#Fast Group Rides | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

norristrii · 4 days ago

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LET’S GET MESSY.

“There’s nothing like the first time we met.”—It started as a stupid bet with your friends— pull someone your ex would hate. You thought it was just a game for both of you. But somehow, you changed everything. The way people saw him—the cocky, cold player was gone. For the first time, everyone saw Lando Norris completely, undeniably in love.

pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.

warnings. fast romance, 10k+ words, double pov (multiple, probably going to be confusing), kinda fuckboy! lando, partying, drinking alcohol, suggestive, sexual tension, overthinking, slight angst, implied timeskips.

music. The First Time by Damiano David // Ordinary by Alex Warren // Messy by Rosé.

YOU WERE EVERYTHING OTHER GIRLS WANTED TO BE.

Pretty, popular, born into the kind of wealth that didn’t just open doors—it built them. Monaco was your playground, your runway, your perfectly manicured backdrop. It was where you spent summers on yachts and winters in private chalets. Where champagne was practically breakfast, and your group chats were filled with plans for nights that blurred into mornings you’d barely remember.

Here, being rich wasn’t rare—it was expected. But being you? That was different.

You had the wardrobe. The last name. The effortless charm that made people stop talking when you walked into a room. Your closest friends—each of them a headline waiting to happen—were just as glossy, just as golden. Together, you were untouchable. Beautiful, bored, and always just a little too fast.

Monaco was everything to you.

It also happened to be home to one of the most dangerous boys you’d ever met.

And one of those boys was Lando Norris.

He wasn’t just rich—he was F1 rich. The kind of wealth that came with international fame, private jets, and a team of people to manage his smile. He was young, devastatingly handsome, and carried himself with the kind of cocky ease that only a man who drove 300 km/h for a living could. Lando was Monaco’s golden boy and its worst-kept secret.

Everyone knew what he was: a fuckboy in a race suit. Girls fell for him like dominoes—stunning, smart, even cynical ones—believing, just for a moment, that they’d be the one to make him stay. But Lando didn’t stay. Not in beds, not in relationships, not even in cities for long. His only loyalty was to McLaren, the car, the team, the speed. Everything else was fleeting. Everyone else was replaceable.

He was the beautiful disaster your friends warned you about. The kind you swore you’d never fall for.

───

It was supposed to be just another Friday night. The kind you’d lived a hundred times over—fast music, faster drinks, and the comfort of your girls dancing under kaleidoscope lights. The air inside the club was heavy with perfume and bass, the world spinning just slow enough to feel invincible. You were dressed to kill, glowing in that effortless way that came when you were surrounded by people who knew you, loved you, and matched your energy drink for drink.

But then you saw him.

Your ex.

Cutting through the crowd like he still owned the room, hand-in-hand with some new girl who looked like she’d been styled to be the version of you that didn’t talk back. Polished, dull, and clinging to his arm like a watch he didn’t even check anymore. Your stomach twisted, sharp and unexpected. Not heartbreak—you were far past that—but annoyance.

Your friends noticed immediately. Of course they did. They were your ride-or-die girls, and no one knew the history better than they did. The shared eye-rolls were instantaneous, but it wasn’t pity they offered—it was challenge.

“Y/n, I dare you to pull someone your ex would absolutely hate,” one of them said, the mischief already alive in her voice as she nudged you with her shoulder.

You let out a low laugh, the kind that tasted of tequila and rebellion. “Seriously?”

The worst part? You didn’t even hesitate.

You turned slowly, scanning the room like a queen surveying her kingdom. There were options—plenty, actually. A wall of beautiful, wealthy men trying far too hard. But you weren’t looking for just anyone. You were looking for someone who would sting. Someone who could eclipse that smug little performance your ex was putting on without even trying.

And then your gaze landed on him.

Lando Norris.

Too rich, too famous, too unattached. His hair was tousled like he’d run his hands through it between drinks, a half-laugh curling on his lips as he leaned over to say something to a group of guys in the VIP corner. Even across the room, you could see the spark in his eyes, the type of grin that spelled out nothing but trouble. He was reckless, charming, and exactly the kind of person who would send your ex into a spiral. Were you playing with fire? Absolutely. Did you mind? Not even a little.

You leaned back into your circle, lips curling into a smirk. “What about Norris?”

Your friends froze for half a second, their jaws dropping in unison before breaking into a chorus of gasps and laughter. One of them nearly spilled her drink.

“Lando?” She asked, eyebrows lifting as she leaned in closer, barely audible over the thump of the music. Her voice dripped with disbelief—and a touch of admiration.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your eyes remained fixed on him.

He was lounging with the kind of careless elegance that came from knowing he didn’t have to try. One arm thrown over the back of the couch in the VIP section, his head tipped back in laughter at something one of his friends had said. His smile—God, that smile—was lethal. Sharp, boyish, a little cocky. It was the kind of smile that had broken hearts in five countries before breakfast.

You turned back to your friends, an edge of mischief in your voice.

“Yes. Lando.”

Now they were all looking, trying not to be obvious but failing completely. You watched their expressions shift—shock, disbelief, then the slow, dawning realization that you were serious.

“Y/n,” one of them said, half-laughing, half-panicked. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, she’s serious,” another cut in, a wicked smile already forming. “And I’m so here for it.”

“She’s not just pulling someone her ex would hate. She’s aiming for his final boss.”

You smirked, shoulders relaxing into the confidence that came so naturally to you in moments like this. You weren’t some starry-eyed girl getting in over her head. You knew exactly what you were doing.

“Look,” you said, draining the last sip of your drink and putting it on the table behind you. “It’s not like I’m marrying him. I’m just going to talk to him.”

Lando sat slouched into the plush corner of the velvet couch, a lowball glass resting loosely in his hand, the amber liquor catching the neon lights like liquid gold. It was supposed to be a low-effort night—just the boys, some drinks, loud music, and the usual parade of girls orbiting around the VIP section like moths to flame. Monaco nights blurred together lately. Same scenes, same faces, same games.

But this time, the game had changed.

He noticed you before anyone said your name. You moved through the club like you belonged to it, heels clicking softly over polished floors, a flash of silk and confidence cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and strobe lights. He’d seen you around—everyone had. You were Monaco royalty in your own right, the kind of girl who didn’t chase attention because she never had to. It followed you. Like a shadow. Like a promise.

“Lando?”

He turned at the sound of his name, eyebrow cocked.

“I bet you can’t make Y/n stay ‘til morning.”

The words came from Max, one of his closest mates, a little too tipsy and definitely too cocky. It was stupid. Reckless. But that’s what their nights always were—games built on ego and alcohol. And tonight, Lando was bored enough to play.

He let out a short laugh, more of a smirk than a sound, and swirled the ice in his glass.

“You think I can’t?” he said, voice low, eyes still tracking your slow approach from across the club.

Max grinned. “Not a chance. She’s way out of your league, mate. Smart. Cold. Probably sees right through all your lines.”

Lando’s grin sharpened. “I don’t need lines.”

Lando pushed himself up from his seat, the smirk still lingering on his lips as he stepped away from his friends, moving toward the crowd with effortless confidence. The moment stretched as his gaze found yours, locking onto you with an intensity that sent a quiet thrill down your spine.

It was like you knew—like you had already played this scene out in your mind before it even happened, like the night was shifting into something neither of you had planned but both of you understood.

"See you tomorrow, boys," he tossed over his shoulder, voice easy, amused, filled with something dangerously certain.

His friends laughed, some whistled, but Lando didn’t look back. Because right now—his focus was entirely on you.

You swayed in the middle of the crowd, lost in the rhythm—or at least, that’s how it looked to everyone else. In reality, every movement was intentional. Every roll of your hips, every flick of your hair, every slow drag of your hands over your body was done with a purpose. You moved like a siren on stage, like your skin was the music and the dance was a language only a certain kind of man would understand. Your fingers ghosted over the curve of your waist, tracing the edge of your dress like you were imagining someone else’s touch. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t meant to be.

And it worked.

You felt him before you saw him. Lando. Each step he took closer sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the bass shaking the floor. You didn’t turn to look. Not yet. You didn’t have to. You could feel his eyes on you like heat, sharp and possessive and hungry in a way that made your pulse spike with anticipation.

You let your hand slide down the side of your thigh, slowly, teasingly, until your fingertips brushed the hem of your dress. You didn’t break rhythm. You just danced, like you didn’t even know he existed, like you weren’t already thinking about the way he’d taste, the way his voice would sound against your neck. You smiled to yourself—dark, satisfied.

That boy didn’t know what he was walking into.

Occasionally, you let your gaze flicker sideways—past the lights, past the crowd, past the haze of expensive perfume and cologne—until it found what it was looking for.

Him. Your ex.

Still standing on the far side of the room, still clinging to the girl he’d brought like she was a trophy he’d only half-earned. But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. No, his eyes were glued to you—watching the way you moved, watching the way Lando was closing in like a storm at sea. You caught the flicker in his expression. That cold realization. That bruised ego. That spark of jealousy that came from knowing he was no longer the one who made you glow like this.

You looked again, the only direction that mattered now—your eyes cutting through the bodies and lights and smoke until they found him. Lando was even closer than before. Closer than you expected. Closer than was safe.

His gaze met yours with that same heat, that same spark, but now it was laced with something cocky, something hungry. He moved like a man who already knew the outcome, like the game was over before it started. Your heart thudded against your ribs, but you didn’t step back. If anything, you wanted him closer.

“All that for me, L/n?” he asked, voice low and smug as hell. There was a crooked smile playing on his lips, one that sent heat straight down your spine.

And then his hand slid around your waist.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask. Just took—like you were already his, like the whole night had been choreographed for this exact moment. His palm pressed firmly against the small of your back, pulling you into him in one smooth, confident motion. Your bodies aligned instantly, the fabric of your dress whispering against the expensive weave of his shirt. He smelled like danger and desire and something you could get addicted to far too easily.

You arched a brow, letting him see the fire in your eyes. “Cocky much?”

“Only when I’m right,” he said, eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second—enough to make your breath catch.

You felt the warmth of his hand through your dress, steady, unbothered, like he had no doubt you’d stay exactly where you were. And the worst part?

You didn’t want to move.

You let your fingers rest lightly on his chest, feeling the subtle thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch—fast, like yours. But he didn’t let it show. He was all charm and control and heat, and it wrapped around you like smoke, like silk, like a warning.

“You know what you’re doing, darling,” he murmured, lips close enough that you could feel the shape of his smirk as he spoke. His hand moved slowly beneath your dress, calloused fingertips grazing your bare skin like he’d already memorized every line of your body. It was intimate—too intimate for something that wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

Fuck. Fuck.

You were supposed to be in control.

This was your game. Your idea. Your revenge.

It had started as a joke. A dare whispered between friends. Pull someone your ex would hate. Someone high-profile, untouchable, impossible. Lando Norris had been the obvious choice—rich, beautiful, notoriously disinterested in anything resembling commitment. The ultimate heartbreaker.

Perfect, you’d thought.

But standing here, pressed against him, his hand on your inner thigh and his breath in your ear, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

You reminded yourself this was about your ex. About making him watch. About making him regret. You weren’t supposed to feel anything. Especially not for Lando.

Especially not now.

But then he said it—like the idea had just occurred to him, like it wasn’t sending your pulse into a full sprint.

“What about us going for a little drive?” he asked, voice low and laced with something dangerous. “Alone. Just us.”

Your breath caught.

He said it so casually, like it was nothing. Like slipping away into the night with you would be just another Monaco thrill. But his eyes… they didn’t lie. There was heat in them, yes, but something else too. Curiosity. Interest. Like he wanted to know who you really were, beneath the glitter and the dress and the calculated smirk.

For some reason, you couldn’t say no.

The word danced at the edge of your mouth, light as air, easy as breath. You could have said it. You should have said it. But the second his eyes met yours again, the rest of the club blurred around you—colors bleeding, music dimming, the crowd reduced to shadows. All that existed now was him and the heat between you.

It wasn’t just about the bet anymore. It hadn’t been for a while. You wanted more.

More of him.

More of the way his voice dipped when he leaned closer. More of that subtle, possessive way his hand moved across your skin, like he had every right to touch you like that. More of the way he didn’t rush, didn’t fumble, didn’t second-guess. He was calm. Confident. Like he’d done this before—but somehow, with you, it felt different.

You tried to remind yourself he was Lando Norris.

Notorious. Untouchable. The boy who lived his life on the edge of impossible curves and camera flashes. He had the world at his fingertips, and he never clung to any of it. You’d heard the stories. Monaco knew him too well. Girls came and went like seasons, and he never once looked like he regretted any of it.

So why did he feel different now?

Why was he looking at you like this?

Then he leaned in again, his lips so close to your jaw you could feel the warmth of his breath dancing across your skin. His voice came softer this time, lower, almost like he was confessing something he didn’t know how to carry.

“I don’t do promises,” he said, his words slow, precise. “But I don’t play games either.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than the music pounding around you. It pressed against your ribs, coiled in your lungs. You blinked, the sharpness of his honesty slicing through whatever careful story you’d been telling yourself. That this was casual. That it was control. That you were in charge.

It wasn’t a declaration of love. It wasn’t even affection. It was just… real. And in a place like this, with people like you—used to masks and illusions—that kind of honesty hit harder than any kiss.

You stared at him, trying to figure out what kind of boy said something like that. What kind of boy meant it. And more terrifyingly—what kind of girl you were becoming, now that you cared.

But you didn’t flinch. Didn’t run.

Instead, you pulled yourself together and tilted your chin just slightly, just enough to let him know you weren’t scared—even if your heart was in freefall.

“Then here’s the deal,” you said, voice low and razor-sharp. “No promises. No pretending. Just tonight. We don’t ask questions, and we don’t look for more.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. His eyes stayed locked on yours, and slowly, the corner of his mouth curved—not into a smirk, but something deeper. Something closer to agreement.

“That supposed to scare me?” he asked, like he was testing you now.

“It should,” you whispered, and you meant it.

But it didn’t. You both knew it.

Instead of pulling away, he reached for your hand. Not by accident, not with casual detachment—but deliberately. He laced his fingers through yours with a quiet intimacy that caught you off guard. No flash, no swagger, no performance. Just skin to skin. Warmth to warmth.

And that terrified you more than anything he’d said.

“Alright,” he murmured, thumb brushing yours. “Just tonight.”

You walked from the club, the night warm and alive around you, Lando’s arm heavy and comforting around your shoulders as his voice spilled with laughter. The wind off the marina tousled your hair, and the echo of bass from inside still pulsed faintly behind you like your heart hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that you were here, next to him, smiling so wide your cheeks ached.

“But Max took it better than I expected,” Lando said, chuckling to himself as he opened the car. “He looked pissed for, like, ten seconds. Then he kind of… sighed and just laughed. I think even he couldn’t believe it.”

You leaned into the car door as he opened it for you, still laughing. “I remember watching that live,” you said through a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “And I never watch F1.”

He paused for a second, giving you a sideways glance. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I was on the couch, half-asleep, and suddenly I hear the commentators losing it. I look up, see this guy waving a champagne bottle around like it’s a sword, and then crack. Trophy’s in two pieces.”

He was already laughing again, sinking into the driver’s seat beside you. “And you thought…?”

“I was like, ‘what kind of idiot is that?’” you said, shaking your head with a grin.

He looked over at you, brows raised, lips twitching into a slow smirk. “And now you’re in a car with said idiot. Interesting turn of events.”

You buckled your seatbelt with an exaggerated sigh. “Life comes at you fast.”

The engine of his McLaren roared to life with a thunderous growl that rolled through your chest, electric and alive. You barely had time to catch your breath before Lando pressed the accelerator with a grin that warned you something reckless was about to happen. The car jolted forward, smooth but sudden, and the force of it pressed you back into the seat.

“Oh my god, Lando!” you shouted, your voice caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. You instinctively grabbed for the door handle with one hand and threw your other across your stomach, trying to steady yourself as your laughter burst out without warning — loud, raw, and uncontrollable.

Wind rushed through the open windows like a wave, pulling at your hair and tugging at the hem of your dress. The lights of Monaco blurred around you — gold, white, pink — a kaleidoscope of movement and motion that matched the adrenaline rushing through your veins. The speed, the music, the laughter — it all crashed together until the world outside the car didn’t feel real anymore.

You turned your head to look at him, breathless from laughing so hard, your cheeks aching. And that’s when you noticed it.

He wasn’t looking at the road.

He was looking at you.

His eyes were locked on your face like it was the most captivating thing he’d seen all night. Maybe all week. Maybe longer. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly, not in amusement this time, but in quiet fascination. It wasn’t flirtatious. It was real.

“What?” you asked through the last of your laughter, brushing hair from your eyes, suddenly aware of how long he’d been watching.

He shrugged one shoulder, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “Didn’t think you were the kind of girl who laughs that hard.”

You blinked. That caught you off guard. “What kind of girl did you think I was?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Bitchy. Untouchable. Spoiled daddy’s girl.”

You turned fully toward him, your jaw dropping, half offended and half… entertained. “Seriously? That’s what you thought of me?”

He glanced at you again, lips twitching upward as if he already knew you were going to give him hell for it. “Come on. You live in Monaco. You move like you’ve never waited in line a day in your life. And that face you make — you know the one — like everything around you is boring.”

You scoffed. Loudly. “Wow. Okay. Brutal honesty night, is it?”

He laughed under his breath. “I’m just saying. I didn’t expect you to laugh at a dumb story about breaking Max’s trophy like it was the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.”

“Well,” you said, crossing your arms playfully, “maybe you should consider that your assumptions suck.”

The car hummed smoothly beneath you, tires rolling over the quiet asphalt as the coastline glowed in soft blinks of gold and silver. Your laughter from earlier still lingered in the air, blending with the thrum of the engine and the music that pulsed low through the speakers—something chilled and distant, like a memory.

You sat with your legs curled slightly in the seat, the night wind streaming in through the half-cracked window. Your skin was warm from the club, your heart still a little high from the way he made you laugh—really laugh—without even trying. The city behind you had slipped into something blurry, unreal. And beside you, Lando hadn’t spoken for a while.

But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It felt like a necessary breath between moments. The kind of pause you only take when something real is about to be said.

Then he broke it—his voice easy but weighted, like he’d been holding the thought in for a while.

“People always make comments, you know. About us.”

You blinked, turning toward him slowly. His face was lit by passing lights and the dim glow of the dashboard, sharp lines softened by shadows. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his tone casual, though the way his hand tightened slightly on the wheel betrayed something more. “You and me. I’ve heard it more than once—‘You two would kill each other or fall madly in love.’ That kind of thing.”

You let out a surprised laugh, tilting your head slightly as the corners of your mouth curved. “Seriously? That’s dramatic.”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug, eyes still on the road, but you could tell he was listening for your reaction. “Monaco people love drama.”

You smiled to yourself, your gaze drifting out the window as the lights from the harbor flickered in the distance. There was a beat of silence before the question slipped from your lips, quieter than before.

“What do you think?”

There was a subtle shift in the air, a tightening between seconds, like the moment had just stepped closer.

Lando didn’t answer right away. His jaw tensed slightly, and his gaze flicked to the sea of dark road ahead before returning to the curve of the coastline.

“Nah. I think we’d scare the shit out of each other.”

Your laugh came quickly, light but genuine, though the words clung to you in a way you didn’t expect. “How so?”

His lips pulled into the smallest of smiles—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but felt honest all the same. “Because you’re not what I thought. And I’m probably not what you thought either. That messes with people.”

You turned your face toward him again, studying the edges of him—the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the focused way he watched the road like it kept him grounded.

“What did you think I was?” you asked, your voice low.

His reply came easily, like it had been there waiting the whole time. “Someone who wouldn’t waste her time on me.”

The words hit you harder than they should have. Not because they were dramatic, but because they were honest. Because they stripped away the layers you were both so used to wearing.

And maybe it was the wine still in your system, or the way the wind kissed your skin, or the way this whole night had unraveled in the most unexpected way—but something in you softened.

Before you could even answer, the hum of the car shifted as Lando eased his foot off the accelerator. The smooth glide of speed slowed to a gentle stop, and when you looked up, the lights of his apartment building loomed above you—sleek, modern, all glass and angles glowing against the night.

He pulled into a quiet corner of the private drive, the low purr of the engine lingering for a beat before he turned the key and killed it. Silence fell, but it wasn’t awkward. It was charged—like the car itself was holding its breath.

You blinked, heart ticking a little faster now as the realization settled in. You weren’t heading to some scenic overlook. He’d brought you here.

Before you could ask why—before you could even think—he turned toward you, leaning back slightly in his seat. His eyes didn’t leave yours, calm but unreadable.

“You don’t have to come up,” he said, voice low, unpressured. “I just didn’t feel like dropping you off with… whatever this is still hanging in the air.”

There was no smirk on his lips this time. No playfulness in his tone. Just honesty. Soft and a little vulnerable, like he didn’t quite know what came next either.

You couldn’t end it like this. Not when everything in the air was still humming—unspoken words, unfinished moments, unsatisfied tension. You didn’t even say anything as you unbuckled your seatbelt. Just moved, quietly, naturally, like the answer had already been written somewhere between the laughter and the silence, the glances and the confessions.

Lando opened his door and came around to yours, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. His hand brushed your back gently as you stepped out into the soft hush of the night, the click of the car door closing behind you sounding louder than expected. You followed him toward the entrance of the building, heels clicking softly against the pavement, heart loud in your chest.

The lobby was quiet, minimalist, clean. The kind of expensive that didn’t need to try. You stood beside him as the elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and he pressed the button for his floor without a word. The ride up felt slower than it should have, tension stretching between you like a pulled thread.

Still, no words. Just stolen glances. A small, nervous laugh from you when you caught him watching you again. He didn’t smile this time. Just kept looking, a quiet intensity in his eyes like he was trying to figure you out before either of you crossed another line.

Then—ding. The doors slid open.

You walked out into the hallway together, footsteps muted by thick carpet. His place was at the end, and when he unlocked the door, the soft glow of city lights poured in from the full-length windows lining the living room. Everything was clean but lived-in. Not flashy, but somehow still unmistakably him—warm tones, a couple racing helmets on display, sneakers kicked off in the corner, a hoodie slung over a chair.

You stepped inside slowly, your eyes sweeping across the space, fingers brushing the edge of the kitchen counter as he closed the door behind you. He didn’t try anything, didn’t touch you, didn’t rush.

He just watched you like he was waiting to see if you’d regret it. If you’d change your mind.

You turned to face him, arms loosely folded in front of you, and said quietly, “I didn’t think I’d end up here tonight.”

He stepped closer, slow but deliberate. “Neither did I.”

He looked at you, you looked at him. And in that breathless stillness—between the soft city light spilling through his windows and the low hum of silence—you both knew. No more teasing. No more pretending. Whatever this was, whatever had been building from the moment your eyes met in the club, it had finally reached its boiling point.

You didn’t wait for him to make the first move.

Your hands moved on instinct—grasping the sides of his face, fingers sliding into the softness of his curls, grounding yourself in something real. You pulled him toward you like you couldn’t bear another second of space between you. He didn’t resist. He didn’t hesitate.

Your lips met his in a kiss that wasn’t delicate or unsure—it was urgent, full of heat and hunger and everything you’d tried to suppress all night. His hands found your waist in a rush, gripping tightly as if afraid you’d change your mind. But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

He kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for too long. Like he wanted to make up for all the moments he hadn’t.

His arms lifted you like you weighed nothing, setting you down onto the cool kitchen counter, but all you could feel was the burn of his hands on your skin. His lips never left you—not your mouth, not your jaw, not the hollow of your neck where his breath hit hot and fast. He kissed you like he didn’t know how to stop, like the moment he did, he might lose something.

And you didn’t want him to stop either.

Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself in the middle of the whirlwind building between you. His body pressed into yours, close and sure, and still not close enough. His scent—clean, warm, something faintly expensive—wrapped around you like a second skin. Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else except the sound of him.

“Fuck, Y/n…” he breathed against your neck, his voice rough and low, like the words had been dragged straight from his chest. “You’re driving me crazy.”

The way he said your name—like it meant something. Like it was more than just tonight. Like he’d never said it like that before.

───

You were halfway to the door, heels in one hand, your dress barely zipped, when you heard the bed creak behind you—his voice following a second later, low and rough, not yet fully awake.

“You’re leaving?”

The question hung in the quiet of the morning like smoke. You paused, eyes dropping to the floor for a beat before you turned to face him. He was sitting up now, the sheet pooled around his waist, curls sticking up in every direction, his skin kissed by golden light spilling through the curtains. He didn’t look like the cocky version of himself you saw in the paddock or at parties. No grin. No posture. Just Lando, raw and honest, blinking through the confusion of waking up to find you already trying to disappear.

“I just figured…” you started, voice softer than you expected, “I figured it’d be easier this way. You know, before it gets awkward. Before we ruin whatever… this was.”

You tried to sound casual. Detached. Like you hadn’t just spent the night tangled in his sheets, in his hands, in the kind of chemistry you couldn’t fake. But it didn’t quite land. You were stalling, hiding, hoping he wouldn’t see how quickly you were trying to protect yourself from something that already meant more than it should have.

Lando didn’t reply immediately. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together, like he was holding something he couldn’t quite name. His eyes were on you, but not in the way they were last night. This wasn’t hunger or mischief. It was curiosity… mixed with something quieter. Something a little more careful. You had the sense he wasn’t looking at your body anymore—he was just looking at you.

And that made it harder to stand there pretending you didn’t care.

“I was thinking,” he said after a long beat, his voice still a little hoarse, “maybe we could go grab lunch. I know this place not far from here. They make this insane pesto ravioli. You’d like it.”

You blinked. Lunch? That wasn’t how these things usually went. You were supposed to ghost each other. Or at best, trade a half-smile at the next party and pretend you didn’t remember what it felt like to fall asleep with his arms around you.

“Lunch?” you repeated, more surprised than dismissive. Your voice had a cautious edge, like you were afraid to believe he meant it.

He shrugged, glancing away for the first time. One hand raked through his messy curls, his mouth pressing into a thin line as if he hated how unsure he suddenly felt. “Yeah. I mean… unless you’ve got somewhere better to be.”

He said it like it didn’t matter. Like if you said no, he’d brush it off. Go back to sleep. Forget all about it.

But you knew better.

Because beneath the light tone, behind the almost-casual smile, something in his eyes was different. There was a flicker of hesitation, not because he regretted last night, but because it meant something. And maybe he hadn’t planned on it. Maybe it caught him off guard. But he didn’t want to let it go just yet.

You nodded slowly, lips parting on a faint breath as the words tumbled out, soft but sure. “Yeah… just lunch.”

You said it like a promise to yourself, a casual agreement, something that didn’t weigh more than it should. Something light. Harmless. Manageable.

But beneath that calm tone, you felt the quiet swell of something more dangerous. Something warmer. Like stepping into sunlight after too long in the dark.

Just lunch.

That’s what you told yourself. That’s all it was going to be.

What could possibly go wrong?

You were older now. Wiser. Sharper around the edges where once you’d been all softness and wishful thinking. You didn’t fall like that anymore—not for pretty boys with jawlines sharp enough to slice you open. Not for quick smiles and fast cars. Not for someone like Lando Norris, who had the world wrapped around his finger and still somehow looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

You weren’t that girl.

Not anymore.

You wouldn’t fall just because he kissed like he meant it. Just because he touched you like he’d been waiting a long time to do it. Just because for a few quiet moments, you forgot the world and everything that came with it.

You wouldn’t fall.

Lando’s smile was soft as he pushed off the bed, stretching slightly before grabbing a shirt from the back of a chair. He rubbed the back of his neck, curls tousled and wild in the golden morning light. “Give me ten minutes,” he said over his shoulder, his voice still scratchy from sleep. “I’ll be quick.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. And just like that, you were alone.

You stood there for a moment, barefoot on the cool wooden floor, still holding your heels in one hand, your dress from last night now looking more like a memory than a choice. The room smelled like him—warm cotton, something faintly citrus, and underneath it all, the scent of last night: heat, closeness, something heady and fragile that hadn’t quite faded.

You let out a breath and looked around. The sheets on his bed were a mess. Your lipstick was faint on a glass by the sink. His jacket was draped on the back of a chair you didn’t remember using.

There was no reason to stay.

No real one, anyway.

But you weren’t ready to go.

You pulled your dress over your shoulders slowly, running your hands down the fabric to smooth it into place. Your reflection in the hallway mirror caught you off guard for a second—hair tousled, lips pink from kissing, your eyes just a little softer, like something had cracked open in the night and never quite closed again.

You didn’t look like the version of yourself you always showed the world.

You looked… more honest.

You blinked, gathering your things. The plan was simple: you’d get through lunch, maybe say something clever, laugh at his jokes, and walk away with your head held high. That was all. That’s what you’d trained yourself to do.

But a quiet voice in the back of your mind whispered something else.

A question.

What if you didn’t walk away?

What if you let yourself stay—just for now—not because you were weak, not because you wanted something from him, but because… maybe he wanted something too?

Something real.

Something more than just a night.

And if he didn’t? If this was just a flicker in the dark?

Then at least you’d know.

At least you gave the moment a chance to become something more than a memory you’d spend weeks trying to forget.

───

You walked through Monaco like it was yours. The soft clack of your shoes on the cobblestones, the sea breeze dancing around your shoulders, and the warmth of Lando’s arm beneath your hand—it all felt too perfect. Too easy. Your fingers rested lightly around his bicep, every now and then squeezing involuntarily when another ridiculous part of his story made you lose it with laughter.

He was animated now, telling you about a night that clearly lived in the “shouldn’t have survived that” category. “So we’d already had, like, way too much tequila,” he said, still grinning like he couldn’t believe the memory was real, “and Carlos was convinced he knew where the keys to this golf cart were. I don’t even know who the cart belonged to. I think it might’ve been from a hotel we weren’t staying at.”

You doubled over, one hand on your chest, the other clinging to his arm as you laughed uncontrollably. “You stole a golf cart?!”

“Borrowed,” he corrected with a wink, “for, like, fifteen minutes. But then Carlos tries to turn this tight corner—while we’re singing Despacito, by the way—and just… boom. Straight into the tree.”

You were crying with laughter, trying to catch your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

Lando laughed with you, but his eyes lingered on you a moment longer than the joke required. He watched you—really watched you. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners, the way you leaned into him like it was instinct. And then, something shifted in his chest.

He hadn’t told that story in a long time. Not because it was some secret—plenty of people knew bits and pieces—but because he didn’t usually care enough to give the real version. He never felt the need. But with you, it came out so naturally, like the only thing he wanted was to make you laugh again. And again. And again.

What surprised him most, though, wasn’t the way you laughed. It was the way he felt when you did.

Because somewhere in between that story and your reaction to it, he realized something he hadn’t wanted to admit—not to himself, not to anyone.

You made him feel something.

Actually feel something. Something heavy and warm and dangerous in its comfort. Like he was waking up in a version of his life that didn’t revolve around racing lines and calculated risks. Like this—you—could mean more than he planned for.

Even the thrill of crashing that golf cart into the tree with Carlos—wild and reckless and hilarious—didn’t touch the high he got from seeing you smile at him like this. From hearing your voice mix with the sound of the city and the sea. From walking next to you and not wanting to be anywhere else.

He swallowed hard, his grin faltering just slightly as he looked ahead.

He was getting attached.

Too fast. Too deep.

And you didn’t even know it.

Then you glanced up at him again, eyes sparkling with amusement and a little disbelief. “You’re actually insane, you know that?”

He chuckled, slow and quiet, but there was something else behind it now. Something real. Something vulnerable. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But you’re still here.”

───

Did it really surprise anyone that you didn’t go home after lunch?

Because to be honest, it didn’t surprise you anymore. At some point between laughing over coffee and letting him walk you back upstairs with his hand resting lightly on the small of your back, you stopped trying to find an excuse to leave. You should’ve, probably. That was always your move—be charming, leave first. Keep the upper hand. But right now, you were cross-legged on Lando Norris’ living room floor, hair a mess, legs bare beneath a hoodie far too big to be yours.

He was behind you, sunk deep into his sim setup, muttering under his breath every time he missed a corner. You’d been teasing him for the last half hour about how he should stick to real cars. He shot you a middle finger over his shoulder when you said that, laughing.

The ease between you had crept in quietly. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t fake. And that was dangerous.

You were still grinning when your phone buzzed again. And again. A wave of notifications hit all at once.

You opened Instagram.

And froze.

There you were, in crisp, crystal-clear paparazzi shots. The walk through Monaco. Your arm linked with his. Your eyes half-closed in a laugh. His looking at you like… like you were the only thing that mattered. It was everywhere.

You scrolled lower, reading the first few captions out loud.

“F1’s fastest flirt… finally slowing down?” “Player no more? Lando’s mystery girl revealed.”“Caught in Monaco: Norris and new flame looking cozy.” “Lando’s Not-So-Secret Soft Side: Who’s the Girl Making F1’s Favorite Player Smile Like That?”

“Um,” you started, your voice light but laced with disbelief, “we’re… kind of all over the internet.”

Lando immediately paused the sim and twisted around in his seat. “Already?”

“Yup,” you said, scrolling quickly through the tagged photos. The images were everywhere — you two walking together in Monaco, mid-laugh, your arm looped through his. There was even one of him glancing down at you, and it didn’t feel staged or performative. It looked… real. And maybe that’s what made your heart skip just a little.

“Look,” you added, holding up the screen for him to see, “walking photos, laughing photos, and… oh. This one’s cute. You’re staring at me like I’m your screensaver.”

Lando groaned and pushed himself up, padding barefoot across the floor before dropping beside you with a soft thud. “Oh no,” he sighed, resting his elbow on his knee. “They caught my weak side.”

You snorted, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. “You have a weak side?”

Without missing a beat, he leaned just a bit closer, glancing at the screen before his eyes met yours. “Apparently, it’s you.”

You blinked, heat blooming in your cheeks. You rolled your eyes, trying to shake it off. “Gross.”

“Oh, come on,” he teased, nudging you with his shoulder. “That was smooth.”

“Barely,” you muttered, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you — lifting into a reluctant smile.

You were glad you were here with him.

You were.

But still… something in you twisted. A familiar shadow that curled deep in your chest, whispering doubts you didn’t want to listen to. You fought some kind of demon in yourself—quiet, persistent, always waiting. The part of you that still thought this couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be lasting. Couldn’t be safe.

Should you fully let him in this early?

Should you let anyone?

Your eyes dropped to your intertwined hands again, and for a moment you considered pulling away—not because you didn’t want to be close, but because it scared you just how natural it already felt. How much of your heart he had access to without even asking.

What if this was just temporary? What if you were just an adrenaline rush, a novelty, a brief distraction between races?

───

“You’re falling, buddy,” Max said, not even trying to be subtle. He held his phone out toward Lando, screen lit up with yet another article plastered with your face next to his, the two of you mid-laugh, framed in that golden Monaco sun like it was a movie still.

Lando didn’t even look at it. He leaned back against the wall of the motorhome, arms crossed tightly over his chest like that would keep the weight of Max’s words from hitting too deep.

“No I’m not,” he muttered, shaking his head as if saying it enough times might make it true. As if convincing Max would somehow help convince himself. “It’s just… two days. Chill.”

Max gave a slow, sarcastic nod. “Right. Because you’re totally known for having girls stay over two nights in a row. That’s classic Lando behavior.”

Lando’s jaw tightened. “It’s not like that. She’s cool, that’s it.”

“‘Cool,’” Max echoed with an incredulous snort. “You’ve said that three times now. You trying to sell it to me or yourself?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

Max rolled his eyes, clearly over the denial. He stepped closer and leaned on the edge of the table. “Okay. Fine. Then prove it.”

Lando glanced up, brows pulling together. “What do you mean?”

“A bet,” Max said casually, like he was offering a game of cards. “One week. You bring her to the next race. Spend real time with her. And at the end of it, if you can look me in the eye and swear you don’t feel a thing? Cool. You win.”

There was a pause. The kind of silence where everything settled heavy in the air, pressing in with the weight of unsaid truths.

“And what do I get out of that?” Lando asked eventually, forcing a little smirk even though his voice came out a bit quieter than usual.

Max’s grin widened, knowing he’d hooked him. “I’ll take your entire media schedule in Canada. Interviews, photos, all the annoying stuff you always complain about.”

Lando let out a short laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You really think I’m falling for her?”

“I know you are,” Max said, leveling him with a look that was almost brotherly. “The only question is whether you’re gonna admit it before you ruin it.”

Lando looked away for a moment. He thought about your voice still lingering in his head, the way you looked curled up in his hoodie, how fast everything felt when you laughed. Too fast. But maybe it had always been heading this way.

“Alright,” he said at last, voice low. “You’ve got yourself a bet.”

Max held out his hand. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Lando shook it, already unsure whether this was a challenge or a setup — because deep down, he wasn’t sure he could spend one more day with you without falling harder.

And now? He had seven.

───

You still couldn’t wrap your head around how you got here. Not just here as in Spain, but here with him—standing in the paddock beside Lando Norris like you belonged there. Like this was normal. Like any of it made sense.

It all started so casually, a passing comment over dinner when the music was low and his hand had been resting on your knee like it had always been meant to be there. “What are you doing this weekend?” he’d asked, eyes catching yours mid-laugh. Then came the follow-up, so casual it nearly slipped by you: “Come with me to Spain. To the race.”

You’d hesitated. Of course you did. Because you weren’t supposed to be the girl at his races. You weren’t supposed to be seen stepping off a private jet next to him, smiling politely as cameras turned your way. It was supposed to be one night—two, at most. Not mornings tangled in sheets, or dinners filled with laughter so warm you forgot to guard your heart.

And yet, you said yes.

Now, you found yourself walking the paddock, trying not to shrink beneath the weight of a thousand unspoken stories. You were used to attention, sure—but this was different. This wasn’t admiration or curiosity. It was dissection. Speculation. Headlines practically writing themselves with every step you took beside him. You could already imagine them.

But the noise faded once you were back in the hotel, the sun setting in soft orange behind the sheer curtains. The window was cracked open, letting the balmy air drift through the room. You were curled up in bed, wearing one of Lando’s hoodies, your phone forgotten beside you.

The door creaked open, and a moment later the mattress dipped beside you as he slid in beside you, damp hair curling at his temples, skin warm from the shower. He didn’t speak right away, just reached for you—his head settling on your chest like he belonged there, like he’d always belonged there.

Your fingers moved without thinking, curling through his hair, your nails gently scratching his scalp the way you’d already learned he liked.

After a beat, he spoke, voice muffled by your collarbone. “You didn’t seem bored out there.”

You smiled, fingers still in his hair. “Watching you fight for second place? I’ve seen worse.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound soft against your skin. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve come in fifth.”

You were quiet for a moment, both of you just breathing in sync. Then he shifted, just slightly, enough to lift his head and look up at you.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice lower now, more hesitant. “Lately I’ve been feeling like… I drive better when you’re around.”

Your heart skipped something uncertain. It wasn’t just the words—it was the weight in them. The uncertainty. The rawness. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You didn’t reply right away. What could you even say?

Because you were feeling it too—that strange pull. That terrifying warmth. And suddenly it wasn’t about bets, or flings, or proving something to someone.

It was about this. Him. You. And something that felt dangerously close to real.

You were quiet. You just smiled.

God damn it—stop smiling.

You weren’t supposed to feel like this. This fluttery warmth in your chest, the way your body relaxed with him beside you—it wasn’t part of the plan. You were meant to stay detached, to keep it casual. One night, maybe two, and that was it. But now, your hand was moving through his curls like it had done it a hundred times before, and that quiet peace in your chest was starting to feel dangerously close to comfort.

Your smile gave too much away. You could feel it. It wasn’t just polite or playful. It was soft. It was real. And when you looked down and saw Lando looking up at you from where his head rested on your chest, you knew he saw it too. He didn’t smirk like he usually would. No teasing glint in his eyes. Instead, there was something careful in his expression—something honest. And in a way, it made you want to run.

But you didn’t.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he murmured, barely louder than the breeze drifting in from the balcony. “I like having you by my side.”

His voice was quiet, almost unsure, like he wasn’t used to saying things like that out loud. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this wasn’t typical for him either. That thought struck you like a pulse—sharp and warm all at once.

You blinked slowly, your fingers pausing in his hair before moving again gently, threading through like you were holding onto something delicate. You wanted to answer, but you didn’t know what to say. What did you say to someone who made you feel this seen? This wanted?

And worse—what did you say when you were starting to want him just as much?

───

The streets of Barcelona stretched ahead, quiet and calm in the late hours of the night. The afterparty had ended, the music and laughter fading into the background, leaving only the distant hum of the city and the occasional flicker of headlights passing by. The air was warm, carrying the scent of summer and the faint traces of alcohol lingering between you and Lando as you walked side by side.

You weren’t even that drunk—though the world felt softer, the edges of reality blurred just enough to make everything feel lighter. But Lando… he was past that. His steps were uneven, his weight leaning into you more than he probably realized, his arm draped over your shoulders in a way that was both protective and dependent. You could feel the warmth of him, the way his body swayed slightly with each movement, and you knew he needed to sit before he lost his footing completely.

"You want to sit for a while?" you asked, glancing at him, taking in the way his eyes were heavy-lidded, his smirk lazy, his usual sharpness dulled by the alcohol.

He just nodded, letting you guide him toward the nearest bench. You sat him down carefully, standing in front of him as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted slightly as he looked up at you. His breathing was slow, steady, but there was something in his gaze—something hazy, something unguarded.

Then, suddenly, he moved—too fast, too unsteady. His large palms found your thighs, his touch warm, grounding, sending a jolt of something unexpected through you. Your breath hitched, your body stiffening for just a second, unsure of what to do, unsure of what this meant.

"You are so pretty, Y/n," he murmured, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin, his voice softer than usual, more vulnerable.

You didn’t answer.

His gaze lifted, those damn green eyes locking onto yours, hazy but sincere, searching for something he wasn’t sure he’d find. "You know, Y/n," he said, voice quieter now, more thoughtful, "I didn’t know what I was doing before I met you."

You opened your mouth, ready to say something, ready to stop whatever this was turning into—but before you could, he spoke again.

"I mean, I was just a boy who fed his ego with girls and cockiness."

His words hung between you, heavy, raw, more honest than you had ever heard him be.

"Lando, you’re drunk," you reminded him, forcing a small smile, though it felt bitter on your lips. You didn’t know if he meant what he was saying. But you wished he did.

You knew you were screwed. This wasn’t a game anymore. It was supposed to be stupid bet to pull someone your ex would hate. It wasn’t supposed to be this.

"I’m serious," he murmured, his voice quieter now, more certain than it should have been in his state. "I mean every word. I’ll tell you everything again once I’m sober if you want."

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, your heart beating just a little too fast.

"I was nothing before you, Y/n."

The weight of Lando’s words settled between you, thick and unshakable, pressing against the quiet night air. The city hummed softly around you, distant voices and the occasional flicker of headlights passing by, but none of it mattered. Not now. Not with him looking at you like that.

His fingers still rested against your thighs, warm and grounding, his touch absentminded but deliberate.

"I was nothing before you, Y/n," he murmured again, his voice quieter now, more careful, more real.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, your heart beating just a little too fast. The words felt too big, too heavy, too true.

"Lando…" you started, hesitating, unsure of what to say, unsure if saying anything at all would make it better—or worse.

He tilted his head slightly, his drunken haze evident but not enough to dull the sincerity in his eyes. "What?" His voice was soft, almost cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear whatever you were about to say.

"You’re drunk," you reminded him again, even though it wasn’t really the problem. Even though you knew it wasn’t the excuse you wanted it to be.

He let out a breath, slow, uneven. His fingers flexed slightly against your skin before he pulled away, leaning back into the bench, running a hand through his messy curls.

"I know," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "But that doesn’t mean I don’t mean it."

The honesty in his tone made something twist inside you—something you weren’t ready to unpack.

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, as if frustrated with himself, as if frustrated with the way the words were coming out. "I didn’t know what I wanted," he murmured, his voice quieter now, more careful. "I had everything but it felt like nothing. I was nothing."

He looked up at you then, his green eyes locking onto yours, holding something deeper, something real.

"But now I know what I want."

And the way he said it—the certainty in his voice, the way his gaze didn’t waver—made it terrifyingly clear.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts, with emotions neither of you were ready to name. You could feel the weight of his confession pressing against your chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let yourself believe that this wasn’t just drunken words, that this wasn’t just the alcohol talking. But you also knew that if you let yourself believe it, there would be no going back.

Lando stayed quiet for a moment, his head still resting against your shoulder, but you could feel his fingers flexing gently against your thigh, like he was trying to find the courage to keep going. The alcohol loosened his tongue, but what he was saying wasn’t just drunken nonsense — it came from somewhere much deeper.

“You know what scares me the most?” he finally whispered, his voice rough. “I’ve spent years building this version of myself. The one that’s always fine. The one who wins, who laughs, who flirts and moves on like none of it ever means anything. And it worked for so long.” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “I didn’t even realize how fucking lonely it felt until you showed up.”

Your breath caught, but you stayed still, letting him speak.

“I see the way you look at me,” he continued, his voice lowering even more, “and for the first time in a long time… it’s not because of the car, or the fame, or the headlines. You see me, don’t you? The real me. And I don’t know how you do it, but it scares the shit out of me, Y/n.” His grip on your thigh tightened slightly as if he was trying to anchor himself.

He finally lifted his head to face you fully, his eyes glossy but sharp, locking with yours. “You’re dangerous,” he whispered, almost like an accusation, but there was a tenderness behind it. “Because you make me want things I promised myself I wouldn’t want. Things that feel… permanent.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“I thought I could control this,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I thought I could keep you at a distance, just have fun, not let it get serious. And then suddenly you’re in my bed, you’re in my head, you’re here, and I—” he stopped himself, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how to not want you.”

His thumb brushed gently over your skin, slower now, softer. “I didn’t think I’d ever want someone like this again.”

babsie radio ! hey babess!!! It’s heree!! But yk, i had like a week break from this fic, so I kinda forgot how I wanted to continue it… soooo…..kinda open ending ? sorry i’m evil👹

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chiscaralight · 9 months ago

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cw: nsfw sukuna x fem!gamer!reader. i hc that sukuna would like prsk and dti lmfao. overstimulation. choso and gojo ver linked at the bottom!

college athlete!sukuna who spots for for the first time on the field. you’re sitting in the bleachers, alone like a loser. most people tend to come with their friends to watch them play, but even in the sweltering sun, you’re still what, playing a game on your phone? he scoffs under his breath and turns his head back to his teammates, locking in for the rest of the friendly match.

college athlete!sukuna who starts to see you everywhere, nose deep in your phone, laptop, switch, whatever it is. it pisses him off for some reason and he can’t pay attention to the group of girls trying to get his attention. what is so important about those damn games?

college athlete!sukuna who slides into the seat next to you a couple of weeks later. you don’t say anything, eyes focused down on your device while the light from your screen reflects off your thin-framed glasses. he clears his throat, but no answer from you. his brows furrow.

college athlete!sukuna who finally gets your attention once you clear the level.

“what the hell are you always playing?”

the question alone has stars sparkling in your eyes as you explain the well thought out lore of your current favorite game franchise. he rolls his eyes at first at your enthusiasm, but he ends up actually getting quite invested in the storyline.

college athlete!sukuna who lets you download games on his phone, only agreeing to play them if you teach him. it leads to a couple of days where the two of you just sit together, his thick fingers trying to maneuver the small device that infuriates him so much it makes you laugh. there’s a solution you have for that, so you tell him to come over later in the evening.

college athlete!sukuna who’s not that outdated, he has a ps5 himself. he plays a sports game with his friends once in a while, but it’s not something he’d say he does often. so he’s a little unsure when you slide the controller into his hand and nudge him to play for a bit while you go change.

college athlete!sukuna who can’t focus on the game, he’s practically undressing you with his eyes. you’re wearing such thin clothing, a slightly loose tank top, and some much too short shorts. unlike him, you’re much too concentrated on the game, missing the way he licks his lips at the sight of your thighs.

college athlete!sukuna who places the controller down practically 4 minutes after you join, claiming he has something else he wants to play.

college athlete!sukuna who ends up with his hand down your underwear, toying with your clit. he makes sure to drag his fingers up and down your slit extra slow so you can focus on your game. but you’re shifting around quite a bit, mouth ajar and eyes struggling to stay open when he slides one in. you're clenching around him a couple of times, before finally letting out a shaky moan.

college athlete!sukuna who’s managed to drag you away from your game with his tongue, fail screen displayed on the tv while his head is deep between your legs, holding your thighs apart while he eats you out. those talented fingers of yours are scratching at his scalp and tugging on his hair, pulling him closer as you start to hump his face.

college athlete!sukuna who’s a little more surprised when you ride him with such ease, your pace fast and steady while he grips the fat of your ass. his eyes are moving between your face and tits that are bouncing oh-so-well, and he just can’t help but fuck up into you, matching the rhythm you’ve set.

college athlete!sukuna who smirks at you across from the class when he sees you the next day. you’re not playing anything this time, eyes surveying the students in the lecture hall until they find his. even with your shirt covering you up so well, he knows just where all the hickeys and bite marks he left are placed, giving you a wink when he sees your smile grow.

college athlete!sukuna who comes over more often, only agreeing to actually play if his cock is sheathed in that ‘gamer pussy’ of yours. and he’ll lean you back, making sure your legs are resting on his arms while his controller is under you. you whine, telling him this isn’t a good position to play, but he retorts by telling you it’s a good position to fuck. your silence is enough for him to fling the controller away and drill into you full nelson just like he wanted to.

college athlete!sukunawho won’t tell you that he does play those games on his phone when the two of you are apart. he’s taken a special liking to one:

Hatsune Miku: Colorful Stage!

what? he’s an athlete. it’s brain-stimulating and it’ll help him keep up his rhythm in the field!

speaking of stimulation, college athlete!sukuna just loves to overstimulate you. he takes pride in the fact that he's one of the only things that can draw you away from an intense match, and he'll make sure you as many times as he sees fit.

college athlete!sukuna who will hand you the disc version of a game you’ve been waiting for for months but couldn’t camp out to get, claiming it wasn’t a big deal. it was actually, he stood in line for almost 8 hours and missed a class, but the way your smaller body was brimming with excitement was enough to put it behind him

college athlete!sukuna who won’t refuse your lips wrapped around his cock as a form of thanks, heavy hand pushing you further down his thick cock while your tongue struggles to move around. such a nasty thing you are, but he’s cumming in your mouth all the same when you moan around his cock.

college athlete!sukuna who suggests that you play roblox tonight while he watches. you agree, knowing it’s just a ploy for him to tell you that you're bad at outfit picking and pick up his controller (yes his, he has a designated controller now) to show you how to get first place in Dress to Impress. and he won. such a clean victory deserves a reward, right? so you’ll have to sit on his face, but not now. he’s about to start another round.

college athlete!sukuna who’s face is blank while he watches you sleep. your shirt is ridden up and your controller is barely hanging from your limp fingers. he’ll turn the console off before scooping you into his arms and depositing you in bed. he’s about to shut the door and go home, but your whiny voice calls out to him to stay.

college athlete!sukuna who bites at your shoulder softly to wake you up. he has an early practice today that he has to leave for but he wants to see you there later on. and no devices, he wants you watching him the whole time.

choso ver here!

gojo ver here!

geto ver!

another sukuna linked to this one here!

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sceletaflores · 2 months ago

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LAYING IT ALL ON THE LINE...

꩜ masterlist ꩜ update blog ꩜ inbox ꩜ taglist ꩜ ao3 ꩜

｡꩜°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x fem!reader

｡꩜°‧➵ WC: 4.1k

｡꩜°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, post-outbreak, hurt/comfort, joel's pov, general violence, minor character injury, jackson!joel, when he picks an unnecessary fight with you because that's all he knows, mentioned age gap, joel miller as a sad old man, joel miller experiences feelings, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty AND his knees are made of steel (but only sometimes), porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡꩜°‧➵ @retrosabers SAYS: thinking about you almost dying on patrol and joel is FUMING, unable to convey just how worried and anxious it makes him. the only way he can even remotely conceptualize his feelings is through a very PASSIONATE rawdogging ♡

｡꩜°‧➵ NAT'S NOTE: everyone say thank you sid for this absolutely luxurious prompt...i'm waiting. i had so much fun with this! i love love love a good semi-angsty, emotionally constipated man having to come to terms with his buried slash repressed feelings in the gritty wake of a near-death experience, like that's my shit. hope y'all love it!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel miller realizes that love isn’t just a four letter word…

"Southeast perimeter’s clear. Heading west by the river bed."

“Wow, you’re finally gonna stop gettin’ us lost out here, sunshine?”

“Lost? Please, you cried when I found that shortcut through the cedar thicket.”

Joel listens to you and Tommy bicker over the radio, a forgotten cup of coffee going cold at his side. That's all he can do when you're out there—patrolling in the snow with a few others. He's not proud of how he just sits by like some anxious house wife, listening to the static between check-ins, but he can't make himself focus on anything other than the way your bright voice filters in and out.

He tries not to hover. Tries not to keep the handheld clutched like it's a goddamn lifeline. But he does, eyes glued to the thing like it might crack open and spill you out if he stares hard enough.

Joel's really not even supposed to be listening in like this. Maria's chewed him out more times than he can count each time she catches him hunched over an old radio that he's never bothered turning in, says it'll do him more harm than good worrying over it.

Besides, these channels aren't meant for civilians sitting on their asses at home. He knows that, because that's exactly what he is now—civilian adjacent. Half-retired.

Tommy jokes about it every once in a while, the way Joel's slowed down, the way his joints complain louder than they used to. A while back, he might've laughed too. Now, every little twinge of pain feels like a reminder of what he used to be.

Joel used to be the one they all looked to out on patrol. He could track better, shoot cleaner, navigate faster than most of the younger guys. That's not the case these days. His patrolling has slowed down over the past few years. He only goes out a few times every couple of months, if even that.

He tells himself it’s by choice.

It’s not, not at all. He’s tired. His knees ache after long rides. His busted shoulder can’t handle the cold without locking up. Jackson’s got a whole rotation now, young joints, faster reflexes, eyes that don’t blur when the wind hits just right. So he doesn’t go out much anymore. Not unless the group is short. Not unless they really need him.

It makes sense. He knows it makes sense.

That doesn’t make it feel right. You out there, miles away in knee-deep snow with a rifle strapped to your back while he’s stuck here. Not out there. Not beside you.

Joel knows you can handle yourself—hell, you’ve proven that a dozen times over. You’re younger. Strong. Fast. Smart as a whip. You can shoot the cap off a beer bottle and you handle a knife better than most people your age.

Knowing all that still doesn’t quiet the feeling of unease that eats away at him each time you strap on your gear and kiss him goodbye with a, See you later, Miller. Strolling out the door like it’s casual. Like it’s nothing.

There’s a kind of helpless fury in it. A sick twist in his gut every time he watches you ride out. Like he’s some retired goddamn hunting dog. Trusted to guard the porch, but not sharp enough to run with the pack anymore.

Joel adjusts the volume dial on the radio like it’ll make your voice stay longer.

Tommy’s laugh cuts through the speaker. “Didn’t cry. I got snow in my eye.”

“In July? Sure.”

It comes in grainy and light, full of that same teasing bite you always give Tommy—enough to make Joel’s jaw tighten with a quiet, helpless kind of fondness. He almost smiles, but it doesn’t reach past the tight pull in his chest. You’re still picking your way through territory where any tree line might be hiding something.

Joel shifts in his seat, elbows on the table, jaw clenched tight. He tells himself you’re fine. You always are. You have to be.

The channel goes still for a few beats. Then, a crack of static. Some muffled shuffling. And—

“Wait—something’s moving in the trees. Left side, just past the ridge.”

Your voice. Sharper now. Less teasing and pointedly quiet.

“Copy,” Tommy replies, suddenly serious. “Keep eyes on—”

A burst of noise. A flurry of panicked voices overlapping and shouts. The unmistakable sound of gunfire.

Then nothing.

Dead air.

Joel’s heart drops to his boots. “Tommy?” he barks into the receiver. “Come in. What the hell’s happening out there?”

When there’s no answer, Joel shoots to his feet. The chair scrapes across the floor harshly as he crosses the room in two large strides, fumbling for his jacket. “Tommy? Goddammit, someone answer me!”

Nothing.

Joel’s heart thuds violently against his ribcage as he stares at the little black box in his hand like it’s an omen. He feels it rush in all at once—panic, guilt, helpless rage curling cold and mean in his chest. His ears are ringing so loud he doesn’t hear the slam of the door behind him as he tears out of the house and into the cold air.

Something happened. The group was compromised. You were compromised.

And he’s not there.

He should’ve been there.

Joel doesn’t remember the sprint to the stables. Doesn’t remember shouting at Maria when she tried to stop him at the gate. Doesn’t remember half the ride out. All he knows is that his hands won’t stop shaking around the reins and the bile in his throat tastes like ash—a sick, gnawing pit growing in his gut.

When he finds the group what feels like hours later, just as the sun starts to rise behind the ridgeline—you’re nowhere to be found. His eyes scan the way everyone’s spread out, some with minor injuries and the others patching them up.

No sign of you.

Tommy plants himself in front of Joel just as he hauls himself off his horse. He doesn’t even feel the way his knees jolt as his feet hit the ground.

“Where the hell is she?” he rasps, voice so rough it sounds like it’s been dragged through gravel. “Where, Tommy?”

Tommy’s hands are out in front of him like Joel’s a wild animal about to snap. He’s got blood on his hands, but no signs of stab wounds or bullet holes anywhere on him. It’s not his blood. Joel’s stomach turns viciously at the sight, at the thought of whose it might be.

“She’s fine,” Tommy says, eyes wide and placating. “Took a hit, it grazed her side. She wouldn’t fuckin’ stay down.”

Joel knows he won’t feel any relief until he sees you, alive and breathing with his own eyes. “Where.”

Tommy steps aside just before Joel nearly shoves past him, nodding his head toward a rock outcrop a ways away from everyone else.

You’re sitting closest to the makeshift fire, Jesse crouched beside you to clean the gash along your side. You’re bundled in someone else’s coat, hair mussed and blood soaked through your undershirt and spattered across your cheeks.

Visibly shaken. Color drained. Bloody. Alive.

Joel’s throat locks up when your eyes meet his. You give him the smallest, tired smile—like you're trying to reassure him. That look. That stupid, brave little tilt of your mouth like everything's okay even when you're the one bleeding through Tommy's jacket.

It makes something in his chest crack wide open.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t trust himself for it to be anything good.

Joel takes three shaky steps towards you before his knees give out.

He drops hard into the snow. He doesn’t catch himself, doesn’t try. Just falls forward like a penitent man bowing at the altar of a God he doesn’t believe in. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, eyes locked onto the red seeping through your shirt like it's the only color in the whole damn world.

There’s a beat where nobody moves. Jesse freezes, half-done wrapping gauze, and you’re just sitting there, wide-eyed and shaking like a leaf, lips parted like you’re trying to say something—but Joel’s already reaching for you.

He's on you in the next breath. Not rough, not like usual, not with that greedy, hungry touch he normally has after you come back from patrol. His hands are trembling when they find your face, tilting your chin up gently, his fingers brushing away wet blood and dirt.

Tommy glances away. Jesse too, both men busying themselves with helping the others. It feels too private, even out here in the open.

“Goddammit,” he chokes. “God—baby–”

His voice breaks on the last word. Breaks, something sharp and gutted and boyish, nothing like the hardened man who's grown to guard his emotions like they’re classified. Your hands hover uncertainty over his shoulders, the side of his face. You’re worried. He can see it plain as day, written in the wavering line of your mouth.

“Hey—hey, I’m okay,” you say, voice low and urgent. “I’m fine. Look at me, Joel, I’m fine. It just—it just grazed me, okay? I’m fine.”

You’re not fine.

You’re too pale. You’re stone-cold. Your blood is still tacky on your shirt, drying beneath his body's warmth.

Joel presses his forehead to yours and exhales like he’s been kept underwater, and you were the surface he’d been clawing to.

You whisper his name again, quieter this time, and he shushes you. “Don’t—don’t talk, just—let me—” His fingers press to the pulse point at your wrist like he still needs proof. “Let me feel you.”

You don’t say anything else.

You just hold him.

And Joel doesn’t cry. He can’t. Something won’t let him, but he stays there in the snow for a long time, holding you like a man who thought he’d never get the chance to again.

The ride back to Jackson is quiet.

You fell asleep half-way through, head lolling back against Joel’s shoulder as you both sat in the saddle, your body loose with exhaustion and the emergency pain meds Jesse had in his pack. Tommy rides ahead, checking the trail, but Joel barely looks up. He just holds the reins with one hand and holds you tighter with the other.

You’re taken to the infirmary the second everyone files through the gates. Joel sits by your bedside in stormy silence, hands curled into fists and resting on his knees, the only thing keeping him together.

You talk to the nurse on duty. You even joke with her, cracked voice and tired eyes like it’s all part of the routine. Like getting shot is just another part of the job. And Joel sits there while someone else wraps you in new bandages and checks your vitals.

It makes his blood boil.

All he can think about is the way your voice cut out on the radio. The way he didn’t know if you were dead or bleeding out in some field, alone. And now you’re laughing. Now you’re telling the nurse, “I’m fine really, just sore.” And it makes him want to tear the whole fucking clinic apart.

Joel doesn’t say a word until you're cleared to leave.

Not on the short walk back to your house. Not when you’re walking through the door, cleaned up. Patched. Your shirt’s gone, replaced by his coat and a thermal blanket around your shoulders.

Not when you nudge his arm gently like you’re testing the waters. Not when you say his name soft, like it might keep him calm before you’re heading towards the bedroom.

It doesn’t.

The moment the door shuts behind him, Joel erupts.

“You got a fuckin’ death wish?”

You freeze in your spot halfway across the room, turning to face him.

Joel doesn’t move. Just stands there, fists clenched at his sides. His voice is low, shaking with barely concealed rage. “You gonna tell me why you thought playin’ saviour was worth bleedin’ out in the snow?”

You don’t say anything for a few beats, eyebrows drawn together in a hard frown as you look at him. “What was I supposed to do, Joel? Jesse was pinned, Tommy would’ve taken the hit. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” Joel grates, stepping towards you. “You could’ve picked you. You could’ve stayed the fuck down like Tommy told you to.”

“I was trying to keep your brother from getting shot in the head,” you snap, the tension finally striking a flint. “I made a judgment call.”

“You made a stupid call,” he spits, voice loud and blistering. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you repeat, your body growing stiff and tense.

“You shoulda fuckin’ stayed down.” Joel growls. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it—just rips his flannel off, tosses it hard at the wall.

You don’t flinch. Don’t even look away from him as his shirt falls and crumples into a heap on the floor. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snaps, turning to look at you again. His eyes are dark, fiery. “Jesus, you—do you even fuckin’ think sometimes? You were hit. You knew you were hit, and you kept goin’. You didn’t stop, didn’t stay down like you were told.”

He steps closer, eyes boring into yours, face twisted with something too furious to be rational. “You fuckin’ chose to be a goddamn hero, huh? Run into gunfire like it ain’t a fuckin’ death sentence? That it?”

He can see the second your expression changes, your own anger rearing its ugly head now, bitter and hot. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this about me being reckless when you know I was just trying to keep people alive. I did what I had to do.”

“No!” he snaps, pointing a finger at you, furious and stricken all at once. “What you had to do was come home. That’s it. That’s all.”

You blink at him, breath caught in your throat.

Joel can’t stop, all the emotions he’s been dealt over the past three hours finally boiling over and spilling through his lips before he can think twice about what he’s saying.

“You could’ve died,” he growls, pacing now, hands dragging through his hair roughly like he’s trying to rip the anger out of himself. “Two fuckin’ inches to the left and that bullet would’ve torn straight through your gut. You think you’d’ve made it to town in time for that? Huh?”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” he snarls, spinning on you, voice cracking. “It’s not fuckin’ fair. Nothin’ about this is. You go out there, and I sit at home waitin’ to see if today’s the day I lose you. That the last thing I heard is your voice cuttin’ out in the middle of a fuckin’ ambush. That’s what I got to live with now. That’s what I saw every time I closed my eyes on that ride back.”

You stand there, lost for words. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know you didn’t,” Joel says, suddenly quieter, throat thick. He swallows hard, looking down, shaking his head like he’s trying to get a grip. “But I still almost lost you. And I don’t—fuck—I don’t know what the hell I’d do if that ever—”

His voice cuts off, ragged. Then he’s in front of you again, cupping your face with both hands. “You’re not allowed to do that to me again,” he whispers fiercely. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that.”

“Joel…” You lean into him, slow. Cautious.

Joel meets you halfway.

His mouth is on yours in a heartbeat—hot and bruising and pathetically desperate. His big hands frame your face, thumbs dragging down your cheekbones as he licks a wet stripe over the plush seam of your lips.

You gasp into his mouth when he pushes the blanket off your shoulders, when his palms skate down your sides to grip your hips hard. Not too rough, not yet, but he’s holding you because he needs you rooted. Anchored. Here.

Joel kisses you like he’s still furious at you, like he hates how much he needs you, like he’s punishing you for making him feel so afraid. It’s not soft, all teeth and tongue as he devours you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When he pulls back, his mouth is wet with your spit, lips pink and swollen. “Need to taste you,” he mutters. “Need to feel you.”

Joel sinks to his knees before you can respond, breath huffing harshly against your stomach. His fingers tug your zipper down with frantic urgency, hooking his thumbs in your waistband to peel your pants down your legs in one swift motion.

There’s no teasing. No smugness. Just a heavy, sharp hunger carved into his face like stone as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing you to his greedy eyes. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting one over his shoulder as he brings his mouth to you like a man possessed.

The first drag of his tongue is slow. Reverent. Hot and wet as he parts the slick seam of your cunt with deliberate strokes that make your spine arch. He groans like your taste knocks the wind out of him, and then he latches on like he’s got a point to prove—to himself or you, he’s not sure. All he knows is that worshipping you is the only penance that could soothe the panic still clawing at his insides.

“Joel.” Your hands tangle in his hair, chin falling to your chest as you gaze down at him.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue relentless, nose pressed deep against you. You whimper, twisting his hair in your grip, hips twitching—Joel doesn’t let you go anywhere. He’s got you trapped, your body pinned with his mouth buried between your thighs like he plans to die there.

It’s filthy, obscene—the way he devours you. Lips slick, beard growing damper with each swirl of his tongue, eyes half-lidded but still trained on your own.

Your eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide and black as spilled ink. There’s sweat beaded on your brow, lips parted and swollen as you let out small huffs of air.

Your thighs are trembling. You're soaked, arching against him, whimpering his name with tears welling in your eyes. And still—still—he won’t let up. He needs this. Needs to make you fall apart. Needs to prove to himself you’re alive by the way your body sings under his touch.

Joel can’t stop. Not until your thighs shake and you’re moaning that you’re gonna come, gonna come, Joel, please—

And you do. You fall apart on his tongue with a broken sob, legs clenching tight around his ears, hips grinding down into his mouth in weak twitches and shudders. He growls and holds you still, licking you through every last tremor until your body goes limp and threatens to sink to the floor.

Joel doesn’t let you fall—he lowers you down gently, like you’re made of spun glass, even as his hands skirt over the hem of your shirt. When he pulls it up, revealing the bandages wound tight around your side, he pauses. His gaze lingers on the wound. Jaw clenched. Something soft and wrecked flickers in his eyes.

Your hand comes up to cup the side of his face, your thumb running over the scar across his temple so gently it has his heart throbbing in his chest. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “Still here.”

Joel takes your wrist in his hand, lowering it down enough to press it hard over his heart. “You feel that?” he breaths. “That hasn’t stopped hammerin’ since I heard your voice cut out.”

You nod slowly. Your fingers curl into his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

Joel squeezes your wrist, turning his head to press a soft kiss to your forearm.

He climbs up over you, chest to chest—the jut of his cock where it tents the denim of his jeans grinds over the sensitive span of your cunt as he settles himself between your legs. He’s thick, heavy even through all the layers.

Joel’s free hand snakes down his body, making quick work of his belt. He rips his zipper down, freeing his cock from the confines of his soaked boxers and letting it slap up against his stomach.

You moan at the sight of it—hard, straining, the tip a dusty red and wet with pre-come. Your legs widen unconsciously, thighs twitching on either side of Joel’s hips.

Joel takes himself in his hand, fist tight over the base of his cock as he runs himself through your puffy cunt, slicking the skin of his cock with your wetness. “Gonna fuck you,” he breathes, lining himself up between your legs. “Gonna feel you around me, baby, need it so damn bad.”

Joel slides in with one long, smooth stroke, your slick making it easy, and the groan he lets out sounds like pain. Like relief. Like he might lose his mind from the heat of you. Your breath hitches at the stretch, head lolling back against the hardwood as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Mine,” he grits through his teeth, forehead pressed to yours, his hips grinding deeper as you cling to him. “You’re mine, baby. Always—always mine.”

You nod, panting, eyes glassy. “All yours,” you whisper. “Only yours, Joel.”

And then he moves.

Hard.

Desperate.

Unrelenting.

He fucks you like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth, like if he stops, he’ll unravel entirely. One arm hooks under your knee, pushing you open, deeper than before. His hips slap against yours, raw and hopelessly, but it’s not about getting off.

It’s about feeling you.

Every squeeze, every tremble, every gasp that leaves your mouth when he hits that perfect spot.

Joel’s never felt like this before.

So angry.

So scared.

So in love.

He fucks you like he’s trying to imprint himself inside your body. His thrusts stitch you back to him, sealing you inside his chest so you can never leave. A mess of skin-on-skin and heat and slick as the two of you meet again and again and again.

“Could’ve lost you,” he growls against your throat. “Fuck, honey, I could’ve—Jesus—”

You wrap your arms around him. “You didn’t,” you whisper. “I’m here, Joel—I’m yours—”

He groans, hips stuttering, thrusts turning frantic. He can tell he’s close, that he’s been close since he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Say it again,” he pants, slamming into you with a low, wrecked noise. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp. “Always yours—fuck, Joel—”

You wrap your arms tighter around him, pulling him closer. Your nails dig into his skin through the thin layer of his undershirt, legs locking around his waist to keep him pressed against you like you’re scared he’ll let go.

Joel doesn’t let go. He’d never let go. Not even when you moan his name like a prayer, not even when your nails rake down his back, not even when you gasp out a warning, your voice thin and needy. “Joel, I—gonna—”

“I know, baby. I got you.” His hand snakes down between you, finding your clit and rubbing quick circles over it, desperate to feel you come. “Wanna feel you. Need to—fuck—need to feel you, sweetheart. Please.”

You shatter in his arms with a broken sob, clenching hard around him as your body jerks, overwhelmed and too raw to hide it. Joel feels you pulse around his cock, the tight warmth of your cunt milking him.

It’s too much, and he’s coming with a groan that sounds like it’s been clawed from his chest. He buries himself to the hilt, hips jerking with every pulse, breath catching in your ear. “Fuck, fuck—” he pants, voice hoarse, “—love you, I love you, I thought I lost you, baby, I can’t…”

You’re both trembling when it ends.

Joel holds you there for a long time, forehead resting against yours, still buried deep inside you. He still won’t let you go. Not yet.

Eventually, when he’s calmed, he pulls back just enough to look at you.

You expect that same look from earlier—rage, fear, guilt—but it’s not there. Just love. Just deep, aching relief.

“I can’t lose you,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t survive it.”

You reach up, trace the curve of his brow, the edge of his jaw. “You won’t have to,” you whisper.

Joel kisses you again. Softer this time. Sweeter. A delicate press of lips against lips. His fingers stroke your cheek, pulling back enough for his eyes to trace along your face. He follows the line of your brows, the shape of your nose, the soft curve of your lips.

He can’t feel anything other than love.

Gentle. Solid. Steady.

It’s only love.

mini nat's note: everyone please send good vibes for my hell sent ch*m final on monday...i literally need all the luck i can get. thank you so much for reading! mwah.

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littlefluu · 4 months ago

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E N H Y P E N F I C R E C S

FEBRUARY 25nd, 2025 RECOMMENDATIONS ⤷ GO BACK TO THE MAIN ENHYPEN MASTER LIST WITH EVEN MORE RECOMMENDATIONS ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

a. angst f. fluff sug. suggestive s. smut h. horror c. crack ★. please dear publishers I want this on my bookshelf

₊˚⊹꒷ ALL OF THE MEMBERS / UNITS

★ !! SAFE & SOUND by @thatfeelinwhenyou Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive. ᝰ dystopian, post-apocalyptic survival, horror/thriller, slow burn, ANGST , FUCK THIS IS SO GOOD. EVERY TIME A UPDATE COMES OUT I LITERALLY STOP EVERYTHING I AM DOING.ᐟ₊ ⊹

BLOODSTRUCK by @jjunieworld (deactivated) sugg. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗏𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖾. ᝰ vampire au / vampire!enha / established relationship / suggestive / blood / biting / dry humping / kissing / skinship .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WHEN YOU ACCIDENTLY TEXT THEM "WANNA BANG" by @jayparked c. ᝰ best friend enhypen x gender neutral reader / text au .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WITH EASE by @hhmnya f. ᝰ in which hyung line helps you with your kid .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ LEE HEESEUNG ꒷⊹˚₊

ᝰ.ᐟ DO YOU THINK I AM FRAGILE by @just-nc-tea f, a, sugg. A car accident has turned your life upside down, leaving you with a knee and ankle that ache like they belong to someone three times your age. Navigating college with these setbacks is hard enough, but when your overprotective dad insists you take an internship with the men’s hockey team, you’re thrust back into the world you’ve spent years avoiding. The rink represents everything you’ve lost—and then there’s Heeseung, the captain whom you somehow cannot stop thinking about. ᝰ Hockey team captain! Heeseung x the coaches daughter / Ice hockey au / College sports aus / angst / hurt / comfort / slow burn / fluff, a lot of falling asleep in the same bed / some good old family drama .ᐟ₊ ⊹

SULKING WHEN HE HAS TO LEAVE FOR WORK by @jaysng f. pregnancy aches and morning sulks become part of your routine, but heeseung’s soothing touch and playful efforts to put you back to sleep remind you just how loved you are—even when work calls him away. ᝰ nonidol!heeseung!husband x fem!preg!reader .ᐟ₊ ⊹

I'LL BE HERE WHEN YOU'RE BACK by @honeyedfate f, sugg. ever since his room was revealed to the world on mbc world, heeseung has not known peace—whether it be from engenes or his very own girlfriend ᝰ idol!lee heeseung x gf!reader .ᐟ₊ ⊹

CROSS THE LINE by @heegyukeluv s, f. “How do you know if someone is flirting with you?” It was Heeseung’s question to you, and you were left with no option other than to show how you do it. ᝰ childhood best friends to lovers / fluff / kinda miscomunication? / smut .ᐟ₊ ⊹

SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW by @stllmnstr a. MC and Heeseung meet again at Jays wedding years after their break up and they have some unresolved feelings because they still love each other ᝰ angst / Exes to ?? .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ PARK JAY ꒷⊹˚₊

FAST FORWARD by @asahicore f. After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy... and future husband, or so it seems. ᝰ high school au / the type of e2l where they never really hated each other to begin with .ᐟ₊ ⊹

MUSIC TO MY EARS by @jayparked s. "Ride me." Jay huffs. It's a command, not a request. He moves back to the head of the bed, adjusting the pillows before leaning back against them. Lifting the covers away from his body, he removes his boxers slowly. looking into your eyes as he does so. ᝰ music producer jay / established relationship / thunder and lightning storms / cigarette smoking / early morning sex .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★ !! THE ART & SCIENCE OF PARENTING 101 by @jakesimfromstatefarm f, c. the art & science of parenting 101 (PSY1009)— in this interactive course, students will explore the psychological, social, and biological foundations of parenthood. through a mix of theory and hands-on practice, you'll master the art of raising a simulated baby—aka the 'robot child'. late-night feedings, tantrum taming, and crisis control are all part of the deal. what you didn't expect to be part of the deal? getting paired with jay park—the last person you'd trust to raise, well, anything. you’re pretty sure he couldn’t even take care of a pet rock. now, you’re stuck co-parenting this robot baby together for 40% of your final grade. ᝰ fluff / comedy / e2l!au / college!au /(fake)parenting!au / he fell first, she fell harder type beat/ Such a banger .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★!! SUN KEEPS RISING (LIKE IT TENDS TO DO) by @zreamy f, s, a. being the mum friend is rewarding, if not a little tricky—you would know. it wouldn't hurt to let someone look after you for once, would it? ᝰ summer au / strangers to lovers, / friends-in-law to lovers really / smut / fluff / angst / GUYS THEY WAY ZO PORTRAYS JAY? UGH. PERFECTION .ᐟ₊ ⊹

AS THE EARTH BURNS TO THE GROUND, LAY HERE WITH ME by @fleuryuns a. it takes an asteroid hurdling toward earth for you and jay to be pulled apart, and then brought back together—but it's worth it ᝰ wealthy (ex)bf!jay x scientist!femreader / end of the world au / exes to lovers / arguments / some platonic!jake thrown in there / ambiguous ending / elements from the movie don't look up / inaccurate portrayal of astrophysics and high school debate clubs .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ SIM JAKE ꒷⊹˚₊

OOPS, JUNO by @moonheecore f, s. Getting accidentally pregnant was the last thing you ever imagined. You were still in school, with so many plans for the future ahead of you. Yet, you felt certain that keeping the baby was the decision you wanted to make. What would your aloof mother think? and, perhaps most importantly, you wonder if Jake would feel the same way? ᝰ college AU / established relationship / baby daddy Jake / toxic mother trope / abortion mentioned / frat parties / body changes during pregnancy mentioned .ᐟ₊ ⊹

KISSES SHARED WITH JAKE by @elikajinnie f, sugg. jake watching you do your makeup and cant ressist kissing you

★!! THE TATTOO ON MY RING FINGER by @thatfeelinwhenyou His neglect wasn’t an accident—it was a choice, one you kept excusing as “busy” while swallowing your hurt and waiting for him to care enough to show up. The harsh truth? He simply didn't care enough to make the effort. Remember this, ladies: if he truly wanted to, he would. "Busy" is just another word for “asshole.” And “asshole” is another word for the man you’re married to. ᝰ marriage of convenience / slow burn romance / enemies to lovers (kinda) / second chance romance / angst .ᐟ₊ ⊹

THE LOVE RIDE by @whjluv SMAU. after your mutual breakup, your ex disappears from the public eye for almost a year, only to comeback with a deeply emotional album entirely about you, sending fans into a frenzy. they analyze every lyric and link it to your past relationship, causing your breakup to become once again the talk of the internet. upset and surprised that the so private Jake preferred to deal with his emotions publicly instead of talking it out with you, you drop a single in response, highlighting the parts of your breakup he left out. ᝰ smau with some writing / singer au / exes to lovers / second chance / miscommunication trope / angst / fluff / humor .ᐟ₊ ⊹

NO DOUBT by @jakesimfromstatefarm f, a. struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you. ᝰ idol/jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon / bestfriends!enha / friends to lovers!au / angstttt / fluff / crack .ᐟ₊ ⊹

ᝰ.ᐟ THE TRUTH UNTOLD & PT. 2 by @just-nc-tea f, a, sugg. Jake’s world takes a nosedive when he gets a wedding invitation from his high school ex—the same ex who cheated on him—with your ex. Desperate to avoid showing up alone Jake ropes you into a fake relationship, just for the evening. Originally. But if you’re going to sell the lie, you have to make it convincing. That means dates, inside jokes, learning the little details about each other that real couples would know. By the time the wedding arrives, neither of you are sure where the act ends and the truth begins. ᝰ Hockeyplayer! Jake / college sports / angst / hurt / comfort / slow burn/ fluff / suggestive / fake dating / he fell first and he fell harder.ᐟ₊

₊˚⊹꒷ PARK SUNGHOON ꒷⊹˚₊

★!! CAPTAIN'S LOG by @peachenle sugg. "If you’re trying to be subtle about checking me out, it’s really not working.” You were too drunk to care, and met his eyes, “Yeah, yeah you caught me. Life’s more fun without subtlety. ᝰ hockey college!au / fratboy!au / sexual themes .ᐟ₊ ⊹ Guys I am so in love with this story! Defintely check it out!!

★!! DOWN THE HATCH by @peachenle f, sugg. a collection of moments with sunghoon, shared over meals, snacks, and drinks. a riff off of timestamps. not in chronological order. a continuation/epilogue of captain’s log. ᝰ college!au / fratboy!au / fluff / established relationship / some suggestive content .ᐟ₊ ⊹

THE LIGHTHOUSE by @jjunieworld (deactivated) f, a, h, s. the land has always been something you desperately wished you could walk on. be like the humans and walk among them. one dark and stormy night, you are granted your wish—but, it comes with a deadly price. and you only have one month to decide if you’re willing to pay it. ᝰ strangers to lovers / kinda love at first sight /mermaid!reader / lighthouse keeper!sunghoon /fantasy / slow burn / slice of life / forced proximity / classic story of a mermaid washing up on shore with a twist / slight smidge of horror elements .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WE'LL ALWAYS HAVE THIS SUMMER by @asahicore f, s, a. Your mom ruins your summer plans by sending you to the equestrian center your grandmother owns in the south of France, wanting you to spend some time away from the city and take a break from your med studies. Although you’d been determined to spend the worst time ever there, you soon find out that maybe the cold but cute horse nerd next door who doesn’t want to talk to you might actually turn this summer into the best one of your life. ᝰ summer au / strangers to mutual dislike to friends to lovers ig / city girl x country boy type beat .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★!! SPF 23 by @zreamy f, s. for as long as you can remember, your summers have been much the same, largely spent in your hometown, relaxing by the local pool. when you get back home this summer, things seem like they'll go the same way, until you get to the pool that is — when did the lifeguard get so hot? ᝰ smut, fluff, people that kinda know each other to lovers, summer au, lifeguard au, sunghoon is buff and shy and ugh guys its SO good .ᐟ₊ ⊹

★!! THE DOLLMAKER by @jjunbug a,f,h. you were sunghoon’s muse, his flawless, perfect wife that he dresses in frilly dresses and makes sure you always looked like the idealized woman. that much was evident from all the dolls he made of you that sat proudly throughout your home. but, when sunghoon isn’t there, the dolls move and show you things that would otherwise be hidden in the shadows. one day, they show you something so frightening, something completely sinister that you force yourself to believe that it isn’t real. your beloved husband wouldn’t do something like that, would he? you weren’t so sure about your answer anymore. ᝰ established relationship / angsty & mature themes / smut / some fluff / husband & dollmaker!sunghoon / gothic vibes /supernatural elements / THIS WAS SO SCARY BUT SO GOOD OH MY GOD .ᐟ₊ ⊹

WHY by @hoonieyun a. breaking up with your boyfriend means losing a lover but what happens when your boyfriend was also your best friend, meaning you lost both and now have to face him for a popular youtube show ᝰ angst / heartbreak / exes reunited / exes to ..? .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ NISHIMURA RIKI ꒷⊹˚₊

RUINED MAKE OUT SESSIONS by @rose-petles sugg.

TEXTING BF!NI-KI by @jaeyunluvbot SMAU, c.

YOU'RE NO GOOD FOR ME, BUT BABY I WANT YOU by @purinfelix f. after growing tired of his constant teasing you made up your mind not to give Niki anymore of your attention, but you should've known that he wouldn't let you go that easily - and is willing to go to desperate measures to get you just to look at him ᝰ delinquent Niki x class president reader .ᐟ₊ ⊹

₊˚⊹꒷ AMAZING AUTHORS ꒷⊹˚₊

@zreamy @jjunbug @thatfeelinwhenyou @jakesimfromstatefarm

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cheapshrimpysheep · 2 months ago

Text

Dating in a Dream - Jamil Viper

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Jamil Viper x Reader 🐍🦐

TAGS: Fluff; a little angst; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda); Kiss

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Jamil’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 6.220 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

I would also like to say: I kept the endings "sama" and "bocchan" because I thought they would make more sense, and since "sama", from what I researched, is gender neutral it could be used with Yuu. I don't know if Jamil's shawl has a specific name. And I'm not good with color names.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy 🐍

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / (Jamil) / Floyd / Jade / Azul / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

Kalim seemed to have enjoyed the dream-to-dream journey, and even compared it to his carpet rides. But Vil didn't look or feel very well. It seemed like some kind of motion sickness specific to those dream travels. Everyone agrees that Vil should rest. Silver and Ortho stayed with him in the shade, while you, Grim, Sebek, Kalim and Idia, or rather his tablet, went for a walk to analyze the world of that dream a little more.

After walking around for a while, Sebek comments that it is as hot as in Kalim's dream. Which is explained by the fact that both dreams take place in Scalding Sands. Kalim recognizes the Camel Bazaar and suggests that you all should buy Vil some coconut juice, it's cold and refreshing and might help him feel better. Grim agrees, but Idia and Sebek fear that this could cause problems because they don't have the local currency. However, Kalim assures that everything will be fine.

Kalim orders, to everyone's surprise (or almost everyone's), TEN coconut juices. The vendor gives him a heap of whole coconuts with an opening at the top and a straw each. Kalim encourages you all to try a sip and you do so. It really felt good in that heat. Kalim prepares to leave with the coconuts when the vendor calls his attention.

“Excuse me, sir! You need to pay.”

“Pay? Sorry, I don't have any cash on me.” Kalim responds too naturally and tells the vendor that he can just bill his house like usual.

But the vendor didn't know what Kalim was talking about. When Kalim told him his name the vendor recognized the name, however...

“Al-Asim, huh? If that's true, that's even less reason to put anything on a tab. You think you can dine and dash at MY stall? You've got some nerve, kiddo!”

“This is going south fast...” You say. “There's no returning the juice now that we've drunk it...” You approach Kalim to talk to him about that situation and that's when the vendor finally sees you well.

“OH! (Y/N)-sama!” The vendor practically stutters your name and completely changes his attitude. “I-I didn't see you were in this group. Are they your friends? I am so deeply sorry for my bad manners. If you don't have money with you either, I can just bill the Viper's house if you'd like.”

“The Viper's house?” Kalim wonders. “Why Jamil's house?”

“Hey! (Y/N)!” Grim whispers loudly at your feet. “Just say yes and get us out of this!”

You accept the vendor's offer and he lets you go with all those coconuts and a smile on his face. But a slightly scared smile. Returning to Vil, Silver and Ortho, you all discuss what happened.

“So, (Y/N) seems to have more power here than Kalim.” Ortho observes. “And apparently they are also somehow connected to Jamil Viper's house.”

“But how?” Sebek wonders. “And why?”

“Well, by the way the vendor reacted when he saw (Y/N)...” Idia says. “I have an idea... but let's analyze this place better first.”

Vil and Ortho exchange glances with each other, probably thinking the same thing as Idia.

“We can start by checking my place.” Kalim suggests. “Jamil's place is on our grounds.”

Arriving at the place where Kalim's house would be, it was deserted... Literally.

“Wh... This can't be right... MY HOUSE IS GONE! The main building, the annexes, Jamil's home, they're all gone! Where'd everybody go?!”

A local resident who was passing by asked if you were tourists and told you that the Asim Palace had a change in ownership years back. The new owner had it relocated to high ground on the outskirts of town. He didn't know who the new owners were, but he know that the Asims had to give up their house after their business failed.

You go look for the palace.

You all go to where the palace was now and Kalim is shocked to discover that it was true that his house really did get relocated to higher ground. And not only that, but it looked like the exterior's been repainted too. The roofs have gone from teal to red, and the walls from white to black.

“Hey!” A Guard suddenly approaches. “What are you kids doing here? This is a private－ ah! (Y/N)-sama! It's you, and Kalim. My apologies, I hadn't recognized you from afar. Jamil-bocchan has been looking for you to go to school together.”

“Jamil?” Kalim steps forward. “Jamil is here?!”

“What kind of question is that? This is where Jamil-bocchan lives... Viper Palace!”

You discover that the one who bought up Kalim's home was Jamil's father, the head of the Viper family. He bought that manor from the Asims when they were in sore need of money, and know the Vipers were the richest family in Silk City.

After the guard's explanation, you hear music coming from somewhere and an elephant emerging through the front gates at the head of a whole parade. You see that the guy riding the elephant was none other than Jamil, wearing a uniform just like the one the fake Jamil wore in Kalim's dream, but this one was red and black instead of turquoise and white.You also see the dreamer's silver bird around his head.

“Make way! Coming through!” Another guard announced. “Make way for Jamil-sama!”

You all step aside.

“Why are YOU making way, Kalim?” The guard who was with you questioned him. “Take this parasol and join the procession!”

Since you were distracted looking at that guard and Kalim, you got startled when you suddenly felt something grabbing you by the waist and lifting you into the air. When that thing finally lets go of you, you are in Jamil's arms and you realize that that thing was the elephant's trunk.

“Where were you, my desert bloom? You are quite late.” Jamil asks you and then looks at your clothes. “Have you been shopping? Hm... no offense, but I've seen you in better clothes.” He smirks.

Jamil lands you on the elephant's back, but you can't stand on your own and cling to Jamil. He laughs.

“You haven't gotten used to it yet, have you? But let me just change those clothes real quick. You can't go to school without a uniform.” He uses his magic pen to turn your NRC uniform into a uniform similar to the black and red clothes with gold jewelry he was wearing. “Much better~” he says in a lower, slightly seductive tone. “Black already looks good on you, but red looks even better.” He grabs you firmly by the waist to hold you, before turning to the people in the procession behind you. “Get marching, and don't break formation!”

“Jamil looks like he's having a ton of fun!” You hear Kalim say right behind the elephant.

“You there, quiet down! Less talking, more walking!” Jamil orders him.

You look back and see two lines, in front of one of them is Sebek, followed by Vil and lastly Silver, in front of the other is Kalim, followed by Ortho and lastly Grim, who you imagine would be complaining.

“So...” You try to chat with Jamil. “How long is the path to school again?”

“Is it just me, or are you more spacey than usual?” He looks at you slightly suspicious. “Unless... Oh, you're asking because you're tired from shopping, aren't you? Well, Jahar Sahir College is on the other side of the city, but the path is straight so you'll see we'll get there in no time. Enjoy the parade.” His watchful gaze returns to the people behind the elephant. “You there － your parasol is drooping. Hold it properly!”

“Whoops, sorry! I'll fix that right away.” You hear Kalim apologize.

Jamil is very suspicious and attentive. If you take too many risks, he might realize that you are not one of the NPCs from his dream. And it’s not a good idea to take that risk more than 2.5 meters above the ground.

Suddenly, in the midst of the euphoria of the moment, Jamil pulls you to lie on his other arm, making you lose your balance and scaring you. Even if you shouted in fright, it was just another scream in the middle of the cheers. Jamil laughs before pulling you back to your feet and grabbing you to hold you steady. If you hug him or cling to him, he will like it even more.

“What was that?!” You ask, it really looked like you were going to fall off the elephant.

“Ha ha ha!” He laughs in a way you don't remember ever seeing. “I just felt like surprising you.” He smirks. “Or maybe it was a little punishment for disappearing on me and arriving so late to the parade.”

And as another surprise he kisses your lips quite lovingly, but only for a couple of seconds. When he breaks the kiss, he laughs at your surprised face.

“I know, I don't usually do this with so much attention on us. But no one will dare tell us anything.” his smile had a hint of menace.

“All right, we're here.” Jamil finally announces. “Parasols closed, elephants to the stables!”

Jamil leads your elephant to a special platform for you to get off, and he helps you, giving you his hand to support you. You look around and see a school just like the school in Kalim's dream, but once again red and black instead of teal and white. And the statue in the fountain was also different. It wasn't the Ruler of the Oasis's, but you recognized this one, it was a statue of the Sorcerer of the Sands, the same man from the Scarabia Dorm.

“We should go look for Kalim.” Jamil bends his arm to invite you to intertwine yours with his. You do so and he starts walking towards the fountain. “Kalim! Where are you?!” He shouts displeased.

“Oh, I'm right here!” Kalim waves with a big smile. “Hello!”

“Don't give me that!” Jamil retorts. “How can you loaf around without looking after your boss...? Wait. What's with that outfit? Did you botch your color-changing magic again?”

It was as if all that joy of his had disappeared as soon as he approached Kalim. It was a little sad to see, both from Kalim and Jamil's side.

“Huh? I didn't botch this.” Kalim explains. “It's supposed to look like the Ruler of the Oasis. Cool, right?”

“The Jahar Sahir College uniform uses traditional red and black colors like what the illustrious Sorcerer of the Sands wore. What were you thinking, bleaching them to your whims? The nerve.” Jamil takes his magic pen and changes the colors of Kalim's clothes to the same as his.

“Ooh, the colors changed! These are pretty nice too, actually. Thanks, Jamil!”

“I think you mean to say, 'Thank you very much, Jamil-sama, sir.’” Jamil corrects with an offended expression. “Honestly... You'll never let go of that pampered rich boy demeanor, will you? Look. The Asim family owes the Viper family more money than you could pay off with a lifetime's worth of work. So you should try to make yourself at least a LITTLE useful to me.”

“Jamil!” You say, as if asking him to moderate his words.

“I know, you don't like it when I'm like this to Kalim, but he needs to know his place.” He looks at you strangely, almost sulking. “You always had a soft spot for him that I never understood.” he addresses the group again. “By the way, who are you people? Jahar Sahir College isn't open for the general public to just waltz in.”

Silver explains that they are from Night Raven College and Vil says that the reason they came to Scalding Sands was a Film Research Club project, but that they had heard so much about Jahar Sahir College that they had to visit it. He said they were looking for the reception and it was shortly after that Kalim spotted them and approached them. Jamil seems suspicious at first, but after thinking about it for a while he supposes there is nothing strange about it.

“Considering their shabby attire and vapid expressions, I'm sure they're simply students.” Jamil murmurs.

“Hey, I heard that!” Grim informs.

“Oh dear, I beg your pardon.” Jamil says smugly. “I let my inner voice slip out there...”

“Wait a minute...” Grim notices the way Jamil talks to him. “You don't recognize me?”

“Recognize you?” Jamil repeats, confused. “My apologies, but I don't remember ever meeting a little beast like you.”

“WHAT?! You know (Y/N) but you don't know me?!”

“What does one thing have to do with the other?” Jamil turns to you. “Do you know this strange cat?”

As Grim complains that he's not a cat, you think about what to say. But what should you say? That you don't know him? That you met him once? But when? And how? The more time you let pass, the more suspicious Jamil would become.

“We crossed paths with (Y/N) before the parade.” Vil saves you. “I think Grim developed a special liking for them after meeting them.”

You see Grim look surprised at that excuse and then lower his ears a little sad, reluctantly accepting his new role in Jamil's dream.

“I can see why.” Jamil smirks. “I've never met anyone who wasn't enchanted by (Y/N). Which is ironic coming from someone who is not a mage. Allegedly.” He looks at you with that mischievous smile and raised eyebrow.

“Forgive my indiscretion if so.” Ortho says. “But would I be correct in concluding that you two are a couple?”

“Yes, you would.” Jamil answers casually.

“However, you said that they are not mages, but they are students of Jahar Sahir College?”

“An exception was made due to personal circumstances.” Jamil said defensively. “Nothing you need to... worry about.” He finished in a slightly threatening tone despite the smile. “Returning to the subject of your visit. As the student council president, I would be a far more fitting person to show you around campus than Kalim.”

“Oh, truly?” Vil smiles. “How fortunate for us to receive hospitality straight from the student council president himself.”

“I wouldn't want Kalim giving them the impression that our students are subpar.” He mutters.

Jamil says that, personally, he is interested in hearing about Night Raven College. He knows about the Dark Mirror and says that Scalding Sands also has long been a flourishing producer of magical artifacts.

“There's the Magic Flying Carpet, the Great Serpent Staff, the Hourglass of Clairvoyance...” He looks at you for a split second with a smile on the corner of his mouth, when talking about the hourglass. “And the Magic Lamp.”

Jamil says that the Sorcerer of the Sands himself employed such artifacts in his great deeds, and that to this day many people in Scalding Sands, including students from Jahar Sahir College and Jamil himself, are interested in them. He also brags about his family's treasure being bursting with artifacts collected from all over the world.

“I'd love to hear more about the ones housed at your school.”

“Ooh, wow! You liked (Y/N)? I had no idea!” Kalim says. “I'm so happy for you two. And you're the student council president? That's great, Jamil!”

“Why are you acting like this is the first you've heard of it? Not only do you GO to this school, but you and (Y/N) are friends. Now stop standing around and prepare a proper reception for our guests”

“Whoops! Right, I'm supposed to work for Jamil. Okay, a proper reception means a party, right? I got this!”

Kalim starts by asking someone to prepare a party, until Jamil reminds him that this was HIS job. Then Kalim says that a party needs drinks, but instead of going to the kitchen to get some, he uses his signature spell, Oasis Maker, to make it rain.

“You fool!” Jamil says to Kalim as he uses his own shawl to cover you and try to keep you from getting too wet. “Who goes around spraying water without any warning?!”

“We'll need food, too.” Kalim continues, oblivious to what Jamil was saying. “I'll go grab some food from the kitchen! Be right back!” The rain dissipates as he runs away towards the interior of the main building.

“What's gotten into him?” Jamil mutters again. “He's never been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's usually not THIS bad.”

“Maybe he's just too excited that we have guests from so far away?” You suggest.

“Trying to alleviate his incompetence as always.” he mutters to you, slightly disapprovingly, before turning back to the others. “Ahem... I'm sorry you all had to see that.”

“Please, don't worry about it at all.” Silves tells him.

“Here you are, Jamil - uh, I mean, Jamil-sama!” Kalim comes back. “I brought a bunch of your favorite foods. Look! I've got a whole pot of curry, some dates... Oh, and lots of silky melons! Where should I put them?”

“I had a bad feeling, but seriously... Who brings the food out before they even set out rugs and tables?! This is beyond bad. You're utterly useless!”

“Ah hah hah! Sorry about that! I've never done this sort of things before.” Kalim apologizes, good-humored as always. “Jamil-sama, could you hold the pot of curry? (Y/N), Grim, you hold the dates and melons.”

“Mrah! Don't plop a whole pile of melons on my head!” Grim appeals unsuccessfully. “Geez, this is heavy!”

“Okay, I'll get some rugs next!” Kalim announces excitedly and runs away again.

“Hey, wait! What kind of staff makes their bosses and guests do the work?!”

“I thought you hated dates.” You say, looking at the large basket full of them that Kalim passed into your hands.

“And I do.” Jamil confirms. “At least someone remembers. Ahem... I'm so sorry about this.” he apologizes to Grim too. “I'll keep the dishes levitated with magic. You don't have to hold them.”

“Ooh, it's all floatin' now.” Grim says relieved. “That's much better!”

“Ugh, that dimwit gets on my last nerve. Mom and Dad are far too lenient. And so are you.” Jamil tells you.

“I see you don't like that about me.” You concluded as the others spoke amongst themselves.

“It's not that I don't like that side of you and you know it. But there are people who don't deserve it.”

“Well, I think Kalim deserves it.” You defend him.

“How stubborn.” Jamil sighs. “But I'd be lying if I said I disliked it. Depending on the situation, it's quite attractive.” he smirks.

You didn't know, but while the two of you were talking about Kalim, the others were also talking among themselves about Jamil and you.

Grim wondered if Malleus's spell wasn't supposed to be giving people happy dreams, but Jamil was in a snit, he didn't seem all that happy to him. The Shroud brothers concluded that this dream followed the same pattern as Vil's dream. Kalim was a source of stress for him, just like Neige was to Vil. But Kalim exerts an outsized influence over Jamil's personality and capabilities in reality. Removing a figure that influential would make the dream more prone to major paradoxes. Unlike Grim, and maybe that's why Jamil didn't remember him.

“Nonetheless...” Ortho sees Jamil smiling at you, even after that silly little argument. “He seems pretty happy with (Y/N).”

“True, he seems more relaxed with them.” Silver agrees.

“We must not deviate from the main point!” Sebek reminds them. “We need to make Jamil realize this is a dream as quickly as possible!”

“Right.” Silver agrees. “Between this place and the bazaar, Jamil's definitely got a strong imagination. I don't think a simple shock would do the job. How do we approach this...?”

Kalim returns, saying he went to Zahab Market and got some nice pieces from the rug merchant. Vil comments that those "nice pieces" look like they'd cost an arm and a leg. Jamil finally seems satisfied with Kalim's work, taking the opportunity to boast again about his family being the richest and most influential in the city.

“Anyway, check this out! Doesn't this carpet take you back?” Kalim shows him a carpet almost identical to the flying carpet of his that you knew, but instead of red, this one was purple.

“Take me back? Why would it?”

It was a regular, unenchanted replica of the flying carpet. Kalim talks about a time when the two of them and his father went to a rug merchant, Kalim thought it was a real flying carpet, spread it out on the ground and walked right onto it. That got him a scolding.

“How could I forget? The look on that merchant's face when you stepped on a vintage silk carpet with your muddy shoes－HRK!” The dream world begins to distort. “Wait... I would never take someone as overeager as Kalim to a high-end store. Rgh... What's going on?! I suddenly feel dizzy...”

Seeing Jamil wavering, the others encourage Kalim to keep talking. Kalim remembers a time when they snuck out of the manor to visit the Camel Bazaar and drank coconut juice together, but Jamil says that Kalim was the one sneak out on his own and Jamil had to scramble after him. Then he remembers a time, just before they enrolled in Night Raven College, when Jamil used his signature spell to make the bad guys fight each other to get him and Kalim out of trouble. But this time Jamil insisted that he didn't know what he was talking about.

Kalim says that he was always the best and most dependable friend he could have, and that he trusted everything would work out just fine as long as he left it in Jamil's hands. But he was the only one of them who felt that way and now he know that Jamil hated it all along.

“That's why you used (Y/N), Grim, and the students in Scarabia to try and get me kicked out and sent home, right? Winter break sure threw me for a loop. I was super crushed when you betrayed me and told me you hated me.”

“Used (Y/N)?! How dare you... I would never... I... I did... What I did... That Winter break...? Betrayed? Augh! My... My head!”

The world distorts a little more.

Kalim says he doesn't know what Jamil is thinking, but he knows that the person he is right now isn't the person he really wanted do be. He wanted to be the best version of himself, but that isn't this.

“Remember who you truly are!” Kalim transforms his clothes into his Scarabia Housewarden uniform, which makes Jamil start to remember.

“What was that scene just now? It shouldn't be familiar to me, but... it is. The... The real me is...”

“JAMIL-SAMA!” You hear someone shout, and a second Kalim, wearing a Jahar Sahir College uniform, appears running.

“There are two Kalims!” Silver says. “That means...”

“Yes, it must be the darkness.” Vil completes.

“Jamil-sama, when I heard you went to school earlier than usual. I scrambled to catch up...” Fake Kalim says, worried. “Oh no, how could this be?! Please, hold on! I'll get you to a doctor! Guards! GUARDS!”

The ground was painted black and Jamil began to sink rapidly into darkness, surrounded by a dark fog that prevented him from seeing you all well. And guards of black goop formed to prevent you from approaching them.

“Kalim...?” Jamil says with some difficulty.

“Yes, that's right. I'm the real Kalim, your loyal retainer.”

“Huh? Jamil, look again! That's not me!” the real kalim tries to warn him.

“He's an assassin sent to end you.” the fake Kalim tries to convince him “Don't listen to a word he says.”

“Wait...” Jamil looks directly at you with heavy eyelids struggling to stay open. “(Y/N)... they...”

Black goop rises from the ground and forms a figure, a perfect copy of you, also wearing Jahar Sahir College's uniform.

“I'm right here, my love.” your copy tells him. “They had the nerve to impersonate your beloved as well. But I'm here now. The real me. The real (Y/N). Look in my eyes. As long as you stay here, you can be a ruler forever. Money, land, freedom, love... Everything is yours!”

“Yes... That's the truth...” Jamil gives in. “You're absolutely right, both of you...”

“Wait! Trust us, not them!” Kalim shouts again. “JAMIIIL!”

But none of that stopped the darkness from swallowing Jamil.

“Stop disturbing Jamil-sama's sweet dreams, you street rats!” The false Kalim commands you.

“As if we'd listen to you!” Sebek retorts. “Let's do this!”

You all change your clothes and fight the darkness. And after defeating it, Kalim jumps into the pool of black goop without hesitation behind Jamil, followed by all of you.

When you open your eyes again, you see that you’re in the Hallway of Scarabia Dorm. By the red light that dimly illuminated the place and the dark fog, you realized that it was the same scenario as when Jamil overbloated. Suddenly, you hear a creepy laugh you've heard before and you all go to the lounge.

“I did it... I finally got Kalim ousted from school and claimed the position of housewarden for myself!” Jamil is the center of attention in the room, wearing his drom uniform, and had that psychopathic smile on his face. “Bring on the food and drinks! This calls for a celebration. The foolish king is gone, and the true power behind the throne has risen in his place!”

While the Scarabia students follow his orders, you see Azul next to Jamil with that red glow in his eyes.

“Wait a minute, those eyes...”

“Hey, (Y/N). You put it together too, right?” Grim tells you in a whisper. “Looks like Azul ain't fakin' it like he did during winter break. He's really under Jamil's control.”

Most of the dorm's students, who were all actually the darkness in disguise, were gathered in the lounge. You were decidedly outnumbered. Idia says that the best thing would be to get into a more advantageous position and make a surprise attack, so you will quietly make your way behind the students and then launch a coordinated strike on cue. Silver says that Idia should give the signal and the others would carry out the attack.

“Ahh, I feel on top of the world. So this is freedom! How sweet it is.” Jamil keeps chattering. “The biggest thorn in my side, Kalim, is gone. Azul has fallen into my hands.” he looks to his right side to see Azul standing right there. “And (Y/N)...” He looks to his left side, but finds no one. “...is trying to escape again? *sigh* Bring them back to me!” he orders the Scarabia students.

Silver pulls you behind a pillar and you all hide.

“Mrah! What do we do now?!”

“Hand (Y/N) over.” Idia says to everyone's surprise.

“What?! Have you gone insane as well?” Sebek protests as quietly as he can. “What about the surprise attack?”

“Listen, if Jamil really likes (Y/N) he won't hurt them.” Idia explains. “And (Y/N) can help distract him and provide a more effective surprise attack.”

Sebek, Silver and Grim are reticent, but you are the one who takes the initiative and gives yourself to the Scarabia students while the others remain hidden. Two students hold you by the arms and take you to Jamil. And to your surprise, as soon as they let go of you the darkness forms shackles around both of your wrists.

“It pains me to see you reduce to this, (Y/N).” Jamil tells you and pulls you by the chains of the shackles to bring you closer to him. “But you insist on resisting me. Oh, and those clothes... Let's give you more suitable ones, shall we?” He uses his magic pen to turn your NRC uniform into a Scarabia Dorm uniform. He laughs with satisfaction. “A beautiful desert bloom such as yourself should be on the arm of the most powerful housewarden in Night Raven College. What do you say, my dear? Why refuse to be my new Vice Housewarden, and partner?”

“To be honest... I also have a crush on you, Jamil.” you admit and he smiles, too pleased. “But not this version of you. The real you. Or rather, the best version of you, that I know exists behind this senior psychopath.”

“The... real... Hrk!” his head hurts and the world distorts a little, but Jamil pushes you, making you stumble and fall to the ground.

“I'll teach you some respect... but until then...” he orders that the Scarabia students grab you by each arm and lift you up. “Let's just calm that rebelliousness of yours for a while.”

As the students hold you by the arms, he holds your chin to make you look at him. You knew what he wanted to do to you and struggled to keep him from using Snake Wisper on you. You are saved by Kalim, who attacked Jamil before the signal with a solid blow.

“Wh... Kalim?! What are you doing here?!”

Silver and Sebek attack the students who were holding you and free you from the shackles by breaking them.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” Silver asks you, holding you in his arms in case you need a little comfort.

“Huh? I don't understand...” Sebek says. “The students aren't attacking us...”

“YOU BIG DUMMY!” You hear Kalim say.

“D... Dummy?!” Jamil responds in disbelief.

“The biggest one there is!” Kalim punches him again. “How can you treat (Y/N) like that?! I may not have realized you liked them, but I know you would never do these things to them. You don't want to force them to like you. You want them to like you for who you are. That's why you started getting nervous whenever we met with (Y/N), right?

“Nervous? ... Hrk!”

The dream world begins to distort as he remembers the first time he felt good around you and then begins to worry if you secretly hated him for what he did to you and Grim on Winter break.

“You don't want to use them, you don't want to deceive them.” Kalim continues. “And the same applies to competing with others. What you wanted wasn't a prize earned through dirty trickery! And you know it! Wake up right this instant, Jamil!”

“What I wanted? ...Hrk!”

The world distorts again with another memory: Jamil telling Kalim to shut up! Telling him not to give him orders! That he was through following other's orders! That he was going to BE FREE!

“Argh, you keep trying to tell me my business...” Jamil says, annoyed. “What would someone as oblivious as you even know about me?!” he punches Kalim.

And the two of them begin to fight while insulting each other. Until the insults are reduced to one adjective at a time between punches. Cynic, Imbecile, Jerk, Airhead, Blockhead...

“Such childish bickering...” Sebek comments. “The other students and Azul are all pawns made from darkness, but they're just standing there staring.”

He suggests that you aid Kalim, but Silver stops him.

“Let them get it all out of their systems.” Silver says. “Sometimes a fist fueled by emotion is more effective than any words. ...It definitely was for me.” He gives a small smile.

After some time of fighting, Kalim starts laughing.

“Huh? What could you possibly have to laugh about right now?” Jamil questions.

“Y'know, Jamil... I think this is the first time in our 17 years together that we've ever fought like this!”

“What?! Well, obviously! If I beat you up in reality, it would spell disaster for... Ah?!” The world distorts again. “Gaaah! Augh! It hurts... My head! In reality...? Why did I say that? Rgh, augh...!”

“That's right. This is all just a dream! Please, Jamil, remember! Remember the real you!”

“Right... That day... What I did to you... What I did to... Ah, aaagh...” Jamil remembers what happened on winter break, the dream shatters and he wakes up. “Heh. Haha... Ahahaha... That's right. I failed to oust you that day.”

Kalim celebrates that you all managed to wake up Jamil, but after a little chit-chat the ground starts to shake and fissures began opening all over the place. The dream was starting to break down because Kalim wasn't supposed to exist in it.

Idia warns everyone to get out of the dream as quickly as possible, but then the floor started giving out beneath Kalim. Jamil dove in to save him and the darkness began to dragging him in. Kalim grabbed Jamil to try to get him out of there, but Jamil told him to leave him and punched him when Kalim refused to do so. If you had also tried to help Jamil, he would have just push you too. And Jamil was swallowed by darkness.

When you returned to the dream after the Shroud brothers informed you that it was safe, you landed in Jahar Sahir College. And when you see Jamil he is wearing his Scarabia uniform. Kalim ran to hug him but Jamil dodged successfully.

You and Silver say you're glad he made it back, and Jamil says that he owe all of you a great deal before asking if someone could please fill him in on what was going on.

After the Shrouds show him the explanatory video he says he gets the general gist, and admits that he wasn't entirely sure the rest of you weren't more illusions he subconsciously conjured up, but he never would have thought of the cheat tools idea that Idia came up with. And continued talking about the possibility that it was part of Malleus' spell but it didn't make sense to bring it up to him at all, if that were the case.

“So it's probably safe to accept that all of you aren't illusions created by me or Malleus.” Jamil finally concludes.

“Dude, you were questioning our whole premise...” Idia comments.

“Why wouldn't I, after having my mind, my memories, and my whole world rewritten? But... if you're all real that means...” Jamil looks at you and starts to get worried. “W-when exactly did you get here?”

“Some time before you appeared riding an elephant at the start of the parade.” Ortho answers.

“Yes, we were even part of it!” Kalim adds smilingly. “It was super fun!”

“S-s-so... those people at the parade...” Jamil stutters as the panic grows. “T-the person w-who was with m-me on top of the elephant...”

“Aaaall that until we lost you to that black goop after our fight.” Kalim adds, oblivious to the main point.

“So... that means... that (Y/N)... that whole time...”

“Jamil Viper, please breathe.” Ortho asks him. “I am detecting worrying imbalances in your aetheric structure.”

“Jamil looks like he's going to explode with embarrassment.” Idia says. “I don't even know if that's possible in a dream, but I'd rather not find out.”

You realize the best thing to do is to calm him down, he was unable to say a single word anymore. You take his hands, tell him everything is okay and ask him to breathe.

“I-I-I'm really sorry...!” He says still in panic and almost petrified. “I-I don't know why I did that... I-I didn't want to... I didn't...”

You hug him and feel how tense all the muscles in his body are.

“It's okay. I don't blame you.” You say in a whisper close to his ear. “We don't control our dreams. If you remember what happened, do you remember what I told you?”

“W-what did you tell me?”

You confess that you like him too and that you knew that wasn't the real him. Maybe you even say that you’re willing to forget all that and start over as it should be when you return to the real world.

You then feel Jamil’s muscles begin to slowly relax. Until he reciprocates your hug, is as gentle as it is strong.

“I'm sorry...” He apologizes in a whisper, probably the most sincere you have ever heard or will ever hear from him.

“Aww, GROUP HUG!” Kalim says excitedly.

“NOOO!” Everyone else grabs him and stops him from joining you.

“My goodness, Kalim!” Vil scolds him. “You really need to learn how to interpret social insights.”

When you break the hug, he still tries to look you in the eyes, but can't. You chuckle and cup his face to make him look at you.

“Ironic.” You say with a reassuring smile. “You being the one who doesn't want to look into another person's eyes.”

A small smile begins to form on his lips and he brings a hand to one of the ones you have on his face. He looks at your lips for a second and when he sees you smiling connivingly, he kisses you.

A kiss that lasts until Grim loudly clears his throat. As soon as Jamil breaks the kiss and looks at the others, remembering that they exist, he... isn't embarrassed. He smiles smugly at them, still holding you.

“Hey, last time I checked, it was still my dream.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst fluff #Twisted Wonderland Fluff #Jamil Viper #Jamil Viper x Reader #Dating in a Dream #jamil x reader

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maskedbyghost · 2 months ago

Note

ok possessive reader au x breeding kink…but instead of simon being obsessed with claiming you like that its reader

cw: breeding kink, possessive!reader, lots of dirty talk, dominant reader..

You barely made it through the door before you were on him. Simon had just locked it behind you when you turned around, grabbed his face in both hands, and kissed him like you’d been starving all night. And maybe you had.

Because the entire evening had been one long test of your patience—girls giving him looks, eyes dragging over him like he wasn’t standing next to you with your hand already on his thigh.

And the worst part? He didn’t even notice. He just smiled that shy smile of his, the one that made your insides twist, and kept talking to your group of friends like the other girls didn’t want to eat him alive.

You hated it. You hated how good he looked when he wasn’t even trying. You hated how polite he was, because it only made them want him more. But more than anything, you hated that you couldn’t blame them.

“You have no fucking idea,” you murmured between kisses, your voice breathless, “how bad I wanted to drag you out of there the second that girl started eye-fucking you across the damn table.”

Simon blinked, already flushed, his hands gripping your waist as you pressed him back toward the couch. “Didn’t notice anyone,” he said, almost apologetically, and you believed him—he never did. He was so unaware of his own effect, so painfully oblivious to how good he looked in that black button-down, sleeves rolled up, his tattoos peeking out..

“I know,” you said, pushing him down to sit. “That’s what makes it worse.”

He let you guide him without a fight, wide-eyed and already a little breathless, watching you like you were something wild. You were—especially now, especially after seeing too many women look at what was yours like they had a chance.

You climbed into his lap, straddling him, and he sucked in a sharp breath the moment you settled against the bulge in his jeans. His hands found your hips, his grip firm like he needed to ground himself.

“My pretty boy, all mine,” you whispered, leaning in close, and dragging your lips down the side of his neck. “All of you. Every inch. You know that, right?”

Simon groaned, his eyes fluttering shut. “Of course I’m yours, love. Always.”

“Damn right,” you growled, grinding down on him just enough to make him hiss. “And I’m gonna remind you. I’m not stopping ‘til you cum in me.”

His hands tightened on your hips, his whole body tensing under you, but he didn’t say a word. He just looked up at you like he was already unraveling and you hadn’t even gotten his jeans off yet.

“Gonna ride you, baby,” you murmured, rolling your hips slow, teasing, watching his eyes glaze over. “Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna take every drop from you.”

Simon cursed under his breath, eyes locked on yours, his jaw clenched like he was already trying not to lose it too fast. You could feel him twitching under you, hard and throbbing through the denim, and it made you grin.

“Not gonna stop,” you whispered, dragging your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him moan. “Not until you fill me up. You want that, don’t you? Want me to keep you deep inside me ‘til I’m dripping with you?”

His breath stuttered, and he nodded, fucking helpless already. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that.”

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “Then be a good boy and let me have you.”

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else—you were already undoing his jeans, already dragging the zipper down slowly just to feel the way he squirmed beneath you.

Simon was panting, flushed deep red from his neck to his ears, his hips twitching up into your hands like he couldn’t help himself. He was so sensitive like this, so reactive when you took control, and you could tell he was trying so fucking hard to keep it together for you.

But you didn’t want him to keep it together.

You wanted to break him.

“God, look at you,” you breathed, wrapping your fingers around him as you pulled him free, already hard, already leaking. “So fucking hard for me and I haven’t even taken my panties off yet. Is this what does it for you, baby? Me taking what’s mine?”

Simon groaned and you felt his cock throb in your hand like it agreed with everything you were saying. He looked up at you with that wrecked expression you loved, lips parted, brows drawn tight like he was already overwhelmed, and you hadn’t even started riding him yet.

“Love…” he whispered, barely holding back. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

You just smirked, shifting your hips as you pushed your panties to the side and lined yourself up. “Nah,” you said, voice low and smug, “I’m just gonna ruin you.”

And then you sank down onto him, slowly, watching the way his whole body trembled underneath you as you took every inch.

“Oh my—fuck,” Simon gasped, eyes rolling back, hands grabbing at your hips like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “You—shit—you feel so good, baby, fuck—”

You moaned at the stretch, at the way he filled you so deep, like your body was made just for him. And it was. No one else had ever fit like this. No one else had ever made you feel so full, so fucking wanted, and you weren’t shy about letting him know.

“You like that?” you whispered, rocking your hips, already starting to move. “You like when I take you like this? Make you mine all over again?”

He nodded, nearly speechless, his mouth hanging open as you rode him slow at first, grinding your hips with purpose, dragging every movement out just to make him feel it. You leaned in close, your lips brushing his, and you said it again.

“Mine.”

He whimpered. Actually whimpered. And that was all the encouragement you needed.

You sped up, fucking down onto him harder, your nails digging into his shoulders as the sound of skin slapping filled the room, filthy and loud and perfect.

“Gonna cum in me,” you said, and it wasn’t a question. “You’re gonna fucking cum inside me, baby. I’m not getting off this cock ‘til I feel you fill me up.”

Simon was gone—eyes half-lidded, breath ragged, moaning your name like a prayer.

“Say it,” you demanded, slamming your hips down hard enough to make the couch creak. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” he choked out, voice wrecked. “You, baby—fuck, I’m yours—yours—”

“Damn right you are,” you growled, bouncing on him faster now, the pressure building with every movement. “Every inch of you. Every drop. Mine.”

His hands flew to your waist, desperate now, holding you tight as he bucked up into you, chasing that high.

“Cum in me,” you whispered, right against his lips. “Do it, Simon. Fill me up. I want to feel it dripping out of me, want to know it’s yours, want to keep you in me all fucking night.”

He broke with a cry—loud and raw, his whole body tensing as he spilled deep inside you, hips jerking up uncontrollably as he held you down against him. The moment you felt him give in, so helplessly yours, it dragged you right over the edge too.

You came with a strangled moan, nails digging into his shoulders, clenching around him so hard it made him curse under his breath, gasping your name and holding onto you like he never wanted to let go.

And even when it was over, when you finally stilled and let him catch his breath, you leaned in and whispered against his flushed, damp skin— “No one else gets to have this, Simon—not your moans, not your cock, not your fucking cum. Only me. Always me.”

----------------------------------------

i love these two so muchh

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @bunnyxiis

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you

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chrissssssmut · 28 days ago

Note

Karina winter yeji yuna school smut?

AFTER SCHOOL

Karina, Winter, Yeji and Yuna x Male Reader

I should’ve known something was off the moment Ms. Shin smiled at me during homeroom. That too-sweet kind of smile teachers use when they’re about to ruin your afternoon.

"You’ve been falling behind," she said, tapping her red pen against a stack of missed assignments. "So I’m assigning you to a group for academic support."

My stomach sank.

She continued, writing names at the top of my worksheet with smooth, deliberate strokes.

"Karina. Winter. Yeji. And Yuna. They'll… keep you on task."

I blinked. Thought she was joking. But when I looked over to the corner of the room, all four of them were staring at me—smiling.

Not the friendly kind of smile, either.

Fast forward to now. The final bell has rung. The classroom is empty. Door locked. Blinds down. Lights dim.

And I’m sitting at a desk, laptop in front of me, surrounded by four girls who look like they’re about to pounce.

Karina stands behind me with her arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. Winter leans against the chalkboard like she owns the place. Yeji is seated right on my desk, legs swinging lazily, skirt hiked a little too high. Yuna is in the corner by the windows, playing with the buttons of her blouse.

Winter speaks first. Her voice is soft, cool. Dangerous.

"You're gonna open that laptop," she says, slowly walking toward me. "You're gonna finish everything on that worksheet. And you're not leaving until it’s done."

I open my mouth to protest, but she smiles.

"Unless," she adds, "you need a different kind of motivation."

My throat dries. “Motivation?”

Karina leans down behind me. I feel her breath on my ear before I even hear her voice.

“We’re very… persuasive,” she whispers, fingers brushing my shoulders. “But you have to follow instructions. Exactly. No excuses.”

“Okay,” I mutter, voice shaky. “I’ll work.”

Yeji chuckles and crosses one leg over the other, leaning in until her face is inches from mine.

“You’re gonna be such a good boy, aren’t you?”

Her fingers hook around the loose knot of my school tie. She yanks it gently, pulling me forward until my nose nearly brushes the lace trim of her underwear.

“We’ll make it worth your while,” she says, lips curling into a wicked smirk.

Across the room, Yuna lets out a breathy laugh. Her blouse is halfway unbuttoned now, bare skin peeking through.

“I hope you weren’t planning on leaving early,” she says, tossing her bra onto my open notebook like it’s just another school supply. “Because we’re not stopping until we break you.”

My heart is thundering in my chest. I open the laptop with trembling hands.

Winter moves behind me, sliding her fingers up under my uniform shirt. Her nails rake gently over my ribs, sending a full-body shiver up my spine.

Karina kneels beside my chair, her hands already at my belt.

She looks up at me with calm, unreadable eyes. “Let us take care of the distractions,” she murmurs. “You just type.”

My pants slide down. My boxers go next.

I barely get to the first question on the worksheet before Yeji grabs my jaw and turns my face toward her inner thigh.

“Finish the first page,” she purrs. “You get a taste.”

Karina’s lips wrap around me under the desk. I almost fall off the chair.

She takes her time, tongue working in slow, torturous swirls, lips soft but firm. My hands twitch on the keyboard.

“Don’t stop typing,” Yuna says, hopping up to sit on the desk beside me. She grabs my wrist and pulls it under her skirt. “But keep these fingers busy too, yeah?”

She moans softly as my fingers slip into her, wet and tight and so very ready.

Winter presses her chest against my back, her breath hot on my neck. “I’m going to ride you soon,” she whispers. “But if you cum before we say so…”

She drags her tongue over the shell of my ear.

“…we’ll start everything over from the beginning.”

Karina moans around my cock, her head bobbing rhythmically. Every time I twitch, she just sucks harder, like she’s daring me to lose control. Like she wants to see me beg.

“Focus,” Yeji says, eyes flicking down to my screen. “Get to question five.”

I’m drenched in sweat. Muscles tense. My brain is short-circuiting from sensation overload. I don’t even remember what I’m typing.

Winter slides onto my lap, lifting her skirt. No panties.

She sinks down onto me in one smooth motion.

I bite down a scream.

“You like that?” she whispers, hips grinding slow and deep. “You’re doing so well… but we’re not even halfway done.”

Yuna leans forward, tongue trailing a wet stripe up my chest, giggling as she sucks one of my nipples between her lips. Her hand stays between her legs, grinding against my fingers like a girl possessed.

Yeji’s rocking against my thigh now, one hand tangled in my hair, the other squeezing her own breast beneath her uniform. She watches me like a predator, drinking in every twitch, every gasp, every helpless moan I make.

Karina’s still beside the chair, stroking me every time Winter lifts herself up. Her hand moves in sync with Winter’s rhythm. Precise. Lethal.

“You’re going to cum soon,” Karina whispers. “Aren’t you?”

I nod, frantically, stupidly. I can’t hold on.

“No,” Yeji snaps, grabbing my face. “You wait.”

Winter tightens around me, grinding harder, her eyes fluttering shut. “Almost there,” she groans. “Don’t you dare cum until the worksheet’s done.”

I’m dying.

Everything burns. Everything pulses.

Karina strokes harder. Yuna moans louder. Winter rides faster.

Then Karina leans in, lips brushing my ear.

“Last question,” she says, voice honey-sweet. “If you get it right…”

Winter kisses me, full and messy and possessive.

“…we’ll let you cum.”

I slam the final key.

Everything explodes.

Winter cries out, clenching tight. Yuna throws her head back, riding my fingers until her thighs shake. Yeji bites her lip, watching me with wild, hungry eyes as I finally let go.

I cum hard, body wracked with pleasure, every nerve on fire.

Karina strokes me through it, slow and loving, like she wants to milk every drop.

The classroom is filled with panting. Moans. The quiet hum of my laptop.

I’m ruined.

Shirt half-off. Tie gone. Skin marked with lipstick and scratches. My legs are jelly. Brain fried.

Yuna giggles, hopping off the desk and adjusting her skirt.

“You passed,” she says.

“Barely,” Yeji adds, licking her lips.

Winter pulls away from my lap and kisses my jaw, her eyes dark and gleaming. “Don’t fall behind again.”

Karina tucks my shirt back in gently, then kisses my forehead like I’m some kind of good boy she’s proud of.

“Or next time,” she murmurs, lips brushing mine, “we won’t be so gentle.”

The Next Day

I didn’t even argue this time when Ms. Shin told me I’d be finishing today’s work in the library.

She gave me the same knowing smile, the one that sent a shiver down my spine yesterday, and handed me a thick packet of revision problems.

“Quiet place. No distractions,” she said.

Right.

By now, I knew better than to think I’d be studying alone.

And sure enough, not ten minutes into flipping through the pages in one of the back rows—hidden between the history section and some dusty old encyclopedias—I heard soft footsteps. The rustle of skirts. Giggling.

I didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.

“You really thought you’d get away from us?” Yeji’s voice came first, teasing and low. “That’s cute.”

I looked up just as the four of them stepped into view, uniforms still perfect, but expressions anything but innocent.

Winter shut the book in my hands with a little snap. “Did you miss us?”

Karina knelt beside me again, just like yesterday, but this time she didn’t say anything. Just stared at me with that serene, unreadable gaze, her hand already sliding up my thigh like it belonged there.

Yuna leaned against the bookshelf behind me, stretching her arms over her head like she didn’t care who saw. "Ms. Shin says you need to improve your focus,” she said, licking her lips. “So we’re here to help.”

I glanced around the library. There were a few other students up front, maybe two tables away. The librarian’s desk was clear.

This was insane.

But the heat in my gut didn’t care.

“Guys,” I whispered. “We’ll get caught—”

“We know,” Karina murmured, fingers teasing the waistband of my pants. “That’s what makes it fun.”

Yeji leaned down and dragged her nails down my arm. “You’re already hard. Don’t pretend you’re innocent.”

Winter smirked and pulled a chair across from me, spinning it so she straddled it backward, arms resting on the top. “Here’s the deal,” she said. “You solve five problems. For each correct answer, you get a reward.”

“And if you get one wrong…” Yuna grinned wickedly, fingers playing with the edge of her skirt, “We punish you. Quietly.”

Karina’s hand slipped into my pants, and I choked on my own breath.

I tried. I tried to focus.

The first question was something about historical treaties. I scribbled an answer, hands shaking.

Karina stroked me slowly, watching my every reaction like she was cataloguing them.

Winter got up and circled around to my side. She bent down, her lips brushing my ear.

“Correct,” she whispered. “So you get this—”

Her tongue flicked against my earlobe. Then her hand dipped between my legs, joining Karina’s, making me twitch violently in my seat.

I gritted my teeth, eyes squeezing shut.

"Focus," Yeji sang from behind her hand, pretending to read a book. "You're making faces. They’ll notice.”

I forced myself to the second problem. It was barely legible now.

Behind me, Yuna crouched and slid her hand under the back of my shirt, her nails scratching lightly down my spine.

“Wrong,” she whispered. “You mixed up the year.”

She reached around and grabbed me harshly, jerking me once, twice—just enough to make me see stars—then letting go.

“Bad boys don’t get to cum,” she hissed.

“Third question,” Karina said calmly. “If you get it right, maybe we’ll let you taste one of us.”

I nodded frantically and filled in the blank. Something about revolutions.

Winter peeked over my shoulder and smirked. “Close enough.”

Yeji pulled her chair closer and lifted one leg onto the table.

“No hands,” she whispered. “Just your mouth.”

I looked around—no one close.

Heart hammering, I leaned forward.

Yeji shivered when my tongue found her, legs trembling as she bit her fist to keep from moaning.

“You’re good at this,” she gasped. “Fuck—don’t stop—”

Karina gripped my chin and pulled me back.

“Fourth problem,” she said coolly. “Let’s see if your brain still works with your mouth busy.”

I barely read it. My hands were shaking. I circled an answer and prayed.

Winter checked it.

Then bent down, lifted her skirt, and sat on my lap, no underwear again.

“I’ll allow it,” she breathed, sinking down onto me.

I choked back a moan as her warmth enveloped me, and she immediately began grinding, slow and cruel and tight.

“Don’t. Make. A. Sound,” she hissed.

The table shifted slightly. Books wobbled.

Karina looked toward the front of the library.

“Shit,” she whispered. “Librarian’s coming.”

Yuna moved quickly, yanking a nearby blanket someone had left draped on the study chair and tossing it over my lap. Winter stayed perfectly still, biting her lip hard.

Yeji opened a book and leaned forward, pretending to read with exaggerated focus.

Karina sat back against the shelves, legs crossed, innocent as a nun.

The librarian’s heels clicked closer.

“Everything alright back here?” she asked.

I froze.

Winter didn’t. Her walls clenched.

“Just helping him study,” Karina said smoothly. “He’s working hard.”

The librarian hummed. “Good. Keep it down.”

As soon as she turned and walked off, Winter exhaled hard against my neck and began to ride me again, slower now, deliberately cruel.

“You’re not cumming until the last question’s done,” she whispered. “And we’re all satisfied.”

Yuna climbed onto the table and straddled my chest, pulling my face to her dripping heat. “Make up for question two,” she said.

Yeji stroked herself as she watched me tongue Yuna open, her moans muffled against her arm. Karina leaned down and whispered filth into my ear, her hands tugging and teasing me every time Winter lifted herself up.

“I’m close,” Winter gasped. “Hold on—don’t cum—”

“I’m—shit—I’m gonna—” I couldn’t hold it.

Karina’s nails dug into my thigh.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

Then everything blurred—Yuna came with a high, desperate whimper, Yeji followed moments after with a strangled moan, and Winter finally gasped my name as she pulsed around me, trembling.

Only then did Karina pull my face to hers and kiss me like she owned me.

“You did better today,” she said, stroking me slowly. “We’re proud.”

Winter slid off, carefully pulling the blanket back over my lap.

I was soaked. Spent. Fucked half-senseless.

Karina whispered, “You can finish now,” and stroked me just right.

I came so hard I almost saw white.

We cleaned up quietly—well, they did. I could barely move.

Karina kissed my temple.

Yeji fixed my tie.

Yuna tucked the worksheet into my bag.

Winter licked her fingers clean and winked. “Same time tomorrow?”

I nodded, dazed.

“Good,” Karina said softly. “Because next time…”

She leaned in, lips brushing mine.

“…we’re not letting you leave at all.”

It had been one day since the library.

One day since Karina whispered filth in my ear while riding me behind a bookshelf. One day since Winter, Yeji, and Yuna took turns teasing me to the edge with eyes locked on the door, waiting to see if someone—anyone—would walk in and catch us.

No one did.

But someone noticed.

“Come see me after class,” Ms. Shin said, sliding a post-it on my desk as she walked by.

No explanation. No expression. Just the quiet weight of her words and the way her eyes lingered on me… like she was studying a lie.

Karina leaned over from behind me. “She called you?”

I nodded.

“She knows,” Yeji said from the next desk, not even bothering to whisper.

“She suspects,” Winter corrected, looking too calm. “There’s a difference.”

Yuna, chewing on the tip of her pen, smiled lazily. “So what? She can’t prove anything.”

Karina’s fingers trailed up the back of my neck. “She doesn’t have to prove it. She just has to separate us.”

The idea made my stomach twist.

After the bell, I made my way to Ms. Shin’s office, heart pounding like a drumline. Her door was cracked open.

“Close it,” she said without turning around.

I obeyed.

She didn’t look at me at first. Just tapped her pen against a sheet of paper.

“I’ve taught here for eight years,” she said finally. “And I’ve never had a group as... close-knit as yours.”

I stayed silent.

“The four of them cling to you like satellites. Always orbiting. Always watching. And you… you’ve changed.”

“I—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she said sharply, cutting me off. “You’re distracted. Your posture, your eyes. You flinch when someone touches your shoulder. And your test scores are slipping.”

I clenched my fists.

“If something’s happening between you and those girls—something inappropriate—you need to tell me now.”

She turned toward me, eyes sharp and concerned.

“I can help you. I can reassign you. I can call your parents if you're too scared to say anything.”

“I’m not scared,” I said, too quickly.

“So there is something,” she murmured.

Shit.

I backpedaled fast. “No. I just meant—I don’t need help. There’s nothing going on.”

Ms. Shin leaned back slowly, searching my face.

“You’re a smart boy,” she said. “But you’re not a good liar.”

The room felt like it was shrinking.

“If I find out they’ve coerced you—”

“They didn’t,” I snapped.

That caught her off guard.

“They didn’t coerce me. It’s not… like that.”

“So what is it, then?” she asked.

I couldn’t answer. Because the truth was messier than anything she was imagining.

Karina walking into my room without knocking. Winter crawling into my lap with a hungry look. Yeji pinning me to a wall during break. Yuna whispering threats into my ear with a smile on her lips and her hand down my pants.

It wasn’t coercion.

It was obsession.

And it was mutual.

“I just want to focus on school,” I said, the lie catching in my throat. “That’s all.”

Ms. Shin looked unconvinced.

“You’ll work with me from now on,” she said. “No more group projects. No more ‘study sessions.’ You stay after school, here, under my supervision.”

“I—”

“That’s final.”

I left the office feeling like I’d been sentenced.

They were waiting.

Outside the classroom. All four of them.

Karina leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face unreadable.

Winter looked like she already knew what happened.

Yeji tilted her head. “How bad?”

“She’s pulling me from the group,” I muttered.

Yuna blinked. “She what?”

“She wants me working under her from now on.”

Karina stepped forward. “She’s trying to isolate you.”

Winter grabbed my hand. “That’s not going to happen.”

Yeji glanced down the hallway. “Where is she now?”

“She’s still in her office,” I said. “Planning whatever ‘private sessions’ she has in mind.”

Yuna smiled, slow and feral. “So we beat her to it.”

“What?”

Karina took my wrist, firm and final. “Storage room. Now.”

The door clicked shut behind us.

No light. Just shadows and breath.

Winter pinned me against the shelf first. “She wants to protect you?”

Yeji’s hands slid under my shirt. “She wants to own you.”

Karina was unbuttoning my pants already. “But she’s too late.”

Yuna pulled her skirt up. “We claimed you first.”

The girls didn’t take turns this time. They swarmed.

Hands everywhere—Karina’s mouth on my neck, Winter’s fingers around my length, Yeji licking up my chest, Yuna grinding on my thigh.

I tried to speak. Couldn’t.

“You don’t want her,” Winter whispered against my ear. “You want this.”

“You want us,” Karina hissed, sinking down onto me before I could even gasp. “Say it.”

“I want you,” I groaned, biting my lip to muffle it.

Karina rode me hard, fast, one hand clamped over my mouth while Yeji held my hips still. Winter and Yuna knelt below, licking and moaning, their tongues trailing over everything Karina left exposed.

“I’ll go to her office,” Yuna whispered between licks. “I’ll tell her to back off.”

Karina moaned. “If she doesn’t... we’ll make her.”

The climax hit hard and fast, Karina milking me dry while the other girls moaned, whispering about how they’d keep me hidden forever if they had to.

Afterward, they dressed me, button by button, fixing my tie like nothing had happened.

“She’s watching,” Karina said. “We know.”

Winter cupped my cheek. “She’ll try to separate us.”

Yuna kissed me softly. “Let her try.”

Yeji leaned close, voice like velvet. “If she takes you… we’ll take you back.”

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christina-tiara · 6 months ago

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Christina Tiara’s Sissy Favorites!

As you know, I’m a pretty big sissy 💕 so this year I wanted to show you my sissy favorites in hopes you find something new you like!

First up is some of my favorite sissy captions on Tumblr! In no order!

1. @sissymissyxo - Missy’s blog makes me want to fag out with every caption 🫦

2. @celebritytgcaptions Love the longer captioned stories and I’ve submitted to Sissy Confessions multiple times! 🥰

3. @workdatbussy When I’m riding my dildo these are the captions I read! 🥵

4. @megatremendouslysissycollection Has the best gif choice and some of the gayest caps on here! 😋

5. Last but not least all my sissy sisters in @queendestiny6912 Harem. @sissyloren @bambimandi @incognitoelizabeth @goodwitchkylie @andrearose96 @karlie-xox @xxsissycaitlynxx @cutieecassie

I enjoy other Sissy Media too! Here are my 5 favorite Sissy Comics I’ve read! Just keep in mind, my preferences revolve around feminization, degradation and really anything sissy! You can find these on paid sites like Lustomic, but if you google any of these + the word Forum, then you can probably find them for free.

1. Slutistas 1-4 - all four installments are pretty similar. 3 guys are force feminized over night and trained to be sex slaves. 2 are usually traditional hot girls, while the other member of the group has a more extreme feminization. The third transformation can be hit or miss but the other 2 are always great!

2. Sissy Show by Nite Q - Nite Q has a bunch of great comics, with less extreme feminization as something like Slutistas. They definitely nail down the sissy fetish though. ‘Sissy Show’ is the culmination of a bunch of stories and brings the sissies to compete for the title of “Miss Sissy”. I would kill to be in this competition!

3. Kitty Kat Lounge Part 1 & 2 - In part 1 a man is transformed into Brandi the newest Kitten working at the club! In part 2 her friend gets a similar treatment! Working at a club like this is definitely a huge fantasy of mine and this is a great way to experience it second hand!

4. Sissy Porn Star by Victor Serra - Currently this has 3 parts all super hot. Essentially a guy is forced to be a sissy porn star to help him and his wife pay the bills. Really hot art and every sissy wants to be Lollipop! Also would recommend Victor’s Dear Gabby series!

5. Queens by Bea - Bea has made some of my favorite comics from Franny to Sweet Dreams Sissy. Always a big focus on the feminization process which I love! Queens is fun because it shows two sissies, one being feminized by a sweet caring mistress, while the other is feminized by a sadistic mistress! Really hot read with 3 parts as well!

I could talk about comics for hours! But let me know what you recommend!

Next I’d love to talk about my favorite sissy stories or smut! I find most of it on Literotica but open to reading elsewhere!

1. Masculinity Lost by Cdslavejessie - Follows a college guy who is force feminized by his ex gf. Story moves fast and has 36 chapters. Currently ongoing but is very promising! You’ll love it if you like sissy stories focused not only on sex, but on emasculating the sissy!

2. Jack and Jill by Emory Ahlberg - Jack is kidnapped and brought to a secret island to be feminized. Really in depth on the feminization aspect and you really care for the characters. It’s ongoing and has 9 phases with like 15 chapters each. Personally a bigger fan of Nikki in the spin-off Half Sisters but you have to read this first! Technically could be a comic since it has art, but it’s long enough to call a story! Also isn’t on Literotica but Emory has a Patreon (that I sub to) or there’s forums who are a few Chapters behind.

3. College Chronicles by Smutwriter238 - this follows a college freshmen Sam who is transformed into Sami. Really hot sex scenes with one of the hottest guys I’ve ready about in these stories. This hits my feminization kink along with my degradation kink. 20 good length chapters so far!

4. Neighbourhood Terror to Sissy by Fibaro - essentially a guy gets transformed into a sissy by his neighbor. The way he goes about feminizing him is so methodical, it really gives me Trapped and Trained vibes, which is a sissy classic!

5. Big U Cheer Sissies - This is a selfish pick because I can’t find it anywhere anymore, but it was the best sissy story I’ve ever read. A group of freshmen get transformed into cheer sissies and are fucked and feminized beyond belief. If anyone has this story let me know, I miss reading it 😢

Now for the spiciest section! My favorite sissy porn videos! Again if you search the titles you’ll find them! If I link stuff Tumblr will take me down 😅

1. Ella Hollywood Gangbang Sissy - it’s on Spankbank. Ella fucks a ton of guys but what I love is their outfit and how she has condoms full of cum tied to it!

2. Sissy Crossdresser Mariah Love Gets Fucked Raw Uncut - Super hot video! She sucks his bbc so well. I’d give anything to switch places with her!

3. Obedient TS Maid Does What She is Told - Lily Demure is a submissive sissy maid who sucks on command and takes one of the hottest fuckings I’ve seen.

4. Ella Hollywood and Natalie Mars Feminized - love the dynamic of the new sissy being brought home by the mistresses and Natalie wants to proves she’s still the bigger slut.

5. Hailey Doll gets both her holes ruined by BBC - Hailey is supported by her mistress as she sucks and fucks and amazing BBC in the cutest pink outfit!

If you’ve gotten this far, thank you for reading and I hope you can find something you like!! And thank you for all 7,000 of you who follow my blog! Next year I plan on being an even bigger sissy and I hope you come along for the ride!

And if you ever wanted to put a face to the blog this is me 💞 have a great 2025 Sissies!

#feminization kink #sissi femboi #feminization caption #sissi faggot #submisive sissy #sissifyme

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lordprettyflackotara · 8 months ago

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weasley whore || fred & george weasley

‘it’s not about having someone to love me anymore. this is the experience of being a weasley whore.’

sum: fred and george are your stress reliever fuck buddies, who are always there in your time of need. you’ve only ever had your affair with each of them. how will you handle them together for the first time?

tw: smut, minors dni 18+. choking, shower foreplay.

an: got a part two and three in the chamber

Fred and George Weasley were your safety nets. Explaining how it started is difficult, really.

Attempting to explain it to anyone seemed useless, so you kept your forbidden affair with them a secret.

It started back before University, when Professor Snape had done what he always did: ridicule you before the class.

It wasn’t your fault that you sucked at potions, you tried the hardest you could. You even went to the extent of bribing Theodore Nott to tutor you. All of your attempts continued to fail, resulting in you dramatically running out of class mid session. Surprisingly no one followed you as you ran down the empty halls, tears streaming down your face.

It was there you bumped into George, who was skipping whatever course he was supposed to be attending. You had turned a corner blindly, running straight into him. Unfortunately for you he had a small cauldron full of squid ink inside of it, the black liquid staining your white uniform. This sent you into even further hysterics, your fingers trembling as you tried to wipe it off. Like the gentleman George was he offered to help you get cleaned up, sneaking you into the pristine prefects bathroom.

That was the first time you found yourself entangled with a Weasley.

Fred was next, the two of you meeting by pure mistake. You were not a fan of heights, but a group of Slytherin’s bullying you about not even being able to climb a mere tree was ultimately humiliating. It wasn’t your choice to take a dragon riding class, the University plopped you into it as one of your electives. So then came the ridiculing in the main courtyard. Determined to prove yourself you climbed the closest cherry oak tree, only to find yourself stuck once the skies above cursed you with rain.

The Slytherin’s departed quickly, not wanting to get wet. Meanwhile you were clinging onto the tree limb for dear life, eyes screwed shut to avoid looking at the ground. Thats where Fred had found you, having passed by to attempt to at least show up to his astrology class. He found you utterly adorable, your skirt riding up your thighs and arms wrapped around the tree limb. He carried himself shamelessly into the rain, staring up at you from below.

“Need some help?”

His voice was smooth like butter, causing you to nervously peer down at him. Fred managed to help you down, but not without you slipping in the mud. You had accidentally fallen on top of him, your clothed cunt hovering above his crotch.

Fred couldn’t have dragged you into the room of requirement fast enough.

That’s how things went after that. Every bad day or minor inconvenience, you found yourself running to which ever one you found first. Contrary to grade school, the infamous twins were more often separate than together. It never mattered to you who you found first, both of them eager to make you forget about your problems. You hadn’t anticipated this to become your crutch, your addiction. But it had.

Your luck had turned sour over the past week.

Failed exams, explosive potions, accidentally transforming Neville Longbottom into a mouse.

It all came to a head when you were at quidditch practice, your bright yellow uniform a nice contrast against the crimson red ones you were practicing with.

It was rare you practiced with Gryffindor, the houses oftentimes switching opponents around to keep things fresh and interesting. You recognized the Weasley twins instantly, giving them a sheepish wave as you mounted onto your broom. You were a seeker, chasing after the golden snitch like you usually did. You were silently thankful Harry didn’t bother to attend University, instead making Angelina take the spot. You both were neck and neck, your eyes glued to the little gold ball. So glued in fact you hadn’t noticed Angelina falling back, a bludger smacking you dead in the face.

In the most unflattering fashion imaginable you fell off of your broom, hitting the grass with a hard thud.

You were lucky to still be conscious, your head pounding as you forced yourself to sit up. You could hear both teams rushing down to your aid, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you made yourself stand up. You shoved past the crowd of worry players, trudging into the showers. Each team has a designated locker room with showers to clean up after a game. Most teams never used theirs unless they lost, the winning team always off to gloat and party. You hardly ever thought twice about the showers, but now you did.

Peeling off your uniform and throwing it aside carelessly, you cringed at the burning sensation the scolding hot water provided the scrape on your knee. The hot water provided some sort of contentment, your head tilting back to soak in its warmth. You leaned back against the tiled wall, swallowing as you realized you needed some sort of stress relief. You slithered your hand down to your folds, finding your clit. You bit your bottom lip as you began to swirl your fingers around the bud, trying to hold back any sinful noises threatening to slip out.

When was the last time you touched yourself like this? Allowing yourself to unwind on your own?

Even as you did so, the steam from the hot shower rising, your mind went to two gingers.

You had never thought about taking them both before, but your mouth watered at the idea as you began to draw faster circles around your clit. Low whimpers escaped your lips, the thrill of being caught only turning you on further. Your eyes were fluttered shut, your mind lost in a realm of appealing fantasies when you heard footsteps.

You could feel that your face went white, instantly trying to cover yourself.

“Oh don’t stop making those pretty noises just because we’re here,” George cooed.

Poking your head out of the shower curtain your favorite set of twins stood before you. Both of them were undressing, while staring at you like you were the crazy one. “What are you guys doing in here?” You hissed, glancing down at their crimson uniforms. Fred chuckled as he tossed aside his helmet. “What does it look like we’re doing? We’re here to make sure you’re okay,” He said, a mischievous smile crawling up his lips. They both seemed to move in unison, your heart pounding.

“What if you both get caught? It’s forbidden for you to be in here!” You whisper yelled. George had managed to finish stripping first, delivering you a cocky grin. “This wouldn’t be our worst offense little lady. Besides, mostly everyone else left,” He explained. He stepped towards you, your heart racing as you allowed him to step into the shower. You were so flustered you failed to notice Fred step in using the other side, your back colliding with his chest. “Boo,” He chuckled. Your cheeks were flushed with heat, the warm water not helping.

“I-I’m not sure I can take both of you guys,” You admitted lowly. Sheepishly you looked away, George quick to grab your chin. He guided you to look up at him, causing you to swallow. “Shh this isn’t about us. We’re here to take care of you,” He cooed. Fred snickered from behind you, placing his large hands on your hips. “Besides, we heard those pretty noises you made. We know you were thinking about us,” He purred, nibbling on your earlobe. This extracted a groan from you, your body melting under their touch.

George lowered himself onto his knees, maintaining eye contact with you as he did so. “We just wanna make you feel good. You’ll let us do that for you, right?” He asked. Fred’s hands slithered up to your breast, squeezing the flesh before his fingers found your nipples, “You know what we wanna hear baby. Go on. Beg.”

Pleas left your lips like a mantra.

“Please— please, need you both. Wanna be good!”

Your begging only made both of the boys cocks grow harder, George grinning as he nudged his way in between your thighs.

“There we go. There’s our good little witch,” Fred praised, twisting your nipples harshly. You hissed in response as George’s warm tongue licked a stripe up your folds. Your hand instinctively flew to his hair, tangling itself in his roots. “Awe is someone desperate? Thats adorable,” Fred taunted. He snuck one of his hands up to your throat, squeezing the sides as George began to lap at your folds. George adored giving you head, rambling on and on about how divine you tasted. This was evident as he gripped your thighs. His lips sucked at your clit, your juices costing his chin. Fred nibbled at your earlobe, noting the way your body began to grind against George’s face.

“You like that? You like the way George devours that pretty pussy of yours?” Fred asked, brushing your hair to the side to gain access of your neck. You gasped as he attached his lips to your sweet spot, sucking harshly at the skin. “Mmm- yes! Georgie always makes me feel sooooo good,” You slurred. It was then George brought his slender fingers to your entrance, roughly shoving them inside of you. You gasped, shuddering as he curled them inside of you. “Shhh, wouldn’t want anyone to hear you would we?” Fred cooed, smirking into your skin as a bruise began to form. George could feel the way you squeezed his fingers at the idea.

“You should feel the way she’s squeezing me Freddie, I think she wants to be caught,” George commented, acting as if you weren’t even there. That only made you cling to him tighter, your gummy walls telling him everything he needed to know. “Oh is that right? You wanna be caught between us?” Fred mused. His teeth grazed your skin, causing your knees to threaten to buckle. George continued his assault on your g spot, admiring the way your hips bucked towards him. “I think she likes that, us talking about her as if she isn’t here,” George concluded. He then reattached his mouth to your clit, his tongue swirling around the bud.

“Awe is that so? You wanna be our little Weasley whore?” Fred gloated, snickering into your skin. You could feel his hard cock pressing against you from behind, the warm shower water trailing down your skin.

They always brought you to the edge so quickly, but together? You felt like your body was ignited and on fire, engulfed in the pleasurable flames only Fred and George could give you.

“Fuck, yes! Wanna— be your whore!”

George knew the body like the back of your hand, sensing your orgasm was coming near. Fred reattached his hand to your throat, his breath hot as he spoke into your ear.

“Go on then. Call yourself our whore and you can cum.”

His venomous tone only made your thighs tremble, your vision going white as you declared what you truly were.

“I’m cumming, shit- I’m a Weasley whore!”

#fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley #george wealsey x reader #george weasly x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley #george weasley smut #weasley twins smut #weasley twins

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lefteagleblizzard · 9 days ago

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𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔰𝔞𝔣𝔢, 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔰 Remmick x male reader

Summary: He came to your doorstep burning, hunted, half-dead and you let him in. Now you’re bleeding, fucked open and ruined by the monster who calls your name like a prayer and kills for you like it’s love.

Tags: set years before the main events of the film. Strangers to lovers. Vampire x human. Possessive Remmick. Hints of stalking. Protective Remmick. Minor characters death. Vampire x human sex. Monster fucking. Blood drinking, blood kink, blood play (Our boy needs to be kept hydrated). Rough sex. Dominant Remmick. Submissive male reader. Anal sex. Riding. Vampire stamina. Overstimulation.

Part 2

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 10000

The morning hadn’t come yet, you’d been out in the field since god knew when, still in boots damp with dew, thighs sore from the bent squat you held as you weeded patches of yellowing wheat that shouldn’t be dying, but they were nonetheless.

From the porch behind you, the barn loomed skeletal and you were reminded of the time it had creaked full of life, livestock restless in the dark, but now it held barely a pair of half-blind goats, hens too dumb to lay proper anymore and a horse so old his back dipped like a broken bow. You still fed them all and hauled their water.

Each season you turned the soil, tilled by hand, rain or no rain, with blistered palms and still the wheat came up thin, the corn patch went to rot and the beans curled yellow at the edges.

You were about to pack in for the hour, maybe sit on the porch with black coffee, when the wind stopped and soon a loud sound followed.

A dragging noise that came out of nowhere. You squinted into the tall grass that bordered the back acreage. Something was moving. Not walking, dragging.

You were already on your feet before the porch made a crack like a board snapping under pressure. Something slammed on it hard.

There was a moment where you thought maybe a coyote had gotten into the trash again but then your eyes found the trail.

A long, shallow dent carved through the dirt, like something had been pulling itself forward with little strength, all leading to a crumpled figure past the steps.

Brownish tank top clinging to a body cut with lines too harsh to be healthy, twisted over one shoulder and torn. Skin pinkish and scraped raw in places like it had been burned badly.

A groan peeled out of his throat, ugly and guttural. His hands scrambled against the wooden steps. His arms shook, muscles twitching as he tried to haul himself up before stopping. His head slumped as his gaze drifted across the tall grass, to the edges of your broken field.

You followed it and there, small at first but growing clearer, was a group on horseback. Four, maybe five riders, all slow and scanning the horizon.

They were looking for something, or someone.

A hitch in his ribs as he shifted again, another low groan forced between clenched teeth. His face turned to you, still slack with exhaustion, but his eyes were not human.

Gold, lurid and lightless. They flickered once before sliding shut, his whole body slackened as he collapsed against the porch rail.

You stepped back, one foot on the soil, sinking slightly into the trail he’d carved, one heartbeat thudding into the next as something cracked open inside your head.

The blood in your head roared, thoughts came in floods.

You should’ve called out right then, raised your voice and flagged the riders combing the fields. Or hell—the porch was soft, the wood old. One kick could snap a plank in half to plunge into the exposed part of his chest.

He wasn’t supposed to be here, just like you.

The sun had started to crawl up the slope of the field. It was touching the lower stalks now and the tall grass still sheltered most of the porch in patchy shadow, but the light was rising too fast.

A beam lanced across the steps and touched his arm first.

It immediately began to burn.

You didn’t remember deciding to move but your knees were soon on the wood and your hands pressed flat to his big biceps.

He groaned against your touch, his head lolled and fell against your shoulder. The weight made your spine bow as you pulled with everything you had.

Your lips were near the shell of his ear, voice smaller than you remembered it ever being, even when you were a child hiding behind barn doors from men.

“You can come in.”

Palms slick against the dark line of his shoulder, one hand clutched too tight around the burnt curve of his bicep while the other braced awkwardly to keep his head from rolling to the side as you began to drag him backwards through the door all the way down to the cellar.

You let him slump against the far wall, trying not to drop him too hard but unable to control the last fall. His back hit the stone with a heavy thunk and he didn’t stir.

There was a bucket placed under the leak like always, catching the rain that slipped through the warped ceiling beams and you took advantage of that to splash the water across his shoulder and over the burn, the water hissed when it hit him, steam rose fast.

You dipped a rag in what was left and wiped at the worst of where the skin had pulled back, where the blood had dried into thick crusts.

Under your hands, his chest rose in steady breaths. His pulse flickered faintly in his throat and his face remained slack. High cheekbones, brows low and tight even in sleep like he’d never relaxed a day in his life.

You leaned in close enough to see the edge of one pupil under his lashes twitch.

With shaking legs as you stood, you went back up outside the house to get some fresh air and something else for him.

The old goat, the mean one with the single bad eye, shifted in its pen and gave a low, disturbed grunt. It didn’t want to follow and you had to tug hard on the collar.

The walk back was slow as it pulled against the lead once, twice. Then reluctantly came with you.

When you opened the cellar door, the goat stepped in as you let go of the rope and closed the door immediately.

Hands braced flat to the wood, heart pounding. Still not sure what you’d done.

Three hard knocks were heard. The door didn’t rattle, no voice came through.

You moved down the hallway, the door handle felt warm when you opened it, the light struck you square in the eyes, bright after the cool of the parlor.

Those men were dressed in long oilskin coats dark with wear, silver buttons tarnished black. One had a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his brow, the edges feathered by years of weather.

Another kept one hand on the stock of a rifle strapped tight across his back.

“Morning,” the middle one said, voice even, polite the way barbed wire is.

You nodded.

“We’re tracking something dangerous,” he said. “Something we saw came through this region. Likely came down from the ridge. Might’ve crossed your back field. You see anything strange this morning?”

You crossed your arms, one hand over the other, trying not to make it look like a shield.

“Been up since four,” you said. Your voice came out calm. Steady. “Working the field. Haven’t seen a damn thing I didn’t put there myself.”

His eyes flicked down to your hand.

You hadn’t noticed it until now the dried blood on it.

His gaze didn’t change but something behind his eyes clicked.

“You alright there?” he asked, as if casual. “You get hurt?”

You let out a breath through your nose and shook your head.

“One of my animals went into labor,” you said, voice thick with irritation. “Didn’t go clean. Took half the morning. Made a hell of a mess out back. Field too.”

You let your eyes harden slightly, like a man tired of being questioned. That was the trick, you couldn’t play it soft.

“Shame,” he said, stepping back. “Hope she pulls through.”

“She won’t,” you said quickly. “Too old. Should’ve been put down last season.”

The man in the coat gave a grunt that might’ve passed for sympathy.

He turned and took one step.

Then stopped and looked back over his shoulder, head tilted and eyes narrowing slightly.

“I hope,” he said, “you didn’t let him in.”

The words fell like wet stones in your chest while you said nothing.

“There’s no saving that one,” he murmured. “That thing doesn’t just feed. He twists someone from the inside, leaves holes in the memory where people used to live. Whole families are gone because of him.”

You could have sworn you heard a creak from behind you, a soft groan of wood strained under weight.

Could it have come from the cellar stairs?

The blood in your veins ran cold and you did your best effort in offering them a tired smile, one you practiced after seeing it so often on your parents' faces.

“Well,” you said, voice pleasant. “I’d best get back to it. Still a mess to clean.”

He nodded once more and didn’t thank you this time, just turned and walked away.

You shut the door carefully, felt your palm against the wood and exhaled.

The sun was already bleeding out behind the ridge by the time you came back.

The old road back from town ran crooked between black pines and fields gone brittle with drought. You hadn’t made much from the morning’s haul, but it was enough for salt, some oil and garlic.

You’d picked it out yourself, heavy bulbs still clotted with dirt. It took you most of the late afternoon to crush it, pressing each clove into the mortar until they burst into pulp until you grounded it into powder, packed it dry into a paper pouch and shoved it deep into your pocket, ready to see if he was gone with all the time that had passed.

Maybe you expected the walls painted with what used to be the old goat and nothing else.

What you didn’t expect was to get slammed against the rough wood of the wall there. A hand clamped around your throat and claw curled into your hip as he pinned you against him.

His body was pressed close, towering over you, heat pulsing off him in waves.

He was covered in blood, soaked completely. Dried at the corners of his mouth, thick around his chin, darker still where it had run down the exposed column of his throat.

It had soaked into the fabric of his tank top, darkening it from chest to hem, clinging to every plane of muscle beneath.

His chest was bare in places, the shirt torn in places and allowing you to see a sliver of his scar already healed from the morning’s burn, new skin glowed faint and pink beneath the drying blood.

His face was sharp, high cheekbones flecked with grime and dried gore, lips parted, dark and bloodstained, the edges drawn tight with restraint and those golden and lurid eyes locked on you, but not focused exactly, because his face was pressed against your neck.

Mose dragging slowly along your skin as he inhaled deeply, the shudder of breath making your hair stand on end.

His mouth brushed your pulse and you felt his fangs resting with pressure to make it clear they could end you in a second.

He didn’t bite even though he could have. His jaw was tense, the muscles shifting under your fingers where they trembled against his chest.

The bloodlust he felt for you was immense, hence why it surprised you when his breath hit your lips and he pulled back to meet your gaze, face only inches from yours.

The fangs were out, fully exposed, long and lethal, still wet at the root and lips curled slightly in something conflicted.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” His voice was hoarse and raw, scraped low in his throat, heavy and desperate.

Your lips parted but didn’t know what to say. Nothing came, not even breath as his eyes dropped to your mouth and lingered, drawn and mesmerized.

You could feel the warmth of his breath, panting now, his chest rising faster, whole body tensed like he was fighting something.

He took one step back while his hand stayed on your throat before throwing you against the wood.

Silence flooded your ears as the breath left your body for the second time in seconds. Your vision blurred, a sick blackness curling at the corners as you hit your head.

When you woke, it was due to the whisper of curtains rustling. Soft morning gold filled the room.

You blinked, groaning, the back of your skull throbbing with a dull ache. The pain was manageable, surprisingly so, but your whole body felt stiff. Your limbs were heavy, your mouth dry and your fingers curled instinctively into the sheets around you.

You were in your bed.

Maybe it had been a dream, that one hell of a day had just been a dream all along.

Except, you saw dark and dried stains on the bed, two handprints. One to either side of where your body had laid, too large to be yours and pressed down as though someone had hovered over you and watched.

You stood weakly, stepped toward the mirror and noticed droplets of blood on your shirt and at your neck, just below the collar, dried and rust red.

Your gaze drifted to the window outside, the yard stretched long and quiet, automatically counting your old and weak companions.

One…two…three-four-fiv—

You were missing some.

Yep, definitely missing some.

He was gone completely. Maybe he’d fed, healed, moved on and silently thanked you for your hospitality, but even that lie came half-formed because something was still watching.

At first, it was your own shadow shifting wrong at dusk. You’d glance left and see movement to the right.

A shape among the trees, you’d think it was nothing.

When the sun dipped fully and the land fell into that deep amber haze, you’d look up and you’d see two dots glowing, low to the ground, far off past the fence line.

Gold, twin and sharp. Too symmetrical to be lanterns and too still to be fireflies, you’d blink and they’d be gone.

One evening, you found yourself in the barn again.

The sun was low and slow, fat rays of honey-colored light poured through the hatch, catching in the dust motes that danced weightless through the barn air. You’d climbed up out of old instinct, your boots knowing the ladder before your mind caught up. Same perch as always: back braced against the inner slats, one leg dangling over the open drop, the other curled close, elbow resting on your knee.

It was too high and never safe but it had always been yours.

A loop of frayed rope sat to your left, half-tangled through a rusted pulley. The hay down below was thin now, barely a pad against the ground if you slipped.

The wind was sweet, full of grass and old flowers, sun-warmed and still clinging to the scent of day.

“Y’don’t get any less strange, do ye now?” A voice casual and drawing.

Your breath caught and your eyes opened slowly.

He stood below you, hidden from the golden light due to the high plants, shirt wrinkled, collar open and slack, a white undershirt visible beneath the cotton where it clung slightly damp to the shape of him.

The first few buttons were undone and you saw the line of his chest, the faint ridges of muscle moving with his breath.

His curls were dark and wet, still dripping at the ends like he’d just walked through rain or worse, rinsed off something red in the stream.

He grinned too wide, lips stained faint with something that might’ve been berries hadn’t you known what he really was.

His eyes tonight were not glowing but no less inhuman.

And he held a banjo. It looked as old as the barn. The rim dulled, rimmed with brass so worn it had turned brown at the edges. The skin was taut, marked with the small nicks and divots of long, hard use. You could see faint finger-oil stains on the wood.

He strummed a lazy chord, dissonant and loose before stopping and tucking it behind his back, letting the strap slide over one shoulder.

He stepped into the barn and without warning he floated until his boots touched the edge of the loft’s beam not two feet from you, not even trying to hide his nature.

He tilted his head, watching you.

Up this close, the skin of his face was too smooth in some places, too rough in others.

“Darlin’,” he said at last and the way the word wrapped around his teeth made your chest clench.

“That day,” he murmured, accent thick like it’d been pressed in whiskey, “all that blood, y’holdin’ me like I were somethin’ worth savin’, an’ I never asked ye your name.”

He blinked, slow.

“Can’t have that, now.”

He gave a mock bow, hand splaying across his chest.

“Name’s Remmick.”

The way he said it made your stomach turn over. You swallowed, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of it and the fact that he even cared.

You quietly answered your own name and he repeated it under his breath once, like he was testing it in his mouth, weighing it on his tongue. A small exhale slipped through his teeth and he looked at you again, this time with something darker curling behind the faint gold in his eyes.

“Mm. Suits ye too well.” He took a step forward, eyes never leaving yours.

You said nothing but your jaw set tight, you couldn’t afford to let him see how your breath hitched when he called you that. Not when your spine still remembered the feel of that wall, his hand on your throat, the flash of teeth and blood.

“What are you doing here?”

He chuckled, low and amused, like your question cracked something open in him he didn’t bother hiding.

“Y’make it sound like I’ve got a plan t’ finish somethin’.” He said, boots creaking faint on the old wood as he took a step closer.

Your hand curled tighter over your knee, your nails digging into soft fabric. “Don’t you?”

He grinned wider, flashing just the tip of his fang, no threat.

“If I wanted ya dead,” he said softly, voice dropping, banjo shifting across his back, “I’d’ve ripped your throat out the second I had ye under me that night. Ye remember it, don’t ya?”

Of course you remembered it, the fear had never fully left your limbs, but it didn’t change the fact that you’d dreamed with your mouth open, lips parted for fangs that never came.

You didn’t answer with words and he noticed, eyes flickering down to your throat, then back up again.

“Been lookin’,” he said, voice low and strange. “Y’know, since that night. T’find anythin’ t’tell me who you were, what you are. Found nothin’ on your bloodline.”

Your stomach turned while your hands clenched.

His gaze softened dangerously.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, “how d’you manage t’live this long bein’ so…” His tongue clicked. “Unnoticed.”

He grinned again but this time, it wasn’t mocking, rather curios.

“My parents owed the wrong people,” you said quietly, eyes on your hands. “They never registered me. Not just because they didn’t plan on me. A kid’s a liability when your house is already balanced on rot, it gives the enemy leverage.”

Once the first sentence slipped out from your mouth, there was no stopping it.

“So they taught me to hide.” How well you’d learned. You told him about the floorboards your father marked with chalk when they squeaked, the way you memorized engine sounds like lullabies, the rules about lights and shadows.

“I worked the fields when no one was looking, learned to lie properly—”

You didn’t realize how tightly your hands were curled until the knuckles turned white.

“Last year—” Your throat closed for a second. “Last year, I was up here just like this. The sun had gone down and I was thinking about sleeping up here again. Then I heard them coming.”

You didn’t need to describe the truck or the boots.

“It all happened so fast.” You looked at him and there was again that thing you hated most.

It was like a mirror.

You saw him that day broken, slumped, oozing blood onto the porch with those hunters behind and it had hit you with recognition as you saw yourself in his shoes after hours of hiding that night.

For a second he looked so much like you.

Remmick’s jaw tightened, his now gold eyes never left you.

“I waited hours after they left to finally get inside.” Your voice had gone hollow.

“I didn’t know the whole story. Not right away. I found letters hidden in the kitchen drawers, receipts with names scratched off. That’s how I found out everything.”

You paused, fingers flexing on your thighs.

“Over the months, I visited the town to find them. The town doesn't ask questions if you got a hat brim low. You bring in things and keep your voice down and they give you what you need. That’s all.”

He had a thousand things to say, a thousand wrong things that clawed up the back of his throat and he couldn’t say a single one of them without breaking something.

You were made invisible because no one ever thought you mattered enough to remember. They tried to erase him by force, you were forgotten by design.

You could vanish tomorrow and the world wouldn’t even blink.

He hated it.

He hated the men who made you suffer. Hated the town that didn’t care. Hated the way you still looked at him like you were waiting for him to leave, too.

He wanted to bite it out of you, hold you down and remind you what it meant to be seen and wanted so completely it made your bones ache. He wanted to ruin solitude for you, make it so you couldn’t work through the day without feeling what he did to you.

Those unnatural gold eyes gleaming faint as he watched you with a strange, shifting tension.

“Who were they?” Simple words, but the way he spoke through his teeth like each syllable had to be restrained with a jaw clenched too tight, left a cold taste in your mouth.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, your fingers clenched over the beams, knuckles pale. Your voice wavered in frustration, an exhaustion so old it had hollowed out a space behind your ribs and built a shrine there.

“I don’t fuckin’ know. I’ve spent the whole year since digging for answers.”

Still not meeting his eyes, you shifted, boots scraping against the old frame, finding a foothold as you stood up tall along the crossbeam and the hayloft groaned below you.

You stood balanced between memory and impulse, arms slightly out, not steadying so much as existing and testing gravity.

“I come up here,” you said, voice tight, “every time it gets too quiet in my head.”

The wind teased your shirt, catching the edge like it wanted to help make the decision.

That was when you looked down at the ground. It was black beneath you now that the sun ran away, pure darkness.

“Some days I want to fight them,” you said, barely a whisper. “Tear the truth outta someone. Other times I’m not scared anymore of dying, not when I know it won’t change anything or that there’s not a soul who’d notice.”

The silence crept back in and your voice broke at the edge.

“What if I told ye there was a way t’see ‘em again?” His voice came soft and barely above a breath, interrupting your thoughts.

Your head turned slowly, spine still straight against the sky as you looked over your shoulder at him.

His eyes shimmered low-gold in the dark, steady and locked on yours. His tongue wet his bottom lip, fangs just visible in the motion.

“There are people,” he said, “who can bend the fabric o’reality with nothin’ but the right tune of music t’pull the dead back across the veil.”

You swallowed as he stepped closer now, almost directly beneath you.

“I’ve been chasin’ them,” he said, voice low and tight. “A long time t’bring back my people. My kin. What’s left o’them.”

He lifted his hand up toward you, not reaching blindly, rather offering.

“Ye want answers?” he said, the words low, rolling like smoke from a dying fire. “Then we do it right. You search in the light, scour every road, every shite town with a name. I’ll search when it’s dark.”

His eyes locked to yours, gold, unblinking and fierce.

“An’ when we find ‘em,” his voice dropped lower, softer and more dangerous, “…we’ll make sure yer mam an’ da ain’t just bones in some field no more. Ye’ll see them again. I swear it.”

Silence wrapped around you then until you asked, brittle, unsure but brave. “You think that’s possible?”

He didn’t laugh, just gave a crooked smile, bare but real.

“I know it is.”

Hope began to rickindle in your chest at the confidence in his words and you’d been turning, one hand on the railing, eyes already halfway down to where Remmick waited with that crooked grin.

The wind howled suddenly through the slats and you weren’t steady enough. Your balance broke, foot slipping and gravity yawned open.

The barn flipped sideways, the floor gone pitch-black beneath you while the wind roared through your ears as adrenaline flooded your system.

A brutal grip wrapped around your wrist, fingers locking bone-deep just as your other foot left the ledge and you were yanked forward not gently.

The impact was jarring, your chest slammed against his, breath ripped from your lungs by the sheer force of his catch. His arms closed around you with terrifying strength, pulling you flat against him.

Your heart was a war drum, hammering so hard in your ribs you could feel each pulse crash against his chest and he didn’t flinch.

His head was in the crook of your neck, mouth open against your skin, breathing you in like the scent alone steadied him.

The grip he held on your wrist hadn’t loosened, fingers digging into your skin. His other arm was a band across your waist, clenched so tight you could feel every tense muscle shaking faintly.

“Next time ye try that,” he growled, voice scraped raw, a rasp at the back of his throat that barely sounded human. “I won’t catch ye.”

“I’ll let y’hit the ground and stay there. I’ll wait ‘til you’re broke on the ground, drag what’s left up and make the rest o’ it hurts tenfold worse than the fall ever could’ve.”

The silence after was louder than any scream. You shifted slightly, breath rattling in your chest and he let your wrist go but that one arm still clutched around your waist.

You looked up and wished you hadn’t.

Full red eyes, no softness in them. Lips parted and fangs fully lengthened, the edges catching the faintest starlight and his thumb, longer than it should’ve been, dragged slowly up your cheek.

“Ye think death’s worse than me?” he whispered, followed by a smile you don’t want to see. “Go on, try it. I’ll show ya what it means t’beg for the end.”

The words chilled your blood and you yanked away hard and this time, he let you go.

You didn’t look back while jumping from one beam to another lower, boots slamming into the next support and then down again.

The ground met your boots and you staggered. Your knees trembled, the wrist he gripped ached, skin bruised in the shape of his grasp and you cradled it to your chest, breathing fast.

When you turned back, the barn loomed dark and tall, and there, high above and exactly where you’d been, he stood balanced perfectly in your place, eyes glowing down at you, watching and unblinking.

You didn’t know if you were afraid because he’d saved you or because he hadn’t let you die.

You hadn’t seen him in days, gone completely.

Still, like some goddamn fool, you did your part out there in town, faking smiles.

You grinned when you didn’t want to and shook hands you’d rather avoid. You nodded to women at the produce stand, asked soft questions about music of all things. If they knew of anyone in town who sang too well, played too often, left too much behind in their wake. It felt absurd and humiliating.

It almost made you laugh as you recalled what you were doing just for him while the sickle in your hand swung slowly, slicing stalks of tall grass, pulling bundles into rough armfuls to harvest for the dying animals still too stubborn to follow the quick ending Remmick could offer them. You’d wake up and count one less goat, one fewer hen.

Greedy bastard.

By the time the sky dipped into copper and rust, you were back on the porch, sweat dried to salt across your brow, the sickle’s curved blade hanging limp at your side. The last streaks of light stretched long over the dirt road, still visible and bright.

Heavy tires gritting over the gravel were picked from your ears, growling engine rolling low and mean, heavy and fed on oil.

Your whole body went cold as you forced your boots not to move. Your legs itched with the urge to run, to dive into the barn behind hay like you were ten again and still small enough to hide perfectly.

You stood there instead, heartbeat rising to your throat, scythe tight in your palm as the truck stopped and two doors opened.

The first thing you saw were their boots. Clean and polished in a way that didn’t match the mud, then the rest followed.

Two men stepped down and they froze when they saw you, faces shifting in subtle shock. The one on the left stepped forward slow, his coat brushing behind him in stiff gusts. His face was pinched tight in recognition. He looked at you like he’d already seen your face before.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asked, simple words and soft voice.

You licked your lips, tongue dry, chest tight. You tried to answer even and calm.

“Just workin’ my field.”

He scoffed, a bitter and ugly laugh.

“This field?” he repeated, gesturing out with a mocking sweep. “Hell, this field’s about to be ours. We’re just waitin’ for the last damn paper to go through now that the last two owners finally did somethin’ useful and died.”

The second he referred to the last two owners, he stopped and really looked at you.

A snicker came soon after, the one behind joined in, low and sharp as he played with the knife in his hands.

“You look just like ’em,” the man murmured, cocking his head.

The one behind chewed the inside of his cheek, smirking. “Your folks,” he said, “they used to check that barn like it was rigged t’blow. Every time we pulled up, they went white.”

Your grip on the scythe tightened.

The tallest man, rifle slung on his back, fingers twitching, stepped closer.

“You lookin’ to square their debt?” he said, voice was almost warm but definitely mocking.

The shame came fast of how little you had and the horror arrived with it because you knew now who these men were.

“Maybe it’s time you saw ‘em again,” the man said with a smile, hands moving behind his back. “Reunite the family. The last thing we need is an heir out of nowhere."

To your own shock you noticed how he was reaching for the rifle on his back when talking to you in a poor attempt to distract.

Fear overtook your body and the sickle snapped upward in your hand, arc perfect, aimed right for his neck.

He caught your wrist before the blade connected. His fingers snapped tight around your arm and turned it hard. You snarled, twisted, tried again, but his grip didn’t budge.

The other laughed harder as he watched his buddy redirect your own scythe and forced your arm back toward your own throat.

You struggled with all of your abilities, he was just stronger, drunker on cruelty. The blade crept closer and he slammed you into the side of the house hard.

The scythe glinted under the last shimmer of light, the sun dropped behind the ridge and darkness fell in your last seconds of life.

“You dumb little fu—” the scraping breath of the man trying to kill you ended abruptly and the pressure on your arm vanished suddenly.

His body jerked back too far, like something yanked him from behind and the blade in your hand turned, slipping through your palm and cutting you shallow there.

You gasped, stumbling sideways, blood trickling from your fingers, looking up to see Remmick standing next to him.

His face so still it might’ve been carved, so furious it looked downright terrifying, lips peeled back to bare the full length of his fangs.

The man’s jaw was completely shattered, bone split out beneath the skin like a hinge kicked off its frame and he barely had time to gurgle before Remmick sank his fangs into his throat.

The noise was wet and he was vicious as he tore the skin of the man’s throat wide. A gape opened, red and yawning, skin shredded like paper. Blood poured in sheets over Remmick’s lips, down his chest and into the ruined grass.

You staggered backward, sick already twisting your gut, hand that clutched your other one.

His shoulders rose and fell with each suck, each drawn pull from the dying man’s artery, curls soaked with droplets of blood now, shirt clung in streaks and mouth that shone crimson.

When he finally released the man, he collapsed in a heap, neck an open pit until no more air went through it.

The second charged, knife gleaming beneath the moonlight to avenge his buddy.

Remmick turned and caught the man’s wrist mid-swing. The crunch was sickening when he squeezed, bone and tendon collapsing as he reversed the knife to slide it into the man’s chest until the handle was buried deep in there.

The scream that tore out was cut short when Remmick took the neck next and bit harder on the jugular.

The man spasmed, twitched, to then go still and collapse on the ground.

Remmick turned to you, covered in blood and chest heaving, still dripping from his mouth. The light in his eyes flickered unstable like a candle flame caught in the wind that refused to die.

The once white shirt he had, already ragged before, now with the entire right side soaked through in scarlet. The fabric stuck to his body, plastered down over the curves of muscle, over the shifting planes of his torso as he breathed.

The veins in his neck pulsed, jaw twitching and lips parted slightly.

“Yer bleedin’.” The words hit like a whisper against your pulse. You looked down, dazed at your hand. The cut from the scythe throbbed as blood smeared your palm.

When you looked up again, Remmick was now in front of you. There was no restraint in his posture nor any pretense of humanity left. What stood in front of you was a monster, one who’d just torn apart two men for touching you and still, your chest only throbbed because he was finally here again.

You didn’t care about the wet copper smell clinging to his ruined shirt and splashed up his throat, still tinted red with someone else’s end.

Blinded by desire, it was your turn to move now, stepping into his space and lifting your hands and cradling his face like he hadn’t just killed for you.

His skin was burning hot under your palms, warm, blood-wet, trembling with barely leashed need and the second your touch landed, he let out a deep, possessive purr from the back of his throat, ragged and feral, bursting through bloodstained lips and twisting into a growl as he looped one strong arm around your waist.

He pulled you against him tight, your chest crushed to his, ribs against the firm weight of muscle soaked through with metallic and red liquid. His shirt clung to both of you now, ruined fabric pressing to your clothes, bonding you in blood and heat.

He caught your injured wrist and lifted your hand to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours as he licked.

Tongue hot, soft at first but insistent, dragging slow over the cut in a wide, possessive stroke. The moment he tasted your blood, his body shuddered and a groan vibrated from deep inside him, pressed right into your skin.

He licked hungrier and more aggressive, tongue flattened against your palm, then curled between your fingers to catch every trace of what you’d spilled. He groaned rougher now, needier and that sound went straight to your spine, made your legs unsteady and your cock twitch with heat.

His eyes fluttered shut, lips sucking the wound clean, mouth still hot and wet around the heel of your hand.

“Knew ye’d taste sweet,” he groaned into your skin, the words muffled by your hand but rough edged all the same. “Spent days thinkin’ on it. Dyin’ for this, darlin’.”

Your hand was still cradled between his fingers as he crashed forward, mouth catching yours in a heat, blood-tasting kiss so intense it knocked the breath out of your chest. His lips were wet and you didn’t care as you moaned into it, kissed back with everything you had, hands fisting in his ruined shirt as your teeth clashed and tongues warred.

His fangs dragged along your lower lip as he kissed you, sharp and wicked, cutting tiny slits when you leaned in too hard and that only made it worse, his groan deepened as soon as he tasted the blood you didn’t mean to give.

He invaded your mouth with his tongue, hot and greedy, diving deep to collect every drop of what he’d drawn, lapping at the cuts like a man starved, hands grabbing at your hips, possessive and grateful.

You whined when he pulled away from your lips and he chuckled into your mouth, full of teeth and want.

“Givin’ it t’me now, are ya?” he murmured, voice of all heat-soaked filth and velvet pride, “Knew I’d get a taste o’ye one way or another.”

Your own hand slipped away from him and wrapped around the scythe still clutched loosely at your side. This is to bring it up and press the cold, curved metal lightly to your own neck.

He froze, breath ragged as he watched you dragging the scythe’s edge across the side of your neck. A sharp sting that left a trail of red beading along the skin like pearls, you tilted your head to the side as you moved it again up over the hill of your shoulder, a second trail joined the first, bright red and fresh in the pale light.

His hands went tight around your waist, pupils blown now, eyes gone molten, teeth visible, saliva thick at the corners of his mouth and dripping at the corner of his bloody chin at the sight of the gift you made for him.

He surged forward.

The scythe clattered to the porch as he buried his face in your neck and began feasting. His tongue ran over the blood again and again in broad strokes, dragging every single drop you’d offered him.

You arched into him to allow better access, whined low in your throat as his tongue found the base of your neck and sucked, moaning openly against your flesh like the taste of you was killing him.

His mouth crashed against yours the second he pulled back, lips slick with your own blood, the taste of yourself lacing between your teeth as his tongue forced its way in.

He groaned into your mouth and it vibrated straight through your jaw and down into the center of your chest.

His grip tightened, arms locked around your frame and suddenly you weren’t on the floor anymore.

It felt like a lurch in your gut as the air dropped away, ground vanished beneath your feet. Eyes still shut, tongue still tangled with his, he lifted your body off the floor with a growl buried deep in his throat. You gasped into his mouth and he ate the sound, tongue dragging over yours again and again.

The wind cut around you for only seconds before your back slammed into the mattress and tangled sheets, the window behind him shattered light across the floor, curtains ripping as his boots tangled in them and landed on the floor of your bedroom.

Blood smeared across the floorboards where he stepped, where you’d landed, his hands never once letting you go. He tossed you down hard enough to bounce the bed frame against the wall with a crack and he was above you in seconds, blood staining the sheets.

He landed between your legs, one knee shoved them apart as he pushed forward, hips tight and low, the full press of his cock, heavy and huge through blood-soaked pants grinding slow against your own with purpose.

He grunted and rolled his hips once, dragging the thick length of him right along your own, the heat of it unreal, obscene through clothes already clinging with blood.

His eyes glowed gold and his fangs were gleaming and shining with your blood. He stared down at you like a thing reborn in ruin, expression contorted with hunger, lust and need.

His tongue dragged over the cut on your neck in hot, wet and long strokes alternating with slow and filthy kisses that left your skin smeared in red. He moaned low into you with every lap, every taste, pressing groans into your jawline, into your temple, his breath coming heavier the more he drank from the surface.

You felt every ridge beneath his tattered shirt with your fingers, every tremble from where he tried not to tear you apart too soon. You reached lower until your hand cupped him through his pants.

The sound he made against your throat wasn’t human, fangs scraping again and his hips jolted forward instinctively, grinding hard against your palm as you squeezed. He kissed you messier, licking the corner of your mouth where blood had trickled.

Your fingers dragged at the buttons of his shirt, the other hand still wrapped around the thick outline of his cock, feeling the heat of its pulse under your grip.

You got the fabric undone only halfway before giving up and peeling it off his sturdy build and soon you were working his pants open next, frantic and clumsy, all while he didn’t stop kissing your throat even once. Every breath from him came with a hiss, a grunt, a moan, mouth leaving trails of blood over your neck, your collarbone, dragging sharp teeth over the thin layer of skin where your pulse throbbed.

A groan passed through his fangs when he felt fingers wrap around his shaft, hips jerking into your grip as his teeth snapped bare centimeters from your throat.

You stroked once and he twitched in your grip, cock hard and drooling at the tip while you squeezed at the base, thumb circling under the ridge of his head. His hips rolled into it, breath stuttering hard and he pressed his forehead into your collarbone, growling through grit teeth as you began working him slowly, deliberately, up and down.

“Y’gonna make me lose it—fuck, I’ll fuck ye so hard yer name won’t come back t’ye for hours—” His voice crack and immediately he seized your wrist and pulled it away.

The loss of contact made your breath stutter in your chest, but before you could protest he’d taken your other wrist too and pinned them both above your head.

He held your wrists in only one hand, inspecting with pride the one still slightly bruised he’d left days ago.

They were still mottled purple, violet rings blooming under the skin and his stare sharpened, mouth curled slowly and fangs glinting.

Y’looked good like that, all marked from him. So fragile and delicate, so many ways to ruin and have fun with.

He leaned down until his nose brushed the edge of your cheek and the growl that vibrated from his chest wasn’t human as his mouth descended on your shoulder, hot breath huffing against your skin before his tongue dragged across the shallow wound you’d given yourself earlier.

The blood there was fresh as he drank over your skin in slow, needy laps. He traced the blood, followed it down to where it gathered in the dip of your collarbone, then further, pushing his face against your chest, licking long, wet stripes across skin even where the blood had dried all while smearing the crimson down toward your abdomen.

You bucked once beneath him and he growled in delight, tearing your shirt open without hesitation, seams splitting beneath his hands, buttons skittering across the bed like broken teeth.

“I won’t lie t’ye,” he mumbled in a husky tone, breathing hot across your abdomen. “I thought of ravishin’ ye right then that night ye saved me t’ thank ye proper.”

He tore your pants down next, fabric splitting at the seams as your thighs were bared to the cold air and the burning weight of his mouth dragging down your chest again, sucking at the skin above your navel, teeth scraping enough to mark.

A large hand moved down and grabbed your right thigh, digging into the muscles and spreading your legs wider with inhuman strength. His mouth met your inner thigh with an open-mouthed kiss, fangs scraping faintly over the softest skin there, right beside your cock and make your whole body tense.

One sharp claw was pressed to your thigh and then dragged sideways, a clean cut that was deep enough to let blood trickle.

His lips covered it and kissed your thigh like your blood was the wine he’d waited centuries to drink. Tongue lapping the new wound, curling around the trail of blood as it slid down the curve of your leg and you felt him moan into it, the sound vibrating into your skin and his other hand gripped harder, holding your leg still so he could kiss the bleeding mark again.

His other hand moved between your legs as it reached down and slid his fingers to your hole, two fingers slick with blood that pressed in shallow, then deeper.

The stretch was sharp at first, but your body welcomed it from the overwhelming need and he watched everything while licking and kissing your thigh seconds before adding another finger, circling and scissoring as his fingers fucked you deeper.

The moment his fingers slipped from your body you felt the emptiness like a wound, ache stretching where his touch had been.

Your hands fell limply to the bed, the imprint of his grip still red across your skin. He crawled forward like a predator who knew there was no longer any point in rushing.

When he rose above your wrecked body, your legs moved automatically, wrapping around his hips like your body knew what was coming and refused to be denied.

The head of his cock, slick with precome, pressed tight against your stretched hole, pulsing thick and hot against the tender rim.

He looked down, eyes golden and wide, burning like hellfire, fangs bared in something too savage to be a smile.

“Ye ready for it now, darlin’?” he murmured, voice thick with promise, “Ready t’feel every inch of what ye opened yerself up for?”

Your answer was a broken moan as he pushed in, the fat tip breached you first, spreading your entrance around him as your body clenched instinctively, trying to take him in but barely able to.

Every inch forced deeper as you felt the way he filled you, the width dragging against every nerve inside you.

You moaned louder, back arching off the bed and his hands gripped your thighs, pushing them further apart as he sank in the last inch and bottomed out.

Your hole stretched wide and raw, the girth of him keeping your rim open around the base of his cock, heat blooming inside you with each shudder of his breath.

He held still, buried to the hilt, your body pulsing around him in rhythm with your heart before he moved.

The first thrust was brutal, dragging himself out almost all the way, letting you feel every ridge and vein to then slam back in hard. The sound it made, wet and loud, echoed off the walls like sin made physical.

You cried out and he laughed breathlessly into your shoulder as he proceeded to fuck you hard and deep. Long strokes, hips grinding to make sure you felt everything. Your cock twitched between your abdomens, pressed between your skin and his blood-slick chest, every rut of his hips sending a bolt of pleasure right through your spine.

As he picked up speed, the rhythm turned rough and relentless, hands dragging your hips down to meet every thrust, skin slapping against skin, the stretch of your hole now wet, noisy and so fucking full.

His voice broke into curses, moans and snarled bits of praise in that ruined Irish drawl of his. “Ye’re takin’ me so good—hnnnnfuck—”

Your cock was leaking while he kept wrecking you from the inside, the head smeared with your own precome and your thighs trembled around his waist.

The heat in your belly snapped tight and then broke as you came hard. A cry punched out of your chest as you spilled between you both, ropes of it streaking your chest and his abs. Your whole body spasmed around him, hole clenching down so tight he roared and slammed in once more.

His cock jerked inside you, twitching, thick and so far in you swore it pushed against your lungs as he filled you, thick spurts of hot seed pumping, warmth blooming inside your abdomen as he grunted, cursed and pressed in even deeper, grinding as he emptied himself into your stretched, aching hole.

Full weight of him collapsed onto you, head settling into the crook of your neck (his favorite spot), breath ragged against your skin and fangs brushing your collarbone.

You felt the heat of his mouth as he resumed licking in lazy, indulgent laps along the bloodied skin of your shoulder, savoring the aftermath

His cock, still inside you, twitched as it hardened again and a low, devilish chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest, vibrating into your body through the weight of him on top of you.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, voice low and ruined like honey over something burning. “The things ye do to me… You’re better than blood…”

He still wanted to enjoy you more, the night was young.

The bed creaked beneath him, wood groaning under the weight of his blood-soaked body as his hands found your back, massive palms seizing you, claws pricking already-tender skin and in one fluid, inhuman motion, he hauled you up.

Your legs clamped tighter around his hips on instinct as you were airborne again, back arching, head falling briefly to his shoulder as he turned.

When he sat back against the headboard, broad back pressing into the wood, you straddled him fully in his lap.

Your knees sank beside his hips, thighs trembling with exhaustion and overstimulation, your breath heaving as your hands braced against the wall of his chest and raised your head.

His eyes were fully red now, a deep, glinting crimson that swallowed the room’s light. His fangs had lengthened, almost too far to keep his lips closed around them, protruding wicked and sharp from his parted mouth.

Breath huffed out around them, steaming faintly where the last of your heat still clung to his face. Long, past finger-length claws that raked down your back, not to wound (yet), but to keep you held.

“Saved your pretty neck from those bastards, didn’t I? Now I think I deserve a little somethin’ back. A reward, aye?” Voice like gravel soaked in whiskey, vowels slurred from heat and hunger.

He was grinning, terrifying, wide and blood-slicked, eyes gleaming like stars seen from underground.

You leaned in, forehead pressing flush to his, hot breath ghosting between your mouths. You didn’t care about the claws, the blood or that look on his face that said he’d tear the world in half to keep you in it.

“Cut my neck for you,” Your fingers twitched against his shoulder, smearing fresh blood. “…sliced my shoulder without blinking. And now you want more?”

You laughed softly, tired and breathless.

“You keep takin’ like this, Remmick, and I’ll be out cold before you even get to the good part.”

His claws moved down from your back to your sides, then to your chest as they pressed.

A single line, then another. Small, deliberate cuts carved into your skin with terrifying care. Not meant to maim but to feed with the blood that welled fast, small rivers crawling down the slope of your sternum, over your stomach, glistening under your collarbones.

“Then I’ll just have t’make sure y’stay awake,” he purred, voice soaked in heat. “Don’t want ye missin’ a single second.”

His mouth found your chest and he fed, kissing and dragging laps of his tongue across the small rivers he’d summoned.

Mouth smearing through the blood, warm and reverent, sucking gently around one of the deeper cuts before drawing back to lick the trail it left behind. His lips were already stained from your dried blood from earlier, now rehydrated by the fresh.

Your head tipped back and your hands gripped his shoulders tighter, but your strength was fading, pulse slowing and limbs weakening.

Remmick felt it.

You saw it in the way his eyes flicked up mid-lick,his tongue lingered on your skin like it was trying to remember you before you slipped too far.

He lifted you only an inch, enough to line himself up beneath you again.

His cock was hard, thick and furious beneath you, pulsing between your legs as he angled himself and pushed in. You gasped, your body opening slowly, trembling with effort.

He bottomed out deep and you forced your eyes open even through the haze.

Red eyes burning up at you, mouth soaked in crimson with fangs stained and hair a wild halo of blood-damp curls.

You kissed him fully, open-mouthed and tongue against his fangs, groaning into him when you began to move up and down.

Each bounce sent a jolt through your core, your knees buckling, but you kept going gripping his shoulders. His cock dragged deep, each thrust catching at the edge of your limit and forcing past it.

You slammed yourself down again and came hard, cock pulsing, spilling across his stomach, painting both your chests in streaks of heat as your body clenched down around him and he followed.

With a growl ripped from somewhere older than language, he buried himself to the hilt and came again, flooding you, thick spurts of heat pulsing inside your spent body.

You shuddered and fizzled in saturation, your nerves couldn’t take more, veins too empty. The air began to hum and your vision fluttered like moth wings.

He held you close, arms easing you back onto the ruined sheets. You felt the warmth of him as he leaned over your chest, his lips pressing lovingly and possessively to the bloody skin there.

The first thing you noticed was the heat from your own skin, bare against blood-wet sheets that dried and cracked with the faint stiffness of clot. Your body ached in places you couldn’t name. Your thighs burned, stomach tight and chest still throbbing where his mouth had marked you with red and bruises.

Golden noon slanted sharp across the bed and for a moment you thought your eyes would burn.

The realization that he wasn’t there hit you hard, blunt and hollow in the chest.

No breath on your neck, just your own body sprawled across the wreckage of last night’s ruin.

You looked down and found marks everywhere. Long, shallow cuts trailing across your ribs. Mouth-shaped bruises on your shoulder, your chest. Your thighs were a mess of dark splotches and ragged scabs, inner skin streaked with blood that had dried in the shape of his mouth.

You grinned, wincing.

‘Thank you, darlin’.’ The mockery of his voice in your own head was both obscene and affectionate. You threw on a shirt and some briefs on, each movement made you hiss through your teeth, muscles stiff and slow from everything he’d done to you.

You padded downstairs barefoot and there he was, sprawled on the floor of the parlor, back against a chair, legs crooked and banjo propped across his lap.

He was plucking strings idly, no real rhythm, just lazy unconscious flicks. The shirt he wore was still the same from last night, soaked and stained where the blood had dried in thick patches.

It clung to him unevenly, buttons half-undone and seams pulled out, the collar dark and rust-colored where blood had soaked through. One side of the shirt hung open completely, exposing his broad chest, sharp with muscle, the skin pale beneath streaks of dried crimson.

Droplets of blood, dried to rust, speckled his pectorals, some smudged into the edges of old scars, some dried in thin runnels down the line of his ribs. He hadn’t bothered to clean up, like he wanted to keep wearing the night.

“The fuck are you doin’ down here?” you snapped, instantly going for the nearest curtain. “You tryin’ to die for real this time?”

He didn’t flinch or even stop strumming, he just looked at you with a crooked grin, eyes still drowsy from the night before.

“Ah, listen t’ye soundin’ all fretful an’ sweet. Ye know I could eat y’whole just fer that tone alone, don’t ye?”

“Remmick,” you hissed, jerking a curtain closed with one sharp tug. “There are four open windows. I am not scraping what’s left of you off the goddamn floor just ‘cause you wanted to vibe with your creepy-ass instrument in direct sunlight.”

You were about to slam the last window closed when you heard him hum.

“Wait,” he said.

You turned and the grin widened.

“Take a peek outside, aye? Left y’a wee somethin’. Gift from me t’you, darlin’. Still smokin’, if y’re lucky.”

Your brows pulled together, wariness prickled your spine. Still, you stepped to the window, one hand lifting to shield your eyes from the last of the glare as you peeked between the slats.

There were two blackened bodies completely carbonized, twisted into unnatural shapes like they’d tried to escape the burn.

Those two men who came for your field and were about to take your life if you hadn’t already chosen your monster.

You turned back to him.

“All o’ it done for ye,” he whispered.

You barked a laugh and staggered once, shaking your head, still stunned by the casual and absolute violence while you took a seat on the floor right in front of him.

“You’re insane.”

He didn’t argue, just tilted his head, lips parted in that lazy, crooked curve like sin had decided to incarnate itself just for your benefit.

“Y’knew what I was when ye let me in.”

A melody was born as he began to play.

His eyes flicked up and stilled when he saw the edge of one of his bruises on your shoulder.

His pupils twitched, then elongated, irises burning inward as if lit from within. His lips glistened, mouth parting wider now, the edges of his fangs poking visible. Spit gathered in one corner as it trailed down his chin.

The banjo slid from his lap, the strings gave one last gasp of sound as they kissed the floorboards and he began crawling towards you.

His hands spread wide, palms dragging with cruel patience over the wood, knuckles brushing dried blood still left from last night’s aftermath.

He was over you completely now, arms braced on either side, knees pinning your thighs apart, hips hanging above yours, head tilted, that beautiful face twisted into something too close to devilish.

You reached up, one hand pressed to his jaw and you felt the inhuman twitch of muscle just beneath the surface as you kissed him.

His mouth opened against yours, fangs brushing your tongue, spit mixing with yours as he kissed you back and when he lowered you fully to the floor, his body covering yours, weight full and hands sinking to your waist, you didn’t resist.

In his head, he made a simple vow.

He would destroy anyone to protect you.

Anyone.

Except from himself.

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