splaying out messily against his arm. there was an undeniable puddle forming atop the hairs on his arm, your mouth hanging open as little strings of drool spilled out. you felt a rumble against your back, a deep chuckle escaping from his pink lips in between his quieter moans. âjusâ takinâ it like a good girl, arenât you, baby?â you could only whine in response, too fucked out from the previous rounds that happened an hour prior to now.
âoh, i know. i know. such a good, good girl for me.â is all you hear before your vision is going white and youâre arching your back for the umpteenth time that night. yeah, you think you could get used to this.
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Can you do more Resident Evil x reader plsss
I hope you like this <3 ( I'm so, so sorry I'm replying so late!! )
Tinder



ID!Leon Kennedy x Reader
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word count: 11k
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CW: smut, age gap (early 20s reader, Leon late 30s), oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, cum on the reader's thigh, cock warming or not, love marks
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author's note: hello everyone, i'm alive! sorry for not posting anything for a very long time.. well, i was suffering from a terrible artblock? i think that's what it's called.. i'm very, very sorry for that! i'll try to post for you as often as possible, especially since i've been thinking about a few new characters.. but you'll see that in time! enjoy reading <3
Tinder - an ordinary dating app, designed to help people in interpersonal contacts. In fact it was. It has been known for a long time that people through the screen of a phone or laptop were much, much bolder than when talking face to face. Because what guy starts the conversation by sending a picture of his dick, shamelessly asks for a picture of tits or offers a blowjob at the back of his car? It was really, really disgusting.
But for some reason, tinder ended up on your home screen.
Creating an account was very simple. Just like choosing the right photos and creating a good description. However, the stairs began when you had to choose the age group of a potential partner.
You bit your lip. The 30+ option seemed really tempting but for some reason strangely immoral. You were a student and your previous relationships were with boys your age or a year or two older. To be honest, you were bored with it. You were bored being their second mother. You needed someone to take care of you. You and your needs. Who will provide care and call you his good, little girl.
Create an account.
The first few days really surprised you, really. You've never seen so many dicks in your life and learned new, rather strange terms for your pussy. But after a week, a profile appeared in your inbox that caught your attention.
His name was Leon and his profile was almost empty - a short description and two photos, of which only one showed his face and figure. He was handsome, really handsome - medium length, brown hair with a parting on the right. The bangs fell on one side of his face, covering his wild but deep look. Jaw, nicely outlined with a slight beard. His muscular stature made you shiver and his mind began to imagine what he looked like without clothes.
Be my pretty girl.
You wrote almost every day, nothing perverted. He asked how was your day at the university, how you were feeling, if you had dinner. He was nice, just like that. Sometimes he sent photos of him sitting in his apartment, with a glass of whiskey or in some expensive restaurant that you could never afford. You also sent photos - when you were sitting at lectures or drinking coffee during your lunch break. At some point, you moved from the application to SMS, it was much more convenient. A month passed until he finally offered a face-to-face meeting.
You wrote almost every day, nothing perverted. He asked how was your day at the university, how you were feeling, if you had dinner. He was nice, just like that. Sometimes he sent photos of him sitting in his apartment, with a glass of whiskey or in some expensive restaurant that you could never afford. You also sent photos - when you were sitting at lectures or drinking coffee during your lunch break. At some point, you moved from the application to SMS, it was much more convenient. A month passed until he finally offered a face-to-face meeting.
The cafe was quite a trite place but it didn't bother you. You dressed in the prettiest clothes you had in the closet, you did delicate makeup. You looked really pretty - a young girl going to her big man. It was so perverted.. But how exciting.
The cafe he chose was expensive from just looking at it. You pushed the door uncertainly and started looking around the premises in search of Leon. And you found him.
He sat at a small table at the other end of the room. The navy blue shirt perfectly covered his muscles at the sight of which saliva gathered in your mouth.
"Fuck, behave normal." you scolded in your mind, taking the first steps towards him. He was handsome, really handsome. "Hey" you greeted shyly, stopping next to the table "Um, Leon.. Right?â
His blue irises met yours and oh god.. They were the most beautiful eyes you've ever looked into.
"Hey" his smile was even more beautiful. "You look beautiful" pointed to the place opposite him that you obediently took.
"Thank you, you too.. I mean, you look beautiful too.. I mean, you look really hot." what? Your cheeks were burning with live fire. Since when do you talk such nonsense? "I... I'm sorry, d-don't want-"
"Hey hey, calm down." he laughed "It's okay, thank you." the tone of his voice acted strangely on you, as if soothing. "I ordered coffee, caramel cappuccino, right?"
âYeahâ you nodded. You didn't think he would remember.
At first, the conversation didn't really stick, mainly because of your shyness, but it passed. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours. You didn't even notice how it was slowly getting dark outside. Only when the waitress came to inform you about the approaching closing time did you realize how long you had been talking.
Leon offered to escort you. It was cold outside, so he threw his leather jacket on your shoulders. It smelled so good, fresh perfume combined with the scent of deodorant and a slight smell of tobacco. This mixture created a deadly smell that caused your brain to turn off at his words.
Naughty.
"It's here." you stopped in front of the old tenement house where you rented an apartment.
Leon looked first at the building and then at you and smiled sadly. "Then," he came up to you and gently put his face in his big hand, "Thank you for the nice time." he was close, very close and your heart jumped to your throat. "I hope we will do it again soon."
You looked at his lips and tingling appeared in the lower part of the abdomen. "Or maybe.. Will you go upstairs?â You suggested again looking into his eyes "I have good wine.." you bit your lip "Then I'll order a taxi so you don't come back alone."
For the hundredth time today, he gave you this stunning smile "Good wine?"
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His lips were everywhere. They left blood trails on your heated skin. Your hands wandered over his bare back, scratching it lightly as he sucked and bit your already hardened nipples. God, his mouth was even more perfect than you imagined. And the fun was just beginning.
Leon was in no hurry to go anywhere, kissing slowly your skin under your breasts, around your belly button. He only stopped when he reached the beginning of your panties, lifting his head and pawing at you with a questioning look. You only nodded quickly as a sign of agreement and let out a quiet moan when you felt his hot kiss on your still clothed clit.
âI haven't done anything yet, and you're already so wetâŚâ he gasped, grabbing your lacy lingerie with the intention of getting rid of it quickly âSo wet just for me.â
Your panties landed somewhere on the bedroom floor and Leon settled himself comfortably between your legs. He started kissing the inside of your thigh and his stubble scratched you pleasantly, however, when he moved his tongue along your pussy. A moan escaped your lips and your back arched as he began to slowly eat you out. He alternated between licking, sucking and even lightly biting your swollen bud, sending electric inpulses through your entire body. Your moans went from these quiet ones to loud, even pornographic ones. Damn, if Leon could do such things with his mouth, what could he do with his cock.
âYou taste so good princess,â he moaned into your entrance, and immediately after that he inserted his tongue into you.
âF-fuck.â You gasped, tangling your fingers in his brown strands of hair. Your tongue was replaced by his fingers, pumping at a slow pace. He began sucking on your poor clitoris again and your ring finger and index finger slid out, bending in different directions from time to time. This dangerous mixture of sensations began to accumulate a knot in the pit of your body. Your thighs began to tremble slowly and your toes began to flex. âL-Leon. I'm coming.â You gasped tilting your head back.
He only smiled at your pussy, speeding up his movements a bit with his hand. Your lewd sounds made his cock ache and his boxers one hundred percent had a sizable precum stain.
âL-Leon!â the pleasure was getting closer and closer, and when it was about to comeâŚ. You felt the emptiness. The unpleasant cold teasing your wet pussy forced you to open your eyes and raise your head. âW-what. W-why.â your voice stumbled with every word you uttered. Leon smiled mischievously, straightening up. His pupils were huge, almost obscuring that beautiful blue color of his irises. He stared at you wordlessly, like an animal at its prey. âMy little girl wanted to come?â curtly, his tone made you dizzy.
âY-yesâŚâ
âYes what?â he grabbed the elastic band from his gray boxers.
âPlease Leon⌠I-I want⌠I want youâŚâ your head once again fell back onto the pillow beneath you. Watching him slowly undress was torture, something your eyes both craved and refused to desire. âI-I want you inside me".
âGood girl.â His boxers landed next to your panties and he towered over you. Even more heat was beating from him than from you. âReady?â
You didn't even have time to answer. You sucked air into your lungs as the head of his cock began to caress your entrance, only to immediately slide into you up to his balls in one swift motion. The feeling was unearthly, and you swear, if he hadn't blocked your mouth with his own, the whole tenement would surely have heard you. âS-so tight.â groaned Leon leaning his forehead against yours âAre you sure.. Y-you fucked before me?â a quiet, silly laugh echoed in your ears.
âStop talking and fuck me.â you didn't have to repeat yourself. His movements were slow at first. He loved the way your moans drifted out of your open mouth directly into his. How you raised your eyelids every now and then just to look at him for a second. Fuck, he fell for it.
As time passed, the slow pace began to get in the way. His body movements sped up wildly and your pornographic moans and gasps filled the room. So did the sound of your sweaty bodies slapping against each other. âS-so good, fuck.â He hid his head in the hollow of your neck. He felt his own knot of pleasure slowly begin to break.
âI'm coming.â You whispered in his ear, clenching your thighs making him thrust into you even harder and faster. Your mind whirled and your eyes rolled upward under your closed eyelids. You stopped hearing everything that was going on around you, making you completely miss Leon's question about contraception. You were literally a brainless mush that slowly lost itself in the approaching orgasm. âI- I'm coming!â not a second passed. Pleasure took control of your body and the loud cries of Leon's name filled the room. Your trembling thighs slaughtered him even harder and you curled up, sinking your teeth into his shoulder, sobbing quietly.
Leon himself didn't last long. That divine, warm feeling filled his mind and at the last second he slid out of you so that lines of hot cum flew onto your wet thigh. He himself sagged completely, crushing you with his weight. âT-that's my girl.â he purred as your trembling fingers began to massage his scalp. âM-my girl.â
With your other hand, you brushed away the hair stuck to your forehead, finally opening your eyes before which darkness appeared. Your head pulsed with pleasure and a quiet screech echoed in your ears. You felt so good, so damn good. âYou know what?â you began, trying to normalize your breathing.
âHm?â
âIt seems, we forgot about the wine.â
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when it doesnât fit the first time, when youâre tapping out and pushing him away from you by his chest and hissing in pain before he can even get halfway inside you, toji is secretly elated. he plays the part of the concerned boyfriend, immediately pulling out and apologizing profusely, but the thought alone of his cock outsizing your poor pussy, by both length and width, is hotter than ever porn heâs ever watched.
though toji doesnât consider himself a patient man, heâll be patient in this respect. heâll come to your door with a package full of variously sized dildos he ordered himself, smiling as he explains how youâll simply work your way up. work your way up to him.
and though it doesnât quite compare to actually having his dick inside you, itâs still unbearably hot to have you on all fours as he works in a new dildo inside you every night, each bigger than the last. one hand grips the base of the silicone to fuck you with, the other hand jerking himself off in time with the synthetic thrusts. of course even his âartificialâ technique is worthy of the gods, and has you falling apart and moaning his name pathetically much faster than youâd like to admit.
until finally, finally the day comes, after the consistent hard work and patience the both of you have exercised, when itâs finally his cock thatâs positioned at the entrance of your pussy. just that action alone has toji dripping pre - when did he ever get so whipped for your pussy?
itâs still a bit of a struggle, and he has to slowly ease himself in, but even at just the first taste of your tight, wet heat around his desperate cock is fucking heaven, and this time the issue isnât that his cock canât even fit to the base - he came before he could even get that far. fuck.
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this might be my favorite fic now
Blurred Lines


leon kennedy x fem!reader
summary: youâve decided to get intimate for the first time with your boyfriend, and who better to ask for advice than his best friend?
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, kissing, oral sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, p in v, possessive sex, praise kink, cheating/infidelity
wc: 4.4k
a/n: i don't support cheating at all, this idea just would not leave me so erm... i just had to write it
also on ao3!
You might be a little in over your head.
Sure, the entire thing had been your idea, but now that youâre standing outside of Leonâs apartment, duffle bag clutched in hand, you think you mightâve made the wrong decision.
But⌠you did really like your boyfriend.
It was why you were doing all of this after all. You wanted the first time with your new boyfriend to be perfect, especially after your last relationship had practically turned out to be a disaster. The sex hadnât been enjoyable and the heated conversations between you and your ex even more so.
So, who better to ask for advice than your boyfriendâs best friend?
Eyes squeezing shut, you mutter a few words of self-encouragement. The doorbell looks oddly ominous when you open your eyes again.Â
You werenât even sure why Leon had agreed to this entire thing. Heâd always just been there, barely acknowledging your presence at all. All in all, you were convinced Leon hated you. It didnât matter though, you didnât particularly like the man either. Leon was just an unfortunate addition to things you had to endure.Â
An irritated huff of air leaves you and your hand jerks out, your own body having grown tired of your indecisiveness. The doorbell rings promptly and you shift on your feet, biting your lip nervously.
When the door creaks open, you have half the mind to run away. Leonâs gaze keeps you pinned in place however, his bored eyes dipping over you, brows raising slightly when he sees the duffle bag you were holding.Â
âYou were serious about this, huh?â Leon asks, crossing his arms over his chest, peering down at you.
âUh- well,â you begin, tongue feeling heavy, âI- I can just leave,â you laugh awkwardly, âyouâre probably busy and I donât want to bother you and-â
âStop rambling,â he interrupts, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice, âjust get inside.â
Youâre grateful for his timely intervention, nodding rapidly and stepping inside. Taking off your shoes, you place them by the door neatly, not wanting to annoy Leon even more. He motions with his fingers and you follow him in, letting him guide you into his bedroom.
âWhatâs the bag for?â
âOh, I packed a couple of outfits,â you shrug, watching as he sits down on his chair, âthought you might be able to tell me which one would work the best.â
Leon stares at you blankly, his lips pursing.Â
âYouâre fucking weird.â
A sharp scoff leaves you, your eyes narrowing as you glare at the man in front of you. âYou agreed to help me!â
âI didnât think you were being serious,â Leon retorts.Â
You glare at him a little more and he lets out an exasperated sigh, motioning for you to sit down on the edge of his bed. You do as he says, although your movements are begrudging, feeling miffed.
âSo?â He asks, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, âwhat do you want to know?â
âSe- sex stuff,â you reply casually, although your posture betrays you. Itâs difficult to feel comfortable around Leon, his gaze uncomfortably intense and probing. You donât think youâve ever sat with your back this straight for so long before.Â
âWatching porn wouldâve solved that problem for you,â Leon says drily.Â
âYouâre a real asshole, Leon.â
He rolls his eyes at your jab, slouching a little further in his chair, thighs spreading as he gets comfortable. Leonâs fingers tap against the arm-rest, seemingly lost in thought. You couldnât feel anymore awkward, agitatedly playing with your fingers in your lap.
âCanât you just tell me what he likes?â you blurt out, growing desperate, âyou guys talk about that stuff, donât you?â
âI donât understand what the big deal is,â Leon says, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his knees. âJust do what feels natural. Sex isnât supposed to be something you spend weeks worrying about.â
Itâs surprisingly solid adviceâŚbut Leon couldâve told you all of this over text. You cross your arms over your chest, pouting slightly.
âBut what if he doesnât like it?â you mumble, averting your gaze.
âThen heâll tell you,â he says, hands clasping together. Leon gives you another once-over, tilting his head. âGo get changed, letâs see those outfits.â
You nod, tugging your bag into his bathroom and pull on your first outfit. Itâs a pretty dress, flowy and a little short, but youâd figured itâd be a good pick.
âWhat do you think?â
Leonâs eyes flick up to meet yours, silently evaluating the dress. His brows furrow for a moment, something imperceptible passing through his eyes before he shakes his head. A sigh escapes you, but you disappear back into his bathroom obediently to pull on your next outfit.
Leon doesnât like that one. He doesnât like the one after either. Your patience is running thin by the time youâve changed into your fourth outfit, a nice top and skirt. You tuck your hair behind your ears, staring at yourself in the mirror. You look cute, at least from your perspective. You donât understand what he finds so unappealing about your sense of style. Leonâs eyes barely drift over you before heâs shaking his head again.Â
âPass,â Leon drawls, looking bored out of his mind as he slouches in his chair. Irritation festers inside of you, teeth gritting together as Leon simply ignores you, scrolling through his phone.
âThis is cute!â you protest, looking down at the outfit you put together, âI look cute!â
âIf that makes you feel better, then keep telling yourself that,â he replies, not sparing you a second glance.Â
âYouâre the worst!â you snap, stomping back into the bathroom.
Your temper gets the best of you when you scrutinize your irritated reflection, cheeks flushed with anger, the stress of being here with Leon bubbling past your own breaking point. You tug your top off, along with your bra, bathroom door slamming open as you move to stand in front of him, hands on your hips.
âHow about now, asshole?â
Leonâs eyes widen when he sees your bare chest, surprise making his grip on his phone falter, the device falling towards the carpeted floor as he stares at your tits. His jaw seems to go slack, a sharp breath of air getting sucked in as he stares for a bit longer. You glare at him, chest rising and falling, watching as his gaze dips over the curve of your waist.Â
âTheyâre just tits,â he says nonchalantly.
Leonâs expressions betray his true emotions, however. You catch the bob of his throat as he swallows, the subtle clench of his jaw as he stares at your tits. Your eyes dip down between his thighs and a small smile spreads across your face when you spot the bulge forming in his shorts.
âDo you like âem?â you ask, tilting your head.
âWhat?â Leon sputters, his cheeks flushing lightly.
âDo you like âem?â you repeat, taking a step closer, âmy tits, Leon.â
He swallows again, trying and failing to look away from your tits. âTheyâre fine,â he manages out after a moment, ânormal, or whatever.â
That makes a frown pull at your lips. Your head tips down, taking in your own breasts. They werenât anything special, but you thought they looked nice, at least. Embarrassment has your skin crawling, cheeks heating up when you realize how stupidly youâve been acting.Â
You move to turn on your heel, but Leon stops you, his hand curling around your wrist. He tugs you forward, your feet stumbling slightly as he pulls you until you're standing between his spread legs.
âMaybe I should feel them,â Leon offers, peering up at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, âmight- might help me judge a bit better.â
Surprise flits across your face, heat shooting through your body. You really shouldnât let him do this, you shouldnât even have your tits out in the first place but when Leonâs hand lands on your waist, all rational thought seems to leave you.
âOkay,â you whisper, âyou can touch.â
Both of Leonâs hands are on your waist now, sliding upwards. You bite your lip to stifle a whine, back arching to push your chest into his touch when his thumbs brush the underside of your breasts.
Leon lets out a low hum, stroking his thumb over the same place again, staring intently at your hardened nipples. His fingers reach for them, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger as he tugs lightly before letting go, watching as your breasts move at the sensation.
âGonna let me taste âem too?,â he asks, pinching your nipples again before rubbing his thumbs over your areolas.Â
âT- taste?â you echo, feeling your breath catch in your throat when Leon leans forward, his touch growing greedier as he grasps at your tits, squeezing the fat roughly. Your legs shake slightly, little twitches running up through your body and Leon notices, pulling you closer, his hands on the backs of your thighs as he helps you climb up onto his lap.
You can feel how hard he is when your cunt presses up against his clothed cock, a low whine slipping out of you at the feeling. Leon grins, squeezing your breasts a few more times, seemingly taken with tugging your nipples and watching your breasts bounce back into place.Â
âYeah,â he murmurs, âjust let me put my mouth on you, hm?â
A single nod leaves you and Leon takes it as permission to kiss the space between your breasts. Heâs surprisingly gentle with you, peppering soft kisses around your breast and over your nipples. Leonâs tongue lolls out before long, a groan emanating from him as he pulls you flush against him, his hips bucking up into your clothed cunt.
You gasp, fingers settling in his hair, pulling his head closer. Leonâs mouth opens wider, sucking your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking across your nipple harshly as he silently urges your hips to move against him. You do as he wants, grinding against his lap, mewling when he sinks his teeth into the fat of your tit. He switches his attention to your other tit, sucking it into his mouth, pressing his hand into your back to make your chest jut out so that he can get more of you into his mouth.
âDo oh- do you like my tits now, Leon?â you ask breathily.
âYeah, yeah, fuck, yeah,â he mumbles out drunkenly, âlove your tits, baby.â
A light flush covers your cheeks when Leon pulls away, both of your chests rising and falling. He stares up at you, perched on his lap prettily, his hands squeezing at your waist soothingly. Your hazy eyes dip down to his lips, fingers tightening into his shirt as you imagine his lips on yours.
That would make everything all the more real however, so you refrain, simply peering down at him. Leon can see the uncertainty that makes you squirm, the flash of guilt that seems to dim down the spark in your eyes. He doesnât exactly like the situation either, what the two of you are doing, but when your lower lip juts out into a cute, little pout, Leon wonders what mightâve been if heâd gotten to you first.Â
âWe should stop,â he says after a while, fingers tapping the sides of your thighs.Â
âYeah,â you murmur, humiliation flitting across your face, âwe should.â
Leon helps you get off his lap, smoothing his hand over the ruffles in your skirt. Itâs a weirdly considerate action and too out of place for him. You disappear into the bathroom, pulling your top back on. Leon waits for you, his eyes dipping to the bulge in his shorts. Itâs uncomfortable, his half-hard cock straining against the fabric of his boxers.
A heavy sigh leaves him, his hand reaching down to adjust himself before you come out.Â
âThank you for letting me come over,â you mumble as he walks you over to his door.
âDonât mention it,â Leon murmurs, his voice low.
Donât mention it. You know deep down you wonât be mentioning anything to your boyfriend.Â
You go to open the door, but before you can, Leonâs stepping up behind you, his chest pressing into your back as he cages you in against the door. A soft whine spills out of you when he wraps his arms around your waist, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.
âYouâre making things difficult,â he says, voice muffled with how closely heâs pressed his face into your neck.
âI- Iâm leaving,â you retort weakly, managing to get your hand on the doorknob.Â
He hums, pressing one of his hands against the door, keeping it shut.
âLeon,â you sigh exasperatedly, âwe canât. Youâre the one who said we should stop.â
âIf I hadnât said that, would you have stayed?â
The question hangs in the air. Your silence is answer enough. Leonâs mouth on your tits had been more than enough to convince you to stay, the memory of his clothed cock pressed up against your panties making you bite back another whine. His hand has begun to slide to your leg, smoothing up over your skin and under your skirt.
âTell me,â Leon coaxes, his fingers grazing your panties, âwould you have stayed?â
A strangled gasp is your response as he presses the pads of his fingers up against your panties. Leon lets out a low laugh, landing a soft kiss to your neck, his fingers rubbing at your cunt through the fabric of your panties.
Your head tips forward, forehead pressing against the door and mouth opening in a silent moan when Leon rubs faster. He trails kisses down your neck before nuzzling into the crook of it, pressing you against the door harder to grind his cock into your ass.
âCâmon, baby,â he urges again, âI wanna hear you say it.â
âI- I hate you,â you grit out but you rock your hips across his hand anyways, wanting more friction against your pussy.
Leon clicks his tongue, drawing his fingers away.
âNgh- nooo,â you whine, trying to get his hand back to where you want him to touch you, âLeon!â
Itâs too late though, Leonâs already unlatched himself, taking a few steps back to put some space between you two. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts, pursing his lips as he stares down at you.
âYouâre a piece of shit, Leon.â
âYou know, that makes me less inclined to want to touch you.â
âFine,â you say, throwing your hands up, âIâll just do it myself.â
âW- what?â Leon blurts out, gaze fixated on the sway of your hips as you push past him. He watches as you settle down onto his couch, your head tipping back as your hand disappears under your skirt and slips past the band of your panties.
A soft sigh escapes you when you touch yourself, eyes fluttering shut. Youâre wet thanks to Leon, body squirming as your fingers circle your swollen clit to find some relief.Â
âFuck,â Leon hisses, watching as you masturbate on his couch without a care in the world. His cock throbs painfully and heâs dropping to knees before he can stop himself, hands grabbing at your legs.
âNo,â you glare at him when he tries to pull your panties down, swatting his hand away.
âPlease?â he pleads, eyes darkened with lust, âbaby, please? I- I just wanna see.â
ââm not your baby,â you grouse, trying to shove his face away as your fingers slide through your slick folds.
âYou couldâve been,â Leon mutters.
He looks a little bitter and you raise your brows in question. âYou hate me.â
âNo I donât,â he replies, nuzzling into your knee, lips pressing against your skin in a gentle kiss, âI want you.â
âDonât be ridiculous,â you murmur, rolling your eyes when he manages to capture your wrist in his hand, stopping you from pushing him away. A soft gasp escapes you when he curls his arms over your thighs, spreading you open for him.
âBeen wanting to fuck you ever since he brought you âround,â Leon whispers, peppering kisses to your inner thighs, âyouâre so pretty.â
You mewl, hips bucking as he pulls your panties down your legs. Leonâs eyes darken as your fingers move, spreading apart the folds of your pussy so he can get a good look.
âFuck,â he groans, âpussyâs so fucking wet, baby.â
Your fingers run through his soft hair, pulling his head closer. Leon goes more than willingly, his tongue lolling out to lick a stripe up your pussy. He lets out a guttural moan, arms tightening around your thighs, hands disappearing up your top to squeeze at your tits as he all but shoves his face into your cunt.
âYou- oh- you should apologize, Leon,â you whisper, pushing his head away when he tries to suck your clit into his mouth. âYou didnât like any of my outfits and you were mean.â
âAre you serious?â he asks, trying to nuzzle back into your pussy.
You nod, and he groans, half-lidded eyes never straying from your leaking cunt.Â
ââm sorry,â he breathes out, inching closer and managing to land a soft kiss to your aching clit, ââm sorry, okay? I was an asshole and fuck-â Leon shudders, nudging past your hand to kiss your clit again as his eyes meet yours, âI didnât him to want to see you like that, all pretty and dolled up.â
Thereâs a strange fluttering sensation in your chest, heart skipping a beat at his confession. You stare down at him, letting him kiss your clit one more time before you rub your fingers through your folds, pressing your slick fingers against his mouth. Leon moans, mouth opening, sucking your fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them.
âDonât stop,â you mumble when Leon licks your pussy again.
He hums, squeezing at your tits, fingers pinching and tugging at your nipples as he eats you out. Soft mewls spill from your mouth, hips rocking to meet his mouth, back arching to press more of yourself against him.
You jerk in his grasp, an involuntary twitch running through your body when he strokes the pad of his thumb over your clit gently, his tongue burying itself inside of you.Â
âLeon,â you whine, tugging at his hair while your head tips back, ââm close.â
He doubles his efforts when you say that, pinching your nipples roughly as he slurps and sucks at the wetness of your pussy. The sounds are lewd, the soft smack of his lips around your slick folds and aching cunt making you flush.
âTaking my fingers so good,â he whispers, pushing two of his fingers inside of your cunt and cooking them so that they brush against your sensitive spot.
You fist his hair tighter, moans growing louder as he fucks his fingers in and out of you, his mouth latching onto your clit, tongue flicking and stroking across the swollen bud before sucking hard.
âAh!â you squeak out, shoving his face further into your cunt, thighs trapping his face and squeezing tight as you cum, body shuddering and toes digging into his back, âLeon!â
Leon groans into your cunt, taking your orgasm eagerly, sucking and licking at your wetness, drinking it down. He huffs a breath when you try to push his head away, moving your hand away to lick over your pussy despite your twitching thighs and the painful grip you have on his hair.
He pulls away finally with a kiss to your clit, grinning up at you, his eyes hazy with lust. The lower half of his face is wet and Leon licks his lips before leaning towards you, his nose nudging against yours.
âKiss me, sweetheart.â
You whine, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. He stares up at you, lips parted and you lower your head, hesitation and guilt forgotten as you press your lips against his. Leon lets out a contented sigh, his arms wrapping around your waist, lips moving against yours eagerly.
He gets off of his knees and crawls on top of you instead, hips slotting between your thighs. Your legs wrap around his waist, kissing him languidly and gasping into his mouth when he grinds his clothed cock against your bare cunt.
âWant it?â he whispers, trailing kisses down your neck, âwant my cock, baby?â
âWe- we shouldnât,â you whisper weakly, watching as he sits back to pull his shirt up over his head.
You gulp nervously when you see his bare upper half, cunt clenching at the sight of his muscled abdomen and thick biceps. Leon ignores you, his lips slotting over yours again, hand caressing your waist soothingly.
A sigh leaves you, hands smoothing over his shoulders to pull him closer. He stares down at you, panting softly, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.
âYouâre right,â he murmurs.
Neither of you make any moves to detach from each other however, Leonâs hand stroking over your hair as he grunts and rocks his hips against your cunt again.
âJust- shit- just the tip,â Leon offers, groaning when he feels your hands on his chest, âjust the tip, baby.â
You whimper into his mouth when he kisses you again, fingers creeping down to pull at his shorts impatiently.Â
âD- doesnât count if itâs just the tip,â you agree breathlessly, hand wrapping around his fat cock.
âYeah,â Leon says, his voice shaky, âyeah, doesnât hah- doesnât count if it's just the tip.â
Leon mutters out a curse when your thumb swipes over the sensitive head of his cock, kissing you roughly as he grasps his cock, pumping it a few times. You watch, flushed and eager as he presses his cock against your folds, rubbing it against you.
âFeels so fuckinâ good,â he snarls, moving his cock and slapping it the tip of it against your swollen clit, smearing pre-cum across your folds. ââm gonna make you forget about him,â Leon slurs, âgonna make you mine, sweetheart.â
He presses the tip of his cock into you and you whine, clawing at his biceps, feeling the initial stretch of his cock. Leon grunts, his face pressing back into the crook of you neck, fucking you shallowly.
âBet my entire cock would feel good,â he mumbles, kissing your neck, âwouldnât that be nice, baby? My fat cock filling you up?â
âBut- but we canât,â you babble, gasping when he pushes his cock in a little more, âLeon- oh fuck-â
Your words die on your tongue when Leon drives his hips into you, cock filling you up completely. A strangled moan leaves you, head tipping back as you cry out, Leon groaning as he pounds his hips into you.
âTake it, sweetheart,â he grunts, hand smoothing over your hair as he kisses your cheek messily, âdoing so good, made to take my cock, my sweet girl.â
The praise is making your eyes roll to the back of your head, legs tightening around his hips as your nails claw down his back.
âKiss,â you whine, lips parting for Leon, âkiss me.â
Leon lets out a low growl, his lips crashing onto yours, cock dragging in and out of your clenching walls rapidly. The sounds of your skin clapping together fills his apartment, but youâre too cockdrunk, too utterly gone to have any care in the world. All you can think about is his weight on top of your body, his lips dragging across your skin, his cock pounding into you.
âSqueezing me so tight,â Leon moans, âgonna make me cum, baby.â
You nod rapidly, cunt clenching around him as the coil of pleasure in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.
âLeon!â you wail, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, body twitching.
âCum,â he grunts, squeezing your hips tightly, âcâmon baby, cum on my cock. Be a good girl and cream my fucking cock.â
His lips slot over yours and you whimper, kissing him back needily as you shake in his grasp, orgasm racking through you as you cum.Â
âFuck-â Leon whispers, feeling the clench of your cunt around his cock, âbaby, baby, baby.â
His hips stutter, his head falling between your breasts, soft pants filling the air as he cums. Leonâs hot cum floods your pussy, another whimper escaping you as you feel his cock twitch.Â
You both lay there, chests heaving.
âI hate you,â you whisper, running your fingers through his soft hair.
âYeah,â Leon rasps, âI know.â
He kisses you anyways.Â
-
Your boyfriendâs been promoted.
Itâs how you find yourself here, latched onto his arm as he talks with his colleagues with a tight smile on your face. Unfortunately for you, Leon happens to work at the same place which is why you spend most of your time trying to avoid him.
Youâd tried to get out of attending the anniversary dinner, too ashamed and sick to your stomach, but your boyfriend had pleaded with you, which had only made you feel guiltier.
You canât escape Leonâs gaze either. His eyes bore into you no matter where you go in the spacious venue and it gets to the point where youâre telling your boyfriend that you need to get some fresh air. Thereâs a fire escape and you take your chance, pushing past the heavy door to suck in a deep breath of the cool night air. The expanse of the city lies out before you, buildings lit up and roads bustling with traffic. You rub your aching temples, eyes squeezing shut.Â
Unfortunately, you donât get to cool down for long, not when Leonâs joining you. He looks as handsome as ever, especially in a suit, his hair combed back neatly.
âHey, sweetheart.â
âGo fuck yourself, Leon,â you hiss out, pointing your finger at him accusingly.
A lazy grins spreads across his face, his arm curling around your waist to pull you flush against him. Your hands land against his chest, breath hitching when he lowers his head, the tip of his nose brushing yours.
âFuck me yourself, hm?â
You end up bent over the railing with Leonâs fat cock stuffed inside of you. He grips your hips roughly, groans as you cry out into the night, peppers kisses over your shoulder and shoves his fingers into your mouth while he whispers sweet nothings to you.Â
âYouâre my girl.â
#leon kennedy smut#life changing#amazing fic#leon kennedy x reader#resident evil smut#leon kennedy x you#resident evil#leon kennedy#i love him#i need him#fanfiction#why cant this be real#please you dont get it
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i always liked the older versions of Leon, but this is another level omgf if i had him in front of me i would suck him until my knees bleed đ
cr: anglehands on x âšđš
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the first time you bring gojo home to fuck, heâs like a kid in a candy store. heâs touching everything but you, which was the point of him being there in the first place.
âdonât touch that,â is said more often than not, because he keeps taking things off shelves and peeking into your drawers as he looks around.
even when you do get to kissing and touching on eachother, he canât decide on which room he wants to take you in. he likes your bathroom, wants to test out your kitchen counter, appreciates the scents in your laundry room, needs to test out that couch⌠the back garden looks fun, and heâs not-so-secretly itching for the neighbours to peer in and see you take his cock to the base on that pretty sun lounger youâve got outside.
you manage to get him to settle on the bedroom, though, which was a mistake because heâs already trying to get into your panty drawer for a souvenir. peeking under your bed to try and find where you keep those pretty little toys he knows you fuck yourself with when youâre thinking of him.
âjust fuck me,â you have to plead with him, which you never thought youâd need to do with satoru of all people.
and of course he obliges, because heâs as starved as you are ravenous, but when heâs taking you from behind on that squeaky mattress of yours, balls slapping against your clit with every thrust of his cock inside of you, he leans over your tight body and hips at your earlobe before speaking.
âi love your place, baby, donât get me wrong butâŚâ he fucks you so deep you can hardly hear him right. â⌠âs not good enough for you. need to keep your stuff at mine, hm? move in with me.â
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resenting
why would you show me what happiness could be just to rip it out my pleading hands? you wave it in front of me, taunting me with something i can never have, but keeping it just close enough that i forget sometimes i can't have it. i try reaching out, to no avail, and in doing so, i have made a fool of myself.
each passing day i am reminded of my decisions, and my regret and self resentment gnaws at my insides. i regret not doing more, i regret not trying, realizing how much you mean to me. it's not mine, yet it feels so frustratingly close.
#poetry#resentment#regret#why did i write this#why do i do this to myself#end it already#anyways#poem#original poem#poetic#not really#vent post#rant post#poets on tumblr#what is writing#writing#writers on tumblr#female writers#writers and poets#writerscommunity#sigh
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I LOVE HIM âšď¸âšď¸âšď¸
⸠ask: âHey! How about âone more kiss, pleaseâ from the prompt list for Jayce. I just need him desperately yearning for readerâ â ⸠pairing: jayce talis x gn!reader ⸠word count: 1.3k ⸠tags: mdni! fluff, kissing, yearning, mutual pining, gender-neutral reader, no mention of y/n. ⸠notes: tysm for asking! ask came from this prompt!
You couldnât count on ten fingers how many nights you dreamt of Jayce Talis, the Man of Progress himself. The image of him rattled through your mind at every waking hour, that stupid smile you always wanted to wipe from his lips with your own.Â
What you hadnât known was how he reciprocated the sentiment. Jayce would find you at your workstation, dirt on your face and welding goggles on as you carefully put together pieces that would host the hextech gemstones for further research. You had become a treasure to him, someone he could rely on when his days were busy, which were more often than not.
There were plenty of times you hadnât been aware of his presence, he would stand in the doorway watching you work. Hearts for eyes and forcing himself to turn away before his heart ached too much, knowing that you werenât his.
He yearned for you each day, staying up into the late hours, wondering if you felt the same.
How could you? You were tooâŚperfect.Â
It was the night of one of Piltoverâs illustrious charity events that brought in only the richest of citizens. Any and all who put in their well-earned money for the academy, and you, had been invited by Jayce himself. Viktor had decided against it, not so much inclined to spend his night at another event when he could be spending his evening in the lab with Sky.
So, you took his spot â and you did not belong.
With your hand wrapped around an empty glass which once held a darkened liquor, you stood off to the side in the large area that had been decorated so elegantly. The tunes of the live music and sounds of chatter filled your ears, eyes looking amongst the swarm of rich Piltovians sharing conversation about gods knows what.
Jayce had been everywhere and nowhere, the Golden Boy was easily the most important icon of the evening. Everyone wanted to talk with him, ask about his research and his plans for improvement of the city.Â
It was irritating to be stuck alone, but at least the invitation filled your stomach with top-shelf food and liquor you wouldnât be able to afford yourself.
There Jayce stood amongst a group of rich folk, eating him up, just like you knew they would. He was surrounded, a big smile on his lips as he moved his way through each conversation with his natural knack of charisma. You wondered what he was talking about, watching his lips move as he spoke so goddamn passionately, hands flying with each word.Â
His eyes connected with yours at one point, lingering on you for a quick moment with that stupid smile, before his attention was enraptured by another generous donor.
After a few more minutes of watching, you gave up. There was nothing else for you here.
Footsteps clicked along the surface of the tiled floors, the empty halls more inviting than the gala ever was. Your fingers dragged along the surface of the brick walls, the liquor having left you in just the perfect amount of bliss as you made your way home, knowing you could sleep the next day away.
âHey!â A voice called from behind you, startling you with a soft gasp.
You snapped your head around, eyes widening when they settled on Jayce hurrying down the hall behind you. He wore a smile, wearing too fancy of clothing to be chasing you down.
âWhy are you leaving?â He asked once he reached a few steps away of you, breathing a bit heavy, âSorry⌠out of breath,â he chuckled through deep inhales, âI didnât think Iâd catch up to you.â
The thumping of your heart against your rib cage didnât go unnoticed, stilled in silence over the fact that he chased after you. A tiny smile spread across your lips.
âItâs not really my style,â you finally replied, hands landing on your hips, âwhy do you care if I leave?â
âWhy do I care?â Jayceâs eyebrows furrowed together, âbecause I invited you here. I⌠I want you here.â
You hated how sweet he was.
âYouâre a busy man, Jayce,â you smiled, offering a slight shake of your head as you stepped toward him, better seeing him under the dim lighting of the empty hallways, âIâm not too fond of just standing around watching you get swarmed by every wealthy person from Piltover. As inviting as that sounds.â
He snorted out a laugh, eyes watching you closely as you stepped directly below one of the overhanging lights. It illuminated your features perfectly, made you appear like a glowing angel.
âSo, youâre just going to leave me here by myself?â He asked, those big eyes of his making you want to melt right into the floor beneath you.
You laughed in disbelief, raising an eyebrow, âyouâre not alone.â
âBut I want you here,â he was adamant, eyebrows furrowing again, âcome on. Itâs not that bad.â
âYouâre annoying,â you groaned, trying to act like this was worse than it was. You had a flair for the dramatics when you needed to pull something out from your sleeve, âIâll see you tomorrow anyway, itâs fine,â you brushed him off with a wave of your hand, âplus, youâre going to be busy all night, so if I stay, Iâll end up getting drunk by myself and thatâs never turned out well for me.â
Jayceâs eyes flickered over your face, studying your expression carefully. Neither of you had realized how close you had gotten, close enough that he could tuck back some of your hair behind your ear. The movement of his hand made you both tense up, a fleeting touch that he hadnât realized heâd done. Fingers brushed against the shell of your ear as he pulled his hand away, redness tinting his cheeks.
âOh, uhââ he forced out an awkward laugh, eyes now looking anywhere other than your face, âyou had some hair⌠in your face.â
Lips parted, but you couldnât speak. His touched left you stunned in place, eyes big as you watched him. You watched as his eyes focused somewhere along the walls, hands balling into tense fists and teeth biting at his lower lip.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or the late hour of the night, but you hadnât the slightest care in the world anymore. All you wanted was Jayce, and it was his fault that he made you feel this way, so you were going to pull him into the mess that was you.
Even if it ruined the friendship you worked so hard to maintain, all these years.
His amber eyes landed back on you when he felt your hands reaching to his cheeks, cupping his face oh-so delicately. They widened as he watched you lean closer, noticing the way your gaze flickered down to his lips heâd been habitually chewing on all evening.
Jayceâs heart fluttered, and he acted on what felt right. Meeting you halfway and sighing when your lips touched after years of imagining what this would feel like.Â
Both hands reached out for you, resting on your waist as he pressed forward. The kiss developed slowly, lips moving together a bit clumsily as your patience wore thin. Hands explored each other, touching hips and shoulders, and your tongue slipped from between your lips, and thatâs when you froze.
âFuck,â you whispered as you pulled back, taking a slight step away, âsorryââ
âNo, donât,â he whispered, closing the distance with a forward step until your chests were pressed together. He stared deep into your eyes, his own full of love as his gaze continued to flicker down to your lips that he needed to taste again, âone more kiss⌠please.â
You smiled like an idiot.
âJust one more,â you murmured, rolling your eyes affectionately, before he pulled you back into another kiss that took the breath from your lungs.
Jayce would be the death of you.
#jayce talis x reader#jayce x reader#jayce talis#jayce talis x you#jayce x you#arcane x reader#arcane x you#jayce arcane#wordsbyspatial#spatialanswers#i love this fic#i love him#please you dont get it#i need him
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please i love him đ
WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S NO BARRET X READER CONTENT ON TUMBLR--
#barret x reader#ff7 barret wallace x reader#barret wallace x reader#ff7 x reader#barret x reader ff7#ff7 barret x reader#barret#barret ff7#barret wallace#final fantasy vii#final fantasy#final fantasy 7
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in love with the face holy
in honor of golden cheese cookie saving some of the kulfi in the new beast yeast episode i sketched her in that one scene from batman vs superman!!!
kind of my first time posting my art on tumblr so iâm a little nervous but i hope everyone who sees enjoys!!


#artists on tumblr#artist#small artist#digital artist#anyway woo!!!!! jelly art!!!#golden cheese cookie#golden cheese crk#cookie run#cookie run kingdom#crk art#crk#crk fanart#art wip#wip#current wip
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i'm becoming obsessed
Sexy F*cking Nerd
Dean Winchester x F!Reader
Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.
Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)
MDNI! 18+
Word Count: 5688
A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.
âWellâŚâ Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.
âWellâŚ?â My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.
â...This is⌠nice?â His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.
âSeriously?â A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.
âNo of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.â
âYou got that right,â I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that weâd come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.
âWhen's Sam back?â I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.
âUuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.â
âUgghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,â I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.
âIt's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.â
I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.
âLook,â I collected myself, âyou didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.â
âYeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?â
I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.
âIt's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,â I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.
Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.
âWanna get some lunch?â He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.
âFuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,â I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.
âNow you're speaking my language.â
*
The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.
âWhat?â His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:
âWhere do you put all of that?â
âPut what?â
âThe food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?â
He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.
âGoes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,â he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.
âYeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.â
âHow would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.â
âI know, and I plan to keep it that way.â
He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.
âHey, (Y/n)?â My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.
âWhat's up?â
âWhat were you like in college?â
I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.
âWhat do you wanna know?â
Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.
âI'm not asking to be weird, I just-â he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, âthe way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?â
I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.
âDean,â I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. âSam wouldn't be able to describe me.â
My words brought a small smirk to his lips.
âYou were that hot, huh?â
âWhat the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- â I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.
âI was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.â
âLone wolf?â
âBingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.â
âOh⌠what changed?,â Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.
âThe only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,â I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.
âHey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?â
I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.
âWhat am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.â
âEven you?â
For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.
âI don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,â I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.
âCome on, let's get to the library before it closes,â I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.
âLead the way nerd.â
I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.
*
The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.
The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.
âIt has to be the boots,â Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.
âEither the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,â I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.
âI'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,â I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.
âWhat are you looking fo-â he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.
âWhat?â My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat
âI uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,â I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.
âIs there a problem with that?â
âNo! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-â
âDean?â
âYeah?â
âShut up.â
âSorry.â
I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.
âThe guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that soundâŚâ my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.
âEarth to Dean?â
He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.
âSo how long have you worn glasses?â
âIâve always worn them,â I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.
âWhat?! No way, I wouldâve noticed,â He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.
â I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know Iâm going to be around a lot of people as I donât particularly like how they look.â
Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didnât want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like Iâd been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.
âDean-â
â(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,â a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:
âMaybe I will.â
He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldnât stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.
The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book weâd checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress weâd made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that heâd had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and Iâd almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.
âCan you not do that? I canât concentrate when you do that.â
âDo what?â Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.
âThat.â
âWhat?â
âThat. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.â
The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things Iâd imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places Iâd imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.
âIt doesnât help that youâve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart youâre driving me insane.â His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.
â(Y/n)-â
âDean,â I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, âyouâre a smart boy - you know I wouldnât do something I didnât want to do. So please, donât say I donât have to do this.â
Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.
âFuckâŚâ
I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock Iâd literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat.Â
âOh FUCK.â
His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. Heâd lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.
âShit, (Y/n), I didnât know you could suck cock, like, at all⌠howâre you sâfuckinâ goodâŚâ his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small âpopâ, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.
âDespite everything I told you earlier, Dean, Iâm not a virgin - and this certainly isnât my first rodeo,â my voice came out more sultry than Iâd expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.
âFuck, I wish Iâd known that sooner,â I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence Iâd never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell heâd somehow put me under wouldnât let me look away.Â
âIf you keep going like that darlinâ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,â his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine.Â
Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasnât at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker.Â
The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour.Â
âI guess you can forget about that whole ânever seeing me shirtlessâ thing, huh?â he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor.Â
âShut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-â
Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision.Â
âOh yeah? You want me to fuck you?â Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.
âY-yes- fuck- please,â my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.
âWhat dâya think youâre doing?â straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.
âI was just-â
âThe glasses stay on.â
âTo the end?â
ââTil I say you can take them off.â
I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.
âI canât wait any longer now that youâve looked at me like that. Fuck.â
With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything Iâd ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity heâd curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.
âFuck (Y/n)- Youâre so fuckinâ tight-â
I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.
âOh yeah? Well I feel like youâre cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-â
He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.
Dean.
He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One⌠two⌠three more fervid thrusts and the peak heâd helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him.Â
âOh shit- (Y/n) I canât- fuck-â
I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria.Â
The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.
âYou know that this mess is all your fault, right?â
I scoffed.
âMy fault? How is it my fault?â
âBecause, sweetheartâŚâ he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.
âYou put on on those fucking glasses.â
--------------------------------------------------
Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung
#dean winchester#dean winchester smut#dean x y/n#dean x you#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean x female!reader#dean x reader#dean winchester x reader smut#dean winchester x you smut#i need him#one chance#god#he's so gorgeous
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