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[yeyinde]

You want a baby. Simon can't get over his hangups to give you one. The solution to both problems? Johnny.

18+ SMUT. breeding. mildly dubious consent. Johnny feasts on your pussy and then does his best to knock you up while Simon watches. slight body worship. bastardization of religious imagery. Mean!Dom Simon. rough, messy sex.

He's not the type to saw off his own hand to feed you, but would rather find a third man to satiate you both. The only one who can care for you, he said. Can't do that when he's dead, can he?

Maybe that's why he calls for Johnny.

down boy. eager mutt. lil' pyedogs got himself all twisted up in a rutt. help him, won't you, pet?

Johnny's softer than Simon but only just. This margin of distance, however, could be the gaping maw of a canyon for how wide it really is when scaled down to fit. Boxed inside a narrow bed—on your belly, cheek on Simon's knee; ass up, legs spread. Johnny behind you—colluvium to Simon's mountainside, but still so broad, so thick, your hips twinge with the effort of keeping your knees so wide apart.

You feel it whistling through the chasm when he licks his lips behind you—a loud, lascivious smack, a wet suckle—and feel the burn of his stare riveted on the split of your flesh. This bare seam Simon swears he found nirvana tucked deep inside of. A buried ravine. Aquifer he quenches himself on.

A pilgrimage Johnny has been aching to take.

And that's what this is, isn't it? Yatra to the hidden piscina. A procession to pollute the tarn—something Simon can't bring himself to do.

Bad genes. Trauma—sticky, noxious tar that oozes from the rotting filaments; festering deep inside. Cancerous: a mass you long to cleave from bone but know it's not cosmetic. Not just the ball joints, or the studs, but the foundation itself. If you start tearing up pieces now you'll have nothing but an empty plot and a pile of damaged debris.

So:

Enter the third man.

A tool. Vassel. Pays fealty by fucking a baby into your womb.

It's what you wanted, isn't it?

(yes, but—)

It happens faster than you can keep up with. Hands on your hips. Coarse hair tickling the back of your thigh. Warm breath against sticky, wet flesh. A broad nose parting your folds. Inhale. Exhale on a deep, reedy groan.

"fuck, ye smell heavenly, doe."

Simon hums before you can peel your tongue from the roof of your mouth, answering for you with a brassy invitation: tastes even better, Johnny.

It's all the permission he needs before he pushes his head closer to your bare cunt, groaning as his tongue cleaves a silky, thick line between your folds. Gorging himself without much preamble. Hands curled around your hips like expensive silverware, pulling you back into the wanting, eager suck of his mouth.

All at once, it's too much. Your hips shift, squirming away from his tongue, the too-sharp press of his teeth against soft, sensitive flesh. Mewling, whimpering into the rain-wet fabric of Simon's jeans.

His hand falls on your head. A gentle tap. Behave, it says, but you can't.

Johnny tramples over that thin line between pleasure and ecstasy, blurring them both until it becomes pain. Overwhelming. Shoving you towards the edge before you've readied yourself for the fall.

"Can't, Simon, can't—"

The words elide, slurring into a high-pitched whine as Johnny feasts on your cunt. Devours you from the inside out—all teeth and tongue, sucking your clit until your thighs cramp from how tight your muscles tense, bleeding lactic acid over sore flesh. The scrape of his stubble over your folds, chafing them until they are raw. Swollen. Drenched hole fucked with the spear of his tongue, digging so deep you begin to fear that he's trying to crawl inside of you. Salt your womb with his own two hands—

"Can take it, birdie," is all Simon says before his hand slides down your arched, trembling spine. Fingers digging into the meat of your cheek, spreading you wider for Johnny to eat. "Look how eager he is. Can't get enough of that sweet cunt."

"It's—it's too much—"

You don't feel him move. Can't see much from the blurry tears in your eyes. But his other hand whips out, cracking over your untouched cheek in a firm, burning smack. One that makes Johnny moan when it lands. Cruel. Open palm. Hard enough to leave a welt in the shape of his hand—something that makes him groan when he sees it.

"fuckin' hell—" his fingers dig into the aching flesh, grip bruising.

Johnny peels his wet, open mouth away long enough to pant into the slick spread of your cunt, resting his cheek on the swell of your ass. "Bit rough wit' 'er, Lt."

Simon considers it. Body shaking the bed when he shrugs, leaning back to trail his hand back up your spine, curling over the arch of your nape. Keeping you still as you sob into his knee. "She likes it."

"know she does. Fuck, Lt. Can feel 'er little pussy twitching. Tryin' tae suck me in."

Another hum. The grip on your asscheek eases as his hand peels away, sliding over swell before notching a finger between your cleft. Dry. Rough. It drags down your seam until it brushes over your fluttering hole, calloused tip digging in.

"soft, too, ain't it?" He asks, words mockingly cruel in their conversational tone. Nonchalant. But Johnny's hands tighten on your waist, palms slick with sweat. Glueing to your flesh. You can tell he likes that. Likes the way Simon talks about you. Demeaning and brutish. Butcher selling a piece of meat. "Bit of a tight fit at first—" he curls his finger inside of you, stretching your sore walls with the width of his knuckle. Sinking in deep. Another follows before you can remember how to breathe around the sting. "But swallows you up like a goddamn dream, Johnny."

His breaths grow ragged. "Fuck, Lt. Look at th'."

It makes you clench up around Simon's fingers, embarrassment scorching through your chest. "Please—"

Neither of them acknowledge you. Simon's fingers split, spreading wide apart as Johnny shuffles forward for a closer look, and nearly choking on his next inhale when he does.

"such a pretty fuckin' pussy—" he says it like a curse. Spitting the words out on a snarl. Angry, now, for reasons you can't discern slobbering over Simon's leg. "God, Lt. ah cannae—"

Johnny shifts back. You hear the clink of a belt. The rip of a zipper. Choked groans barely swallowed down as Simon buries his fingers inside of your weeping cunt over and over again, blunt tips cruelly skating over a spot inside, just behind your navel, that makes you feel liquid and loose between your hips. Debris floating down a whiteriver.

Pleasure peaks with each brutal thrust until you're howling into his leg, unable to move with their hands on your body, holding you down. Making you take it. Making you come undone as Johnny watches.

"fuck, fuck, Lt—she's gonna cum, ain't she?"

"Wanna feel it, Johnny?"

Simon's name falls out of his mouth on a whispered prayer. Drenched in thick reverence. Arched in need.

"aye, sir—" there's something about the hush of his voice, the way it slurs into putty. Enshrining his need in a halo of gold. It sends shivers down your spine. Heats you up fast like a fever. Sends you screaming over the edge—

"gonna miss it, Johnny. She's squeezin' me so fuckin' tight—"

Whatever else they say is swallowed by the keen clawing at the hollow of your throat when you feel the blunt, fat press of his cock knocking against your swollen, stuffed rim.

It's a burning thing—a sharp, heavy ache. Knock, knock. Simon spreads his fingers again, forcing you open. Pulling your hole wide apart for Johnny's engorged head to push up against.

It feels like being split down the middle. Ripped apart. Simon's fingers flex around your nape, thumb brushing soothingly against the knob of your spine.

Can take it, he mutters, brassy and low. A rumble just for you. Gotta take it, birdie.

You forget why. Why you need Johnny's too big, too fat cock inside of your cunt until the head bullies through, scissoring Simon's fingers apart until they're pressed tight on either side of the flared glands. Squeezed between your taut rim and Johnny's cock.

Johnny makes a noise like you've gutted him. A gutwrenching sob. "Oh, shite, Lt. M'—m'nae gonnae last—"

"gonna cum inside 'er, Johnny? Knock my pretty birdie up?"

Right. Right. A baby.

There's a heavy push. Your flesh wrenched apart to fit the fat, throbbing length of his cock—

(the cock that's gonna knock you up—)

Simon's fingers slip out of you as Johnny bucks forward, burying himself deep inside with a long, throaty groan. It's a horrible sensation—a bellyache. Without the splint of Simon's fingers forcing you open wide to near numbness, you're forced to feel the thick girth of his cock. Rim fluttering, spasming over the flared base. Too much, and somehow, not enough.

You sob through it. Each one ripples through your chest until it feels like it will collapse. Every inch of your body burns, throbbing. You don't think you'll survive this ache—

Johnny sets a brutal pace. Likes pistoning into you in quick succession until you're nearly howling into Simon's thigh before slowing to a crawl. Force-feeding you every inch. Making you feel every single one. Long strokes that batter the plug of your womb, bullying against the aching seal of your cervix until the flashes of pain, the savagery of this pleasure, makes you feel sick.

Getting fucked by Johnny like this is both a punishment and a reward. Baptism in hellfire.

Be careful what you wish for—

"gonnae fuck ye 'til it takes, doe. Knock ye up. Want th', don't ye? Aye. Can feel it. Feel this little cunt beggin' fer ma cum. Dinnae worry. Ahm gonnae give it tae ye. A' o' it, doe. Every—fuckin'—drop—"

Each awful word lands like acid on your spine. Chewing through flesh, tissue, until it melts bone below. Liquified. Helpless.

And with Johnny's hands on your hips, anchoring you in place as he hammers into your sore, abused pussy, possessed with the need to carve a space inside of your flesh where only he fits, rots, and Simon's hand on the scruff of your neck, holding you down, there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to escape the ragged breaths that spill from Johnny's slick mouth, the desperate way he pumps into you—thrusts growing sloppy as he stretches towards the precipice they dangle you off of, kicking and screaming as the scent of iron fills your nose, as his flared cockhead scrapes over that place you thought only Simon would ever know. Bluntly battering into the altar that sits, nestled behind your navel, like he's allowed.

Holy offering in a handful of seeds he'll sow over fecund land until something grows.

"Look at you take it," Simon coos, sticky, damp fingers petting over your tear-stained cheeks. It smells of loam. Salt. Iron and ozone. "So pretty when you're gettin' bred, ain't you, birdie?"

It rips a mournful keen from your chest, a feverish moan following on its heels when the lewd squelch, the echoing slapslapslap of Johnny driving into your cunt fills your ears. So wet, so messy, you can feel the slick drying, tacky and thick, on the inner crease of your bent knee.

"He's gonna put our baby in you, ain't he, birdie? Like a good mutt—"

The hands holding you over the precipice let go. Johnny's answering moan spears into your head, fluttering around the pulsing heartbeat of liquid bliss frothing in the pit of your belly. Overflowing over the rim.

Too much, you think, but that's not quite right because you can't feel anything at all except the length of his thick cock lodged deep inside you. Throbbing in tandem with your second pulse.

"gonnae cum, Lt. Gonnae—oh, fuck, Lt—"

His voice is a warm river washing over your spine. Pooling ecstacy. Something heavenly. Divine—

Molten gold blooms in the pit of your belly. Cockhead spitting against the seal of your womb as he cums, filling you to the brim. Fucking it into you even as his cock softens, unable to pull out he says.

Feels like fuckin' heaven, Lt.

"ain't she just?" Simon volleys back, sounding oddly dissonant. Off-key. "Pretty little birdie got what she wanted, huh?"

The drawl of his tone—acid-scorched, electric—forces you to blink through the tears, lifting your aching, wet eyes upwards at him. Searching.

He has the eyes of a predator. Leonine. The gaze of a beast after it's devoured something whole. His touch is as gentle as he can be—a rough, cracked scratch over your blistered cheeks—and when he meets your divining stare, he coos.

"Maybe I'll 'ave a go next time."

In the pounding, soporific slurry of your mind, you can't wrap your head around the words. Can't make sense of them. Struggling to keep your burning eyes open, even.

Not that it matters.

Johnny huffs a scorching breath of laughter over your sweat-slicked spine before wedging his forearm under your belly. Keeping your hips tipped up as he falls into you, resting his broad chest against your back and smothering you into the damp mattress.

"Yer cruel, Lt," he rasps, chin nuzzling over the arch of your shoulder, cock giving a feeble twitch inside of you at something you can't seem to piece together.

"m'jus' givin' my pretty bird exactly what she asked for." Huh? He prods, fingers tapping over your cheek when your swollen eyes slide shut. "Forgettin' y'manners, ain't you? Say thank you, pet."

With Johnny's half-formed chuckle echoing in your head, you mumble the words out on an exhausted sigh.

"an' say thank you to this mutt f'knockin' you up."

It comes out slower this time. Sluggish. His cock gives another twitch as he buries his face between your shoulder blades, smothering a groan.

"Sweetest thing, Lt. Christ—"

"more where that came from, Johnny. Jus' you wait an' see." Another tap. You mewl in response, feeling war-torn and achy. Unable to open your eyes for a second time, all you can do is whimper, burying yourself into his thigh. Pleading, silently, for clemency. Later, you think. Later—

But Simon has other plans.

"Fallin' asleep on me, birdie? Ain't even gonna give me a chance to put my baby in you? Greedy little thing, ain't she?"

Buried under the weight of Johnny as he peppers sucking, open mouth kisses over the width of your shoulder, cum leaking out around the softening plug of his cock, all you can do is snuff out the sob on the arch of his knee, resisting the urge to bite instead.

"Maybe next time then, eh, birdie?" Since you've been so good for this mutt, huh? Maybe I'll give you a reward.

Just be careful what you wish for, huh, birdie.

[rumplereids]

kiss, kiss, fall in love.

tags: spencer reid x reader. making out. clothed grinding. what glasses!spencer deserved. a/n: i love whenever the camera angle shows just how FUCKED mgg’s eyesight is lmfao there are some scenes of glasses!spencer where you can see how thick the lenses are… i love him requested?: yep ! thank u so much for the request <3 masterlist. requests are open !

Working as a Technical Analyst for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit had its pros and cons. Having your own office was definitely a huge perk. He was only supposed to drop off your daily bagel and coffee. It was an act of service that your beloved boyfriend liked to indulge in. He was only here to make sure you’d eaten breakfast.

Like a ritual, he leans over your shoulder, your cheek turned toward him like second nature, as he gives you a soft, shy kiss.

“Thank you, darling.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs against your cheek, nose digging against your temple he breathes in the scent of you.

Without removing your eyes from your screen, you reach a hand up to give his cheek and jaw a loving caress. Curious fingers brush against plastic frames. You turn your attention to him in awe, “You’re wearing your glasses today!”

“Mhm,” he brings a finger up to fix his frames, almost bashful. “Ran out of contact solution.”

You take his face into your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I love your glasses. You look so handsome, so beautiful.” You grin at the way his cheeks redden.

“Gimme a kiss?”

He eagerly dives in for one. A hand moves to cup the back of your head, tender in his affections. He lavishes attention on your top lip, moans, and then moves his focus to your lower lip. His tongue shy in the heat of your mouth. Spencer lets out another little moan, the sound of his near whimper making you stand.

From cheek to shoulder, you rub your thumb on his skin. You push him down onto the chair, his legs parting on instinct to make place for you. Knees digging against his thigh and hips, you make yourself comfortable on your throne.

“You’re so pretty,” he says up to you. Spencer’s lips are swollen and red, glistening with spit. His eyes are watery and hazy, his glasses fogged from the breath shared between you. His big hands grip your hips so tight you’re sure he’d wrinkle the blouse you picked for the day.

You bend down for another kiss, pressing your hips down at Spencer’s plea. He guides your hips down against his lap, you feel the zipper of his slacks press against the heat of your core. You’re wet, the room is hot, and Spencer’s mouth and tongue move to nip and kiss and lick along your chin and jaw.

As you grind down against his growing bulge, Spencer’s hands move to untuck your blouse from your pants. Gentle hands and curious fingers move beneath the fabric to feel your heated skin against his palm.

A commotion outside your office makes you stop the grind of your hips.

Spencer turns his head to the left, parting his lips from yours, a string of spit keeping you connected. With your foreheads pressed against each other, you put an ear out to listen on the other side of the door. You think you hear the familiar clicks and clacks of Penelope’s heels.

“I think I need to go,” Spencer sounds disappointed. You press a kiss on the corner of his lips.

Running your hands through his hair, you sigh. “Yeah, probably.”

He smiles up at you, eyes heavy-lidded in ecstasy, hands still caressing the skin of your hips.

He loves the feel of your hand in his hair. He loves the soft kiss you give the tip of his nose. He loves the way you fix his glasses, crooked and fogged up from the heat of your kisses. He loves you, and you love him. He feels it now as you smooth down the front of his button-up shirt.

You slowly stand from your place on his lap, fixing your pants that had ridden up and bunched at your thighs from your little session. You notice Spencer doing the same to his own.

He sniffs, standing, two fingers pushing his glasses more firmly up the bridge of his nose.

“One last kiss?”

You smile at his request, finger and thumb reaching forward to pinch his nose.

“You’re so cute.”

He taps his cheek twice in response.

[mattsmedusa]

✎ 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✮ 𝐜.𝐬 𝐰𝐜. 𝟏.𝟐𝐤 [𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭]

your boyfriend, chris, loved hearing your sweet noises of pleasure. he would do anything to hear you moan his name in that breathy tone, all drunk on his cock no matter where you were. he didn’t mind how loud you got, it only brought him more pleasure. well, you weren’t usually that loud in bed, you knew you’d get a noise complaint if you let your voice out completely, but you can’t really keep quiet when all he does is try to make you moan even louder.

"o—h, chris," you sighed shakily, your head thrown back in ecstasy as he slowly pushed inside. chris groaned lowly when he bottomed out, feeling your velvety walls pulse around his cock. he leaned down and nuzzled in your neck, his hands caressing your sides as he started to move. "y’feel so good baby, so fuckin’ beautiful," he murmured against your neck, kissing and nipping on the skin there.

chris being chris, with his hyper fixation with your moans, groaned in pleasure when he heard you moan so delicately, but he didn't want you to moan softly—he wanted you to scream his name. he wanted the whole neighborhood to know who was fucking you so good, who was making you feel so good. your eyes rolled back briefly when he started to pound into you, the tip of his cock mercilessly slamming into your cervix.

your eyes closed shut, eyebrows knitted together and back arching as profanities left your parted lips along with louder moans. chris relished in them. a shudder went down his spine when he heard you moan his name loudly when he hit a particularly spongy spot. he knew what he was hitting, he knew your body inside and out, after all.

"oh, did I find your sweet spot ma?" he cooed, tauntingly, before slamming hard into that spot again – purposely this time, making your back arch more, hands scrambling up to grip onto his forearms that held your hips in place on the bed. your whole body shuddered and trembled as he kept slamming precisely into your g-spot with a relentless pace, your moans nothing short of pornographic.

chris let out shaky low moans as he heard your sounds grow louder, his fingers working deftly on your puffy slippery clit, bringing you closer and closer to something earth-shattering. your eyes teared up in pleasure, already so fucked to say anything except "harder" and "faster". what could he do other than give you what you wanted? after all, he wanted it as much as your needy self.

the bedframe slammed against the wall in rhythm with his pounding, the bed creaking with each movement. your body rose up the bed with each thrust, making chris groan in annoyance. he wanted your body to stay still so he could fuck you harder just like you wanted, but with the way your body was bouncing it was near impossible, and so, he quickly thought of a solution.

you whined when he suddenly stopped and pulled out, "all fours, ass up, face down." he ordered, his voice breathless with unfulfilled desire and exertion. chris watched as you scrambled into position, presenting your backside to him, your face flush against the pillow. he let out a low whistle, "fucking love this view," he gave your ass a sharp slap before grabbing the flesh there with one hand and your hip with the other. you moaned into the pillow when he filled you up again.

his thrusts were punishing, exactly what you wanted as he surged forward with renewed vigor. chris couldn’t help but notice the way the pillow silenced your screams of pleasure.

oh, he was having none of that.

his hand left your ass and tangled in your hair, wrapping your locks around his hand before tugging your head up. your moans immediately filled the room, making his whole body shudder. your moans were music to his ears.

"fu—ck, chris, cumming, o—h," you mewled, "m’gonna—gonna cu—m." he grunted in satisfaction when he heard your desperate – barely coherent – words. "oh yeah? fuckin’ come on this big dick," one hand came down and around to draw quick circles on your swollen clit in time with his thrusts. "c’mon ma, wanna feel you fucking suffocate my cock." his voice was a near growl as he worked you closer and closer.

your body shook and trembled when you reached your peak, pure unadulterated pleasure etched on your features as you moaned his name. he didn’t stop, he couldn’t, not when you were moaning his name like that. you gasped when he pushed you down fully, your front side now flush against the mattress as he started to pound into you.

this was it. this was the position.

chris moaned lowly in pleasure when he heard your loud gasping moans, the way your legs lifted whenever he went balls deep only spurred him on. he fucked you mercilessly, and you couldn’t move away, you were trapped between his body and the bed. his hand yanked your head back by your hair so he could hear all the sounds you were making without it being muffled by the bed or pillow.

"fucking love your sounds baby, your sweet fuckin’ moans, only for me." he moaned in your ear, causing shudders to ripple through your body. you were fast approaching your second orgasm, the feeling of him going so deep and so fast was too much for you. his hand that was on your hair snaked around and wrapped itself around your throat. not quite cutting air supply, but enough pressure to have you gasping.

his free hand snaked under your body and strummed your bundle of nerves, the stimulation on your clit along with him repeatedly hitting your sweet spots deep inside you was your undoing. you let out high pitched keens and cries as you came again, your whole body shaking.

your pussy clenched around his cock rhythmically, all while pulling him in more. "f-fu—ck, your pussy’s fucking pulling me in, greedy girl," he groaned as he felt his release so close that he could practically taste it. a few more brutal slams and chris let out a guttural moan when he finally felt the pressure in his lower abdomen snap, his hips jerking against your ass as he filled your welcoming cunt full with his seed.

his hand soon left your throat, his breathing ragged, matching yours as his body slumped on top of you, his cock still letting out little spurts of cum inside your quivering pussy, painting your walls white. he nuzzled his face in the side of your neck, breathing in your scent as he tried to control his breathing.

after a while, he finally pulled out, both of you moaning at how sensitive you’d become. and almost immediately after he pulled out, his cum trickled out of your well loved hole. chris couldn’t help himself, he just had to take a picture. he took his phone from the bedside table and nudged you gently, showing you his phone. "can I?" he asked and you nodded, chuckling in amusement, still breathless.

he sighed in contentment after taking the photos and plopping down next to you, pulling you closer by your waist and nuzzling his face in your hair. "i love you," he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his hands caressed your body, worshipping every inch as you two lay there on his bed, relishing in the afterglow and love.

୨୧

[𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞!]

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @chaossturns @mels4ngel @sturniolozbae @hearts4werka @strnilolover @matts-sidepiece

© 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐚

[vibelladonna]

𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽 𝓂𝑒 𝜗𝜚 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒿𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓍 𝒻𝑒𝓂! 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You are a medical student at the top of your class—brilliant, disciplined, and utterly numb. Burnout has hollowed you out, leaving behind a ghost in a white coat who moves through life on autopilot.

The worst part? You can't feel anything anymore. Not joy, not pain, and certainly not pleasure. Your body is a locked door, and you've long since lost the key. Then you meet him.

A mysterious practitioner operating out of a butcher-shop backroom, known only as Jack. His methods are unorthodox, his hands unsettlingly precise, and his eyes—black as a starless night—seem to see straight through the cracks in your composure. 

He offers a solution: sensate therapy.

But the deeper you sink into his treatments, the more you realize—Jack isn’t just fixing you. He’s rewiring you. And the thing that stirs under his touch isn’t just arousal.

It’s hunger.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Also, huge shoutout to @noctiva—your art genuinely inspired me and gave me the push I needed to return to my roots. Thank you for reigniting that spark.

𝓌𝒸: 16.1k

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: soft dom!eyeless jack x fem!reader, doctor/patient dynamic, touch-starved Reader, possessive but gentle, gothic erotica, slow burn, sensual horror, atmospheric and haunting, sensation play, sensory deprivation/overload, medical kink (clinical but intimate), consent and safe words, body worship and arousal through fear, touch-starved to overstimulated.

Teach me how to scream.

That’s all you think about. 

Not in the way a normal person might—in some moment of panic or ecstasy, laughter or fear—no, you think about it clinically, with the same cold curiosity you apply to everything else in your life. You wonder what it takes to break a person.

 To tear down the wall of composure and discipline and professionalism until all that’s left is something raw and visceral—a sound dragged from the deepest part of the chest. Screaming seems... liberating. 

You’ve forgotten what it feels like.

Your apartment is a minimalist tomb, quiet and sterile. The walls are a tired white, barely catching any of the moonlight that slips between the blinds like skeletal fingers. 

Textbooks line your desk in tall, uneven stacks, some with cracked spines from overuse, others still pristine, untouched. Highlighters bleed neon colors into pages already carved with notes in your tight, mechanical handwriting. 

It smells like tea and ink and the exhaustion of someone who doesn’t even know they’re lonely anymore.

You’re a medical student. Top of your class. On a full scholarship, too—the kind of golden ticket people envy you for. 

Smart, capable, diligent. 

You’ve heard all the praise, the admiration. But it doesn’t change the fact that your nights are hollow, your days are repetitive, and your sense of wonder—that spark that once made you dream of saving lives—has slowly been reduced to a clinical grind. 

Autopilot. Wake, study, eat something microwaved, maybe sleep. Repeat.

Everyone thinks you have it easy because you’re not drowning in debt. However, you are drowning—just in a quieter way. No one sees it. No one asks. You’re the kind of person people assume will be fine. Always fine. 

You’ve become a ghost in your own life, watching your twenties dissolve beneath the harsh fluorescence of hospital lights and the dry rustle of textbook pages. 

You are a phantom that drifts from lecture hall to lab, stethoscope in hand, caffeine in veins, and nothing behind the eyes but tired calculation. It’s a life of purpose on paper—of accolades, scholarships, and prestige—but beneath it all, you are starving. 

Hollow. And you know it.

The worst part?

It killed your sex drive.

Not just dulled it. Not just reduced it to some manageable inconvenience like a missed meal or a skipped nap. It erased it—surgically, completely, like a tumor you didn’t realize had been excised until you tried to reach for it and found only scar tissue. 

There’s even a phrase your over-medicalized brain can’t help but conjure: lateralized sexual arousal suppression—a clinical concept you read once in a study, the theory that arousal, that raw hormonal ache, can be selectively deadened by stress or imbalance, sometimes even felt more intensely on one side of the body than the other. 

You chuckled at the time, because God, that’s such a pathetic thing to be academic about—your own inability to get off.

You were reading some obscure psych journal at 3 a.m., probably during a breakdown disguised as “studying,” and there it was: an article on how chronic stress can suppress arousal, kill libido, even change how your brain registers pleasure. Real clinical stuff. 

They called it “situational anorgasmia” and “arousal fatigue”—fancy words for why you, a perfectly functional adult with a pulse, haven’t been able to cum since your first anatomy midterm.

You’ve tried. Of course, you’ve tried. 

You brought toys—not just the cheap, pastel-colored ones from those random Amazon hauls, either. No, you went full send. Bought the ones your roommate back in undergrad swore by. 

She was the type who talked about orgasms like she had a PhD in them—complete with charts, reviews, and the occasional TED Talk. If anyone knew how to chase the Big O in times of crisis, it was her. You thought maybe she'd unlocked the secret. 

Maybe it was you who was broken. 

Well… Turns out it was you. 

Because even the expensive, silicone-coated sorcery with six vibration settings and a glowing LED couldn’t do it. Nothing worked. It was like flipping switches in an abandoned building—the power was out, the lights were dead, and everything inside was covered in a spiritual layer of dust and depression. 

Your hands don’t even feel like yours anymore. Just more tools. Instruments. Like forceps. No pleasure, no spark, no warm shiver of release. Just... effort. Awkward, humiliating, mechanical effort.

You used to call it self-care. Now it just feels like CPR on a corpse.

So you gave up.

You told yourself you didn’t want it anyway. What’s the point of craving something you can’t feel? You’ve got a million flashcards to memorize, patients to shadow, vitals to record, and whatever grim flavor of instant noodles waiting for you in your pantry. Sexual frustration doesn’t even rank on the priority list anymore. 

It’s been outpaced by exhaustion, caffeine withdrawal, and your mysterious recurring knee pain. You are one bad week away from becoming a cryptid.

But the silence? The silence is getting heavier.

It presses into you at night like a second set of lungs, breathing damp and slow against your ribs. There’s something waking up inside you—an ache, not sexual exactly, not yet, but primal. Hungry. Cold. 

You try to outwork it. 

You pile on more studying, more mock exams, more hospital shifts. But it’s still there. Whispering under the fluorescent lights. Nestled beneath your white coat and pressed dress shirts, buried under clinical detachment and years of overachievement.

And lately, that whisper has evolved into a gnawing.

You don’t know when it started. Just that it has. It lingers in the corners of your thoughts like a rotting tooth. It’s no longer about pleasure, about getting off, about orgasms or release. It’s deeper than that. Darker. It’s about being provoked. Violated. Broken open. 

Something inside you is begging for rupture—not affection, not safety, but something raw. Violent. Real.

You want to be dismantled. Undone. Taken apart in ways that anatomy textbooks don’t cover. Not by gentle hands. By something sharp. Something relentless. You need to be reminded that you’re not just flesh wrapped around ambition. That your blood still runs hot. That you are more than a breathing corpse in scrubs.

You need to get off. Badly.

Again, not in the playful, flirty, "teehee I need a good dicking" kind of way—no. You were about three nights of sleep deprivation away from putting "Unable to orgasm due to academic rigor" on your medical records. 

If only you trusted your university’s counseling office not to slap it on your permanent file next to “burnout risk” and “excessive caffeine consumption.”

So you did something you hadn’t done in... what, months? You left your apartment. Took the train across town with a tote bag and the grim, resigned energy of someone preparing for emotional exposure.

You went go see Z—your old roommate from undergrad.

The one person you could talk to about this without getting put on some kind of watchlist.

Her apartment hadn’t changed—not even a little. It was still giving teenage dirtbag chic, as if Z had stolen the entire emotional atmosphere of a 2007 Tumblr blog and made it livable.

A lovechild between Hot Topic clearance racks and thrifted furniture from someone's cool aunt’s garage sale. You were greeted by the scent of jasmine incense, old vinyl, and something vaguely burnt—maybe toast??

The walls were still a shrine to Z’s unapologetic chaos—plastered in band posters that had definitely survived multiple apartment moves and at least one questionable phase involving safety pins and eyeliner as a personality trait.

A twisted line of mismatched fairy lights looped across the ceiling, dangling lazily like drunk neurons on their last spark of function, simply blinking intermittently in faint hues of dying neon green, casting soft, ghostly shapes that danced along the cluttered walls.

The blinds were obnoxiously open—wide, tauntingly so. Sunlight poured in with a kind of aggression, spilling across the hardwood floors and highlighting every fleck of dust, every stray sock, every single reminder that someone actually lived here. 

You squinted at it like it had personally insulted you. 

Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you saw real daylight that wasn’t filtered through hospital-tinted windows or the flicker of your laptop at 3 a.m. Your body recoiled from it instinctively, as if your med school-induced vampirism couldn’t withstand such unfiltered natural cheer.

Your tea—which Z handed you with that smug little curve of her lips —tasted faintly of lemon and betrayal. Warm, sharp, slightly too sweet. You suspected she put honey in it just to mock your bitterness. 

She sipped her own casually, lounging in what could only be described as her throne of chaos: a nest of cushions, blankets, and plushies that looked. Her legs were draped dramatically over the armrest, her socks were chicken legs?

You, by contrast, sat rigidly on the couch like it might bite you if you leaned too far back. Your shoulders were hunched slightly, as if trying to fold into yourself, to shrink down and disappear into the muted fabric. 

Z raised an eyebrow, already halfway to a grin, her lips twitching like the punchline was burning a hole in her mouth. You could almost hear it loading—the way her brain clicked into gear when she had a roast lined up and ready to go. 

You didn’t need to see her eyes to know she was aiming.

And God, you already regretted bringing it up.

“You actually came,” she started with a shit-eating grin. “You? Miss White Coat? Miss I-Diagnose-Myself-With-Insomnia-Not-Feelings? This is serious.”

You glared. “Z, for the love of God, stop laughing. You know this is an ongoing issue.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it would get worse.” She snorted, barely containing her laughter. “Girl, you probably need medical help.”

“I am medical help.”

She cackled, clutching her chest. “Oh my God, you’re a walking irony.”

You sank further into the couch, drawing your knees up like a sulking cat. “Do you know how embarrassing it is for a med student to need a clinical intervention because she can’t orgasm? It’s humiliating. I'm supposed to be helping people, not... lying awake at 2 a.m. wondering if I died inside during second-year pathology.”

“Honestly?” she leaned forward, stirring her tea lazily. “Maybe you did. Maybe med school killed your libido and buried it under a pile of medical flashcards.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m a disgrace to the human reproductive system.”

Z sipped her tea, watching you with that predator’s smirk she always wore when she knew something you didn’t. “Or maybe...” she said slowly, “what you really need... is for something else to do it for you.”

You paused. Lowered your hands. Narrowed your eyes at her like a suspicious cat. “Well, obviously not you.”

“Please.” She scoffed. “I’m flattered but not deranged.”

“Right,” you muttered, sipping your tea just to avoid eye contact. “Totally. Of course.”

The conversation fizzled into one of those awkwardly familiar silences — not the comfortable kind where two people just exist, but the kind where something unspoken hangs in the air, unacknowledged but dense. 

Z picked up her phone and started scrolling absently, her fingers flicking across the screen with the kind of speed that said she was pretending to be disinterested.

You followed suit, sipping your tea like it didn’t feel like your skin was trying to crawl off your bones. The clink of your spoon against the inside of your cup was the only sound besides the occasional buzz of her phone.

Her eyes kept drifting back to you, though. Subtle, but you noticed. A glance too long. A flicker of something behind her lashes—amusement, maybe, or curiosity. Or something sharper.

You glanced up, caught her staring. “What?”

Z didn’t answer right away. She leaned back into the pillow throne like a queen about to issue a decree, her phone now forgotten on the coffee table. The soft lights above flickered green, briefly bathing her in something eerie, ethereal.

Then she said, too casually, like she wasn’t about to ruin your whole evening: “There are things out there, you know. Stuff that could probably wake you up.”

You raised a brow, deadpan. “What, like... therapy?”

She grinned over the rim of her mug like the devil sipping tea. “Possibly, babe. If it's been this long, it might be time to admit you need more than a bubble bath and a vibrator with a college degree.”

You snorted. “Wow. Thank you for that incredibly professional medical insight, Dr. Z.”

“Anytime,” she said sweetly, already scrolling on her phone like she hadn’t just diagnosed you with ‘clinical dicklessness.’ “But for real. I found this ad a while back. Weird little flyer. Some guy left it on the bathroom sink at the club—”

You blinked. “Wait. You still go to ‘the club’?” You added dramatic finger quotes like you were talking about some ancient cryptid.

Z didn’t even flinch. Gave you a flat look, her eyes wide with mock betrayal. “Uh, yes? What do you think I do for stress relief? Knit?”

You groaned and collapsed further into the couch cushions. “God, you are still the same chaotic goblin I met in college.”

She grinned, smug as sin. “And yet here you are, begging the goblin for help because you can’t even get your engine to rev. Who’s the tragic one now?”

You look away and took another sip of your lemon-betrayal tea and muttered, “Me. It’s me. I’m the tragic one.”

“That’s right.” She sighed,  “Anyway. This flyer. It was handwritten, almost cryptic. Said something about off-the-record consultations. No names. No appointments. Just... results. Kind of urban legend-y, honestly. But people talk. Especially at clubs. And from what I’ve heard, this... doctor... isn’t your typical back-alley quack.”

You stared at her. “Z. Did you seriously consider going to some random off-the-grid sex doctor?”

Z shrugged, grinning wickedly. “I considered it. Haven’t done it yet. Thought I’d let you be the brave one, since, y’know... you’re the actual med student.”

You scoffed, pulling the most odd-looking facial expression, setting your mug down a little too loudly on the table. “Why me? What made you think of me when you saw some creep’s sex clinic ad?”

Her smirk faltered just a little. “Because I know you. And I know when you’ve gone full medical-grade emotionally constipated. Babe, it’s like watching a Roomba try to find joy. You need something that’ll slap the soul back into you.”

You went quiet. Embarrassed. Maybe a little pissed. 

You weren’t used to people seeing through the cracks—not the ones you spent so much time spackling over with caffeine and credentials. But she wasn’t wrong.

“And no,” she added quickly, “I’d never throw you into something shady without at least vetting it first. You know that. I’m not an idiot.”

You looked down at your lap. Your fingers toyed with the hem of your sleeve. “It’s just... weird, you know? I’m a med student. I should be able to fix myself. Not—go off seeking weird underground therapy from club bathroom flyers like I’m in a Netflix special.”

Z snorted, nearly choking on her tea. “Yeah, well. Sometimes it takes weird to fix weird. And unless you’re ready to walk into your clinical psych rotation and say, ‘Hey, I can’t cum and I think my soul’s in a coma,’ this might be your last option that doesn’t come with a straightjacket and a mandatory 72-hour hold.”

You made a face, but… yeah. She had a point. 

A mortifying, scarily accurate point.

You didn’t like the idea—some strange, off-market “doctor” discovered via bathroom flyer in a club known for bad decisions and worse lighting. But God help you, you were actually considering it. Really considering it.

Because the thought of another week—hell, another month—of being this empty husk of a human, this walking flesh-printer spewing out diagnoses and memorizing mortality rates with all the excitement of a houseplant?

No. You couldn’t keep doing this.

So you made the appointment.

After classes—after trudging through another mind-numbing lecture on autoimmune disorders and scribbling down notes with a highlighter you’d long since stopped seeing color in—you sat down and filled out the form.

The website had looked… normal.?? Professional, even.

A minimalist black/dark blue-and-white layout, vague clinical language, and a discreet little logo that looked almost like a mask. You didn’t think much of it at the time.

The questionnaire started like every other patient intake form—name, birthdate, gender. But then there was something else. A line that didn’t make sense. Not in this context.

“Do you fear what watches you when you sleep?”

You paused, eyes narrowing slightly. Weird question. Probably one of those psych-eval icebreakers. You ticked off another box and kept going, ignoring the pressure that had begun to build in your throat. This was probably nothing. Some edgy branding tactic. Experimental therapy, maybe. Trauma work in a spooky coat of paint. 

That’s all it was.

You submitted the form. 

Ten minutes later, your phone buzzed with a confirmation and a location that didn’t show up on Google Maps.

Of course it didn’t.

That night, sleep came reluctantly, like a reluctant houseguest knocking on your door well past midnight, and you only let it in because you had nothing better to do.

After a fresh shower, you dress in t-shit with shorts, collapse onto your bed with all the grace of a corpse being dropped into its grave. The air in your apartment felt stagnant—thick and unmoving—like it hadn’t been touched by breath or sound in days. Maybe weeks.

The only light was the faint, glitched glow of your laptop in sleep mode, pulsing like a dying heartbeat. Your limbs felt heavy. Weighted. Your thoughts, even heavier. Again, you’d submitted the form hours ago. 

And now you can’t stop thinking about that line. 

“Fear? What watches me when I sleep?” 

You swallowed and rolled onto your side, burying your face into the pillow that still smelled vaguely of antiseptic hand cream and stress. For a while, nothing came. No dreams. No darkness. Just silence. But eventually, slowly, the world began to slip sideways.

At first, it felt like floating—like your bones had been scooped out of you and replaced with warm fog. The room was no longer your room. Not quite. The shadows were wrong—longer than they should be, bending around corners that didn’t exist. Your bed felt deeper, like a divot in the earth, and the air was… comforting. 

Invasive, somehow, but soft. Almost maternal.

You couldn’t move. You didn’t want to move.

And then came the touch.

It wasn’t hands. Not really. Not at first. More like heat. Pressure. A sensation that ghosted over your skin, just enough to make you shiver.

Something brushed your ankle. Light. Curious. Your breath hitched.

Another drifted along the curve of your calf. Up. Higher. Not aggressive. Not rough. Just… deliberate. As though the air itself had grown fingers and was now reading you like braille. Like it knew you. Had always known you.

Your hips twitched, and you felt it—just beneath the surface of your skin—a dull, yawning ache that had been locked away for too long. That absence. That void. You hadn’t even realized how deeply you’d buried your hunger. Your need.

The touch glided higher, a whisper along the meat of your thigh, a reverent sweep that left goosebumps in its wake. It wasn’t sexual. Not entirely. Not yet. But it was intimate. Intrusive in a way that felt oddly safe, like the firm hand of something old guiding you through a ritual you’d forgotten the words to.

You should have been terrified.

But you weren’t.

Your breath came shallower. Your heart picked up. And for the first time in months—years—you felt something: warmth. Thrum. Longing. 

The phantom touch curved under the hem of your hoodie, feathering up your stomach. It pressed gently against the cage of your ribs like it was searching for a way inside. You arched instinctively, needing more. 

Needing anything.

There was a whisper. A sound. You couldn’t tell if it was in your ear or your bones. Soft, smooth—masculine, maybe—but in that ageless, unsettling way that made it impossible to pin down.

“Let me ruin you.” 

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The words dripped like honey laced with venom—intimate, feral, promising. They bypassed your ears and curled straight into your gut, igniting something molten at your core. Your thighs pressed together on instinct. Your fingers curled into the sheets like you could anchor yourself against a flood.

It wasn’t a question. It was an invitation. A threat. A vow.

Your body bucked as heat flashed through you like a short-circuit, static and dizzying and almost holy. It wasn't released. Not yet. But it was the promise of it. The threat. And something inside you whispered back—without words, without thought—yes.

You gasped.

And then—you woke up.

Heart pounding like a war drum in your chest. Skin slick with sweat, sticking to your sheets in places you didn’t even know could sweat. Your thighs were clenched like you’d just braced through an earthquake—or maybe something far more intimate. The sheets coiled around your legs, your waist, one arm — as if you’d been grasping in your sleep. Or writhing.

You lay there, dazed. Breathing shallow. Eyes wide as the fragmented edges of some half-dream shimmered just out of reach, teasing your thoughts with phantom touches and shapes you couldn’t quite pin down. But your body remembered.

Oh, it remembered.

The morning light creeping in through the blinds was soft and gray, casting everything in shades of faded silver. It wasn’t warm. It was the kind of light that followed unsettling dreams — like the lingering taste of ash and honey on your tongue.

You sat up slowly. Each movement felt like an echo.

Something had changed.

A circuit, somewhere inside you, had quietly reconnected. A wire long-burnt out had sparked again. You didn’t know how, or why, but your whole body pulsed with a strange awareness. Your skin buzzed. The air felt too sharp, like the molecules themselves were brushing too close against you. You ran your palm along your own arm—it felt like someone else’s skin. 

Someone new. Something not quite… human.

You weren’t sure whether to be thrilled or terrified.

A sharp laugh escaped you—short, stunned, breathless. You wiped a shaky hand down your face, your skin still tingling like it had been touched by something you couldn’t name. "What the hell…" you muttered to no one, voice hushed in the muted blue-gray light filtering through the blinds.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, your body wasn’t numb.

It ached. It buzzed.

You were horny. And maybe—just maybe—haunted.

Not the jump-scare, crawling-out-of-your-TV kind. No. This was subtler. Seductive. Like something ghostlike had struck a match down your spine and whispered promises to your bones.

You sighed, rubbing your temples.

Then your eyes flicked to your phone screen. Shit.

You jolted upright, the weight of time slamming into your chest. Adrenaline took the wheel. The sheets slipped off your legs as you stumbled toward your dresser, still half-lost in the fog of sleep—or whatever strange thing had wrapped itself around your dreams.

You moved on instinct, grabbing whatever felt softest, lightest, least constraining. You slipped into an asymmetric maxi skirt that flowed around your legs like smoke, streaked in midnight blue and obsidian black. It cinched at your waist with a simple circle leather belt, the buckle cool against your stomach. A cropped top followed—loose, gauzy, a whisper of fabric more than a shirt. Air moved through it easily, kissing your skin.

You looked… casual? A little lost, maybe.

The kind of outfit that felt like something you could disappear in without a sound. Your fingers fumbling, you pushed your hair back, unlocked your phone, and typed with sharp, quick taps:

You: Location shared. Dropped off at that creepy butcher shop you told me about. If I’m not out in an hour, call the cops. Seriously.

The reply came almost instantly:

Z: "Roger that, orgasm-crisis queen 💋"

“Bitch,” you muttered, rolling your eyes with a reluctant smirk. You didn’t text back. You didn’t need to.

You were quick to reach the building was everything your gut told you to avoid. Normal. Painfully, strategically normal. It sat like a tumor on the edge of the block—red-brick exterior faded from years of sun and smog, windows that reflected nothing, and a crooked sign over the door that read “Balkan Meats & Cold Cuts” in peeling paint.

 A rusted awning flapped listlessly in the breeze, and somewhere inside, the thick metallic scent of iron and brine curled into your sinuses. It smelled like blood that had soaked too deep into tile.

You didn’t see a sign for a clinic. You didn’t expect one.

Your eyes scanned the side of the building until you spotted the narrow stairwell half-hidden beside a dumpster. You hesitated only once before climbing, hand gliding over the sticky, warm metal of the rail. Above, a flickering bulb buzzed like a trapped wasp, casting shadows that moved just a little too much.

When you reached the landing, everything went quiet.

Unnaturally quiet.

The hallway was narrow and sterile—painted beige so aggressively dull it made your teeth itch. No music. No voices. Just the electric hum of fluorescent lighting and your own pulse, thudding loud in your ears.

You found the door at the end. Plain metal. No placard. No name. Just a tarnished silver handle. You stared at it for a moment, fingers hovering near the knob, chest tight. Every inch of your rational brain screamed to leave. But you were tired of being rational. Rational hadn’t helped. 

So you opened the door.

The room inside was quiet. Still. Too still.

There were three mismatched chairs—one metal, one wood, one soft and threadbare like it came from someone’s grandmother’s house. A water dispenser stood lonely in the corner, full but with no cups, like a trick. A desk stood at the far wall—paper neatly stacked, everything aligned with almost religious care—but there was no monitor, no receptionist, no phone.

The silence wasn’t empty. It was waiting.

You took a cautious step inside. Your shoes made the faintest sound against the polished floor. You moved around the desk, squinting for some kind of bell, clipboard, sign of life.

And that’s when you felt it.

The breath, soft and warm against the nape of your neck. The presence, solid and sudden behind you—too close. A chest. Firm. Immovable. Pressed just a whisper from your back. 

You froze. Every muscle in your body pulled taut.

“You have appointment?”

The voice was low, deep, and smooth, and somehow casually clinical. But what rattled you most was how he’d arrived—soundless, like he’d stepped out of the air itself. You spun around, heart in your throat.

And there he was.

Moving toward you with the kind of quiet purpose that didn’t demand attention—it consumed it.

Dressed in layered blacks so matte they seemed to drink in the light, he walked like the air parted for him out of habit, each step slow, deliberate, respectful in a way that somehow felt more unsettling than if he’d stormed in. His presence didn’t crash—it settled, like dusk creeping in unnoticed.

He was tall. Towering, almost. But not in a way that screamed dominance—it was more architectural. Like he belonged in old cathedrals or under moonlight, not in this oddly quiet waiting room above a butcher shop. His build was lean but sharp-edged, tailored by something too precise to be simply "fit."

His hair was a mess of deep brown waves, slightly tousled like he’d forgotten he had it. Strands fell across the top edge of his black surgical mask, softening the austere lines of his outfit.

And then—his eyes. His. eyes.

No whites. No pupils. No clear edges or irises. Just obsidian pools so deep they looked like if you stared too long, they’d start staring back. They weren’t dead or hollow—they shimmered faintly in the overhead fluorescents, alive with something too exact, too alert. It was like he wasn’t looking at you, he was measuring you.

Then the ears. It took a second glance to really process them—subtly pointed, the kind of detail your mind initially dismissed as a trick of the light. Delicate but wrong in the way that made fairy tales dangerous. Piercings traced their way up the cartilage, tiny silver hoops and bars arranged not for fashion, but like some strange celestial map. 

His skin was smooth, cool-toned—grayish, yes, but in a way that reminded you of marble, not illness. Preserved. Not decayed. A color that made your brain second-guess itself.

He stopped a careful distance from you, his height folding slightly as he inclined his head. Not deferential, not patronizing—just polite. Attuned. Like a creature who’d spent centuries perfecting human etiquette without ever being human himself.

Instinct made you step back. Your breath caught.

“Holy shit,” you blurted. “Do you have… Argyria?”

He tilted his head, a frown ghosting across his face like he was trying to compute the question. “No,” he said after a moment, voice low, textured. Almost soothing. “I do not.”

Then his eyes roamed you—slow, thoughtful, clinical. Not with desire, not with threat—like he was unpacking a file only he could read. His gaze wasn’t the kind that undressed you. It unspooled you.

He made a soft sound in the back of his throat. “You’re a medical student, yes?”

You froze. “How do you—?”

He walked past you, each step soft and unnervingly quiet, rounding the desk with a smooth turn of his shoulder. His fingers brushed the desk surface like he was orienting himself with muscle memory.

“You carry yourself like someone who’s trained their exhaustion into structure,” he said, more to the desk than to you. “Your posture is clinical. Your eyes never stop scanning. Slight tremor in the left hand suggests chronic overextension. Pair that with the guarded breathing, the subtle shift in weight when approached from behind—textbook hypervigilance.”

He turned back to face you. His eyes locked with yours again.

“Your libido is comatose, yes?”

You blinked. “What—”

“And you smell faintly of herbs,” he added, softly, “something floral beneath the surface. Artificial, like a cheap perfume meant to disguise the real scent. Something sweet, desperate. Useful.”

You stood, stunned into silence.

Every nerve in your body was ringing like it had been plucked. What the actual hell had you just walked into? And why, despite all logic, did it feel like... exactly where you were supposed to be?

The man moved without a word, extending one long arm past the threshold to open a nondescript door tucked into the hallway’s end. The hinges didn’t creak—they glided, soundlessly. The room inside was dimly lit but strangely warm, nothing like the cold sterility of the corridor. 

At first glance, it looked like a therapist’s office—or some vague approximation of one. Two chairs sat opposite each other: high-backed, dark fabric, a bit too clean, a bit too deliberate in their placement. 

Potted plants softened the corners—large-leafed, thriving, well-watered. The air held a faint scent of petrichor and sage. It was subtle, like the room had been exhaling while no one was there. The walls held a few certificates, two diplomas, and a clock.

You noticed that immediately. 

Again, everything was too clean. Not clinical—but manicured. Controlled. As though someone had designed this space not for comfort, but for ease of disarmament. You stepped closer, the doorway framing you. But your feet hesitated. Something primal, buried, and clawed screamed softly inside your chest. A warning. That if you stepped into that room, if your foot crossed that threshold… it wouldn’t be just your body walking in.

You swallowed. Hard.

The man leaned against the doorframe now, arms crossed, his presence still and observant. Watching, not pushing. He didn’t coax you. Didn’t rush you. His voice came soft, measured:

“It’s professional. I assure you.”

You met his gaze—those endless black eyes—and didn’t see a lie. But you didn’t see the truth either. Just… depth. He glanced away, absently brushing a loose curl from his temple. “When did you find my card?”

Your lips twitched. “Friend gave it to me,” you said, fingers quoting air. “Claim they found it at the ‘club’ they frequent.” 

That’s when his eyes widened slightly, his face lifting in something that looked like genuine amusement. He let out a low, rich chuckle, the sound curling through the quiet like smoke.

“Ah. That place.”

“You go there often?” you asked, curiosity sharpening to a point.

He straightened slowly, still smiling. “Now and then. Good for getting the word out. Not many people in your situation ask for help in… traditional places.”

You tilted your head, one brow raising. “And what exactly do you do?”

He seemed to pause—not for hesitation, but for precision. Like he was combing through a thousand possible answers and measuring which one wouldn’t make you walk away. Finally, he said: “I work with... bodily systems. Unblock pathways. Redirect energy. Reset patterns. Most of it is touch-based. Topical. Very specific. Not mainstream. But it’s effective.”

You frowned. That was vague enough to mean anything from chiropractic therapy to illicit back-alley sorcery.

“You’re a medical student too?” you asked, more defensively than intended.

He hummed. “Was. For a time.” A pause. “Now I work to pay off the debts.”

Then he gave a slow tilt of his head. “And before we begin, I should mention—my sessions aren’t exactly cheap.”

His eyes glinted faintly.

“Still willing to go through with this?”

You stood, heart somewhere between your throat and your spine. Your body still thrummed from the dream, from the walk, from him. This wasn’t sane. This wasn’t rational. But then again, neither was what was happening to you.

You sighed—the long, tired kind of sigh that sounded like it had aged a decade on its way out. Truth be told, you really didn’t want to leave without getting something resolved. Not after dragging yourself through the iron-scented meat shop, past the flickering stairwell light, and into this strange little time vacuum of a room.

“If I come out dead, I come out dead,” you muttered, more to yourself than him, as you finally stepped forward. “It’s not like I’m missing brunch with a life coach.”

This was, in some weird, macabre way, the most interesting thing to happen to you in months. Hell, maybe years. If you were going to spiral, might as well do it with a little flair and mystery. You squared your shoulders, glanced back at the man, and with the enthusiasm of someone marching into a mild haunting, said: “Alright.”

He hummed—soft, approving, almost like a cat that had just seen you pick up its favorite toy—and stepped aside to let you pass. As you entered, the smell of the room shifted again, warmer now, like bergamot and dry cedar, grounded and oddly calming.

The door clicked shut behind you. A little too gently. 

He gestured toward one of the chairs. “Have a seat.”

You chose the one that didn’t face the door—a risk, but also felt like a test—and he slid into the opposite chair with ease. Just fluid motion, like gravity, took him differently than it took everyone else. From a side drawer built into the table, he pulled out a clipboard and a pen. The scratch of it echoed a little too loudly in the stillness.

He looked up at you, eyes glittering darkly. “Before we begin, let’s do a quick intake.”

You blinked. “Didn’t I already fill that out online?”

“Yes,” he replied without looking up. “But this is more for me. A… recap.”

You raised a brow. “So you’re giving me a pop quiz on my own trauma?”

“I find it helps to speak it aloud,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Clarifies intent. Filters out exaggeration. Or embellishment.”

You exhaled slowly. “Alright then.” You tapped your fingers against your knee, pausing before letting the words tumble out. “My issue is… weird.”

He didn’t blink. Just nodded, as if “weird” was his mother tongue.

You hesitated again. “Like, I don’t know if it’s physical or psychological. But I wake up… not exactly aroused, but like my body thinks it is. Except there’s no—” You made a vague, circular gesture. “No stimulation. No dreams I can recall. Just this… residue. Like my nervous system got love-bombed by a ghost.”

He blinked once. Still quiet.

“And I can’t concentrate. Nor get off as I want to for stress relief. Everything’s wired wrong. I feel like a haunted, but emotionally detached.”

The corner of his eye twitched. 

You swore—swore—that might’ve been a smirk.

He scribbled something down. “Interesting.”

You exhaled through your nose, slowly, one eyebrow arching with muted skepticism. Of course. Still, you weren’t here to play games. Not too many, at least. “So?” you said, his name careful on your tongue. You looked away for a second, then met his eyes again, sharper this time. “How do I fix my issue? What is it exactly? What do you think’s going on?”

He nodded once, slow and deliberate, and set the clipboard aside with a soft clatter against the side table. “Anorgasmia,” The man said, as if the word wasn’t something that could make you want to melt into the floor. 

He leaned back slightly in his chair, hands folded—long fingers, clean nails, veins just barely visible under that unnervingly smooth, pale skin. “Specifically, it sounds like you’re experiencing Female Orgasmic Disorder. Acquired, generalized. Based on what you put in your intake and your… reaction, I’d guess it’s been ongoing for more than six months, right?”

You blinked, hard, then nodded. That clinical delivery should’ve felt sterile, cold. It didn’t. His voice was low, textured. Intimate without trying to be. And God help you, it was kind of hot. You couldn’t tell if it was his confidence or his complete lack of awkwardness when talking about something that made you want to crawl out of your skin—but it worked. 

You were listening, hanging off each word. 

Your eyes narrowed slightly, involuntarily tracing the line of his throat to where his collar rested—loose black, matte fabric, something tactical and breathable. His posture was perfect: relaxed but with intention. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t blink too often. There was a heaviness to him, a quiet focus that made you feel pinned, studied… and not in a way that made you want to leave. Damn it.

“So basically,” you said dryly, forcing your gaze back up to his face, “my vagina’s in a coma.”

He cracked a brief, silent laugh through his nose—lips curling just slightly beneath the mask. “That’s one way to put it.”

“And you’re telling me the solution is…” You hesitated, bracing. “To build sensations back up?”

“Yes.” He said it simply, without any waver. 

“That’s the starting point, at least. If you were hoping for a prescription or an easy out, I’m afraid there isn’t one. There’s no single medication that resolves this. At best, there are supplements that might help increase blood flow or sensitivity, but they’re not proven. What you need is guided stimulation therapy—Sensate Focus, gradual reintroduction of arousal, maybe eventually partnered techniques—”

You cut him off, “You sound like you’re assigning more homework than I already have to deal with on a daily basis,” you muttered, cheeks heating. “Just with more nudity.”

That earned another small smirk. “Only if you’re an overachiever.”

Oof. You groaned into your hands. “Oh my god.”

He continued, not unkindly. “You’re not broken. This is more common than most people think. Stress, medical trauma, interpersonal issues… and in your case, high-functioning academic burnout. You’ve been so focused on achieving, suppressing, managing everything, that your nervous system no longer registers pleasure as safe or worth prioritizing.”

You blinked, stunned. “I—I didn’t even say—how do you—”

The man tilted his head slightly. “Again, you carry exhaustion like armor. And guilt. You intellectualize your body instead of inhabiting it.”

You didn’t respond right away. Your throat felt tight.

“And…” he added, tone dipping lower as his eyes flicked over your face, “you haven’t had the time. Or the space. Or the kind of partner who asks you to stay in the moment.”

You swallowed thickly. “…So what now?”

“Now?” he said, gently. “We start small. Sessions like this. Focused touch. Retraining your response system. Making your body feel safe again.”

You felt your fingers twitch in your lap, not sure whether to bolt or laugh or just melt into the chair. Then, because you needed to feel like you had some control, you leaned back, folded your arms, and asked, “And before we go further… are you gonna tell me your name? Or am I just supposed to keep calling you Tall, Dark, and Mildly Threatening?”

That finally cracked something. His smirk deepened, the smallest glint of teeth visible behind the mask.

“You can call me Jack.”

You raised a brow. “…Just Jack?”

He tilted his head, eyes glittering like obsidian in the low light. “For now.”

“…So, Jack,” you said, dragging his name out with a hint of sarcasm, “you do this often? Therapize poor souls out of their orgasmless despair?”

Jack leaned forward, just slightly. “Only the .” He said as he stood smoothly, setting the clipboard aside with practiced ease, and gestured for you to follow him. 

You did—hesitantly at first—rising from the stiff chair and trailing after him as he crossed the hall and unlocked another door with a soft click. When he pushed it open, the first thing to hit you was the warmth.

The lighting was low and amber, diffused through soft bulbs hidden behind velvet-draped sconces. The space smelled faintly of cedarwood and something sweet you couldn’t quite place—almost like jasmine. 

It was… not what you expected. At all. You’d prepared yourself for a clinical space, something sterile or weirdly kinky, but this room?

It was intimate. Luxurious, almost. 

Rich textures blanketed every surface: soft velvets, high-thread count cotton, brushed suede. The walls were painted a deep, dusky blue that made the shadows look heavier, closer.

A plush bed with dark sheets dominated one side of the room, framed by heavy curtains and stacked pillows in earthy tones. There were other touches too—soft rugs layered beneath your feet, a tray of water and mints, tissues neatly folded. A single mirror, gold-framed and slightly fogged, leaned in the corner.

And then there was the chair.

It looked like something halfway between a modern art sculpture and a spaceship seat—sleek, curved, contoured like it had been made to cradle someone. It was upholstered in black leather with subtle seams and built-in supports.  Strange as it was, it didn’t feel perverse. Not cheesy or tacky.

It was… functional. Designed. Like everything else in this room.

Jack gestured toward it casually, like it wasn’t anything to raise an eyebrow over. “That,” he said, “is a sensual lounge chair. Enhanced positioning. For alignment, breath regulation, deeper physical feedback.”

Your stomach flipped again. Christ.

He turned toward a cabinet and pulled out another clipboard, this one thicker than the first, and handed it to you. “Before we go further,” he said, “you’ll need to sign this waiver. Standard practice. And—” he paused, meeting your eyes with that intense calm—“we’ll need a safe word.”

You blinked. “A safe word?”

Jack nodded, leaning back against the counter, hands folded loosely in front of him. “Yes. My sessions—whatever form they take—require that the patient always feels in control. If, at any moment, you feel unsafe or overwhelmed, you use it. No questions asked. Everything stops.”

That… wasn’t what you expected. For someone who looked like the personification of a Victorian ghost with resting murder face, he was oddly considerate. Thorough.

“And,” he continued, “you should also indicate if there are any areas of your body you don’t want touched—or if touch in general is an issue.”

You hesitated. Jack watched your silence carefully.

“I’m… not exactly comfortable being touched,” you admitted, voice lower now, unsure. “Not really.”

He tilted his head, brow faintly furrowed. “As in, discomfort from trauma or—?”

You shook your head. “I’ve never… been touched. At least by someone that’s not me. I’ve tried. It just—never worked. Nothing felt… real. Or good. I don’t think I’ve ever had an actual orgasm. And it’s not like I even want sex, really. I just—” You exhaled, rubbing your temple. “—use it to sleep. For stress relief. However there’s never been feeling.”

Jack didn’t speak right away. His gaze didn’t shift, but it softened—just slightly. He stepped forward, retrieving the clipboard gently from your hands and flipping through your answers with quiet focus.

“I see,” he murmured eventually. “That’s… unusual. Not unheard of, but rare. You’re likely dealing with a variant of the Disorder. Possibly psychogenic anorgasmia, possibly neurochemical. But your phrasing—never felt real, never wanted—it’s more complex.”

You nodded, arms crossed tightly. You felt vaguely ridiculous standing in a velvet sex room, discussing the void that lived between your thighs with someone who looked like a cursed Renaissance painting. But oddly enough… you didn’t feel judged.

Jack reached for a pen, jotting something down. Then, after a moment of consideration, he looked up. “I’m registering you as a special case,” he said simply. “Again, we’ll go slow. No expectations. No pressure. Just sensation. Understanding. Rebuilding the pathway.”

Your breath caught. Despite yourself, your eyes drifted over him again—his posture, the quiet precision of his movements, the way his sleeves had pushed up just slightly at the forearms. 

Even the way he held the pen. God, even that was hot.

You cleared your throat. “And you’re… trained for this?”

That smirk again—barely there, but you caught it. “Let’s just say I’m highly practiced.”

You looked at the waiver. Then at him. Then, slowly, you picked up the pen.

“…What’s the safe word?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Your choice.”

You glanced around the room, then muttered, “Velvet.”

Jack nodded once, like it was sacred. “Velvet it is.”

Jack's hand lingered at the back of the chair, fingers grazing the leather as he gestured for you to sit. “Go ahead,” he said, his voice deep but even, “relax back, let it support you. It’s built for comfort.”

You eyed the chair, skeptical but curious. The leather was cool against the backs of your thighs as you slowly settled into it. Jack crouched beside you without a word and gently slid your bag from your shoulder, placing it neatly beside the chair like it deserved a designated resting place of its own.

He looked at you with quiet concentration, one hand resting on the edge of the seat. “May I touch you?” he asked.

There was something respectful in the way he said it—not hesitant, but patient. You gave a small nod, and he murmured, “Say it.”

“Yes,” you said, just above a whisper. “You can.”

He nodded in return, then reached up… and touched your ears? Your expression must have said ‘what the hell are you doing’, because Jack actually gave a soft huff of amusement under his breath. “There are over a dozen zones in the female body that can stimulate a neurological arousal response,” he said smoothly, his thumbs brushing gently around the outer edge of your ears. “Ears are one of the most overlooked.”

You blinked at him. There was no reaction. Nothing flared in your stomach or between your legs. You weren’t even sure it tickled. You just stared at him, flatly. Jack pulled his hands back, nodding to himself like he was taking mental notes.

“Alright. Not the ears.”

Next, he moved to your scalp, his fingers spreading through your hair with practiced ease. You expected it to feel awkward, maybe even clinical, but instead it was… gentle. Thoughtful. His fingertips pressed down just enough to release tension, circling at the base of your skull, following invisible patterns across your scalp.

Your eyes softened. Your breath evened. It didn’t arouse you—not in the way you feared or expected—but it felt good. Normal. Like something you hadn’t realized you’d needed.

Jack noticed, clearly. “Noted,” he murmured, withdrawing again. “Some feedback, not enough to trigger arousal. Good to know.”

He stepped around the chair, “The neck, then.”

When his fingers touched the back of your neck, it was subtle—almost like he was testing the current in a live wire. He barely pressed at all, and yet your entire body tensed beneath the surface like a ripple across still water. Your breath hitched.

Jack froze.

“…Interesting,” he muttered. “Odd tingle, but not necessarily pleasant?”

“It’s—” you started, but hesitated. “It’s something. I don’t know what.”

He gave a faint frown, filing that away. “Alright. Moving down.”

Then his fingers gently circled your inner wrists. You watched him as he focused—his brows slightly drawn, touch featherlight, like he was reading braille in your skin. “These are usually extremely responsive,” he said quietly. “Especially in individuals with dulled primary zones. The nerves are close to the surface here.”

You just stared at him. Nothing.

He looked up at you and raised an eyebrow. “Still nothing?” he asked.

You blinked. “Nothing.”

He gave a quiet exhale through his nose, but not out of frustration. Just… reassessment. “Okay,” he said. “Lower back next. The muscular network there is directly tied to your abdomen and pelvic floor. Sometimes, tension here bottlenecks sensation.”

His hand slid to your waist, firm but not invasive, and pressed into your lower back. The motion was a slow knead, thumbs working just beside your spine. A small breath escaped you—not from pleasure, exactly, but from release. It felt like something began to melt from your muscles. Like heat unfurling.

Jack stilled again. 

“Better,” he said. “Still not there. But… warming.”

You let out a low sound of agreement, your body leaning back more deeply into the curve of the chair. Your muscles weren’t buzzing, but they weren’t frozen either.

Jack stood upright, arms crossed loosely as he studied your posture, your breathing, every inch of your subdued response. “Shit… definitely a complex case,” he said, half to himself. “You have all the parts—just not the ignition.”

You quirked a brow up at him. “Are you calling me broken?”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No,” he said. “I’m calling you… locked. That’s different.”

You watched him. Even his frown was attractive—concentrated, thoughtful, not overdramatic. He wasn’t rattled. He was just… intrigued. Motivated. Somehow, that made the heat in the room just a little thicker.

Jack didn’t say anything right away. 

He watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable but not unkind. There was something unsettling in his stillness—something restrained. Like he was holding back more than just words. You sat on the edge of the chair, shoulders tense, knuckles pale as you clutched the armrests like they might anchor you in reality.

He crouched in front of you slowly, making sure not to invade your space too suddenly. Then, in that same low voice he always used when speaking seriously, he asked, “Would you feel safer if I guided you through the rest? Or would you prefer to take the lead?”

Your throat was dry, your thoughts in knots. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted softly, hating the vulnerability in your voice.

He nodded, taking your words without judgment. “That’s alright. I’ll take care of the pacing,” he said. Then he stood and gently reached out a hand. 

“May I?”

The question hung between you, soft as a pulse. You glanced down at his outstretched hand—palm upturned, fingers slightly curled—then back to his face. His expression was unreadable in the dim light, but his eyes held yours with a quiet intensity. Not hunger, not impatience. Just waiting.

You swallowed, then placed your hand in his.

His grip was warm. Not the dry, clinical touch of a doctor, but something living—calluses you hadn’t noticed before brushed against your knuckles, subtle proof of hands that worked, that knew their own strength.

He guided you up carefully, his other hand lifting the clipboard from your lap with a precision that bordered on reverence. Every movement was deliberate, unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world.

"Would you be comfortable sitting on my lap?"

His voice was low, barely more than breath against your ear. The question shouldn’t have felt so intimate—not here, not like this—but something about the way he asked it, the way his thumb traced a slow arc over your wrist as he waited for your answer, made your stomach tighten.

You hesitated. 

Not from fear, but from the sheer strangeness of it. 

When was the last time someone had held you? Not for sex, not for comfort, but just—held you? The thought was almost embarrassing in its simplicity.

Yet you nodded.

Jack stepped back, settling onto the chair first. His posture was relaxed but controlled, thighs slightly parted to make space for you. He didn’t pull you down, didn’t rush. Just lifted his chin, watching you with those endless black eyes, and let you come to him.

You lowered yourself slowly, every nerve alight. The first brush of your back against his chest was electric—not from arousal, but from the sheer warmth of him. He was solid, real in a way that made your breath stutter. His arms came around your waist, not trapping, not demanding, just there. 

A steady weight. An anchor.

And then—his breath.

You hadn’t expected that. The slow, even rise and fall of his chest against your spine, the heat of his exhale skimming the nape of your neck. It was too much. Too close. Your own breathing was shallow, uneven, a frantic counterpoint to his calm.

"You’re safe."

His voice rumbled through you, deeper now that you were pressed against him. One hand rested lightly above your ribs, his palm a brand even through the fabric of your shirt. The other stayed at your side, thumb tracing idle circles over your hip. Not teasing. Not yet. Just… measuring.

"We’re going slow. All you have to do is exist here."

The words sank into your skin like a balm. Your shoulders dropped, your lungs expanding fully for what felt like the first time in months. 

The room came into focus around you—the faint scent of lavender and something darker, earthier, clinging to his clothes. The muted hum of a ceiling fan you hadn’t noticed before. The plush give of velvet beneath your fingertips where you’d gripped the armrest. And beneath it all, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back.

You closed your eyes.

For the first time in too long, you felt something.

"Just follow my hands." 

His voice was a murmur, barely louder than the brush of his thumbs along the slope of your neck. You shivered—not from the cold, but from the sheer attention of it. His hands were warm, palms broad enough to cradle the base of your skull as he worked slow circles into the tense cords of muscle there.

"Breathe," he reminded you, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath.

His touch trailed downward, following the curve of your spine, pausing at the dip between your shoulder blades. There was no hesitation in his movements, no fumbling—just the smooth, deliberate drag of skin against skin. When his fingers reached the hem of your shirt, he didn’t push. Didn’t assume. Just splayed his hands over your ribs and waited.

“You okay, there?”

You nodded, your "yes" escaping as a shaky exhale. 

His palms slid beneath the fabric, warm against the bare skin of your stomach. You tensed instinctively, but his grip tightened—not restraining, just steadying. "Easy," he soothed. "This isn’t about getting you off. It’s about learning how you react."

His thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts, so light it was almost teasing. You bit your lip, eyes fluttering shut as he traced the outer curves, mapping you with a patience that bordered on maddening.

Then—his fingers curled, lifting the fabric higher. Cool air kissed your skin as your shirt rucked up beneath your arms. You glanced down, watching as his hands dwarfed you, his fingers spanning the width of your ribcage.

"Jack—"

He stilled. "What’s wrong?"

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you grabbed his wrists, guiding his palms back to your chest. His breath hitched, but he didn’t resist. Let you press his hands flush against the soft swell of your breasts through your lace black bra, your nipples pebbling under the rough heat of his touch.

Your voice was thin, frayed at the edges. "Pinch them. Like I do when I—when I try to hurry."

A few seconds of silence. Then—

Jack laughed.

Not mocking, not cruel. A soft, breathless sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours. "That’s your problem, sweetheart," he murmured, his thumbs already circling your nipples with agonizing slowness. "You’re always in a rush."

You whined, hips shifting restlessly.

He ignored it. Just kept his touch featherlight, maddeningly gentle, even as you squirmed. "You don’t need to chase it," he chided, his voice dipping into something darker. "Let it come to you."

Then—finally—he gave you what you asked for. 

His fingers tightened, just shy of pain, and your back arched off his chest with a gasp. "There," he murmured, satisfied. "Now you’re listening." He simply grinned.

“Also, you came prepared."

His voice was low, amused, as his thumbs brushed the hem of your maxi skirt—dark fabric pooling around your hips where you sat straddling his lap. You stiffened slightly at the words, fingers twitching against his hands.

"What do you mean?" you asked, though the heat creeping up your neck already betrayed your understanding.

Jack didn’t answer right away. His hands slid up your sides, tracing the notches of your ribs through your thin top before his thumbs found the peaks of your nipples. He pinched—just so—not harsh, but enough to make your breath hitch. A slow, circular rub followed, the friction deliberate, studying the way your body tensed and released beneath his touch.

“Black lace bra, matching black lace panties,” he observed, voice rough with something that wasn’t quite approval. "Skirt easy to remove. You knew what this session would require."

You opened your mouth to protest, but his hands were already moving down, palms skating over the flare of your hips, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your skirt.

The leather belt came undone with a quiet snick, the circle buckle cool where it grazed your stomach before he set it aside. His knuckles brushed your navel as he pushed the fabric down, letting it slide to the floor in a whisper of fabric.

His hands settled on your bare thighs now, just shy of the lace edge of your underwear. You could feel your own dampness—faint, but there—and the realization sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

Jack noticed. Of course he did.

"Show me," he said, fingers flexing against your skin.

"How you usually touch yourself."

Your pulse thudded in your ears. For a moment, you just stared at him—his gaze unwavering, those black eyes absorbing every twitch of your expression. Then, hesitantly, you crossed your legs, pressing your thighs together in a slow, practiced grind.

Jack’s brows lifted. "What are you doing?"

"I don’t… use my fingers," you admitted, voice barely audible. "They don’t— It doesn’t feel like enough."

A few seconds of silence. Then, a low, incredulous laugh rumbled in his chest. "You get off like this?" His grip tightened slightly on your thighs, as if to emphasize the absurdity. "No wonder you’ve numbed yourself. This much pressure—crossing your legs would dull anyone’s nerves."

You flinched, but his hands gentled instantly, one sliding up to cradle your jaw. "I’m not mocking you," he murmured. "But if you’ll let me—" His thumb brushed your lower lip. "—I’d like to teach you how to do it properly."

Your mouth went dry. "Okay," you whispered.

Jack’s smile was sharp. "Good."

Then his hands were on your hips, lifting you effortlessly to reposition you—knees bracketing his thighs, lace-clad cunt hovering just above the hard line of his own arousal. You hadn’t even noticed it before, but now it was impossible to ignore: the heat of him, the way his breath shallowed when your inner thighs brushed against him.

"First lesson," he said, fingers tracing the soaked seam of your underwear. "You don’t need to crush the sensation to feel it. You need to tease it."

And then—slow, torturous—he dragged the lace aside.

"You’re wet."

His voice was low, matter-of-fact, as his thumb brushed over the soft, puffy lips of your cunt. Not probing, not demanding—just noticing. The contact was featherlight, barely there, but it sent a jolt through you anyway. Your hips twitched, a reflexive flinch, but his other hand anchored your thigh, keeping you still.

"Probably from me touching your breasts earlier," he mused, more to himself than to you. His fingers retreated, glistening faintly in the dim light. He studied them for a moment, then met your eyes. "You don’t even realize it, do you? Your body reacts before your mind catches up."

You swallowed. You hadn’t realized. The slow, methodical way he’d palmed your breasts—thumbs circling your nipples through the fabric of the lace bra, his breath hot on your neck—had felt clinical at the time. Like an assessment. But now, with his fingers hovering just above your clit, the evidence was undeniable.

Jack tilted his head. "One last chance," he murmured. "Is there anywhere—anywhere at all—that makes you feel good? Even just a little?"

You opened your mouth. Closed it. 

Your mind was blank, your nerves alight but directionless. You’d spent so long numb that the mere possibility of pleasure felt like a foreign language.

He sighed. Not frustrated. Resigned.

"Then I need you wetter."

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping firmly. "Stand up."

The command was quiet but absolute. You obeyed on shaky legs, and you rose. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, pausing just long enough for you to tense—

Slap.

The sound was sharp, sudden. His palm connected with the curve of your ass, not hard enough to sting, but enough to make you gasp. Your muscles clenched, a startled noise catching in your throat, but he was already lifting you, effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. Your underwear peeled away, the fabric dragging against your thighs before pooling at your ankles.

"Step out."

You did. The air was cool against your bare skin, a contrast to the heat building low in your stomach. When you turned to face him, Jack was still seated, his gaze dark and unwavering. He held your discarded underwear between two fingers, studying the damp spot with detached interest before setting them aside.

"Good," he said, as if you’d passed some unspoken test. His hands returned to your hips, guiding you forward until you stood between his spread knees. 

"Now. Let’s try something simple."

One broad palm settled on the inside of your thigh, pressing in—not teasing, not stroking, just pressure. The heel of his hand ground against your muscles, slow and firm, and your breath hitched.

"There it is," he murmured, watching your face. "You don’t need finesse. You just need to be felt." His other hand mirrored the motion on your opposite thigh, fingers digging into the tense flesh. You swayed, your knees threatening to buckle, but his grip held you upright.

"Breathe," he reminded you, his thumbs creeping higher. "Just breathe. I want to test something."

Jack’s voice was low, a rumble against your spine. You felt his hands shift on your hips, his grip firm but not demanding—just enough to steer. His thumb brushed the jut of your hipbone, a silent question.

You tilted your head, frowning. His thigh?

Before you could voice the confusion, he was already moving you. His palms pressed into the softness above your waist, guiding you forward until your bare cunt settled against the hard muscle of his thigh. The fabric of his pants was rough against your sensitive skin, a stark contrast to the heat building beneath.

"Slowly," he murmured, his breath warm on your shoulder.

His hands moved you first, a deliberate rock of your hips against him, letting you feel the drag of friction. It was clinical at first—an experiment, an assessment—but then your body reacted. A spark, faint but undeniable, flickered low in your stomach.

Your breath hitched.

Jack stilled, his fingers flexing against your hips. "You felt that." It wasn’t a question.

You nodded, your throat tight.

"Good." His voice was dark with satisfaction. "Now, do it yourself."

He released you, his palms sliding away until only the ghost of his touch remained. For a moment, you hesitated, hovering above him, your thighs trembling with the effort of holding yourself up. Then, tentatively, you rolled your hips.

The sensation was sharper this time—less controlled, more yours. A quiet sound escaped you, barely more than a sigh. Jack’s exhale was ragged against your neck, his own restraint fraying at the edges as he watched you.

"Again."

You obeyed, rocking forward with more confidence this time. The pressure was perfect—just enough to tease, not enough to overwhelm. Your fingers dug into his knees for balance as you moved, your pace quickening without thought.

"Look at you," Jack murmured, his voice thick. "Finally feeling something." His hands returned, not to guide you, but to feel you—his thumbs pressing into the dip of your waist, his fingers spanning the curve of your ass, tracing the way your body moved against him. Every touch was possessive, reverent. Like he was memorizing the way you came undone.

Your breath came faster, your hips grinding down in desperate little circles now. The coil in your stomach tightened, your nerves alight with something raw and new. You weren’t just touching yourself—you were using him, his strength, his stillness, the unyielding muscle of his thigh giving you exactly what you needed.

"Slow down." His voice was a blade wrapped in velvet—smooth, but with an edge that made your breath hitch. His fingers curled around your wrist, halting the frantic rhythm of your own touch. You hadn’t even realized you’d started moving against him, hips stuttering with restless need. His grip tightened just enough to emphasize the point, his thumb pressing into your pulse like he was counting every erratic beat.

“Be careful, don’t rush your lesson now.”

Before you could protest, his hands were on your hips, turning you in his lap until you were straddling him backward—your spine pressed flush to his chest, his thighs bracketing yours. The shift was effortless, his strength unsettling in its ease. One arm banded around your waist, holding you in place. The other—

Slap.

A sharp, stinging bite against your bare cunt, just hard enough to make you gasp. The sound echoed in the quiet room, followed by the slick, obscene proof of how wet you were.

"Look at that," Jack murmured, his voice a dark hum against your ear. His fingers glided through your folds with clinical precision, spreading you open like a specimen he couldn’t wait to study.

"Dripping. And we’ve barely started."

His touch was cold. Not unpleasantly so, but enough to make you flinch—a stark contrast to the heat between your legs. You hadn’t noticed before, too lost in the haze of his control, but now it was all you could focus on. The chill of his skin as he dragged a single finger up your slit, circling your clit with agonizing slowness.

"Good girl," he praised, lips grazing the shell of your ear. "Look how far you’ve gotten. All tense and desperate, just for me."

You could hear the smirk in his voice. Could feel it in the way his fingers worked you—teasing, taunting, never giving you enough. Just slow, maddening circles that had your thighs trembling. His other hand splayed across your stomach, holding you steady as your hips jerked, seeking more friction.

"Ah-ah." A warning nip at your earlobe. "I decide when you come. Not you."

His sharp smile pressed against your throat as you whined, fingers clawing at his thighs. "Patience. There you go," Jack murmured, his voice a dark velvet rasp against your ear. "Just like that."

You didn’t remember when you’d gotten fully naked. 

One moment, you were perched on his lap, his hands mapping the tension in your hips—the next, your clothes were gone, discarded somewhere in the hazy periphery of your awareness. Jack’s cool skin was against your bare skin, but your body was warm, more like a furnace against him. 

His fingers trailed up your inner thigh, slow and methodical, pausing just shy of where you ached. "Tell me what you feel," he said, his breath hot on your shoulder.

"I—" Your voice cracked. 

You were wet. So fucking wet it almost embarrassed you—a slick, shameful heat that had no business pooling this fast under the touch of a man who spoke like a surgeon and held you like a sacrament.

Jack hummed, low and approving. "Good. That’s exactly how you should be." His free hand slid up your stomach, palming your breast with a possessiveness that made your back arch. "Look at you," he murmured, thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, deliberate circles. "So responsive. So eager to learn."

You whimpered.

His chuckle was a dark, honeyed thing. "Ah, there’s the sound I’ve been waiting for." He pinched your nipple just so—not enough to hurt, just enough to make your hips jerk—and you gasped, your thighs trembling around his.

"You’re perfect like this," he continued, his voice dipping into something rougher. "All soft curves and pretty, desperate noises. I adore the ones with meat on their bones—something to hold, to savor." His teeth grazed your shoulder, blunt and teasing.

"You’re exactly my type."

Your breath came in shallow pants. 

It was too much. Not enough. His words coiled hot in your belly, his touch everywhere—one hand still working your nipple, the other now dragging through your slick folds with agonizing patience. "Jack—"

"Shh." He pressed a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. "Let me teach you." His fingers parted you gently, his middle finger circling your clit with just the barest pressure. "This is where you start," he murmured. "Slow. Gentle. Let the ache build."

You bit your lip, hips twitching.

"No, no—look." He caught your wrist, guiding your hand down between your legs, his fingers overlaying yours. "Feel that? The way your body pulses when you touch here?" His voice was a sinful whisper, his breath damp against your neck. "That’s your hunger. Don’t rush it. Feed it."

You shuddered, his words searing into your skin. His fingers moved yours in slow, slick strokes—showing you the rhythm, the pressure, the filthy, perfect angle that made your vision blur. 

"You’re so quiet."

Jack’s voice was a low murmur against your ear, his breath warm where his lips nearly brushed your skin. His fingers, still curled gently around your waist, flexed once—a silent prompt.

You hadn’t realized how little sound you’d made until he pointed it out. No moans, no hitched breaths. Just the soft, steady rhythm of your lungs fighting to stay even.

His head tilted, those black eyes scanning your face, again like a surgeon assessing an incision. "Not even a sigh," he mused. "Care to explain?"

You swallowed. "There’s no point," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Jack went very still behind you. Then, slowly, his hand slid up your torso, his palm skimming the curve of your ribs before settling just beneath your breast. His thumb pressed there, not quite teasing, not quite cruel—just present.

"Are you sure?"

The question hung in the air for half a heartbeat before his other hand dipped between your thighs.

You gasped.

His fingers were bigger than yours—wider, rougher in a way that shouldn’t have been as intoxicating as it was. A single digit pressed inside without warning, stretching you in a single, smooth motion. 

Your back arched instinctively, your nails digging into the arm still wrapped around your waist. "Breathe," Jack reminded you, his voice dark with amusement. "And explain."

You tried. God, you tried. But your thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm as he began to move—slow, deliberate drags in and out, his knuckles brushing sensitive flesh with every retreat. 

Your hips jerked, chasing the sensation, but his grip on your waist held firm, keeping you pinned against his chest. "I—" You choked on the word as his thumb circled your clit, feather-light. "I never—needed—to moan."

Jack tsked, his free hand sliding up to squeeze your breast, fingers plucking at your nipple just hard enough to make you jolt. "Try again."

"It was just—quick," you panted, your thighs trembling around his wrist. "Just to—to relax. Never—ah!—never like this."

He hummed, considering. His finger curled inside you, pressing up in a way that made your vision blur. "Can you handle another?"

You nodded frantically.

Jack’s grip on your breast tightened in warning. "Words, sweetheart."

"Y-yes—"

The second finger breached you before you could finish, stretching you impossibly wider. Your legs spasmed, a broken sound tearing from your throat as your body clenched around him. It was too much—the stretch, the heat, the way your own slick coated his fingers with every thrust. You could hear it, wet and obscene, and the sound alone sent a fresh wave of heat flooding between your thighs.

Jack’s lips grazed your shoulder. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with something like pride. "Dripping all over my fingers and you’ve barely made a sound."

You sighed softly, your hips rocking helplessly against his hand.

Then Jack stops.

You don’t realize he’s moved until his hands leave your waist, the sudden absence of his touch like a cold draft against your skin. You start to turn your head, confused—

And then he lifts you.

Effortlessly. As if your weight is nothing. One arm hooks under your knees, the other cradles your back, and in a single motion, he stands, taking you with him. Your breath hitches, fingers scrambling for purchase against his shoulders as the world tilts.

"Wha—?"

No warning. No explanation. Just the dizzying shift of gravity as he carries you the few steps to the bed and drops you—softly, deliberately—into the nest of pillows. Your head sinks into the downy embrace, hair fanning out around you.

And then he’s over you. 

Knees bracketing your hips, palms planted on either side of your head, his shadow swallowing you whole.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Up close, the sheer size of him is startling. You knew he was tall, but like this—his torso blocking the light, his thighs pressing yours wider—he’s overwhelming. Lean, yes, but corded with a strength that makes your stomach flip. His shirt stretches tight across his shoulders, the fabric straining with the faintest shift of muscle as he leans down.

"I’m offering you an experience," he murmurs, voice like gravel wrapped in silk. "A real one."

Your pulse stutters. "W-why?"

His lips curl—just slightly. "Because I’ve touched you everywhere. Played with your breasts. Slapped your pretty cunt. Even fingered you." A pause, deliberate. "And you didn’t come. Not once."

The words shouldn’t burn. Not when he says them like he’s reciting lab results. But they do. Your face flames, thighs pressing together instinctively—only for his knee to nudge them back apart. "You got wet," he continues, thumb brushing your lower lip. "But wetness isn’t your goal. You want you to come. Hard. And I’m willing to make that happen."

Your breath is coming too fast now. "H-how?"

Jack’s smile is all teeth. "By eating you out."

Your entire body locks up. Eating you out. The phrase rattles in your skull like a stone in a tin can. You’ve never—no one’s ever—God, you don’t even know what it’s supposed to feel like. Just the thought of his mouth there, his tongue—

No. No no no.

You jerk your head to the side, one hand slapping over your eyes like a child hiding from a nightmare. It’s ridiculous. You’re a grown woman. A medical student, for Christ’s sake. But the heat in your cheeks is volcanic, your chest so tight it aches.

A chuckle—amused—vibrates through the mattress. "Tiny thing," Jack muses, "and yet so scared." Then his fingers wrap around your wrist, prying your hand away from your face. "Look at me."

You don’t want to. You do. 

And—oh. 

The face mask is gone.

His face is—Handsome isn’t the right word. It’s too… non-human, too soft. Jack is all edges: sharp cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, lips just a shade too red against the cool gray of his skin. His brown hair is a mess of waves, half-tamed, like he’s been running his hands through it. And his ears—those damn pointed ears—twitch faintly as he studies your reaction.

But—with his full face, his eyes that steal your breath. 

Pitch black. No whites, no pupils, just endless depth—like staring into a well at midnight. And beneath them, those faint, inky tear lines, as if he’s been crying shadows. 

You should be terrified. This isn’t a man. This is something other. Something that shouldn’t exist outside of folklore or fever dreams.

But he’s also hot. Professionally, clinically hot.

And he’s looking at you like you’re the fascinating one.

Your throat bobs. "I—"

Jack doesn’t let you finish. He lifts your captured hand to his mouth—and bites your palm. Not hard. Not enough to break skin. Just a slow, deliberate press of teeth, his tongue flicking against the fleshy base of your thumb. A shiver rockets down your spine.

"It’s okay to be scared," he murmurs against your skin. "I’ll be gentle." A pause. "Unless you want me to be rough."

The option hangs between you, ripe as fruit. You groan, rolling your eyes like you’re not already arching into him. "Just—just fucking do it, Jack."

His grin is wicked. "Good girl." His lips pressed against yours without warning, but not without permission—the kind you’d given with your breath hitching, with your fingers curling into the sheets of the bed. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft. It was claiming, a hot, deliberate slide of his mouth over yours, his teeth catching your lower lip just hard enough to make you gasp.

"Open," he murmured against you, voice dark as spilled ink.

You hesitated—just for a heartbeat—before parting your lips.

He didn’t wait. His tongue swept in, hot and relentless, tangling with yours in a way that felt less like an invitation and more like a taking. Your mouth felt full, overwhelmed, every flick and twist of his tongue dragging a muffled sound from your throat. He kissed you like he was mapping you, like he could taste the years of numbness on your tongue and was determined to burn it away.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were wet, swollen. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, catching a thread of saliva, and his eyes locked onto yours. "Good," he said, low and rough. 

"So good for me already."

Then he was moving down.

He didn’t rush. Every inch of you was a ritual. His lips traced the line of your jaw, the flutter of your pulse, the hollow of your throat—each touch a brand. His hands followed, sliding down your sides, fingertips pressing just hard enough to make you arch.

When he reached your breasts, he paused. His breath was hot against your skin as he looked up at you, those black eyes glinting. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he said—but it wasn’t a question. It was a reminder. That you were still in control. That he wouldn’t take what you didn’t give.

You didn’t tell him to stop.

His mouth closed over one nipple, tongue circling slow and wet before his teeth grazed the peak. Your back bowed off the chair, a broken noise tearing from your lips. He hummed, pleased, his free hand cupping your other breast, thumb rolling over the neglected nipple until it ached.

"Jack—" you gasped.

He pulled back just enough to smirk. "You sound pretty when you say my name." Then he switched sides, lavishing the same torment on your other breast, his fingers pinching the first just enough to make your thighs jerk together.

He didn’t let you. His knee slid between yours, forcing them apart. "None of that," he chided, voice dripping with amusement. "I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet."

His lips trailed lower—over the dip of your waist, the curve of your hip, the trembling plane of your stomach. Every kiss was a brand, every nip of his teeth a spark, then glancing up at you. "Last chance to say no."

You didn’t.

His hands slid up your bare legs, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, spreading you wider. The first breath he took against your cunt was audible—a slow, deliberate inhale. His groan vibrated through you. "Fuck. You smell perfect."

You shuddered, hips lifting instinctively, but his grip tightened, holding you down. "Ah-ah. I’ll take care of you. Just let me." His hands slid beneath you, palms broad and warm against the curve of your ass, lifting you just enough to adjust your weight. 

The grip was firm—not demanding, but certain, like he knew exactly how to hold you without letting you strain. Your thighs fell open wider, almost embarrassingly so, the cool air of the room brushing against skin that had never felt so exposed.

Then his mouth.

Cold at first—a shock of contrast where you were already throbbing—his lips pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. Not where you wanted him, not yet. He was savoring this, tracing the delicate crease where leg met hip with the tip of his nose, inhaling like you were something sacred. Your fingers twitched against the sheets, then found his face, cupping his jaw as if to steady yourself. His stubble scraped lightly against your palm, rough and real.

When his tongue finally dragged a long, flat stroke up your center, your back arched off the chair. A gasp tore from your throat, your hand fisting in his hair before you could think to stop yourself. Brown strands wrapped around your fingers, silky and thick, and you pulled—just enough to hear him groan against you.

The vibration rolled through your nerves like a shockwave.

"Fuck—" you choked out, hips jerking.

Jack’s breath hitched, his nose bumping your clit as he glanced up. "Sorry," he murmured, voice already wrecked. But you didn’t let him retreat. 

Your thighs clamped around his head, heels digging into his back, holding him in place with a desperation that should’ve embarrassed you.

"Don’t you dare stop."

A huff of laughter warmed your skin before he obeyed, diving back in with a focus that made your toes curl. His tongue was relentless now—flicking, circling, then pressing inside with a twist that had you seeing stars. One of his hands slid up your body, palming your breast through your shirt, thumb brushing your nipple in time with every lick. 

You whimpered, the dual sensation short-circuiting your thoughts.

And the sounds—your moans pitched higher, breathier, tumbling from your lips like prayers. His ears twitched at each one, the pointed tips flicking forward as if to catch every broken sigh. You could feel how much it pleased him, the way his fingers flexed against your ribs, the way his hips shifted restlessly between your legs like he was holding himself back from grinding into the chair.

Then his free hand gripped your thigh, pushing it wider, deeper, as he sucked your clit between his lips.

Your vision whited out.

"Jack—" you sobbed, thighs trembling around him.

He hummed in response, the sound vibrating straight through your core, and you ground against his face, chasing the pleasure like you’d die without it. His fingers pinched your nipple just shy of pain, and you came with a cry so loud it echoed off the velvet walls.

Jack didn’t let up. Not until you were squirming, oversensitive, your hands fluttering weakly against his shoulders in protest. Only then did he lean back, lips glistening, chin damp, his breathing as ragged as yours.

"Good?" he asked, though the smirk in his voice said he already knew.

You could only stare at him, dazed, your chest heaving.

Slowly, deliberately, he licked his lips.

"Let’s try that again."

Your breath hitched. Again? You’d already come once—shaking, gasping, your thighs clamped around his head like a vice. But Jack wasn’t satisfied. No, the way his fingers dug into your hips, the way his lips glistened with you as he pulled back to smirk up at you—he wanted more.

"You didn’t scream," he murmured, dragging his tongue—tongues?—slowly up your inner thigh. "You didn’t even beg. And from the way your body locked up just now?" A chuckle, dark and knowing. 

"You wanted to come hard."

Damn him. Damn him for reading you like a medical chart, for seeing the truth in the way your back arched, the way your fingers twisted in the sheets. You had wanted it rough. Needed it. Months of numbness, of dull, mechanical friction, and here he was—ruining you with just his mouth.

And then—

His lips sealed over you again, and this time, there was no teasing.

One thick, slick stroke of his tongue from entrance to clit, and your back bowed off the chair. A whimper tore from your throat as he flicked—sharp, merciless—against your oversensitive bundle of nerves. The noise you made was pathetic, broken, and Jack growled against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core.

"There it is," he murmured, pulling back just enough to watch your face as his tongues—what the fuck—pressed against your entrance. "That little gasp. That’s the sound of you feeling something."

Then he pushed in.

One out of his three tongues. Your vision whited out.

The middle one was thick, ridged, fucking into you with slow, deliberate thrusts while the other two coiled around your clit, lapping and squeezing in tandem. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. 

Your hips jerked, desperate, but Jack’s grip on your thighs was iron, holding you open, forcing you to take it. "You wanna take a closer look?" he teased, pulling back just enough to let you see.

Your stomach dropped.

Three tongues. Long, sinuous, glistening with your arousal. The middle one tapered to a wicked point, the other two slightly shorter but no less skilled, curling lazily in the air like they were tasting you already.

"Wha—" you choked out, but Jack just grinned, all sharp teeth and dark amusement.

"Special case, special treatment," he purred, lowering his mouth again. "And you, sweet thing? You’re very special."

The middle tongue speared into you, deeper this time, fucking in and out with a rhythm that had your toes curling. The other two twisted around your clit, one applying steady pressure while the other flicked rapidly, brutally, over the swollen bud.

You sobbed. "Jack—fuck—!"

He hummed, the sound vibrating through your entire body. "That’s it. Let go." You couldn’t. You were too busy unraveling, your orgasm crashing into you like a tidal wave, your thighs trembling, your nails clawing in his brown hair beneath you. It was too much, the overstimulation bordering on pain, but Jack didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Just kept working you, dragging out every last shudder, every broken gasp.

And then—

"Teach me how to scream," you begged, voice raw.

Jack’s eyes gleamed. "Gladly." He quickly stops. 

The shift is sudden, but not rushed. One moment, you’re cradled against the bed, lulled by the rhythm of his tongue was just deep inside you; the next, his hands are guiding you up, turning you with a quiet certainty that leaves no room for hesitation.

He leans back onto the bed, creaking softly. His movements are fluid, almost predatory in their precision—stretching out like a shadow given form, his head propped against the pillows, those black eyes fixed on you with a hunger that makes your pulse stutter.

“Come here.”

His voice is rougher now, the clinical detachment fraying at the edges. A command, not a request.

You hesitate, knees sinking into the mattress beside his hips. The air between you is thick with the scent of your own arousal, the slick heat between your thighs impossible to ignore. Jack’s nostrils flare, his tongue darting out to wet his lips—too sharp, too pointed—and suddenly, the reality of what he’s asking crashes over you.

Sit on his face.

Your breath hitches. “I—I don’t know if I can—”

“You can.” His hands slide up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above your knees. “And I can take it.” There’s a dark promise in his words, a dare. 

“I want you to scream my name like it’s going out of style.”

You move.

Clumsy with want, you straddle his chest, one hand braced against the headboard for balance. Jack doesn’t rush you. He watches, eyes swallowing whatever faint light exists in the room, as you lower yourself—inch by trembling inch—until your thighs frame his face, until the heat of your cunt hovers just above his mouth.

His breath ghosts over you, hot and deliberate.

Then contact.

The first lick is slow, almost reverent. A flat, wet stroke from entrance to clit that has your back arching, your fingers tangling in his hair. Jack groans, the vibration against your sensitive flesh drawing a broken sound from your throat.

“Fuck—!”

He doesn’t let you recover. His tongue flicks, teasing your clit before plunging deeper, fucking into you with a rhythm that’s too perfect, too practiced. You gasp, hips jerking forward, but his hands clamp down on your thighs, holding you in place.

“Stay.” The word is muffled against your skin, but the order is clear.

You whimper, nails scraping his scalp as his tongue curls inside you, fucking in and out with obscene precision. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Your thighs shake, your breath coming in ragged pants, but Jack doesn’t relent.

Then—a sudden second pressure, another tongue—thicker, rougher—joins the first, lapping at your entrance before pushing in alongside it. Your eyes fly open, a strangled moan tearing from your lips. What the hell—?! 

Jack’s grip on your thighs tightens, his breaths coming faster now, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks, dragging both tongues over that sweet, spongy spot inside you. Your vision goes whites out.

“J-Jack—!”

He growls, the sound vibrating through your core. His mouth is still on you when you feel it—something wrong. A slow, slick pressure, thinner than his tongue, curling against your inner thigh like a living thing. Your breath hitches, muscles locking, but Jack doesn’t let you pull away. His hands tighten on your hips, pinning you in place as that third tongue—fuck, it’s a third tongue—slithers up through the mess he’s already made of you.

It flicks once, twice, against your clit, teasing the swollen bud before pushing in alongside the others.

You scream.

It’s too much—the stretch, the fullness, the way he spears into you with a hunger that borders on violence. His teeth graze your thigh, his nails carving half-moons into your skin as he fucks into you with that unnatural muscle, coiling and twisting inside you like he’s trying to carve his name into your walls.

Jack’s eyes roll back, his hips jerking beneath you as if he’s the one being ruined. His face is glazed with your slick, lips swollen and shining, breath coming in ragged, animal pants. He doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when you sob his name like a prayer, not when your nails tear bloody furrows through his hair, not when your thighs shake and your vision whites out—

—because then you’re coming, hard enough to choke on it, your orgasm ripping through you like a live wire.

He drinks it down. Every spasm, every pulse, his tongues working you through it until you’re wrung dry, until your screams dissolve into broken whimpers. Only then does he let you collapse, your body limp, your mind wiped blank.

Jack exhales, slow and satisfied, his fingers tracing idle, possessive circles on your trembling thighs.

You just came hard enough to black out—vision tunneling, muscles seizing, a silent scream locked behind your teeth—but he catches you before you fall. His arms wrap around you, cradling your limp form against his chest with an unsettling gentleness. His lips brush your forehead in a mockery of tenderness, the gesture sweet enough to make your stomach twist. 

Then, with deliberate slowness, he drags his teeth over your collarbone, biting down just hard enough to bruise.

You gasp, jerking in his hold, but he doesn’t let you pull away. His grip tightens, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your waist like he’s memorizing the give of it.

"Shhhhh…"

His voice is a dark purr, thick with something that isn’t quite human. You feel it vibrate through your ribs, deep and resonant, like the hum of a predator after a good meal. His breath is warm against your skin, but his mouth—when he licks a slow stripe up your throat—is cold.

Too cold.

You try to twist away, but his free hand slides up to cover your mouth before you can scream. His thumb presses against your bottom lip, forcing your jaw open just slightly, and he leans in, inhaling like he’s savoring the scent of your panic.

"Shhhh... There’s no need to scream now," he murmurs, voice dripping with false reassurance.

That’s when you see it.

The black.

Not just his eyes—no, those have always been voids, endless and depthless—but the slick, tar-like substance now trickling from the corners of his sockets, slow and syrupy, dripping down his cheekbones like tears. It doesn’t fall. It clings, viscous and shimmering, before vanishing into the sharp line of his jaw.

You freeze.

Jack notices. Of course he does.

His lips curve into a smile—too wide, too knowing—and he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. "Perfect," he whispers, and this time, when his tongue drags over your pulse point, you taste it—copper and salt and something sweet, something rotting, something that shouldn’t be inside you—

You whimper.

He hums, pleased, and nips at your earlobe. "You did so perfect for me."

His hands slide down your body, mapping the tremors still wracking your limbs, the damp heat between your thighs. He lingers there, pressing two fingers against your clit with a slow, rhythmic pressure that makes your hips jerk despite yourself.

"But I’m not done with you yet."

Because the taste of you—fuck, the taste of you—is better than anything he’s ever had. Better than blood, better than flesh, better than every desperate, writhing thing that’s ever begged beneath his hands.

And he will have more.

He’ll take it slow this time. He’ll let you catch your breath, let your heartbeat settle, let your body remember how to want before he ruins you all over again.

After all, you’re a med student.

You’ll understand the importance of thoroughness. And Jack?

Jack always finishes what he starts.

[ilsanslut]

proneboning—it’s HIS favorite position. there’s just something so very tantalizing about pinning you flush to whatever surface he can manage and completely ravishing you beneath him. and you? you love it just as much.

your pretty face pressed deeply into the sheets, leaving you to helplessly writhe and moan beneath the weight of your lover. your tiny fists fisting the sheets, bracing for every powerful, mind-numbing thrust as you feel his thick, heavy cock pounding the deepest depths within you. your shrill moans and pleasured wails becoming muffled by the duvet beneath you as you’re smothered beneath his hardy, masculine frame. you can feel his heavy weight and muscled chest boring down on your back, crushing and pinning you firmly into a mattress in such a delightful way as every one of his powerful, carnal thrusts, aided by gravity and his heft, pounds you further and further into submission—as if every singular one is bellowing MINE, MINE, MINE, from the lewd echos of your bedroom walls.

you can’t catch your breath, you can’t speak, you can’t even think. you’re reduced to a babbling mess, your weeps of sheer ecstasy matching that of your glistening, weeping cunt as it gushes around his thick shaft with every obscene clap of his pelvis PLAP, PLAP, PLAPPING against your bubbly ass.

“yeaah, that’s it.” you can barely make out his gruff voice as his lips press to the shell of your ear, his heavy pants mixing with near-feral growls as he struggles to maintain his own composure.

amidst his unforgiving pace, you feel his muscled forearm snaking around your waist, his meaty palm, and equally thick digits pressing against the fatty part of your lower belly to feel that prominent bulge that forms every time he bottoms out within you. “y’feel me in here too, princess? bullying that pretty womb of yours? haah, fuck. thaaat’s it. sing for me, angel. let me hear that pretty voice of yours.”

so you do. you cry, you shriek, you mewl—“singing” praises of his name, how big his cock is and how good his cock feels inside of you, how you can’t take it because it’s “too much," as well as contradictory pleas of him to slow down followed by depraved cries of “please, please, fuck me harder!”

that’s not good enough for him, though. c’mon, princess. use your dumb little brain. you think he can hear you when you're nose-deep in the sheets? don’t worry, he has a solution for that.

nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of a broad, bulging bicep snaking around your neck, the crease of its forearm and elbow resting tautly against your windpipe as he wrenched your head up from the sheets and began to squeeze. he balled the fist of his other hand and used his strength to pull back the latter, effectively locking you into an unforgiving headlock that made your toes curl and your heightened moans catch in your throat.

“say it again for me, pretty. y’like my fat cock fuckin’ you up? like me using you like the pretty pocket pussy you are? yeah? ngh, shit. c’mon, lighten up, princess, you’re chokin’ my dick here.”

“y-yes! yes, yes, yes! oh, f-fuck yess! m’gonna cum, hah, mpfh! m’gonna cum!!”

he raises himself onto his knees, caging your petite frame in between both of his muscular thighs as he pounds into you with more ferocity than before, like a ravenous predator claiming every ounce of his darling little prey. he was always so, so generous, most of the time. who was he to deny his little angel her precious orgasm?

“do it. c’mon, make a fuckin’ mess on my cock, you dumb slut.” he would snarl against you, his teeth and sharp canines grazing the shell of your ear.

you did so graciously; your moans mixed with babbles of useless speech along the lines of “thank you” and incoherent swears. your glassy eyes spilling with fat globs of tears that rolled down your cheeks could not register their surroundings, nor could your brain register him slamming his cock's head firmly against your squishy insides, pumping you to the brim with his virile seed that threatened to bloat your lil’ tummy.

he let you go in an instant, allowing your exhausted body to fall slack on the sheets before you, your head resting soundly on the crevice of his elbow between his bicep and forearm. he had yet to pull out of you, even after you had come down from your high, and his cock had long since ceased languidly pumping the ropes of his creamy, heavy seed deep inside of you.

“shh, i got you, angel.” he eased your twitchy frame and panting mewls with an affectionate, breathless kiss to your forehead.

“always such a good girl, f’me.”

blue lock: KAISER MICHAEL. SHOEI BAROU. nagi seishiro. KUNIGAMI RENSUKE. itoshi sae. itoshi rin. KARASU TABITO. EGO JINPACHI. otoyo eita. OLIVER AIKU. isagi yoichi. BACHIRA MEGURU. RAICHI JINGO. LORENZO DON. SHIDOU RYUSEI. jujutsu kaisen: nanami kento. GETO SUGURU. kamo choso. FUSHIGURO TOJI. OH MY FUCKING GOD TOJI. SUKUNA. SUKUNA. SUKUNA PLEASE GOD SUKUNA. GOJO SATORU. mahito. HAKARI KINJI. todo aoi. zenin naoya. genshin impact: WRIOTHESLEY. CHILDE. ALHAITHAM. kamisato ayato. ragnvindr diluc. ARATAKI ITTO. tighnari. SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER. HEIZOU. IL DOTTORE. PANTALONE. kimetsu no yaiba: SHINAZUGAWA SANEMI. UZUI TENGEN. rengoku kyojuro. RENGOKU SHINJUROOOO. IGURO OBANAI. KIBUTSUJI MUZAN. akaza. kokoshibo. DOUMA. HANTENGU CLONES. GYUTARO, tokyo revengers: mitsuya takashi. KAWATA NAHOYAAAA. SHIBA TAIJU. BAJI KEISUKE. HANEMIYA KAZUTORA. haitani rindou. HAITANI RAN. RYUGUJI KEN. sano manjiro. SANZU HARUCHIYO. akashi takeomi. imaushi wakasa. TERANO SOUTH. sano sinichiro. HANMA SHUUJI.

ⓒ vampiie 2024 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form/means. please do not share my work to tiktok or any other site.

[natti-ice]

— just a stranger.

18+ mdni

pairing: male character x fem!reader

cw: p in v, public sex, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of alcohol

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

The smell of smoke and hand soap lingers in the air around you as your mouth clashes with his, the loud bass from the live band vibrates the small bathroom stall, you can’t help but moan as his tongue slides against yours. You don’t normally hook up with strangers at bars but there was something so captivating about this man you couldn’t deny his invitation to the bathroom, the taste of whiskey off his lips sends a flood down to your core- desperate for friction you reach down and unbuckle his belt as fast as possible.

He takes the hint and takes over, unbuttoning his jeans and pulls them down along with his boxers. You gasp softly against his mouth as you feel your dress being yanked above your waist, his fingers make their way into the band of your soaked panties. A soft whimper escapes your lips as his finger tips gently graze your swollen clit “Jesus, sweetheart, you’re already wet” his husky, lust filled voice scratches something in your brain. The horny daze you’re in takes over your body, you don’t think about your next move you just let your body take control.

You reach down and grab a hold of his cock and gently stroke it while looking deep into his eyes, without breaking eye contact he pushes your panties down to your knees and moves you against the cold metal stall door. He steps right in front of you and brings his cock between your legs, your legs tremble as the tip glides up and down your puffy lips. He pulls your legs apart more and you grab a hold of the toilet paper holder for balance, the head of his dick slow presses into your entrance asking for permission. You nod quickly giving him the okay, you couldn’t help but feel so needy right now. The ache between your legs could only be fixed by one solution and that solution was this stranger’s big cock.

You cover your mouth immediately as he pushes further into you until he bottoms out, you bite your tongue hard to fight back the moan of pure ecstasy that’s lodged in your throat. His pleasured groans meet your ears as he starts to pump into you, his hand slams against the door that holds you up to balance himself, your free hand snakes behind him and grips his ass. Soft swears are muttered against your neck as his hot lips place gentle kisses against your sensitive skin. Your body tenses immediately as you hear the bathroom door open and a few people come stumbling in, your brain tells you to push the guy away but you’re so lost in pleasure that you don’t move.

He pulls away from your neck for a moment and you look up at him to see a wicked grin slapped across his face, his pace doesn’t slow down as he reaches up and grabs your wrist to pull away your hand that’s clamped over your mouth. He whispers to you “don’t hold back sweetheart, let the whole bar hear what a good girl you are.” His voice was pure sex and you couldn’t help but listen to his demand, you let out the moans, allowing yourself to enjoy this very hot situation. You could hear laughing coming from outside the stall but you didn’t care, the orgasm you were chasing was too tempting to pass up.

Your back arches as a loud grunt leaves his perfect mouth, your pussy clenches around him as you go over the edge, you don’t hold anything back as you cum- letting all the swears fill the small space around you. His amused chuckle is followed by a shuttered groan as you feel him spill into your body, he collapses against you, panting softly as the both of you catch your breath. After a few moments past the haze starts to clear, you feel his breath against your ear, there’s a gentleness to his words as he says, “best pussy of my life.”

For some reason you believed him, you’ve only know him for a few hours but something about the way he said it makes you truly believe that you’re the best he’s ever had.

[shuenkio]

Sweet Nightmare | 제이크 ⊰⁠⊹ฺ

メ Paring: Jake X M!reader

Synopsis: Waking up feeling horny in the middle of night, you have no one but your boyfriend to help with your "problem" silently.

Genre: Smut without plot. Cw: smau

Non proof read — Eng is not my 1st

メ This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

All you can see was, the dim led lights on the night shift beside your bed. Dizziness, nauseous consuming you whole in the middle of midnight. You couldn't help but to feel a hardened bulge threaten to break free underneath those low rise pajamas pants. A frustrated sign exhales, nothing seems to be real nor fake at the same time, you were awake in this state, probably just half awake.

Heat spark in your veins, needed something to give off the release or whatever makes this sudden intense desire go away. A solution pops up, as you drag your feet, on the cold floor to Jake's room, your boyfriend, who sleeps alone.

No second thought, you settle down beside his bulk back, and start to move your hip against his glutes.

"I gotta...make it quick...before he wakes up" voice in your thoughts spoke out, your length began to grow more and more to the max, till it was hard enough to feel the pain arching on your shaft. Sweating soaking you whole, you couldn't care less whether Jake, the one who is in charge, the one who is supposed to be your strong man, Top. However right now, this horny desire got the bed of you, grinding, and humping him dry between his cheeks.

You were panting, chest heaving, reaching for the climax. Your uncut dick, pull back and forth the foreskin, ecstatic against his rear end cloth, that could make you feel the intense pleasure enough to nut it out, In this chilly room, along with the air crisp against both skin, wrapped in a soft, quiet stillness—only broken by the faint, lingering moaning of you.

"shit... Shit... Is this how it feels to be... Bury— fuck am I fucking....him!!" You curse under your breath, softly, your brows knot in together with the eyes squint close while endure and enjoy the contact, carry on grinding at Jake like a dog in heat.

Without realizing, Jake was awake the whole time when you're open the door yet he kept pretending to see what your purpose was, that turned out you were being like this, horny in the middle of the night? Would Jake be surprised at this weird occasion? Nope, since you were once open up to him that someday you'd be doing this, having a weird kink they say? Somnophilia! out of control or waking up with a wood in your pants. But this is the first time that Jake encounters you, humping dry on him like this, and somehow he's enjoying it... Feeling both of you and his monster cock growing together with you, gosh the way he bites his lip and swallow those noisy whimpers in him. He can't turn around with that stupid red heat on his face like that, well not right now until he can't take it anymore.

"h--oly fuck... It's coming --"

On the other hand, you continue to keep on the pace until you find yourself feeling the orgasm flowing, in your nerves system. And that's when Jake decides to make a change.

He turned around, Jake’s lips curled into a lazy, knowing smirk—just a ghost of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth, Like he’d been waiting for this.

The realization hit you like a cold shock, he’d been awake the whole time. Watching. Listening. Letting you think he was lost in sleep, all while that sharp, unreadable glint lingered in his half-lidded eyes.

"babe, why don't you say that you want to feel your man's body? Hm? Is that so hard to ask for— you puppy whore" Your boyfriend won't let a second go, as he yank your pants down, Enough to free your desperate dick. Before you can react, he leans his frame down and swallows your whole length in his mouth, taking you all the way down in his heat walls, as you experience the most ecstasy known to man kind.

It was something you didn't expect, while still processing how Jake was awake the whole time and now he was here, blowing your balls deep in his air supplies. You whimpers, the sound escaping in a strangled gasp, raw and desperate. The pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, a violent, unstoppable force that tore through every inch of his body. It was too much, more intense than you ever thought possible.

"You fucking like that hah feeling me sucking your dick?"

"mhmmm argh it too much— Jesus Christ"

Jake’s mouth speed was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every inch of you. The pleasure he gave you was overwhelming, yet gentle, teasing your senses in ways that made it hard to breathe. His lips barely brushed away from your manhood, each kiss soft but filled with intent, drawing quiet gasps from you as you melted into him. He moved with such tenderness, but every motion sent waves of heat through your body, making you ache for more. You could feel the tension building in him too, a soft sigh escaping his lips, his own pleasure. It was tender, that left you craving nothing but the feeling of him close, so close, you couldn’t imagine anything else.

Shortly after— you burst out a load of syrupy thick cum inside of his mouth that causes over shock with a loud shrieking, making you black out on the spot as your dick still spurting, while Jake was eager to not let any drop leaking out of his mouth, needed to taste all of you.

"oh my heart— you were so weak to witness this. Now get some rest babe,—"

Little did you know, it was only you were the one who dozed off to sleep when Jake peeled his pants off, revealing his gigantic girth massive cock on, ready to take his turn.

"Goodnight my puppy—whore"

A/n: guy I think I like the word "whore" jkd. I'm getting a lil bold on this post I hope you don't mind (meh) 😜 my requests are done, actually Abt one of my anon ask for "3some" don't be mind at me since idk how to write one so :') lmk, any feedback are welcome I don't bite really...

[lisasmuts]

The Debt

Lalisa Manoban (Lisa)

10k words

A tale of what a loving girlfriend can do for her boyfriend.

( When a friend in need is a girlfriend in deed.)

Lisa’s eyes fluttered shut as Eli’s tongue caressed her sensitive breasts. She let out a soft, trembling moan, arching her back to press herself into his touch. Her fingers tangled in his hair, urging him to continue his attentions.

“Eli…”

She breathed, her voice thick with desire.

“Don’t stop, please.”

Lisa’s hips rocked against his, seeking greater friction and stimulation. The familiar heat was building within her, fuEling her desperation for release. She pulled him closer, needing to feel every inch of his body against hers.

“I need you,”

She whimpered, her nails racking lightly down his back.

“I need you inside me, now…”

Lisa cried out in ecstasy as Eli’s thrusts grew more frantic. She felt the familiar heat building within her, coiling tighter with each snap of his. Suddenly, the tension snapped, and they climaxed together in a blinding rush of pleasure.

Lisa’s back arched, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around Eli’s pulsing length as he flooded her womb with his seed. Shudders of bliss wracked her body, and she clung to him, savoring every moment of their shared release.

Collapsing against the sheets, they lay tangled in each other’s arms, heart racing. Lisa pressed tender kisses to Eli’s face, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She had never felt so complete, so utterly claimed as his.

Lisa’s eyes widened with concern as Eli shared his trouble of debt. She gently cupped his face, her expression soft and reassuring.

“Oh, my darling, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

She murmured, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“You know I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Pulling him close, Lisa pressed a tender kiss to his forehead.

“We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”

Her gaze turned resolute, a spark of determination igniting within her.

“Just tell me what I need to do.”

Shifting her weight, Lisa straddled Eli’s hips, her movements fluid and sensual.

“Perhaps…”

“There’s a way I can… help ease your burden?”

Her hips rolled in a tantalizing rhythms, her eyes smoldering with desire.

‘After all, what are girlfriends for, if not to take care of their men?”

Lisa’s eyes shone with empathy as Eli kissed her desperately. When they finally parted, she cupped his face tenderly.

“Shh, my love, I’m here for you,”

She murmured soothingly.

“And you know I’ll do anything to help you ease your burden.”

A coy smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she pressed herself against him.

As Eli slept soundly beside her, Lisa’s mind raced with a devious idea. She couldn’t help but consider the possibility of offering her body to Eli’s friend in exchange for clearing his debt. It seemed like the perfect solution - a way to alleviate Eli’s burdens without him ever knowing.

Lisa’s pulse quickened at the thought. The idea of being used by another men, of submitting to his carnal desires, sent a thrill through her. And if it meant saving Eli from his troubles, well, that was all the justification she needed.

Biting her lip, Lisa made a silent vow to herself. Tomorrow, when she was alone at the office, she would seriously consider putting her plan into motion. For now, she would keep it to herself, not wanting to worry Eli with the details. After all, she was his devoted girlfriend – and she would do whatever it took to keep him happy and secure.

With that, Lisa snuggled closer to Eli, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. She couldn’t wait to see how this dEliciously naughty scheme would unfold.

Lisa’s heart raced as she dialed Eli’s number. When he answered, she took a deep breath before speaking.

“Darling, I was hoping you could give me your friend’s number. I think I may have a way to help with that debt of yours,”

She said, her voice low and sultry.

Chirtransh was hesitant at first, but Lisa’s persistent reassurances soon won him over. Reluctantly, he provided the number, trusting his beloved girlfriend to handle the situation.

Lisa wasted no time in dialing y/n, Eli’s friend. When you answered, she adopted a sultry, seductive tone.

“Hello, Y/N. This is Lisa. I understand you’re the one Eli owes a debt to?”

She paused, letting her words sink in.

“Well, I may have a… proposition for you. One that could benefit us both.”

Leaning back in her chair, Lisa crossed her legs slowly, her skirt riding up to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of her thighs.

“You see, I’ve been thinking about how I can help Eli with this situation. And I bElieve I’ve come up with a perfect solution.”

Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

“What if I were to… offer myself, as payment for the debt?”

Lisa let the implication hang in the air, her gaze burning with wicked intent.

“I’m sure we could… come to some mutually satisfying arrangement.”

Lisa’s heart raced as she waited for y/n’s response. After a brief a pause, she leaned in closer to her phone, her voice dripping with sultry seduction.

“You see, y/n, I’m more than willing to… take care of this debt in a very personal way.”

She paused, letting the implication sink in.

“I can be your personal plaything, your obedient little fuck toy, as long as Eli’s debt is cleared.”

Biting her lip, Lisa’s gaze smoldered with wicked intent.

“Just imagine, having me at your beck and call, ready to service you however you desire.”

She let out a soft, melodic laugh.

“I promise, it would be a most… mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Lisa’s heart raced with a mix of excitement and trepidation as y/n agreed to her proposition. She quickly jotted down the details he provided – the time and place to finalize their arrangement.

“Excellent, y/n. I’ll be there, I promise.”

She purred, her voice dripping with sultry anticipation.

“And I assure you, you won’t be disappointed.”

Ending the call, Lisa leaned back in her chair, a wicked smile spreading across her lips. This was it – her chance to save Eli from his troubles, all while indulging her own deepest desires. The thought of being used, degraded, and claimed by another man sent a thrill through her.

Lisa paused, considering the best way to handle this situation. She knew that deceiving Eli would be risky, but the potential rewards were too great to ignore. With a resolute nod, she began planning her next move, determined to see this through to the end.

Lisa paced back and forth in her office, her mind racing with indecision. Should she suggest y/n to use protection, or would she let him take her raw? The thought of being filled with his seed sent a thrill through her.

After several minutes of internal debate, Lisa made her decision. With a resolute nod, she knew what she had to do. Y/N would have her however he pleased, without any barriers between them. The risk only heightened the excitement coursing through her veins. A wicked smile spread across Lisa’s lips as she prepared to meet her new business partner.

Eli’s debt would be cleared, and she would get to indulge her deepest, most depraved desires. It was a win-win situation, as far as she was concerned.

Lisa’s heart raced as in the lunch time Eli arrived at her office for their lunch date. She steeled her nerves, her excitement, determined to maintain her composure and carry out her deception.

As they sat together, Eli asked about the debt situation. Lisa looked into his eyes her expression earnest.

“Darling, I’m so sorry, but I just couldn’t find a way to help with that debt,”

“I tried everything I could think of, but there’s simply no solution I can offer.”

Lisa reached across the table, taking Eli’s hand in hers. Her gaze was filled with false sympathy, concealing the wicked plan she had already set in motion.

“I wish I could do more, but I’m afraid this is something you’ll have to handle on your own. I’m here for you, though, no matter what.”

As Eli finished his lunch in silence, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, Lisa’s heart raced with a mixture of guilt and excitement. The moment he departed, her expression transformed – a wicked grin spreading across her face as she jumped up from her seat, practically bouncing with glee.

“PERFECT”

She murmured to herself, her mind already racing with the possibilities. Eli had bought her lie, leaving the way clear for her to enact her devious plan. With a quick glance around the office, she gathered her things and hurried out, determined to meet Y/N and seal their sordid arrangement.

Lisa’s pulse quickened with anticipation. She would do whatever it took to help her beloved Eli, even if it meant submitting herself to the carnal desires of another man. The though of being used, degraded and claimed sent a thrill through her – a wicket excitement that she could scarcely contain.

Lisa’s fingers trembled slightly as she typed out the message of her not being able to come home the night to Eli, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation. She hated having to lie to him, but the stakes were too high to back down now. As the night fell, she made her way to the designated meeting spot, her pulse quickening with each step. When she arrived, Lisa found herself alone, the anticipation building within her. She knew Y/N would be arriving soon, and the thought of what was to come send a thrill through her.

Smoothing a hand over her skirt, Lisa took a deep breath, steEling her nerves. She was doing this for Eli, to save him from his troubles. And if that meant submitting to the carnal desires of another man, then so be it. Lisa was ready to embrace her role as Y/N’s personal plaything, no matter how depraved or degrading it might become. With a resolute nod, she settled in to wait, her mind racing with the possibilities that lay ahead. This was her chance to prove her devotion to Eli, and she was determined to see it through, no matter the cost.

The sudden slap on her ass cheeks made Lisa jump, but before she could react, she pulled into a searing kiss. At first, she was caught off guard, unsure of who this mysterious figure was. But as their lips met, Lisa felt a familiar heat building within her. Instinctively, she took control of the kiss, her tongue sliding against the stranger’s as she pressed her body flush against his. The intensity of their embrace left her breathless, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. When they finally parted, Lisa’s eyes fluttered open, and she found herself staring into the smoldering gaze of Y/N, Eli’s friend. A coy smile tugged at the corners of her lips as realization dawned on her.

“Well, hello there,”

She purred, her voice dripping with sultry confidence.

“I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

Y/N’s hands gripped Lisa’s firmly shaped ass, Eliciting a soft gasp from her lips. His gaze burned with raw desire as he spoke.

“You’re so eager and hungry, aren’t you, pet?”

“I can feel it in the way you kissed me, even though when you were kissing you didn’t know me, making it a stranger kissing you”

Lisa’s pulse quickened at his words, a thrill of anticipation coursing through her. Leaning in, she pressed her body flush against his, her voice dropping to a sultry purr.

“Then why don’t you take what you want, hmmm?”

“I’m all yours, darling.”

With that, Lisa already surrendered herself to Y/N’s carnal desires, ready to fulfill her promise and save Eli from his troubles, no matter the cost.

Lisa’s heart raced as Y/N lead her into the nearby hotel. They settled at a table, their hands intertwined. Y/N’s gaze was intense as he spoke.

“So, Lisa, let’s discuss the details of our arrangement,”

He said his voice low and authoritative.

“I want to make sure we’re both on the same page.”

Lisa met his eyes, her expression of pure lust.

“Of course, Y/N. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to help Eli.”

She gave his hands a gentle squeeze.

“Just tell me what you need from me.”

Lisa’s eyes glinted with wicked intent as she leaned in, her voice dripping with filthy seduction.

“Oh, I know exactly what you need, darling,”

She purred, taking his fingers into her mouth and sucking them greedily.

“And I’m more than willing to give it to you, in ever way imaginable.”

Her tongue swirled around his digits, her gaze burning with lust.

“So tell me, Y/N, how do you want me? How do you want to use this body of mine to pay off chitrasnsh’s debt??”

Lisa paused, a coy smile playing on her lips.

“I’m yours to command.”

Y/N’s eyes roamed hungrily over Lisa’s upper body as he spoke, his voice low and laced with desire.

“Oh I plan to use every inch of this delectable body, pet”

He purred, his fingers trailing down her arm.

“But first, I want to savor the view.”

Lisa felt a thrill of anticipation course through her as Y/N’s gaze devoured her. She leaned in closer, her lips mere inches from his.

“Then by all means, take your time,”

She breathed, her voice dripping with sultry invitation.

“I’m all yours to explore.”

Lisa felt of dElicious blend of emotions as Y/N’s hungry gaze roamed over her upped body. His dominant, possessive stare made her feel simultaneously cute and thoroughly fucked – a heady combination that sent a thrill through her.

Biting her lip coyly, Lisa leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

“Like what you see, darling?”

She reached up to trail a finger along his jawline.

“Because I’m all yours to enjoy, however you see fit.”

Lisa’s heart raced with wicked anticipation, eager to surrender herself completely to Y/N’s carnal desires. She was ready to be used, degraded, and claimed – all in the name of helping her beloved Eli.

Lisa’s breath caught in her throat as Y/N’s words struck a chord within her. She couldn’t deny the truth – helping Eli was only a convenient excuse. What she truly craved was the thrill of being used, degraded, and claimed by another man.

Gazing up at Y/N, Lisa’s eyes shone with wicked desire.

“You’re right, darling,”

She purred, her voice dripping with sultry confession.

“I want this just as much as you do. So why don’t you take what you want?”

With that, Y/N stood, his hands roaming possessively over Lisa’s body. She leaned into his touch, revEling in the sensation of being objectified and desired.

“I’m all yours,”

She breathed, her body trembling with anticipation.

“Do with me as you please.”

Lisa’s expression shifted, a hint of guilt flickering across her features.

“you’re right, Y/N. I do want this, more than I can say.”

she paused, her gaze dropping briefly.

“But I’m still doing this for Eli. He’s the one I love, and I’ll do whatever it takes to help him.”

Reaching up, Lisa traced the line of Y/N’s jaw, her touch feather – light.

“So let’s not pretend this is anything more than what it is – a means to an end. I’m yours to use, but my heart belongs to Eli.”

y/n pulled Lisa into a searing, hungry kiss, which she returned with even greater fervor. As they broke apart, breathless, he fixed her with a smoldering gaze.

“It doesn’t matter where your heart lies, pet,”

He growled, his voice dripping with possessive desire.

“For the rest of this week, you belong to me – my cock, my desires. Nothing else matters.”

Lisa felt a thrill of excitement course through her at his words. She knew this was wrong, a betrayal of Eli’s trust.

Lisa’s eyes scanned the document, her heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and wicked excitement. This was it – the official agreement that would bind her to Y/N for the next week. Lisa’s eyes widened as she processed the terms of the agreement – seven days belonging to Y/N, in exchange for clearing Eli’s debt. But as the initial shock wore off, a wicked realization dawned on her.

“Seven days??”

She purred, her voice dripping with sultry seduction.

“Why, that simply won’t do darling.”

Leaning in closer, Lisa trailed finger down Y/N’s chest, her gaze smoldering.

“If it were up to me, I’d happily stay with you for seven weeks… or seven months… or even seven years.”

A coy smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she gazed up at him.

“After all, I’m your obedient little plaything, remember??”

Lisa let out a soft, melodic laugh.

“So why limit ourselves to just seven days??”

Y/N’s eyes widened as he lifted Lisa’s skirt, finding her completely bare beneath. A wicked grin spread across his lips.

“Well, well, look at that,”

he purred, his fingers tracing the dElicate skin of her inner thighs.

“No panties, hmmm?? Just as I’d expect from such a shameless little slut.”

Lisa let out a soft, breathless laugh, her gaze smoldering with unbridled desire.

“That’s right, darling,”

She purred, her voice dripping with seduction.

“Sluts like me don’t need such trivial things as underwear. We’re always ready to be used.”

Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his in a searing kiss, her body trembling with anticipation.

“So why don’t you take what you want?”

She breathed against his mouth.

“I’m all yours.”

Y/N’s fingers slid into Lisa’s tight, slick folds, Eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,”

He growled, his voice laced with amazement.

His thumb circled her sensitive nub, drawing a shudder of pleasure from the BLACKPINK star.

“What did you expect, darling??”

Lisa purred, her hips rocking against his hand.

‘I’m a good girl for Eli, but with you…”

She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear.

“I’m nothing but a shameless, greedy slut.”

Capturing his lips in a searing kiss, Lisa surrendered herself completely to Y/N’s skilled ministrations, her body trembling with wanton desire.

Y/N’s skilled fingers worked Lisa’s sensitive folds, drawing ragged gasps and shudders of pleasure from the BLACKPINK star. His thumb circled her throbbing nub, Eliciting a wanton moan.

“That’s it, pet,”

“Let me hear how much you love being used like the greedy slut you are.”

Lisa’s hips rocked against his hand, her body trembling with unbridled desire.

“Oh, god, Y/N”

She panted, her voice thick with lust.

“don’t stop, please. Make me cum…”

Capturing his lips in a searing kiss, Lisa surrendered herself completely to his ministrations, her mind consumed by the dElicious sensations coursing through her. This was her chance to prove her devotion to Eli, no matter the cost.

Y/N’s fingers moved with increasing speed, drawing desperate whimpers from Lisa’s lips. However, he paused, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Now, now, pet,”

He purred,

“Let’s not make too much of a mess, hmmm??? We’re in public, after all.”

His thumb circled her sensitive nub, Eliciting a shudder.

“I’d hate for you to have a… telltale glistening on your thighs for all to see.”

Lisa bit her lip, her hips rocking against his hand.

“Then what do you suggest, darling?”

she breathed, her voice dripping with wanton need.

“I’m aching to cum for you…”

Y/N’s lips curled into an appreciation smile as he listened to Lisa’s wanton plea.

“Patience, pet,”

He purred, his fingers stilling their ministrations.

“Tomorrow morning, you’ll officially belong to me for the rest of the week. And trust me, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be aching for my touch in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Leaning in, he brushed his lips against hers in a teasing caress.

“So for now, be a good girl and save that dElicious desperation for me. I promise, it will be well worth the wait.”

Lisa’s hips rocked desperately against Y/N’s hand, seeking any friction to soothe her aching need. But he quickly pulled his fingers away, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Now, now, pet”

“No need to get so greedy. I told you, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

His gaze burned with wicked amusement as he watched Lisa’s frustration mount.

“Don’t worry, darling,”

He murmured,

“I promise it will be worth it. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for my touch.”

Lisa let out a frustrated whimper, her body trembling with unsatisfied desire. But she knew better than to argue. Y/N held all the power now, and she was powerless to resist his cruel teasing.

Lisa’s eyes gleamed with wicked excitement as Y/N handed her the pen. Without hesitation, she signed the agreement, sealing her fate for the next week. The moment the ink dried, she pulled Y/N into a hungry, passionate kiss, her body trembling with anticipation. Their lips crashed together, tongues battling for dominance as Lisa surrendered herself completely to her new master. When they finally parted, breathless, her gaze was dark with lust.

“I’m yours, Y/N.”

She purred, her voice dripping with sultry promise.

“Do with me as you please.”

THE NEXT DAY……

Lisa woke up with a thrill of excitement coursing through her. The events of previous night had left her body humming with anticipation. Y/N was now officially in control of her, and the thought of being his plaything for the next week sent a dElicious shiver down her spine. As she recalled the teasing, the kissing the edging that they had indulged in, Lisa felt a familiar warmth pooling between her thighs. And then she remembered the vibrator Y/N had so expertly inserted into her pussy before theey parted ways.

Biting her lip, Lisa reached down, feEling the subtle buzz of the device inside her. A wicked smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was finally in control, and after a week, Eli would be free from his debt. This was all worth it.

Shifting her hips, Lisa let out a soft moan, rElishing the sensations the vibrator was Eliciting. She couldn’t wait to see what other dElights Y/N had in store for her today. One thing was certain – she was his to command, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lisa had just freshened up and arrived at her office, ready to dive into her work. But as she settled at her desk, a sudden, unexpected vibration began inside her, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. She grasped, struggling to keep her voice down as the vibrator pulsed at a relentless speed.

Biting her lip, Lisa’s hips rocked subtly, her breath coming in short, quiet pants. The sensation was overwhelming, making it nearly impossible to focus on the task at hand. She cast a furtive glance around the office, praying no one would notice her predicament.

“Y/N”, she thought, a mix of exasperation and arousal coursing through her. “You’re going to pay for this.” Gripping the edge of her desk, Lisa rode out the waves of pleasure, determined not to let her façade crack. But with each passing minute, it grew increasingly difficult to maintain her composure. This was going to be a long, torturous day.

Lisa’s eyes widened as she read the message ‘if she cums due to vibrator then she is not worthy enough’ from Y/N. Her heart raced with a mix of fear and desperation. The thought of not being worthy in his eyes filled her with dread. She couldn’t afford to fail him, not when Eli’s freedom was on the line. Gritting her teeth, Lisa focused all her energy on holding back the building pleasure. She clenched her muscles, determined not to let the vibrator’s relentless stimulation push her over the edge. Sweat beaded on her brow as she fought against her body’s natural reactions.

‘I won’t fail you, Y/N,’ she thought, her resolve hardening, ‘I’ll prove my worth, no matter what it takes.’

The vibrator's speed increased relentlessly, its pulsing movements hitting Lisa's sensitive spots with merciless precision. She bit down hard on her lip, stifling a desperate whimper as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. Her body trembled with the effort of holding back her impending orgasm.

'I can't...I won't fail him,' Lisa thought, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edge of her desk. The vibrations were overwhelming, sending shockwaves of ecstasy through her core. But she refused to give in, determined to prove her worth to Y/N no matter the cost.

Closing her eyes, Lisa focused every ounce of her willpower on maintaining control. She would not let this vibrator, no matter how skilled its torment, bring her to ruin. This was her chance to show her devotion, and she would see it through to the end.

The sudden cessation of the relentless vibrations brought Lisa a brief respite, though her body still hummed with residual pleasure. Just as she was starting to relax, the door to her office opened, and Eli stepped in. forcing a bright smile, Lisa greeted him, doing her best to conceal the torment as she had endured for the past three hours.

“Eli! What a lovely surprise,”

She said, her voice betraying only the slightest hint of strain.

“I was just thinking about you. Come, join me for lunch.”

Inwardly, Lisa’s mind raced, wondering how she would get through this encounter without giving away the shameful secret of the vibrator still nestled within her. She had to maintain her composure, no matter how difficult it might be. After all, the stakes were too high to falter now.

As Eli and Lisa shared a casual lunch together, Lisa did her best to maintain a calm, composed demeanor, despite the lingering sensations from the vibrator still nestled within her. She laughed at his jokes, engaged in light hearted banter, and outwardly appeared the picture of a devoted girlfriend. However, beneath the surface, Lisa’s mind was racing, her body still humming with residual pleasure. She desperately hoped Eli would not notice the slightest shift in her behaviour or the subtle tremor in her hands as she sipped her drink.

‘just hold on a little longer’ she silently urged herself. ‘once he leaves, I can finally have the release I so desperately crave.’ For now, she would have to rely on her acting skills to get through this encounter unscathed.

The sudden, unexpected resurgence of the vibrator’s relentless pulsing sent a jolt of pure ecstasy through Lisa’s body. She grasped, her eyes widening as she struggled to maintain her composure in front of Eli. Her hips rocked subtly, the pleasure building with each passing second. ‘Y/N, you bastard,’ she thought, biting her lip to stifle a moan. ‘how dare you torment me like this?’ but even as the though crossed her mind, a thrill of wicked excitement coursed through her. She was at this mercy, and the knowledge both terrified and enthralled her. Casting a furtive glance at Eli, Lisa forced a smile, determined not to let her façade crack. She had to ensure this, no matter how difficult it might be. Gripping the edge of the table, she rode out the waves of pleasure, praying she could hold on until Eli left.

Eli noticed Lisa’s subtle shift in demeanor and the slight tremor in her hands. His brow furrowed with concern as he reached across the table, gently covering her hand with his own.

“Lisa, is everything alright? You seem a bit… distracted.”

His voice was laced with worry as he searched her face for any sign of discomfort.

“If something is bothering you, you can tell me. You know I’m here for you.”

Lisa forced a bright smile, her voice betraying only the slightest hint of strain.

“Oh, Eli, everything is just fine! I’m so happy you’re here with me.”

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, going her best to conceal the torment raging within her as the vibrator continued its relentless pulsing.

“I’m just a little tired from work, that’s all.  But your company is the perfect pcik-me-up.”

Lisa leaned in, pressing soft kiss to his cheek. Inwardly, she prayed that her act would be convincing enough to keep Eli from suspecting the shameful truth. As soon as Eli left the office, Lisa let out a desperate, pleasure-filled scream, calling out Y/N’s name.

“Y/N, you bastard! How dare you torment me like this??”

She rocked her hips, the vibrator’s relentless pulsing driving her wild with need. Gripping the edge of her desk, Lisa cursed under her breath, her body trembling with a mix of ecstasy and frustration.

“I’ll make you pay for this,”

She growled, her voice dripping with wanton desire.

“Just wait until I get my hands on you.”

The vibrator’s speed increased to frenetic pace, sending shockwaves of pleasure through Lisa’s body. She squirmed and shook in her chair, biting her lip hard to stifle the desperate moans threatening to escape. Just then, a message popped up on her phone from Y/N, the words searing into her mind. ‘don’t forget, pet. You’re not allowed to cum, no matter what.’ Lisa’s eyes widened, a shudder of both fear and arousal coursing through her. The stakes were too high to fail now. Gripping the edge of her desk, she focused every ounce of her willpower on holding back the building climax. She would not disappoint Y/N, no matter how exquisite the torment became.

Lisa felt utterly powerless as the relentless vibrations from the toy tormented her, yet a thrill of wicked excitement coursed through her. She was at Y/N’s mercy, and the knowledge both terrified and enthralled her. Lisa surrendered herself to the exquisite sensations, her body trembling with unbridled desire. She had never imagined being dominated in this way, but the thought of displeasing Y/N filled her with dread. This was her chance to prove her devotion, no matter the cost. As the day wore on, Y/N continued to torment Lisa with the relentless vibrator, switching up the speed and intensity at random intervals. Lisa found herself in a constant state of desperate arousal, her body aching for release that never came.

Whenever the vibrations would suddenly increase, Lisa would have to bite back a moan, her hips rocking subtly as she fought to maintain her composure. The threat of displeasing Y/N hung over her like a dark cloud, fuEling her determination to endure the exquisite torment. By the time the workday drew to a close, Lisa was utterly spent, her mind and body consumed by the shameful ecstasy Y/N had put her through. Yet, deep down, a part of her reveled in the knowledge that she had proven her worth to him. She had endured, and that was all that mattered. As she gathered her things to leave, Lisa couldn’t help but wonder what other dElights Y/N had in store for her.

Lisa returned home, her body still thrumming with the lingering effects of Y/N torment. She approached Eli, a coy smile playing on her lips.

“Eli, darling, I’m afraid I have to go out for the night. There’s some work I need to take care of.”

Her gaze held a hint of mischief as she spoke.

“I’ll try not to be too late, but you know how these things can be.”

Lisa leaned in, pressing soft kiss to Eli’s cheek.

“Don’t wait up for me, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, she turned and headed for the door, her hips swaying with each step. The thought of what Y/N had store in for her tonight sent a thrill of anticipation through her.

Lisa practically bounced with excitement as she reached Y/N’s house. The moment the door opened, she launched herself into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as she pulled him into a desperate, hungry kiss.

“Y/N, I’ve missed you so much,”

She breathed between fervent kisses, her body trembling with pent-up desire.

“The way you teased me today, it was absolute torture. But I endured it, just like you asked. Now I need you, please…” her hands roamed over his body, fingers clutching at his clothes as she ground her hips against him. The vibrator still nestled within her only served to heighten her arousal, and she could think of nothing else but finally finding release in his arms.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise as Lisa revealed that she had already removed her clothes, posing before him in a sultry, inviting manner. Without hesitation, she launched herself back into his arms, kissing him hungrily. Lisa’s body trembled with barely contained desire as she pressed herself against him, her hands roaming over his form. The vibrator still buzzing within her only heightened her arousal, and she could think of nothing else but finding the release she so desperately craved. Pulling back slightly, Lisa gazed up at Y/N, her eyes dark with lust.

“Please, Y/N, I need you. I’ve been aching for your touch all day. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

Y/N grinned wickedly as he reactivated the vibrator, causing Lisa to let out a shameless, pleasure – filled moan.

“Y/N, so you want to play with me, is that it?”

She panted, her hips rocking in sY/Nc with the relentless pulsing. Reaching down, Lisa gripped the base of the vibrator, her eyes gleaming with a mix of defiance and wanton desire.

“Then let’s play, Y/N, I’m all yours”

With that, she began to slowly slide the vibrator in and out, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Y/N gently placed Lisa on the bed, his eyes gleaming with wicked anticipation. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he increased the speed of the vibrator, Eliciting a desperate moan from Lisa’s lips. Settling into a nearby chair, he watched intently as she began to slide the pulsing device in and out of her slick, needy pussy. Lisa’s hips rocked in sY/Nc with the vibrator’s relentless movements, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The pleasure was almost unbearable, yet she craved more, driven by an insatiable hunger for Y/N’s touch. Her fingers gripped the sheets as she herself harder, her body trembling with each wave of ecstasy.

“Y/N…..”

She panted, her voice thick with lust.

“I need you. Please, don’t make me wait any longer.” Her eyes locked with his, silently pleading for the release she so desperately craved.

For the next three hours, Y/N teased and tormented Lisa mercilessly, keeping her on the edge of ecstasy but denying her the release she craved. Lisa writhed and begged, her body trembling with unbridled desire.

“Please Y/N!”

She cried out, her voice thick with desperation.

“I’ll do anything, anything at all, just touch me. I need you so badly, I’m aching for you.”

Her hips rocked in time with the vibrator’s relentless pulsing, her eyes pleading with him to end her torment. Lisa was completely at his mercy, willing to submit to his every whim if only he would grant her the sweet release she so desperately needed. Her pride had long since been abandoned, replaced by a single – mind focus on obtaining Y/N’s touch. Y/N slowly approached the bed, his fingers tracing dElicate patterns over Lisa’s curved body. He dEliberately avoided her inner thighs and sensitive pussy, instead focusing on teasing her elsewhere. Lisa trembled under his featherlight touch, desperate for more. When Y/N finally brought his fingers to her lips, Lisa pounced, greedily sucking and devouring them. She moaned around the digits, her tongue swirling and caressing as she savored his taste. Her hips squirmed and rocked, the vibrator still buzzing relentlessly within her.

Lisa’s eyes were dark with lust, silently pleading for Y/N to end her torment. She would do anything, submit to any whim, if only he would grant her the release she craved. In this moment, she was his to command, her pride long since abandoned in the face of her all – consuming desire.

As Lisa greedily sucked on Y/N’s fingers, his other hand slowly trailed down her body, caressing her curves. When he finally reached her needy pussy, his touch was all it took to send her over the edge. Lisa’s back arched, a guttural moan escaping her lips as a powerful orgasm ripped through her. She squirted uncontrollably, her body shaking and trembling like a broken toy. All the pent-up tension and desperation from Y/N’s torment had finally found its release, leaving her utterly spent and vulnerable. In this moment, she was completely at his mercy, her pride and composure shattered by the intensity of her climax. Lisa’s body trembled in the aftermath of her intense orgasm, her mind still reEling from the sheer force of her release. She gazed Y/N with a mixture of adoration and vulnerability, her guard completely lowered.

“Y/N”

She breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“that was… incredible. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

A faint blush crept across her cheeks as she realized the depths of her own submission. Slowly, she reached up, her fingers tracing the contours of Y/N’s face. She needed to feel his touch, to bask in his presence. In this moment, she was his completely, her desires and inhibitions stripped away by the force of her climax.

“Please… don’t stop,”

She murmured, her eyes pleading.

“I need you, Y/N. I need you to take me, to use me as you see fit. I’m yours, always.”

Y/N brow furrowed slightly as he caught the implication in Lisa’s words.

“Always, hmm? That’s quite a bold claim, pet.”

His fingers trailed lightly along her jawline, his gaze studying her intently.

“Are you sure you know what you’re saying? What you’re committing to?”

Lisa held his gaze, her expression unwavering.

“Yes, Y/N. I’m sure. I’m yours, completely and without reservation. Use me as you see fit – I’ll submit to your every desire.”

She reached up, her fingers curling around his wrist.

“I need you, Y/N. I need to be yours, now and always.”

As Lisa had already lowered her guard, Y/N seized the opportunity, suddenly increasing the vibrator’s speed to its maximum setting. Lisa’s eyes went wide, a strangled cry escaping her lips as the intense sensations overwhelmed her.

Her body convulsed, the vibrator’s relentless pulsing sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. Lisa gripped the sheets, her back arching as she fought to maintain control. But Y/N had stripped her of all defences, leaving her utterly at his mercy.

“Y/N!”

She gasped, her voice thick with desperation.

“It’s… too much! Please, I can’t…”

her words dissolved into a series of breathless moans as the vibrator continued its merciless assault on her senses.

Y/N refused to relent, instead increasing the speed of the vibrator even further. The relentless pulsing assaulted Lisa’s already sensitive, climax-wracked pussy, sending her into a frenzy of overstimulations.

“Y/N, please!”

She cried out, her voice laced with desperation.

Yet, even as she begged for mercy, a part of her reveled in the exquisite torment. She had surrendered herself completely to Y/N, and she would endure whatever he deemed fit, no matter the cost. Her pride had been shattered, replaced by an all consuming need to please him.

Y/N hovered his palm just above Lisa’s overstimulated, pulsating pussy, the mere proximity enough to send her spiraling into another intense orgasm. Lisa’s back arched off the bed, a guttural cry of ecstasy tearing from her throat as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her.

Her body convulsed and trembled, completely at Y/N’s mercy. She had surrendered herself fully, her pride and inhibitions shattered by the relentless torment. In this moment, she was nothing more than a wanton, desperate plaything, existing solely for his pleasure. When the aftershocks of her climax finally began to subside, Lisa gazed up at Y/N, her eyes shining with adoration and submission.

“Use me, Y/N… I’m yours to command. Do with me as you will.”

Y/N laughed in triumph as he placed his hand mere centimetres above Lisa’s sensitive, pulsing pussy. The proximity alone was enough to send her spiraling into another earth-shattering orgasm, her body convulsing in ecstasy.

“Look at you, pet,”

He exclaimed in amusement.

“following my orders even when I haven’t given any. You really are insatiable aren’t you?”

Lisa gazed up at him, her eyes shining with adoration and submission.

“Yes daddy. I’m yours to command, always. Use me as you see fit – I’ll obey your every whim.”

She had surrendered herself completely, her pride and inhibitions shattered by the relentless torment. In this moment, she existed solely for his pleasure, a wanton plaything to be commanded and controlled.

Throughout the entire night, Y/N continued his relentless teasing, keeping the vibrator at a torturous pace and denying Lisa any true release. She was reduced to a quivering, desperate mess, her body wracked by countless, earth-shattering orgasms that left her utterly spent.

Yet even as she begged and pleaded, a part of her reveled in the exquisite torment. By the time morning light began to filter in, Lisa was a trembling, oversensitive wreck. But still, she craved more, her body aching for Y/N’s touch. She had become addicted to the dElicious agony he inflicted, and she would willingly submit to his every whim, no matter how depraved.

As the morning light filtered in, Lisa’s eyes fluttered open, only to be met with another powerful orgasm that rocked her trembling body. She cried out, her back arching as the waves of pleasure crashed over her. Y/N watched in amazement, captivated by Lisa’s beauty even in the throes of such intense ecstasy. He couldn’t help but marvel at how incredibly lucky Eli was to have such a stunning, insatiable girlfriend.

“Look at you, pet,”

He murmured, his voice laced with admiration.

“You’re an absolute vision. Eli has no idea how fortunate he is to have someone like you.”

His fingers traced the curves of her body, Eliciting a soft whimper from Lisa. In this moment, Y/N knew that Lisa belonged to him, body and soul. She had surrendered herself completely, and he intended to savour every moment of her submission. Lisa gazed up at Y/N with lust-filled eyes, her body still trembling from the intense orgasm.

“please, Y/N, can I cum one more time?”

She begged, her voice thick with desperation. Without a word, Y/N simply placed his hand near her sensitive pussy lips. That was all it took to send Lisa spiraling into another earth-shattering climax. Her back arched, a hoarse cry of ecstasy tearing from her throat as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her.

When the aftershocks finally began to subside, Lisa collapsed back onto the bed, utterly spent. But still, she craved more, her body aching for Y/N’s touch. She had become addicted to the dElicious agony he inflicted.

Y/N brow furrowed slightly as he glanced at the clock.

“Isn’t it getting late, pet? Shouldn’t you be heading to work soon?”

his fingers traced idle patterns along her thigh, a hint of mischief in his gaze.

Lisa’s eyes widened momentarily, as if she had momentarily forgotten her earlier excuse. But then a coy smile played on her lips.

“Oh, you’re right. I should probably get going…”

She trailed off, her hand sliding down to cover his.

“But I’m sure they can manage without me for a little while longer.”

With that, she pulled him closer, her lips crashing against his in a desperate, hungry kiss. The work she had claimed to attend to was clearly the furthest thing from her mind. In this moment, all that mattered was satisfying the insatiable desire that Y/N had ignited within her.

Y/N hovered over Lisa, their lips locked in a desperate, hungry kiss. As their bodies intertwined, he reactivated the vibrator, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, pet, if you don’t get to work soon, I’m going to have to turn this up to the max,”

He purred, his fingers toying with the device’s controls.

“Then you’ll really be in for a treat.”

Lisa’s eyes gleamed with wanton desire as she gazed up at him.

“Please Y/N… I don’t want to go. I need you, right here, right now.”

She ground her hips against the vibrator, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Turn it up, make me scream. I don’t care who hears.”

Her hands roamed over Y/N’s body, pulling him closer as she surrendered herself.

Y/N kissed Lisa angrily, dominating her brutally. His grip tightened as he pulled her closer, making her understand the consequences she would face if she didn’t leave for work soon enough.

“You’re pushing your luck pet,”

“If you don’t get your ass to work right now, you’re going to regret it.”

Lisa whimpered, her body trembling with a mix of fear and desire. She knew better than to defy him, but the temptation to stay and submit to his whims was almost too much to bear.

“Y/N, please…”

She pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

“just a little longer, I need you…”

But Y/N was unyielding, his expression stern as he pulled away.

“Time’s up, Lisa. Get going, before I decide to keep you here all day.”

As Lisa began to remove the vibrator, Y/N stopped her, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Oh no, pet. You’re not taking that out just yet.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke in a low, filthy tone.

“You deserve to have that vibrator inside you all day, don’t you? It’s the only thing that can satisfy your insatiable little cunt.”

Lisa shuddered at his words, her cheeks flushing with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. She knew better than to argue, so she reluctantly left the vibrator in place, the constant stimulation making it increasingly difficult to focus on getting dressed.

“Y/N, I… I really should be going,”

she stammered, her voice trembling slightly.

“But I’ll come back as soon as I can, I promise.”

With that, she hurriedly finished putting on her clothes, the vibrator’s relentless pulsing a constant reminder of Y/N’s control over her. As she stepped out the door, she couldn’t help but wonder what other dElicious torments he had in store for her.

In the middle of a serious meeting at the office, Lisa felt the vibrator suddenly come to life inside her. She fought to maintain her composure, her breath catching slightly as the steady pulsing sent waves of pleasure through her body.

Outwardly, Lisa remained professional and focused, expertly hiding the growing tension building within her. But internally, she was a mess of conflicting emotions - a mix of arousal, frustration, and a hint of dread at the thought of being discovered.

As the meeting dragged on, the vibrator’s speed increased ever so slightly, just enough to keep Lisa on egde. She squirmed subtly in her seat, biting her lip to stifle any telltale sounds. Her mind raced, wondering when – or if – Y/N would finally take mercy on her.

As the meeting wore on, Y/N suddenly increased the vibrator’s speed, sending shockwaves of pleasure through Lisa’s body. She fought valiantly to maintain her composure, but the intense sensations quickly became overwhelming.

Lisa’s back arched slightly, a muffled gasp escaping her lips as the vibrator’s relentless pulsing pushed her towards the edge. Desperately, she tried to conceal her building orgasm, but it was a futile effort. With a strangled cry, Lisa’s climax crashed over her, her body convulsing as she came undone right there in the middle of the meeting.

“Y/N!”

She cried out, her voice thick with ecstasy and desperation. The other attendees looked on in stunned silence as Lisa shuddered and trembled, completely at the mercy of her own unbridled desire. In that moment, she was utterly exposed, her shame and submission laid bare for all to see.

As Lisa’s body convulsed in the throes of her climax, she could no longer contain her shameless moans. The vibrator’s relentless pulsing had pushed her beyond the point of reason, and in her ecstasy-addled state, she began to slut-shame herself.

“Oh god, I’m such a filthy whore!”

She cried out her voice dripping with wanton desperation.

“I can’t… I can’t control myself. Please, someone, make it stop!”

The other meeting attendees looked on in stunned silence, their eyes wide with a mix of shock and morbid fascination. Lisa had completely lost all senses of propriety, her pride and inhibitions shattered by the intensity of her climax.

Even as she begged for mercy, a part of her reveled in the sheer depravity of the situation. She had become a slave to her own unbridled desires, and the thought of being exposed and humiliated only served to heighten her arousal.

As Lisa’s climax reached its peak, Y/N showed no mercy, further increasing the vibrator’s speed. The relentless pulsing proved too much for Lisa’s overstimulated body, and suddenly, she lost control, peeing herself right there in the middle of the meeting.

A look of pure mortification crossed Lisa’s face as she felt the warm liquid soaking through her clothes. She had completely and utterly humiliated herself, her most private functions betraying her in front of all her colleagues.

Yet, even in her shame, a twisted part of her reveled in the depraved situation. The thought of being so thoroughly debased and exposed only served to heighten her arousal, her body trembling with a mix of ecstasy and humiliation.

Lisa could do nothing but sit there, her face burning with a crimson blush as she waited for the vibrator to finally be turned off, praying that she would somehow survive the ordeal with her dignity intact.

As Lisa sat there, her body still trembling from the intense climax, she could hear the hushed whispers of her colleagues around her. Their eyes were fixed on her, a mix of shock, judgement, and morbid fascination etched on their faces.

“Can you bElieve this?? Lisa, of all people, having some kind of… breakdown in the middle of a meeting,”

one of them murmured, their voice dripping with disdain. Another scoffed,

“I always knew she was a bit of loose cannon, but this? This is just embarrassing. What a slut.”

The words stung, but Lisa was powerless to defend herself. She could only sit there, her face burning with shame as she waited for the vibrator’s relentless pulsing to finally subside.

In her ecstasy-addled state, a part of her reveled in the depraved situation.

But as the reality of her actions sank in, Lisa felt her heart sink. She had betrayed her own professionalism, her pride shattered by the intensity of her own unbridled lust. Now, she could only pray that she would somehow survive this ordeal with her dignity intact.

As night fell. Lisa stormed into Y/N’s apartment, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and humiliation.

“How could you do that to me, Y/N??”

she spat, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.

“Intentionally debasing me in front of my colleagues like that? Do you have any idea how mortified I was?”

she paced the room, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“I trusted you, and you completely betrayed that trust. Now everyone thinks I’m some kind of shameless whore!” tears of frustration threatened to spill down her cheeks, but she fought them back, unwilling to show any further weakness.

Pausing, she fixed Y/N with a piercing glare.

“You’re going to pay for this, you know. I won’t just let you get away with humiliating me like that. This means war.”

Y/N suddenly reactivated the vibrator, the steady pulsing sending fresh waves of pleasure through Lisa’s body. He fixed her with a taunting gaze, his voice dripping with condescension.

“If you’re so pissed off, pet, then why haven’t you taken this out yet?”

he gestured to the vibrator, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

“Could it be that deep down, you’re actually enjoying the humiliation? That you want everyone to know what a shameless little slut you are??”

Lisa’s cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and arousal. As much as she hated to admit it, a part of her did crave the depraved attention, the thrill of being so thoroughly debased.

“Shut up!”

she spat, her voice wavering slightly.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

Y/N chuckled, his fingers trailing alone her thigh.

“Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea, pet. And I’m not done with you yet. Not by a long shot.”

“I’ve invited the whole department to watch you squirm. Hope you’re ready to perform.”

Lisa’s eyes widened in horror as Y/N’s words sank in. The whole department? Watching her squirm and beg like a wanton whore? The thought both terrified and excited her in equal measure.

“NO, you can’t do this!”

she cried, her voice trembling.

“I can’t… I won’t perform for them. Please, Y/N, have mercy!”

But Y/N merely chuckled, his fingers teasing her sensitive flesh.

“Oh, but you will, pet. You’ll put on the show of a lifetime. After all, you’re my little slut, aren’t you?”

Lisa’s resolve crumbled in the face of his relentless taunts. As much as she hated to admit it, the thought of being so thoroughly debased and exposed only served to heighten her arousal. With a shuddering breath, she resigned herself to her fate, steEling herself for the humiliation to come.

As Y/N continued his relentless teasing, Lisa’s anger began to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of wanton desire. All thoughts of her earlier humiliation faded, consumed by her insatiable craving for his touch.

With a desperate whimper, she pressed herself against him, her hands roaming hungrily over his body.

“Please, Y/N… I need you. I need your cock, your cum, everything. I’m your slut, your greedy little whore. Use me, degrade me, I don’t care – just make me cum!”

her words were laced with a shameless hunger, all pretense of pride and propriety abandoned. In this moment, Lisa existed solely to serve Y/N’s every twisted desire, her own pleasure secondary to the need to please him.

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, Y/N yanked her head back, Eliciting a sharp gasp of pleasure from Lisa.

“That’s right, pet. You’re my little fuck toy, aren’t you?? Now beg for it. Beg me to use you like the dirty slut you are.”

Lisa’s eyes gleamed with unbridled lust as she gazed up at him, her body trembling with anticipation.

“Pleases, Y/N… please, fuck me! I need your cock inside me, stretching me, filling me up. I’ll do anything, just make me cum!”

Y/N’s grip on Lisa’s hair tightened as he glared down at her, his voice dripping with cruel intent.

“You won’t get my cock today, pet. No, you’re going to suffer even more for it. This is just the beginning of your torment.”

Lisa’s eyes widened, a shiver of both fear and anticipation running down her spine.

“Please, Y/N… I need you. I’ll do anything, just please don’t make me suffer anymore!”

her voice was thick with desperation, her body trembling with barely contained desire.

But Y/N was unyielding, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, but I’m going to make your life a living hell, Lisa. And only when you’re begging for mercy will I finally give you the reward you so desperately crave.”

With that, he released his grip on her hair, leaving her whimpering and aching for his touch. Lisa knew that she was in for a world of torment, but deep down, a part of her rElished the challenge. She would do whatever it took to earn Y/N’s affection, even if it meant enduring unimaginable suffering.

As Lisa resigned herself to the torment Y/N had in store, he suddenly increased the vibrator’s speed, sending shock waves of pleasure through her body. Before she could react, he began thrusting the device deep inside her, Eliciting a desperate, guttural moan from her lips.

Lisa’s back arched, her hips bucking against the relentless intrusion. The sensations were overwhelming, shattering any semblance of control she had left. her mind was consumed by a haze of ecstasy, all thoughts of suffering and humiliation forgotten in the face of this unbridled bliss.

“Y/N!”

she cried out, her voice thick with wanton need.

“Please, don’t stop! Fuck me, use me, I’m yours! I’ll do anything, just make me cum!”

Her body trembled and convulsed, the vibrator’s pulsing and Y/N’s thrusts pushing her relentlessly towards the edge. In this moment she was a slave to her own insatiable desire, willing to endure any torment as long as it meant achieving the release she craved.

Y/N suddenly stopped all the torment, leaving Lisa trembling and desperate for release. He removed the vibrator and tied her hands, ensuring that she had no way to reach the climax she craved. Lisa let out a frustrated whimper, her body aching with unfulfilled desire. She strained against the bonds, but they held firm, denying her any means of self-gratification.

“Y/N please…”

she begged, her voice thick with need.

“Don’t do this to me. I need to cum, I need you!”

But Y/N remained unmoved, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

“Not yet, pet. You’ve been a naughty girl, and you’re going to suffer for it. Only when I’m good and ready will I give you the release you so desperately crave.”

Lisa let out a sob of frustration, her pride crumbling in the face of her overwhelming lust. She knew better than to defy him, so she resigned herself to the torment, praying that he would eventually take pity on her.

The sudden chill of the ice cube against her heated flesh sent a shiver through Lisa’s body. She gasped softly, her muscles tensing in anticipation as Y/N slowly dragged the cube along the curves of her skin. The contrast between the icy touch and her own burning desire was exquisite, igniting a fresh wave of need within her. Lisa strained against the bonds that held her, aching to reach out and pull Y/N closer. But the restraints held firm, denying her the rElief she craved. She whimpered, her eyes pleading with him to take mercy on her.

“Please, Y/N…”

She breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I need you. I need to feel you inside me, stretching me, filling me up. Don’t make me suffer any longer.” her hips bucked involuntarily as the ice cube danced across her most sensitive areas, Eliciting a gasp of pleasure.

Lisa knew she was at Y/N’s complete mercy, and the thought only served to heighten her arousal. She would endure whatever torment he had in store, if only he would grant her the release she so desperately needed.

Y/N suddenly flips Lisa over, exposing her backside, and dElivers a sharp spank on her ass. Lisa lets out a surprised gasp, her skin tingling from the impact. She glances back at Y/N, her eyes burning with a mix of fear and desperate longing.

“Please Y/N…”

she begs, her voice trembling.

“I need you so badly. I’ll do anything, just don’t stop. Punish me, use me, I don’t care – just make me cum!”

Her hips grind against the bed, seeking any friction to ease the ache between her thighs. The humiliation of her pleading only serves to heighten her arousal, her pride crumbling in the face of her overwhelming desire.

“I’m begging you, Y/N”

she whimpers, her words laced with wanton need.

“This is my life, my everything. Please, don’t deny me the release I crave. I’ll be your perfect little slut, I swear. Just let me cum!”

To be continued……………

[fawnwilde]

Taboo III Ecstasy .𖥔 ݁ ˖

Sean MacGuire x reader

◃◃ [chapters] ▹▹

rating: explicit (18+)

A storm has torn the camp to shreds. The Van Der Linde gang is lucky to have you around to help them pick up the pieces of the camp.

But you're lucky there's a certain Irishman who knows how to lift your spirits, in more ways than one...

content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, cunnilingus, piv smut, arthur has high honor so sean lasts longer, goofy smut bc it's sean macguire, he's a goofy guy

word count: 5.0k

The night before, a storm damn near flooded Clemons Point.

The sun disappeared beyond the horizon, and heavens opened up in retaliation.

You were sitting at the campfire, whittling arrows while listening to Javier idly strum his guitar. A distant rumbling made you sit straight.

Like a bloodhound, you looked around, sniffing the air for the earthy aroma of rain. Years living outdoors gave you a sixth sense, knowing when the weather brought danger to you and your nomad lifestyle.

Lo and behold, the warmth of the early evening sky was being interrupted by blackened clouds. A storm was brewing.

“Not good.” You said to no-one in particular, as you tucked away your knife and arrows.

“What’s wrong, señorita?” Javier had asked, ceasing his music to give you a look.

“A storm.” You responded, looking at the others around camp, “Looks like a bad one. We need to move quickly, find sturdy shelter.”

Within the hour, you and the gang were scurrying through rain, thunder, lightning and harsh winds, trying to protect and save what you could of the makeshift camp..

Dutch listened to your instructions, and together you managed to get people to transport valuables to the safety of the trees nearby. The group huddled together in a large, makeshift shelter created by two wagons and a canopy.

A very rushed solution which did little for the camp, that was bombarded by elements. All you could do was watch the camp flood and disperse, a blanket wrapped around you with Dutch’s chin resting against your shoulder.

You tried to get some sleep, used to the sounds of winds and rain. The effects of the storm would have to be dealt with in the morning, you had said.

In the present, you just sighed dejectedly.

The camp, for lack of a better word, is a disaster.

Tents destroyed by rain, wagons submerged in mud, horse escapees that had to be herded back to base by an exasperated Charles and a rather hysterical Kieran.

The sun above feels like it's taunting you all. Everyone else busies about, following the instructions bellowed out by Grimshaw. No-one has the energy to complain in their various states of exhaustion, lugging around whatever was still intact and grouping together destroyed items.

You’re standing beside Pearson, trying to salvage his supplies, half-listening to him recounting an event in the navy where his ship almost went overboard during a storm.

Another cracked bowl is put into the growing pile of unusables, another bottle of beer is found full of muddy water, and the world keeps turning.

What a dreadful day, you think as you rub a hand over your face.

“Hello, whore.” A female voice greets, and Karen joins your side with a wink.

You smile at her, “Careful. That’s Micah's favourite nickname for me. Don't want him to get jealous.”

Karen scoffs, but smiles at the easy banter between the both of you.

It’s taken you a while to get used to Karen’s way of talking with you, especially now that she knew about your rendezvous’ with the gang’s leader Dutch Van Der Linde and the resident hot mess John Marston.

Two weeks have passed since you began warming both of their beds, and somehow you worked in perfect harmony.

The gang was just happy Dutch seemed to have an outlet, and John was starting to turn his life around.

Speaking of which, Arthur and John walk past, carrying a wagon wheel between them towards Strauss’ worse-for-wear wagon.

When John sees you, he brightens up, sending you a wink. You smile back, putting your hands on your hips.

John realises you’re wearing one of his shirts, and he does a double take, dropping his end of the wheel and making Arthur lose balance. The wheel goes crashing onto the ground below, knocking off two of the wooden spokes. John winces as Arthur exclaims angrily.

“What happened?!” Strauss demands angrily, storming across camp.

“Ah! We broke the goddamn wheel!” Arthur groans, glaring at John.

“John!” Dutch laments, coming between the angered Austrian and his two unruly sons.

Karen bursts out laughing, nodding to you to try to fix the problem you had somehow inadvertently caused.

As Arthur grabs a hammer and takes Strauss over to amend the wheel, Dutch sighs frustratedly. He’s stormy as he passes you, so you gently take his hand, pulling him closer.

Dutch raises an eyebrow at you. You smile, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lip. His mustache tickles, but he hums into the kiss, his posture relaxing for a moment. As you pull away, a small smile rests on his lips, anger forgotten.

He nods to you and Karen, tipping his hat, “Ladies.”

As he disappears from view, John follows him. You lean into him, kissing his cheek. He chuckles rapidly, nudging his forehead with yours before he wanders off.

Hosea, who was stood waiting for Dutch at his tent, awaiting an argument between the gang’s leader and John, was left surprised when both men just nodded to one another and went on with their day.

Turning back to Karen, you smile at her bewildered looks “Problem solved.” You say, shrugging.

“Witch.” Karen laughs.

“Am I a witch or a slut? You laugh, poking her arm.

“You’re a goddamn miracle of nature, that’s what you are.” Mary-Beth laughs as she joins the two of you, followed by Sean and Tilly as they bring over chairs and crates.

“At least someone can control those two.” Tilly laughs, “When you’re fully healed, I reckon you’re a real force of nature.”

You’re reminded of your wound, looking down at the bandage that peaks out from the sleeve of your dress. It had been healing well over the past couple of weeks, but there had been a scare a few days ago where you had a fever, and Grimshaw realised it had gotten infected.

Another reason to stay with the gang for a little longer. If you had left when you originally wanted to, the infection would have killed you.

“Aw, yer poor arm.” Sean coos, poking your forearm.

You shrug, “It ain't too bad.”

“Ain't too bad? If ye were a horse, ye woulda been shot ‘fore ya went lame.”

“Oh, that's not…” Mary-Beth sighs.

“Sean, why are you like this?” Tilly slaps his shoulder. The Irishman just stares at the women, shrugging without a care in the world.

“See, this is why we ain't together no more.” Karen says with a roll of her eyes.

Sean scoffs, “Please, like that wasn't my decision.”

“It wasn't.” The girls say in unison.

You join in their laughter, and Sean catches your eye.

His eyes twinkle with life, making a small blush appear in your eyes. Sean is undeniably handsome, in an unkempt, boyish way.

“If I hav'ta be the butt of the joke to hear tha' lovely laugh, then I’ll gladly take the blow to m'pride.”

“You always are the butt of the joke, Sean.” Lenny laughs as he walks past the small group.

“Everyone, hurry up! We’ll be moving closer to the lake until this area has solidified again.” Dutch calls out, walking through camp with Hosea at his side.

You smile at the thought of being on the waters edge, having confided in the Van Der Linde gang leader about your affinity for water.

Dutch winks at you as he passes.

“Sean! I told you to move the firewood an hour ago!” Hosea yells at him, storming towards the younger man looking ready to reconstruct his bone structure.

Stuttering out excuses, Sean heads off, Hosea on his trail, sending the girls back into hysterics.

Sean MacGuire always knows how to lighten the mood… even when he doesn't realise it.

You’re stood on the outskirts of camp, trying to salvage the girls’ lean-to cover, which got torn pretty awfully by the torrential rain.

“Ah, come on now.” An exasperated voice whines.

Looking up, you spot Kieran across the way, trying to lead the horses away from their old spot to the new one across camp. The grass at the hitching posts has turned to sludge against the mud below, yet the horses seem content to stay there.

And poor Kieran has the bad luck to try to move them all to their new home.

Which they are clearly unhappy about, if their whinnying and motionlessness is anything to go by. Kieran tries feebly to lead Boaz away by his reins, but the horse shakes his head and stomps his hooves at him.

“Please, just listen to me.” Kieran sighs, “You’ll be happier over there, I promise!”

“Having some trouble, Kieran?” You call, folding up the canvas as you come to his side.

“You have no idea.” He sighs, looking dejectedly at Boaz who huffs at him and stays in place. If he had arms, they would be crossed in unimpressed protest.

Bo stands a few feet away, happily grazing on a lump of soggy hay. Definitely not a picky eater, you laugh to yourself.

“Bo.” You call, whistling.

He looks up, nickering happily when he sees you. He trots over, nudging at your head, and you press a kiss to his nose.

“Take him over, Kieran.” You nod.

Kieran sighs, taking Bo’s reins limply, already prepared for another embarrassing defeat.

But Bo just sniffs, leading Kieran away as if he were the horse instead. Kieran sighs in relief, “Thank you, Bo.”

As Bo and Kieran meander off, you nudge Boaz to follow, who seems to get the hint and trudges over, followed by Old Boy and Brown Jack.

Slowly but surely, the horses trickle over to the new space, and Kieran grows more and more at ease as more of the horses take your lead.

With only two horses remaining, you tie your skirt up at the hem, grabbing the Count’s reins in one hand and Taima’s in the other. They hesitate for a moment, before following you forwards.

“And I thought I was good with horses!” Kieran beams, giving you an appreciative nod, “Thank you for helping, miss.”

“Of course-”

“Bollocks!”

You and Kieran jump at the sudden, Irish outburst.

Sean seems to have drawn the short straw, or is currently being punished by Hosea, because he is attempting to independently push one of the wagons out of the mud.

And looking positively pathetic as he huffs and heaves while trying to shove the wagon.

You lose the battle against laughing, trying to hold it in but a chuckle escapes your pressed lips. Sean looks up, and his eyes widen when he notices you’re watching.

Clearing his throat, Sean nods at you, “Lass.”

“Mr MacGuire.”

He presses his lips together, rolling up his sleeves dramatically. He takes a big breath, before throwing his body against the wagon.

It doesn't budge.

It’s strange to see Kieran looking at someone pityingly, “Do you need some help?”

“Shaddup, O’driscoll!”

“Not an O’driscoll.” You and Kieran say. He smiles at you, avoiding your eyes as you chuckle.

The horses notice the lack of human supervision, and Baylock tries to make a break for the old land, with Boaz on his tail.

“No, come on guys!” Kieran yells as he runs back to them, herding them back to their new home.

Turning back to Sean, you put your hands on your hips, “I don't think that's moving.”

“It-’s almost- there- woah!”

A slippery patch of mud sends the wagon sliding forwards, much too quickly for Sean to regain his balance. He falls into a heap into the floor, making a loud squelch against the mud.

“Sean!” You shout, a laugh escaping you as you rush forward to help him.

Pulling him from the mud, he looks up at you with a somber face, half covered in mud. He spits out a mouthful, mumbling words that you don't understand.

You wipe off the mud from his nose, looking at him and bursting out in hysterics.

“Aw, you look like Bill Williamson.” You point to the mud surrounding his mouth.

“How absolutely dare you- ow…” Sean winces, rolling his wrist with a grimace, “Definitely fell on that wrong.”

“Here, let me look.” Laughs stifled, you extend your hand to his.

He shows you his wrist, a grimace on his face. Looking it over, you carefully run your fingers over the sharp bones and wiry muscle. Sean hisses when you out pressure to his joints.

“Think you might have sprained it.” You sigh, “It's not broken, but it'll hurt for a while."

“Gah, ain't too bad then.” Sean shrugs, though he fails to hide his scrunched up look.

“If you were a horse, you would be shot before you go lame.” You smirked.

“Hardy har, she's a comedian.”

You just giggle, rolling up your sleeves, “Let’s get this thing out of the mud, then we can swap jokes.”

Sean rolls his eyes playfully, wiping off some mud on his face before coming to your side at the back of the wagon.

“I’ll push it, it isn't too big.” And you’re not lying when you say this. It’s the cart used for simple journeys taking supplies, a donkey could pull it.

But Sean doubts your abilities, huffing out a laugh while he wipes mud off his hat.

“Just warning you, it's heavier than it looks.” He says, “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

You brace your hands beside his, giving it a sturdy shove and sending it forward.

It moves easily, the strength you have gained from hunting, riding and running coming in useful once again. Looking over your shoulder victoriously, you’ve earned a look of pure astonishment from the Irishman, before his face falls and he gives you a playful pout.

“...show off.” Sean grumbles, traipsing after you as you push the wagon further into camp.

Lenny whistles as he passes the both of you. He’s covered in muck, clearly also fighting a losing battle against sorting out the camp.

“You sure are helpful, miss.” He muses, before rolling his eyes at Sean moping behind you, “And stronger than this buffoon, clearly. Bet you could push that thing with me on it.”

“Hop on if you want.” You joke.

He chuckles, prodding at Sean’s wounded arm. The two squabble behind you, indignant defences from Sean and quips from his friend.

Trying to look over the top, directing the wagon towards the shore of the lake, most people avoid your path respectfully.

But Micah Bell nearly walks right into you, a sneer on his face and his hands full of weapons. He huffs out a laugh at Sean's expense, “Need a woman to do your job for you, Irishman?”

“Notice how no-one's offering to help you?” You say as you pass, noting the gun that has fallen out of his arms.

Sean gives Micah a goofy, self satisfied grin, “She's entranced by my Irish charm.”

He clicks his heels, making you and Lenny laugh.

Before long, you're depositing the wagon by the horses. You and Lenny share a smile and a wave before he returns to helping with rebuilding tents.

Sean goes to the water's edge, squatting to cup water and wash it over his face. It’s ineffective with only one hand, but every time he lifts the other, he winces. Dramatically, you know. Sprains ache but you’ve had enough to know he's exaggerating.

With a pout, he looks up at you “Help a poor, injured fella out?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but relent to his puppy dog eyes. Pulling a rag from the laundry pile, you join his side, dunking the rag to wet it before bringing it to his mug.

Sean watches you as you drag the cold fabric over his chin, cleaning the mud off before washing it out in the waves of the lake.

“Big baby.” You chide.

He gives you another frown, batting his eyes at you, and you splash water at him. He guffaws, shaking his head like a dog when the water gets in his hair.

“Mean.” He says, but smiles when you resume washing the last bit of dirt off his cheek.

Once he's clean, you look over his face, taking a moment to admire his tiny freckles and crooked nose.

“There’s that handsome face.”

Sean blushes redder than his hair, clearing his throat. You stand and ring out the rag, tossing it back the laundry pile and leaving the bright red Irishman without another word.

He watches you leave, you pretend not to notice.

The camp has settled in for the night, newly constructed tents on the bank, and a campfire on the shore of Flat Iron Lake.

Home sweet home, for now.

Uncle had already fallen asleep face down in the sand, and people have started betting on whether or not the tide will sweep him out before dawn.

The gang is in high spirits despite all of the chaos.

Javier plays a light hearted song and the remaining alcohol is distributed. Even Charles has had a good few, laughing along to one of Hosea’s stories.

You’re quietly enjoying the atmosphere, sitting with John as the both of you listen to the sound of music and laughter.

You don't even realise he's dozing until his head begins resting on your shoulder.

Deciding he should better go to sleep, you rise and take his hand, leading him to the lean-to he's been sharing with Javier.

Once he’s down, snug as a bug in the salvaged blankets you wrap him in, you walk over to one of the only surviving tables, taking a moment to yourself with a borrowed cigarette from Mary-Beth.

Smoking is new to you, and it's entirely unpleasant. But it calms your mind as you bask in a moment of solitude.

It’s like you summoned the mouthy Irishman by asking the universe for peace and quiet.

Lo and behold, Sean strolls past you, carrying a crate of bottles towards the main campfire while whistling a tune.

You narrow your eyes looking at his supposedly mortally injured wrist being used to carry a heavy looking crate without any fuss from him. He looks almost cartoonish with his bouncing stride and smirking face.

Fucker just wanted princess treatment, huh? You think to yourself.

A turn of his head and Sean sees you.

Eyes widening, he drops the crate with a racket of rattling glass, dramatically grasping his wrist like a soldier fresh from the battlefield.

“Oh, my wrist!” He winces, leaning against your table, “Oh, it's pure agony, I’m telling ya.”

You huff out a laugh, blowing smoke at him, “Is that so?"

“Oh aye, aye. Thought I could carry that crate, out on a brace face. But lordie am I in pain, you’ve never known the likes of it.”

“Right.” You chuckle, “And what am I supposed to do about that?”

“Ah, I don't know.” He makes a show of thinking, rubbing his ‘sprained' wrist, “Haven't ya got any special healing powers or nothing? Karen mentioned yer a spooky witch or something of the like.”

You snort, “If I did, I wouldn't have needed to be saved by Dutch after getting shot saving you outlaws.”

Sean joins in your laughter, before he stops, looking you up and down appreciatively, “Oh… well, maybe there's something you can do…”

He’s shameless.

Narrowing your eyes, you finish your cigarette and give him a scrutinising look, “Oh? And what's that, Mr MacGuire?”

“Maybe you could kiss it better?” Sean suggests, voice low with obvious flirtation.

“That's all?” You ask, leaning forward, “You could have just said.”

Sean’s smirk drops, taken aback, “Wait, really?”

“Sure.” You shrug, standing, “It's just a kiss.”

He stares at you, and you can practically see the cogs turning.

Taking your hand, he leads you away from the rest of the camp, away from prying eyes, “A special healing kiss demands privacy.”

He pulls you into a tent, shrouded by darkness away from the campfire’s warm glow.

You raise your eyebrows when you realise whose it is, “This is Hosea’s tent-”

You're silenced by Sean’s lips.

Taken aback, you freeze. He stops, looking at you worriedly.

You stare at him, before shaking your head, “Fuck it.” This time, you kiss him.

Sean kisses like he does everything else, unmeasurable amounts of energy, little skill. But it's good, in a messy way.

You lean into it, arms wrapping around his neck to grasp onto his scruffy hair, knocking his hat off in the process.

“I thought-” kiss, “You wanted-” kiss, “Me to-” kiss, “kiss your wrist-” You say in between kisses.

“Nah my wrists fine, it's my lips that hurt.” Sean pouts against you, “Need you to kiss em better.”

His tongue seeks entry, and who are you to deny him?

It’s heated, your hands gripping onto his hair, his hands gripping onto your waist. You mesh together greedily, seeking the warmth of each other's bodies.

Sean nips at your bottom lip; and you frown against him. You can feel him harden against your hip.

“Fuck, get that skirt up.” He groans, gripping the fabric of your dress, “If I don't have my face between yer legs in the next five seconds, I think I’ll die.”

You giggle breathlessly, letting him push up your skirts to the tops of your thighs as he drops to his knees.

With nothing to balance on, you almost topple over when he begins biting your inner thighs, teeth scraping against soft flesh. Sean tugs at your ankle to push your thigh over his shoulder, steadying you while also opening you up to him.

“No underthings?”

“The ones I borrowed got wet.”

He groans, “Yer bloody spectacular.”

You barely have a second to brace yourself before he’s burying his face against your cunt.

Gasping, you grab onto his head, finger nails stretching against his scalp. Your other hand comes up to your mouth, teeth sinking down onto your knuckles as Sean begins devouring you.

Kitten-licks to your clit, digging his tongue into your hole, groans coming from his mouth sending vibrations against you. His hand leaves your ankle to plunge two fingers into you.

It’s too much too quick, your orgasm begins riding close to the surface with startling speed and urgency.

Sean shakes his head like a dog, mouthing at your cunt like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

Biting on your knuckles, you mewl out as you cum against his mouth, shaking and gasping out, murmurs of Sean's name on your lips.

He doesn't let up, sucking on your clit with possibly even more vigour. You whine, trying to move away, but he locks his hands around your thighs, pulling you back.

“Sean- too much.”

He groans, saying something against your pussy, sounding suspiciously like “Nuh uh.”

“Sean…” You laugh breathlessly, squirming.

Reluctantly, he pulls his head back, looking up at you with blown out pupils and mess all over his face.

“Haven't eaten something this good in years.” Sean sighs against you, mouthing at your inner thigh as he catches his own breath, “It’s just mean to take it from me.”

You roll your eyes, but run your fingers through his hair affectionately, “Fine, just… gentler.”

“Whatever the lady wishes.”

He returns to his ministrations, though making an effort to take more care. His tongue runs along your cunt gently, drinking up everything he can find, kissing your clit with his own moans.

Another, smaller orgasm runs through you, making you clench your thighs against his head. He breathes out a quiet, “fuck yes”, as if he wishes you would keep him locked in place forever.

You’re tempted to do just that.

After a moment, he rises to his feet. His hands grasp your hips, kissing your face, “Let me fuck you? Please?”

“Well… seeing as you asked so politely.” You chuckle, nudging your nose against his stubbly cheek.

Sean smiles giddily, like the cat who got the cream. A flash of fear crosses his face, eyebrows furrowing, “Dutch won’t kill me, will he?”

“Nah. He hasn't killed John yet.”

Sean whistles, “You naughty, naughty girl.”

Separating, the both of you begin hastily tearing off your clothes. Your skirt and shirt are in a pile across the room, and you get comfy on the bedroll, hot skin shivering against the cold blankets.

“Knew you were a minx when I saw you in the woods.” Sean says, pulling his shirt off.

“Oh?”

“You’ve got the look.” He smirks, “A siren, you are, luring us sailors in.”

“I hadn't done anything before Dutch.” You laugh, shredding the last of your garments and stretching out on the bedroll.

“No way.”

“Way.” Leaning forward, you tug Sean close by his belt, “I guess something's been awoken in me.”

“And aren't we a bunch of lucky fuckers for gaining your affections.” Sean groans, cupping your cheeks and kissing you deeply.

You lie back as Sean removes his belt, busying your hands by playing with the blanket below.

Sean steps out of his trousers, and clears his throat for your attention, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Your eyes land on his cock. Both Dutch and John had been impressive, and Sean was… less than. Smaller than them both, nestled amongst wiry red curls.

But Sean stands proudly, gesturing to his hard member with a flourish, “Meet MacGuire junior!”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head at him while you cover your face. You’re starting to really like this silly guy.

“Don’t laugh at him, he’ll get shy!” Sean fake pouts.

“I’m sorry.” You apologise, not at all genuinely.

“It ain’t much, but trust me I know how to use it.” He smirks, confidently sauntering over to where you recline.

He climbs on top of you, settling between your thighs with a satisfied sigh. You press your knees to his sides, bringing him close while he nuzzles against your cheek.

“Perfect, just where I’m supposed to be.” He murmurs as he begins peppering kisses along your bare chest.

Sean reaches down, one hand gripping your thigh while the other lines himself up with your entrance. It takes a few seconds of fumbling, while you press your lips together to avoid laughing again.

You feel him press against you, before Sean thrusts forward until he’s buried to the hilt. The both of you let out groans, relief filling you at being filled.

Sean sighs, shutting his eyes as he begins fucking into you, humming to himself as he increases the pace, wasting no time before he begins pounding into you.

“Oh… oh, yes…” Sean moans, “That’s the ticket.”

He’s about to start monologging, you sigh internally.

You silence him with a kiss, which he hungrily receives. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you urge him to keep going.

Sean is greedy as he takes you, hands running over every inch of skin he can find, hips slamming against yours, desperate for the warmth and pleasure of your cunt.

His pace is quick, hard, and uneven. He clearly had less experience than he likes to lead on, and he’s working with less equipment than most men.

Given all of those facts, you would have thought sex with Sean would be sorely disappointing

You’re pleasantly surprised.

Something about the feral way he fucks you hits perfectly, and you have to separate from the kiss to moan out. His hand travels down to your clit, running it vigorously and making you cry out and clench down on him.

Nothing about this is slow, it’s fast like the steam trains you watched from a safe distance.

Sean chokes out a high pitched moan, shuddering on top of you. He only gets louder with every pump of his cock within you, and he tries to silence himself by sucking on your chest.

You keen, arching against him as he sucks on one of your pebbled nipples, teeth nipping and sending jolts of electricity through your spine.

Sean adjusts his position. He sits back on his haunches and grabs your hips, pulling you up and down his cock. Sean’s pelvis catches your clit, and you arch against him, letting him use you as he desires.

You’re surrounded by a cacophony of moans and slick sounds, the tent echoing all the delicious noises produced by your writhing bodies.

It’s filthy, it’s messy, it’s ravenous, like you’re both animals in the wild.

Sean damn near sounds like an animal, in any case. His volume increases as he gets closer, crying out and moaning.

“Oh god, oh yes- almost there-!” Sean whines, body shaking as he jackhammers into you, head thrown back.

Another jolting thrust hits your clit just right, and you shake as your third orgasm erupts through you.

Sean grins when he feels it, prideful of making you peak again. His face twists into an ecstatic grimace as he twitches and begins cumming.

“Oh, oh, oh!” He howls out, his hips flush against yours, warmth spreading through your insides.

He collapses on top of you, keeping himself nestled deep within you as he huffs out warm breath against your neck.

Something about the situation, and what just happened, makes you begin giggling, cackling like a mad woman while Sean huffs.

“Can’t believe- you're laughing again.” Sean groans between taking panting breaths, “Like I didn't just fuck the shit outta you.”

You huff, “Don't know about all that.”

He lifts himself up to rest his chin on your sternum, adjusting his hips to get into a comfortable position while keeping his softening cock inside of you.

“How’s MacGuire junior feelin’ now, love?” Sean asks teasingly.

“Shut up.” You scoff, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear, “How’s that wrist feeling?”

“Better.” He sighs, “Still need that magic kiss, though.”

You laugh, shaking your head. Taking his hand in yours, you press your lips to his inner wrist, nuzzling against the skin.

He gives you a sleepy smile, kissing your cheek. For a moment, it's just you and Silly MacGuire, and the world outside has ceased to exist-

The moment is cut short when someone dangerously close to the tent yells out, “Who left this crate here?!”

It’s Hosea.

Sean’s eyes widen, panicked as he looks out into the horizon, visualising his own imminent demise. You press your face to his chest to muffle the laugh threatening to escape you.

“...Oh he’s gonna kill me.” Sean sighs.

AN/ i don't care about canon, MY sean macguire would eat pussy until he suffocated. he'd literally get lost in the sauce. literally those videos of those cats who shove their whole face into their food until their owner has to pull them back by the scruff of their necks.

wrote the smut on my break while listening to chase icon and smoking a cheeky fag hope it hits xoxo

fic taglist: @warmsideofthepillow03 @sammymcsamerson @m1stea @iamaunknownsecret @love-you-louise @vanpan8 @6esi @idcmannn @pumpkin-toffee @littlebirdgot @ripvanwinkleee @straows @bixjan

[digitalmarkiting08]

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[harrysmimi]

Finally Your Husband

Coffee And Pancakes series P16

Synopsis: YN and Harry tie the knots together in an intimate and private ceremony in Italy and they get to hear an amazing news.

Series Master list | More of My Work

YN was nervous.

She was on brink of having a breakdown. Everything was turning out to be so perfect yet everyone was giving her a big hard time.

The way her grandma wasn't attending was a cherry on top for her but her parents were attending. The way it was the people who loved and respected her boundaries and parents giving her a hard time taunting her every little choice. A few of her cousins were attending too, and most of them YN hated. It was just amazing and hell on earth at the same time. They were Harry's Italian villa where he proposed to her.

One of her cousin got drunk and almost tore his scrotum while dancing during one of the pre-wedding ceremonies. Niall was a real helper driving him to the nearest hospital. And two of her other cousins threw a fit of fight when they found out they were wearing the same outfit.

The pre wedding ceremonies were lowkey too. It was a whole week long spiel and a half.

"I don't know why I am nervous!" She whined on the phone with her soon to be husband, her eye welled up with tears. She was all ready and they were just fifteen minutes away from being married.

There was going to be two ceremonies back to back and long night of partying.

"Baby." Harry cooed, "just fifteen minutes okay?"

While he tried his best to assure her everything is going to be fine, it wasn't putting her at ease. Her life was about to change for good.

Just a few years ago she wasn't even interested in seeing anyone (she in fact hated the idea) and now here she is about to marry the love of her life. Everything between fear and pure ecstasy was just running in rounds in her head.

Harry was just two stories down from where she was but she couldn't go see him. YN was having a breakdown. She was nervous thinking what possibly could go wrong as everything has been so smooth sailing.

On the other hand, Harry was nervous indeed but he could manage himself. He had just gotten into his suit as he was done with his hair.

He got a call from Brielle, stating he need to go see his wife (soon-to-be) now. She was having a breakdown. He had quickly put on his coat and headed to where his wife-to-be was.

"Oh my god!" He whispered to himself as he saw her sitting there on the edge of the bed all ready and dolled up, she took his breath away. Even though she was crying. "Angel, you look breath taking!"

She was wearing a white lehenga, and covered in gorgeous jwellery, a soft makeup look with a bold lip.

And that made her son too. "I broke this." She showed him the chain he got her for one of her birthdays and she wanted to wear it as it was so special. It wasn't going to be visible with all the jewelry she was wearing, but still she'd know she is wearing it.

"Hey, it's alright my love." He cooed as he sat next to her. "It's alright. We can get that fixed."

"I wanted to wear it." She managed to whisper between her sobs. "You gave it to me on my birthday."

"I know, but-" he was cut off when YN's brother's wife, Jasmine came in with a sewing box.

"I knew this was going to be handy- oh Harry?" She was quite surprised. "I am sorry, I should have knocked but she is crying."

"No, it's fine." Harry assured her.

"Look we are going to fix it okay for now?" She took YN's necklace. Soon after her mother walked in as well. She helped Jasmine fix the necklace. They just tied the broken ends with a piece of things thread. It wasn't a permanent solution but it was going to work for now. "Come here let me put this on." Jasmine even put it on for her and even attempted to fix her makeup too.

Harry watched the way her mum looked at her. They both looked exactly the same he figured. He just wished she would have spoken with her then, he could tell she wanted to. She had tears in her eyes seeing her daughter as a bride. It just broke his heart a little.

"I will come and get you in a while. And Harry you probably have to be there in a few minutes too." Jasmine informed both, soon her and YN's mum left.

"Hey, you good?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, I am sorry." She mumbled, "I think I'm about to get my period. I don't know why I am crying so much."

"Don't say that." He pulled her in for a hug, "you don't have to say that. It's a big day, and it's okay to feel this way."

"This is so overwhelming." She mumbled against his chest.

"I know, but it'll be alright. I'm right here with you, yeah?"

It had just been five minutes Harry had to go out as the ceremony would begin. First it was the traditional Indian way. And then it was Niall officiating their wedding. Everything went as smoothly as possible. Soon YN realised she was panicking for nothing everything was just perfect.

They both cried twice as she walked down the aisle twice.

"You may kiss your bride, Harold." Niall announced as he stepped away.

Harry was quick to pull his wife in as he picked her lips gently before he got her in a bear hug. YN wrapped her arms around him

Her husband has been by her side for the entire day. It was time for their first dance.

"I can't believe we are married now." She said they both swayed to the soft music playing.

Harry leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Mhmm. I am finally your husband."

"Yeah? I am your wife now." She couldn't help but smile sheepishly at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He got flustered seeing her watch him with love heart eyes.

"Can you kiss me?" She asked.

"You know I will." With that he pressed his lips on hers, not shying away that her parents and brother are present there like they used to. She's his woman now and he is her man. "I love you so much!"

"I love you so much!" She reciprocated.

The rest of the night was flawless. Niall and Zayn got drunk off their arse as they danced to Gasolina for the fifth time. The food was amazing.

"You're not going to have anything to drink?" YN asked her husband.

"No, I am done. Had a glass of wine." He shared as he pulled her closer to his side as he watched his former band mates dance like idiots. "Want to stay present." He pressed a kiss on her head.

"Awh!" She cooed.

"Come on guys!" Gemma pulled them both to the dance floor, she was halfway hammered too there. They had a very fun night.

Harry was still on the dance floor as YN retrieved back feeling tired as her adrenaline started to wear off slowly but surely. Her husband wasn't drunk but he was having fun like his friends if not more.

Soon people started leaving to go back to their accommodations and it was just the close family left there to clean up a bit before everyone headed back. As it was Harry's (now theirs) villa all the bride and groom had to do was walking up the stairs to their bedroom.

It was all decorated with pretty candles and flowers. "Oh see the mood is already set for us." Harry announced as he hugged his wife from behind. "To be honest, this wasn't needed I had my eye on you since this morning." He had been worked up all night, actually all day. She looked absolutely dead drop gorgeous in that dress and she is wife now. That all together new feeling.

YN was quick to turn around in his arms. "Yeah?"

"Mhmm." He nodded and pecked her lips gently.

"This is going to be a big hassle to get out of." She reminded him that she is wearing a Lehenga with hundreds if not thousands of pins holding it together.

"Don't worry we have all the time in the world." He assured her as his hand went up her back behind her Chunni as he tugged onto the string of her blouse.

On a serious note, he did help her get out of the heavy outfit. They had a great laugh as it kept tugging on one thing or another. YN finally got out of the lehenga. He was also just in his trousers by now.

"You were wearing sweat pants underneath that the white day?" Harry giggled.

"Yes! And I was still cold." She pouted as she took off her bangles as she was sat on the bathroom counter.

"Awh, my baby!" He cooed, "let's hand this up, yeah?" He nicely hung up the fit on the designated hanger carefully and hung it over the bathroom door. "Now where were we." He went back to her, stepping between her legs.

"Where were we?" She placed the last of the bangles she took off in their designated box as she looked up at him.

"I'd rather show you." With his arms wrapped around her waist he picked her back and walked back to their bed. She laughed feeling his fingers dig into her side tickling her. He gently placed her on the bed as hovered over her pressing his mouth to hers. His hands wandered on her back to unhook her blouse she still had on. "This okay?"

"Yes." She nodded, her hands on his hips as he helped her out of the blouse that's when she noticed the bulge. She was quick to unbuckle his belt and get rid of his pants.

"No let me do the work now." He stopped her, reaching down to the waist band of her sweats and sliding them down with her panties. He got down on his knees as his lips left a trail of soft and eager kisses down her neck to her stomach to her inner thighs. YN let out a soft moan as she felt his mouth on her, his tongue teasing her bud.

Soon enough she was pulling him back to her, he was quick to press his mouth on hers. Her juices are still on his mouth as he pushes his tongue in her mouth, flawlessly dominating over their very heated moment.

"I want your cock in me now." She demanded, propping herself up on her elbows.

He chuckled softly as he undid his trousers and took off his boxers. "Very demanding, aren't we?" He was back on top of her. He lines his tip against her weeping hole as he pushes inside her with ease. "Can never get over the feeling of your pussy on my cock, baby!" He groans softly with his forehead on hers.

YN just let out a soft moan holding onto his shoulders. "Want it to be soft this time." She whispered.

"Mhmmm." He agrees moaning as he could feel her walls pulsing around him.

"Fuck! Right there!" She gasped feeling his cock plunging in her softly yet firmly.

"Yeah, you like it baby?" He looked at her before pecking her lips, earning a nod of satisfaction from her. "That's it baby, lay back and relax. Gonna take care of my wife!"

YN laid back on bed. Harry was quick enough to grab the pillow for her before she rested her head back, not forgetting to keep on with his slow and firm thrusts. Dipping his head down he latched his mouth on her hardened nipple, whilst his hand was busy kneading the other making her back arch.

"Oh yes!" She moaned softly again, gasping for air as she floated away in pleasure.

"Oh yes baby, you gonna cum?" He looked at her again.

"Yeah. I want you to cum in me." She requested. This isn't the first time.

"Yeah? You want me to cum in you baby?" He said getting his hand down to rub her clit making her jolt in surprise.

"Yes please!" She sighed.

"Yeah, almost there baby, urgh!" He thrusts were getting harder and harder as he couldn't hold it back, feeling her pulsing harder around him. Soon he was releasing his load in her pussy with the last few thrusts. "Fuck that was amazing!" He chuckled, still inside her.

"Yeah." She pulled him down for a kiss. "I love you so much Harry!"

"I love you so much!" He kissed again. Rolling over he pulled her in closer. "We are finally married."

"Mhmm." She nodded, looking at him with tired yet love-heart eyes. "We're married now, I can't wait to grow old with you!"

"Yeah? I promise I will love you even after we're seventy." He mumbled softly against her forehead before pressing another kiss on her skin. It was a joke as they danced to Thinking Out Loud by Ed, making her giggling.

"Oh you better!" She warned him.

"You know I will, baby!" He pushes back to look at her, "do you want to get cleaned up and go to sleep?"

"Mhmm." She nodded.

Harry was quick enough to help her get cleaned and helped her get into one of his t-shirts before they were off to bed.

.......................................................................

Harry woke up feeling super hot for some reason, he back was all sweaty as YN slept closer to him, her face buried in his back.

"Baby?" Harry carefully turned around and moved closer to her wife who was still asleep but shivering and burning up. That was enough to get him out of sleep in an instance. "Baby, you alright?"

"Hmmm?" She sounded.

"You're burning up my love." He whispered.

"Yeah I am cold. I just want to sleep." She mumbled. The worst thing about her was how she managed to sleep through fever.

"Let's go see a doctor first, yeah?" He suggested, "you can sleep when we get back."

"Can we go later?" She mumbled again, pulling the blanket over her mouth and curling up even more.

"Babe, come on now. You're burning up." He insisted, "I promise we'll make it as quick as possible, yeah?"

"I- fine we'll-." She ran off to the toilet and started throwing up.

"Oh no." Harry mumbled as he rushed to her and held her hair back and rubbed her back. "It's alright sweetheart. We'll go see a doctor."

Harry was quick to drive her to the nearest hospital, they were asked to wait luckily there was no rush there and they got in without an appointment. The doctor did a basic physical exam.

"Have you eaten anything recently which might upset your stomach?" The doctor asked as he documented in his computer.

"No, I have been eating healthy for our wedding." YN explained.

"Oh congratulations!" The doctor smiled, "don't worry we'll look into it. Have you tried taking a pregnancy test?"

"Not recently." YN shrugged, suddenly feeling anxious as she looked at her husband. "But I'd be open to one if we can do it here."

"Sure." The doctor nodded. "We'll also get the blood work done if necessary too."

"Yeah. Thank you." YN nodded.

Soon enough a nurse guided the couple to a room where YN can take the pregnancy test in privacy. She was nervous and she was already crying.

"It's okay baby." Harry tried his best to calm her down as they waited for the longest five minutes. "What does it say?"

"It's positive." She started sobbing.

"Oh my god!" He was quick to pull her in the tightest hug ever.

"We're going to be Mummy and Papa!" She mumbled as she sobbed.

"Yeah!" Harry rocked her side to side in excitement.

That was the happiest moment of YN's life there but she was still burning up with fever. Doctor gave her some mild medicines to take and advised her to rest as much as she can.

That's exactly what Harry made her do. He drove her back home to their Villa. Made her feel all comfy as he fixed her a quick meal.

They postponed their honeymoon until YN feels better and is fit to travel and spend their time in and resting and taking in the news.

......................................................................

@vrittivsanghavi @buckymydarlingangel @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @sleutherclaw @melllinaa @michellekstyles @sunshinemoonsposts @marialikescherries @onlyangelrihana @supersanelyromantic @haarrrys @originalsoulcollector @lomlhstyles @im-an-overthinker @tenaciousperfectionunknown @stilesissaved @allthelovehes @sunshinemoonsposts @harryssky1 @sofia-faustina @stylesfever @reputationolivia @kittenhere

[portraitsofguilt]

✮ ┆ "WHERE ART THOU? WHY NOT UPONETH ME?". ellie williams — “i bet we'd have really good bed chem.”

synopsis.                   you just looked so soft, almost innocent, the true definition of fizzling with sins that she needed for her new assigment

content warnings.           MDNI, nsfw content, female-bodied reader, minor dark content, continuation of 'the ideal art inside you' if you squint, reader is whiny and for what? FOR FINGERS, fingering, knife/mixing knife/palette knife (it's used for mixing paint FYI), use/mention of blood

author's note.                   I KNOW THE TITLE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ART, but you gotta give me credit for the double-fisting that this fic is gonna be, both art and "art" is gonna be involved LMAO enough yapping, haven't written for ellie in a hot minute, enjoy the sickening(?) smut

you could never really understand the idea behind how just one look at an empty bowl, a half-filled glass of orange juice, a silly joke you made, or an irritated professor spitting their truth out onto their class sparked the countless paintings, drawings, and songs ellie came up and eventually made it into a thing. sure, some of these little things flickered some creativity in you too that made you reach for an eraser and pencil, but never in the same sense compared to ellie's.

it's one of her 'running on fumes and creating art', or in layman's terms- she is late with an assignment again.

as she kneeled above you in awe, three fingers knuckle deep inside of your hot and flushed cavern, just barely moving to keep you letting those lustful noises out that she adored so much. ellie's cheeks flushed red- was it more because of how worked up she was getting and less because of how embarrassed she felt being so vulnerable? is it desperation for your physical validation or that her mind is so starved of art it depraves her thoughts?

so many questions are and will be left unanswered, you whimper, hips arching into her hand when her fingertips curl the slightest, all your queries slipping from your mind for the benefit of ellie not slipping out of you.

she was experimenting, as she does most of the time, trying to see how much more and how different sounds can you let out. a rough hum leaves you, a sweet little cry that could alone send her over the edge.

"a little bit more, alright?"

she wasn't that cruel, it's only been fifteen or so minutes that she edged you and as much as she knew how mean of her it was to just want to listen to your moans all day, until your throat went sore, until your brain was incapable of recreating human noises. she really couldn't keep her own canvas empty, unfinished, waiting for her to find a solution to the theme and topic that landed the two of you in this position in the first place.

you mewled, losing sense of your surroundings as her fingers curled once again. the tips were touching that spongy spot inside of you, forcing a sudden hiss out that turned into a content sigh as you felt the knot in your stomach slowly tea. your breath shortened, hand grabbing into her knee as soon as she picked her pace up.

"'m g-gonna cum...!"

that's when she knew, the second you dug your nails into her skin, bruising her as you did so, ellie pulled out one of her blunter mixing knives, with not much time to think about where or how to make the cut for your blood fizzling with ecstasy.

but the best idea she had was your hand, it was already on her, and you wouldn't even notice in your orgasm-diluted sense of reality. "go on, let it all go." as she whispered the words she made the cut, not too deep, not too shallow, breathless as she watches both you and the blood trickle all over and dampening skin.

"fuck, fuck, i c-can't-"

oh, at times like this how soft she could be, leaning down to cradle you with her body, lowering herself so you can burry your face into her shoulder, the satisfied sighs and moans leaving your mouth soaked up by her skin and bones as your juices leaked into her palm. she pulled away, not too fast, not too slow as her fingers slipped out of you before she gazes at the back of your hand still sitting on her knee, twitching from the last of your orgasm. she played with the stretchy juices for a second but she was quick to go and waste it away by drying her fingers in the sheets. her lips agape as her breath got heavy, shaking as she replayed your moans in her head- the second she cut you, the slow trickle and your faltering noises, how she mentally was picking out the brush she's gonna steal the glistening red liquid away from you to plaster her canvas in with.

she got what she wanted, and you got what you deserved.

[runninriot]

The End Of Maybe

written for the @steddiebingo card prompt: proposal & @steddielovemonth day 1

rated: T | wc: 1.223 | tags: established relationship, emotional hurt/comfort, self-doubt, declarations of love, marriage proposal | also on ao3

 

   “Do you ever regret it?” Eddie asks quietly, eyes locked on the ceiling while his fingers are tracing invisible patterns on the skin of Steve’s back.

   “Regret what?”

Steve’s head is resting on Eddie’s chest, basking in the comfort of their shared body heat, still on his come down from an overdose of love-infused ecstasy. Enjoying his boyfriend’s closeness while his mind is happily drifting. Was drifting, until now. Now he’s alert, can sense the shift in Eddie’s mood, the gloomy aura suddenly surrounding him.

Eddie still hasn’t turned his gaze away from where it is fixed on nothing but white paint, stays unmoving even when Steve lifts his head to look at him.

   “Baby? Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

For how talkative Eddie usually is, Steve has long since learned that his boyfriend can be eerily quiet when something is eating away at him. When he’s trying to come up with solutions on his own instead of sharing the burden. Over time, they’ve found a way to meet in the middle – with Steve giving Eddie the space and time he needs to sort through his thoughts and Eddie keeping his promise not to shut Steve out, to share what’s gnawing at him eventually.

   “I mean,” Eddie starts, finally looking down to find Steve’s eyes, shifting so that they’re lying side by side, face to face. Still close despite the emotional distance Steve can feel like a physical wall between them.

   “Do you sometimes regret choosing this over- something else?”

He’s being vague on purpose, not even trying to elaborate what he means and Steve knows why, understands what he’s saying either way. They had this conversation before, once, and ended up in a big fight, maybe their biggest one yet. Because at the time, it had felt like Eddie was trying to push him away, trying to talk him into something he didn’t want out of unfounded fear of Steve changing his mind one day. Having a hard time believing that he chose this life, not despite but because of what it would mean for his future.

For Steve, this has never been temporary; he’s always been all in. Wants to spend the rest of his days with Eddie, through the good and the bad and everything.

   “Never,” Steve finally says, keeping his voice soft but making sure the message is clear, “I want this and nothing else. I love our life with everything we have. I love you. You know that, right?”

Without waiting for an answer, Steve leans in for a kiss, a firm press of lips to emphasise his words.

He knows it’s just a little bump in the road, just Eddie being in his head – it happens every now and then, it’s okay, nothing to really worry about. But still, Steve hates to see Eddie sad.

   “I know you do, I just- I don’t know.”

Eddie sighs, buys himself time by stealing another tender kiss from his boyfriend, and Steve lets him get away with it.

   “Where’s this coming from, baby? Did I do or say something that made you think I’ve changed my mind?”

   “No! No, you did nothing, I- I guess I’m just scared.”

With one hand, Steve cups the side of Eddie’s face, thumb gently stroking over his cheekbone, not saying anything but patiently waiting for him to go on.

   “I know you love me, that’s not what I’m worried about. I just sometimes wonder if it’s truly worth giving up so many of your dreams for this. For me.”

Steve knows what Eddie is referring to, even without him having to spell it out. It is true, there had been a time where Steve’s biggest dream was to have a wife and kids, a whole bunch of them, living a quiet small-town life with his picture-perfect family.

But that was before Eddie came along. Before he fell heart over head in love with a wonderful young man, with the prettiest smile and dark brown eyes that make him weak, still, after all those years. Sure, he’d be lying if he said he never asked himself that same question, wondering if being with Eddie was worth facing all the battles they had to fight. If loving Eddie was worth letting go of the future he’d always thought he wanted for himself.

But the answer is still the same as it has been for over 6 years now – yes. A thousand times yes. Because the truth is, he didn’t give up a dream, he created a new one. With Eddie at the centre of everything, he’s built a life that is better than anything he could’ve imagined.

Nothing compares to being loved by Eddie, and nothing could ever make this relationship any more perfect. Except maybe…

He shoots up so sudden it startles Eddie, who reluctantly obeys when Steve beckons him to sit.

   “What-”

Steve doesn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence, presses the tip of his finger against Eddie’s lips to shut him up – not to be rude; he just needs him to listen to what he has to say before he loses his courage.

   “You’re it for me, okay? You are everything I need to be happy and I- I want to grow old with you, want to spend the rest of my life with you. You are all I want, now and forever.”

Steve swallows roughly, has to take a few deep breaths, can already feel the burning of tears in his eyes.

Robin will lose her mind. Will probably also give him a lot of shit for doing it like this, here, in the isolated cocoon of their bedroom rather than making it the big, pompous surprise they always joked about in secret. When they talked about the hypothetical maybe of Steve proposing one day.

Truth is, Steve has been thinking about it a lot in the past, about asking Eddie to take this next big step with him. Not for the sake of making at least one of his younger self’s dreams a reality, but because he wants to be Eddie’s in every way possible. Is more than willing to give up a name that means nothing to him for one that means love and trust and family.

   “Eddie, baby, will you marry me?”

He waits for the words to sink in, anxiously watching Eddie go through all the stages of understanding what Steve is asking him.

   “Are you-” Realisation.

   “Do you really-” Disbelief.

   “You want to-” Reassurance.

   “Oh my God, yes! YES!” Eddie finally answers with a trembling voice and eyes full of tears.

They’re both shedding tears of joy now, arms wrapped around each other, kissing, and smiling and kissing some more until just kissing is no longer enough. When the need to be closer overcomes them and whispered declarations of love and devotion turn into something a lot more obscene. When their bodies demand to become one in heated passion, euphoric and wild and sweet.

And when they come undone for the second time this night, it feels different in a way, new. Because it’s their first time as soon-to-be husbands. Falling apart together, with all their love carved into a promise to mark the end of maybe and the beginning of forever – no after – just them ‘til the end.

[misseviehyde]

BULLY BREW

Carol knew her daughter would be furious if she went in her room, but she'd told Alice to clean it six times now and she was still waiting. So long as her daughter was living under her roof, Carol expected her to at least be reasonable about such things and besides - her best stock pot had gone missing alongside a load of camping equipment. She wanted to know what her daughter was up to.

Carol knew that Alice was currently having a hard time at school, but that didn't give her a pass on keeping her room clean. Alice had come to the attention of some of the popular girls and was currently being bullied, but she refused to tell anyone about it and had screamed at her Mom that she didn't need help as she had her own solution.

Carol was struggling to see what that might be. As far as she and George, Alice's Dad could see, their daughter just spent all her time dressed in black and reading musty old books. Carol had offered to go the teachers but Alice had screamed at her not to.

Alice was what Carol's generation had called a 'goth' and her daughter liked to wear black makeup, dressing in black Victorian looking outfits and boots. She also had an obsession with 'magic' and claimed she was learning to be a witch.

Entering her daughters room, Carol winced. It was so dark and gloomy in here. Heavy metal and anime posters covered the walls and the room looked like a bomb site with clothes everywhere. Ripping open the curtains to let in some light Carol tutted as she saw her prized cook pot on top of a camp burner. A thick liquid was bubbling away.

She couldn't believe her daughter had left this on. She could have burned the house down!

Walking over Carol could see the liquid was thick and pink. Next to the pot her daughter had scribbled a load of notes. They sounded like the ravings of a mad woman.

Operation Revenge:

1. Make Bully Brew

2. Drink and become Alpha Bully

3. Get payback on EVERYONE

Carol tutted and turned off the heat causing the brew to stop boiling and bubbling. She looked down at it curiously and decided to give it a sniff. It was cooling rapidly... faster than any normal liquid would. In moments it would be cool to the touch and a velvety smooth pink liquid would be all that remained.

She breathed deep. It smelt good. Really good.

The fumes from the bully brew filled her head and she groaned involuntarily. She breathed deep and her skin tingled and her heart pounded. What... what was this feeling?

Staggering backwards, Carol's head span. She walked to the mirror and gasped. Her face looked younger and her skin tighter. It was like the fumes from the brew had been de-aging her and making her younger. Could it be real?

Curiosity swelled in Carol's mind. If a few sniffs of the brew could do this, what would drinking it do? A sudden hunger grew in her. A desire to drink down all the brew and feel its power fill her.

She knew she shouldn't. But she wanted to so badly. She NEEDED it.

Fuck it... why not?

With a wild grin on her face, Carol ran over to the pot and like some greedy child, began scooping the thick brew into her mouth using her hands. She moaned as she sucked down the delicious pink goo and overspill ran down her face.

"Ohhhhhh fuckkkkkk mmmmmmppphhh."

Carol grabbed the pot and lifting it up poured the pink slime over her face. She gulped and gulped as the excess dripped down onto her aging body, soaking into her clothes and skin. Slime ran into her hair and dripped down over her chest soaking her tits. She screamed in pleasure as she emptied the entire pot over herself and swallowed as much as she could, the rest coating her body and absorbing into her skin.

The empty pot clattered to the floor as Carol moaned and convulsed. Her face was a mask of ecstasy and insane pleasure as she grabbed her tits and squeezed them hard, rubbing the slime into her body.

"Mmmmm more... I need MMMMOOOORE! Fuckkkk it feels soooo good!"

Carol's arms shot out and she howled in pleasure, pushing her chest out. Bones popped and cracked as her aging body snapped back into perfect shape and her skin tightened up.

Her sagging tits firmed up to be young and perfect, the nipples hard as she groaned in pleasure. Thick white teenage bitch nails shot out from each finger as her neglected body hair burned away to leave every limb smooth and flawless.

Her body tanned and bronzed and her hair lightened, becoming blonder as her kind maternal features became cold and bitchy. Carol giggled and wiggled her fingers enjoying the feeling of the claws on her fingers and the feelings of dominant bitchy power thrilling through her transformed body.

"Fuck yesssss."

Her voice was now younger, brattier and meaner. She looked down and saw her dowdy Mom clothing soaked with the brew was also changing. It was tightening and altering in style to become a sexy little green one piece that left plenty of flesh on show.

Carol lifted a finger to her mouth and licked away the last drops of bully brew.

The entire cauldron was now empty, every single drop had been absorbed into Carol. Strutting over to the mirror she preened in front of it, enjoying how fucking sexy she looked. She was Alice's age now, but far prettier.

Her body pulsed with bitchy energy.

Walking over to Alice's wardrobe, Carol put her hand on the wooden door and watched as energy radiated from her hand and drained into the wardrobe.

It began to change, the clothes inside altering too, as Alice's room began to alter and shift. The excess energy from the bully brew bled out of Carol into her surroundings. Alice's room disintegrated and was instead replaced by a bitchy looking boudoir.

Carol looked around and knew that this was HER room now. The cupboards were full of designer clothes and this was her domain. She picked up her adult mobile phone and watched it transform into a bratty teenage bitches... the numbers inside and apps changing to reflect her new status as a popular bully.

Everything she touched was changing and becoming evil and bratty. It was kind of hot. Inside her head Carol's mental landscape was altering. It felt good to be a mean evil little bitch. New hungers were rising in her. She looked around Alice's former room and smirked. "Much tidier. This room is so much better as mine."

Something was happening inside her. Carol could feel her memories started to fade. She was still her, but she was struggling to remember her life as a Mom. She knew that she had been transformed by the bully brew, and it was now giving her a new bitchy life as a wicked teenage slut. She embraced it. It felt so good to give into these new emotions.

Fear, dominance, power. This was what she ached to have. She wanted people to shiver when they saw her. She wanted everyone to fucking worship her. She was Alpha now.

"Carol is fucking dead," smirked the hot teenage bitch as she took a selfie and admired how good she looked. "From now on there is only Niamh."

As she said it, she knew it was right.

Blonde hair, tanned skin, bitchy attitude. Niamh felt fucking good.

Suddenly the door to the room flew open and Alice gasped as she walked inside. "No! Not the Bully Brew. Oh my God, you drank the whole thing. You're only supposed to take a small amount. Mom - what have you done? The effects will be permanent!"

"Mom?" smirked Niamh. "I'm not your Mom anymore you pathetic loser. I'm your hot step-sister and you are my nerdy little step-bro. Don't you remember Arthur?"

Before Alice could react Niamh was on her. Pinning her down to the ground, the stronger girl laughed as the bitchy energy inside her washed over Alice and began to change her.

"Mmmmh you're such a small cocked pathetic incel Arthur. Can you feel yourself getting weaker? You love being my simp."

"Nooooooo!" screamed Alice, but it was too late as she transformed to her new sisters whims. Her breasts shrank and her dick grew and an infatuation for her more successful step-sister grew.

Arthur moaned as all knowledge of magic and the bully brew was driven from his mind. His shy little face crumpled into a servile expression of fear as he bowed his head and nervously adjusted his emo fringe. He was a weak pathetic loser with a porn addiction.

Niamh released her 'brother' pleased with his transformation. The excess energy within her was nearly drained now. She needed only alter George to make him her new Daddy and the rest of reality was already snapping into place.

No one remembered Carol anymore, only Niamh had ever existed.

"Being a bully is so much better than being a Mom. I won't make the same mistakes I did as Carol," gloated Niamh as she tried on her different clothes.

She giggled as she thought of Arthur jerking off in his bedroom and how he would never know why he was obsessed with thoughts of being a girl. She would enjoy turning him into a sissy loser.

The bully brew had done it's work well and this new bitch was ready to rock.