#I have LONGED for this fucker's return

[cheesomancer]

Riding a bull (literally this time) 🌻

[undermostcorgi]

drawing other people's dnd characters based on the image i made of them in my head and NOTHING ELSE because i'm evil

[ozzgin]

Just read your arranged marriage kidnapped by a most post and the humor in the servants always thinking reader is in peril. The same going for monster hubby (He just thinks they're submissive and breedable)

Like none of them realize they are a moster fucker cause they hide it so well. Like just imagining reader be like "oh be gentle with me I'm a dainty maiden" and then giving him the night of his life is hilarious. Or them having dinner and the servants feel bad for them cause monster hubby is eating human meat but their just thinking about other things he can use his tongue on.

Or maybe someone comes to rescue them from the terrible monster finally. But they don't wanna leave and instead fight the knight off. The knight thinks they've been brainwashed or something. Meanwhile the servants think the knight just wasn't good enough to rescue them.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, NSFW! [Part 1] | [More Monsters]

The servants are not blind by any means: they can tell, quite plainly, that their monstrous Lord has a soft spot for you. Not only that, but the beast nearly worships you! They've come up with many theories, the latest one involving witchcraft. Surely you must have some sort of magical trickery under your sleeve in order to subdue their Master. There's no other way around it. All previous humans have been devoured, or have died in a pitiful attempt to escape, terrified to the bone upon gazing at his blasphemous Majesty.

You can't blame them. It's probably better for everyone involved if you omit the fact that your source of witchcraft lies in your...genitals. Well, not just that, of course. Your husband had started to lose hope. His appreciation of humans never came to fruition before your arrival. He was expecting you to cower in fear, not throw yourself at him.

He wondered if you wanted something from him in return, but no one could possibly pretend so flawlessly: the way you clung to him unprompted. The way you hungrily took him in, tears welling in your eyes, refusing to let go until you could feel his load avalanching down your throat. The way you'd trap his hips with your legs, despite being weak and feverish, asking that he doesn't stop yet. If that wasn't proof enough, your whines and moans were loud and clear. To think he could have his own little human, one who isn't repulsed by his monstrous form. He would've been content with mere tolerance, yet someone who begged to be fucked by him? He's been delirious ever since.

He loves everything about you, naturally, but he can't deny the shameless addiction he's now developed towards your body. He'd pound you anywhere and anytime if he could. If he needs to leave for official matters, know that the return will burn in the back of his mind.

"An important date, Sir?" one traveling servant will ask, glancing at all the scribbles in the calendar.

"Indeed", he answers solemnly. It's the times when he can finally fuck you dumb.

While the servants worry about their devilish Master being put under leash, for the other fellow humans the opposite seems to be true. You recall your last "rescuing" attempt distinctly. During one of your evening walks, burly, foreign arms swept you off in an instant. Before you knew it, you were holding onto the armored shoulders of an unknown man, as he made his way out of the traditional garden.

"I'll get you out of here", he promised between heaving breaths.

You stared in confusion. What was he saving you from? A good dicking? No matter how much you explained that you do actually like your newly appointed husband, the hero wouldn't budge.

You ended up just walking back home when the man fell asleep.

"That was quite the long walk", your monster partner remarked, polishing his weapons.

"Oh no, I was kidnapped", you state casually. "Got us some fruits on the way back."

Would it have been better to lie about it? On one hand, you do feel terrible for whoever attempted to retrieve you from the claws of the tyrant. Your husband is very possessive, and you know he'll scorch the Earth until that treacherous pest is gutted and fed to the pigs.

On the other hand...he becomes particularly savage after such incidents. You won't be able to sit properly for the next few weeks, but it's worth it.

Tough luck, you tell yourself, lounging in bed with a satisfied smirk and torn apart hole.

[aeyumicore]

misty invasion - no restraint

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: xavier x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some/little plot

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 5k words (jesus i even cut 1k out)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, spoilers AND alterations to ‘no restraint’ (xavier’s misty invasion card), switch!xavier, slightly dark!xavier, super possessive!xav, so much pussy eating, nose stroking clit, cumming on pussy then using as lube, mating press, sensory play but not actually, thigh biting, ankle kissing, foot massage, slight finger sucking, slight dub-con somno at the end, use of y/n

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | sylus's version | raf's version | zayne's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: sorry this is late! I’ve been dealing with some harassment but won’t get into that here. You guys have been waiting so patiently for this one and i’m so excited to finally share it with you guys. I love writing and it’s incredible to have people to share my passion with, so please enjoy xavier fuckers!

part three is our dear xavier! idk how this one got so long i cut 1k words and its still 5k LOL somehow longer than sylus’s? i haven’t written for xavier in sooo long so this was both challenging but fun! I miss him <3 I wrote xavier as more dark!xav than the soft xavier, but there’s definitely a good mix of both

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

As a Hunter, you’ve had to thoroughly train your senses to be as adept and and accurate as possible, to keep yourself, your fellow Hunters, and the citizens of Linkon safe.

Sight. The ability to track every micromovement a Wanderer made and react in milliseconds. Being able to quickly spot things that don’t belong, indicating something more sinister.

Hearing. Being able to detect even the mutest of sounds. The muffled shuffling of leaves, a slight creak in the wind that could warn you of incoming danger.

Smell. The almost imperceptible scent of different species of Wanderers, each one specific to each genus, able to provide valuable information on what to expect.

Touch. The distinct textures of your different UNICORN issued tools and weapons, the simplest grooves and ridges helping you quickly discern what is what in moments of life or death.  

What you hadn’t necessarily needed was the sense of taste, but that wouldn’t be a sense you’d need as a Hunter. Right?

In the soft glow coming from the protocore you and him had confiscated from an illegal protocore trade, Xavier sat at the foot of the bed you’d be sharing tonight. The soft orange light emanating from the protocore casts a vaguely romantic atmosphere around the two of you. It was suffocating and addicting all at once.

Perhaps it was your fault, you’d teased him, claiming the protocore in question had dulled your senses, a side effect from its unique Protocurves. A clear and obvious lie. 

But you hadn’t expected him to respond so boldly. 

To test your sense of sight, moving from his spot across the hotel room to approach the foot of the bed, sitting so closely that you could see the droplets of water dripping down his bare chest, gliding along the grooves of his muscled abdomen.

To test your sense of smell, leaning in so teasingly close to you that the soft clean smell of his pheromones, akin to fresh laundry blowing in the spring breeze, invaded your very essence. 

To test your sense of hearing, whispering dangerously sultry but innocent words under his breath to taunt you, seeing if you could hear how much he wanted you. 

To test your sense of touch, reaching out to grasp your face into his fingers, warm from the hot shower he’d taken. So daringly caressing your warm cheek in his palm, with a heated desire that you knew could consume you whole. 

It was truly all enough to drive you utterly insane, at the point of no return, nearly jumping him right then and there.

Perhaps Xavier could see that, deciding to give you a temporary reprieve from all the “sensory tests” to complete a test of his own 

His voice is a faint murmur, “Before the rain stops, is there anything you want to do?” His words sound less like a question and more like a plea. Bordering on a demand. 

At his words, your eyes trail to the body lotion you’d set on the nightstand next to the Protocore. You’d just been about to apply it before Xavier had come out of the shower. You bite your lip at the thought of his strong hands rubbing the expensive cream into your aching muscles. Xavier’s eyes follow yours, and he smiles gently, standing up to grab it from the side table. 

He unscrews it, the soft scent of strawberries wafting in the space between you. Under the soft glow of the Protocore, Xavier’s face is flushed, his breath unusually heavy. His eyes are focussed on the body lotion, but you can just barely see the stormy heat behind them. 

“What, are we testing your senses now?” you tease him, sitting up with your hands hugging your knees. 

Xavier sits back down on the bed, the mattress dipping at your feet. Your toes brush against the soft silk of his bathrobe, the knot even looser now, leaving far too little to imagination. His voice is gentle, but urgent, “The Protocore’s Protocurves can…dull a person's senses.” 

He places his palm gently on the underside of your thighs, pulling your bare calves toward him. His touch is impossibly soft, yet strangely enough it leaves your skin burning. You let your body be guided towards him until his chest is practically pressed against your knee. With your bare calf in his hands, it makes it difficult to think. But you do your best to speak, “So…are you affected by it too?”

As Xavier smears the lotion across your flushed skin, he murmurs, “Maybe.” He takes another scoop of the cream into his fingers.

“It’s possible…I won’t be able to feel you anymore from now on.” His eyes are trained on your leg as he speaks, fingers wandering from your knee to your exposed thigh. Though you both know his senses were, and would be, perfectly fine, the longing in both his low voice and dark eyes felt completely real.

As his hands rub into your skin, his fingers briefly find their way under your nightdress. He leans down, resting his chin on your knee. He practically hugs your legs to his chest, the opened jar of lotion still in hand. WIth his curious fingers on your thigh, under the lace hem of your nightdress, you try and distract him from your flushed face. You take a small dollop of the lotion in his hands, teasingly brushing it to his nose.

“What’s the fragrance? Can you smell it?” Xavier’s face on your bare knee doesn’t move, but his eyes flit up to yours, dark and amused. 

He has a barely perceptible smirk, fingers stroking small shapes into the area where your lace nightie meets the skin of your exposed thighs, “Strawberry.” He sounds uncharacteristically self-assured, his chin moving down so that he can smell your skin. 

You shiver as you feel the cool inhale of his nose against your knee. His lips ghost along your leg as he breathes in the scent, lingering for so long you’re nearly quivering against his hold. His hand grips your thigh possessively as he murmurs, “Or maybe...that scent…is cherry.” The way he buries his face into your legs, inhaling so deeply, is nearly enough to have you passing out.

He comes back to nuzzle his chin into your knee, glancing up at you in an expression that is eerily dark and soft all at once, “Was I right?” His words are gentle but there’s an exhilarating taunt underneath them. It only makes you want to taunt him back.

You reach for his ear, noticing it’s unusually peachy pink, stroking along the soft lobe, “Here’s another test. What do you think my hand is doing right now?” Xavier’s eyes close at your touch, his breath heavy and hot against your thigh. His brows furrow, and if it weren’t for the way he leaned into your touch for more, you’d almost think he was in pain. 

As his eyes flicker open to meet yours, you take his cheek into your hands. There’s a vague haziness in them, almost like he’s having a hard time keeping them open, drunk off even your slightest touches. He sits up, leaning into your hand.

“You need to do it harder,” he urges, desperation making itself known in his sultry voice. Your hand trails down his ear, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw and making its way to Xavier’s bobbing neck. 

Your fingers move intentionally, trailing down to his collar until they rest on his chest, “What about now?” 

Though his chest heaves, his blue eyes smolder with an unbridled confidence, “...Too gentle.” He looks at you with an unspoken plea in his eyes, begging you to touch him more. Harder.

You let your shaking fingers toy torturously with the reddened skin on his sharp collarbone, swirling your fingertips on his pounding chest. You bite your lip, enjoying the way his breath comes out in needy pants, the look of desperation on his parted lips growing stronger by the second, “If you still haven’t felt it…”

Xavier continues your thought, cerulean eyes filled with a desperate longing, “If I haven’t felt it…” You gasp as he grabs your wrist forcefully, bringing it back up to his face.

His grip is commanding, caressing your palm with his soft cheek, his breath fanning the inside of your hand. His movements are almost imperceptible, until you feel his lips closing over your middle finger. You’re unable to stop the shiver as his tongue grazes against your trembling finger, his lips caressing your skin in his mouth.

Xavier desperately hopes you keep your eyes trained on his, and not the embarrassingly prominent tent under his thin robe, throbbing for your attention. His breath is hot as he pants against your finger, “...does this mean I’m a lost cause?”

You pull your hand away, unable to withstand the effect his lips enclosing in your fingers is having on your body, your thighs clenching together under your own robe and nightgown. 

“What should we do?” you murmur before softly clutching his shoulder, pulling him closer until you can whisper into his ear for a little hearing test. You let your lips graze his reddened earlobe, before whispering.

“Xavier.”

It comes out far more sultry and seductive than you’d originally intended, betraying your body’s true desires. Xavier apparently shares those same desires, because as he hears you gasp out his name his body has a visceral reaction. 

His heart pounds so rapidly he’s almost sure you’d be able to hear it, his muscled chest rising and falling in an irregular rhythm. His face looks almost anguished, fighting an internal war against himself. He glances towards you, his eyes dark with unbridled desire. 

“Oops. Looks like something broke,” you grin cheekily, thoroughly amused by his reaction, fueled with confidence. 

Xavier’s eyes are so dark they’re nearly black as they drink in the sight of your beautiful smile, as you sit with your knees up on the mattress. The next thing you know, Xavier’s is pushing you down, your back hitting the plush mattress and your robe fluttering open to reveal your flimsy nightdress. 

Xavier stands above you, before his hand comes down to grip the mattress beside your head, pinning you down. His eyes trail up your body, savoring every exposed centimeter of soft skin, before boring into your beautiful eyes. His body is pressed gently into yours, and you can very much make out just how excited he’s become. The area between your thighs moistens at the feeling of his arousal pressed into your stomach. 

“Your sensory test isn’t over yet,” he grunts, his face tortuously close to yours. His eyes are hooded dangerously, an imminent threat reflected in his ocean blue eyes. He leans forward, so close his torrid breath fans against your parted lips.

“Let’s do a taste test,” he murmurs, eyes shutting as he finally closes the distance between your lips in a toe-curling passionate embrace. His tongue prods at the seam of your lips, which you happily part to give him access. He moans into you as he indulges in how delicious you taste, quickly addicted to your soft and warm tongue against his. 

When he finally pulls away, he’s a complete and utter mess. His breath is uneasy and rapid, his body contorting with the rhythm of his pounding chest. His fingers have found their way into yours, effectively pinning you securely against the bed under his hard body. 

“Xavier…” you gasp, squeezing his fingers, “Even someone like you can lose your composure, huh?”

As your bodies heave together, Xavier takes thick and deep lungfuls of your scent, his face buried into your neck.

“One doesn’t need that much composure,” he groans before diving back into the crook of your neck, lips latching onto your pulse. 

As he holds you, gently suckling at your neck, you prod him, “What are you thinking of?”

Xavier hesitates, his lips hovering centimeters above your skin, before murmuring, “Something…indecent.”

You bite back your grin, thoroughly enjoying how needy he’s becoming. With his body still atop of yours, you bring your lips to his ear letting your wet lips stroke against his earlobe. 

“Xavier…” you purr, “Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

You can see Xavier’s neck throb with a thick gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. It’s then he decides he’s done playing games. 

He sits up eerily calmly, until he’s on his knees at your feet. His fingers trail down your bare thighs, to your calves, and to your feet. You squirm at his fleeting trail of touches, squeaky moans of anticipation slipping from your lips.

As his hands slide down your legs, he lifts your foot into his hands, fingers kneading your aching sole. You moan, your eyes squeezing shut at just how wonderfully Xavier knows your body, knows how to touch you. 

You’re so caught up in the feeling of his hands on your ankles that you don’t notice the way he cups your calf, raising your leg into the air as he caresses it. It’s not until the distinct feeling of his warm lips meet the bottom of your calf do your eyes screw open.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight before you, Xavier placing a feathery trail of kisses down your calf all the way to your foot. As he tenderly kisses your ankle, his eyes open to watch you with a hungry gaze. 

“The Protocore’s effects…I think we need a stronger test,” he mutters, his mouth rubbing against your ankle still. He sets your leg on his shoulder, gently spreading your thighs apart. 

You blush as your legs part, leaving little to imagination as Xavier situates himself between your legs, one propped on his muscled shoulder and one hooked above his forearm, “Xavier?”

He doesn’t respond, eyes trained on the glistening patch of dampness that adorns your panties. It takes all of him not to drool right over your half naked form right then and there. As his head lowers to kiss your thighs, you tremble at his proximity to your throbbing cunt that leaks with desire and arousal.

“I-Is this…strong enough?” you squeak, his tongue lapping slow circles around the areas his teeth graze. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he indulges in the taste of your legs, eyeing the beautiful way your panties are creasing against the lips of your pussy. He can practically feel the heat coming off you and it makes him bite hard. 

You squeal, your back arching up and fingers reaching down to pull at his soft hair. It’s impossible not to enjoy the sharp graze of his canines and the contrastingly adoring caress of his tongue. Too distracted by the pleasure, you don’t feel the embarrassing slick dripping down your thighs.

But Xavier does.

He detaches his lips from your thighs, briefly admiring the handful of flowering red bruises littered against both your plush legs. 

“It’s…stronger. But this…” he trails off, and that’s when you feel his fingers hooking your soaked panties to the side. You yelp as his fingers languidly swipe at your folds, coating himself in your arousal and bringing it up to his mouth. 

You watch in a mixture of embarrassment and desire as he slips his fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around his digits and eyes shut in utter bliss. 

When his blonde lashes finally flutter open, his hazy pupils are dilated amongst the sea of azure, piercing into your own.

“This, I can taste,” he grins gently at you. It’s so effortlessly Xavier, yet something sinister lurks beneath his soft smile. Something that makes you shake to your very core.

You don’t have time to ponder the darkness behind his smile, because Xavier is gripping you by your hips, bringing the apex of your thighs to his waiting mouth, salivating at the beautiful sight of your exposed cunt. His eyes flit from your core to your eyes, your upper body propped up on your elbows as you watch his heated gaze devour you. 

“Please…” Xavier rasps, his voice guttural and desperate. The proximity of his face to your weeping cunt lets you feel his hot breath fan against your quivering pussy, “Please let me.”

You’re speechless, so you nod fervently, gripping his soft hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Xavier wastes no time, burying himself into you. You gasp, spine curling at the force of his demanding lips against your cunt.

You’d think Xavier had been starved for days, the way he latches onto your lips, his tongue eagerly lapping at your slit, savoring every drop of your sweet essence. You thrash at the unrelenting pleasure, as Xavier’s bruising grip holds you in place. 

“Let me enjoy you, please,” he groans, nose rubbing into your clit deliciously, “Who knows if I’ll ever be able to taste you again?”

You whimper at his filthy words, trying to stay still as he ravishes you with his skilled tongue. The lewd slurps and moans that come from him are enough to drive you to the edge of insanity, unable to contain your furious writhing. Xavier only digs his fingers harder into the plush of your thighs, doing his best to keep you in place.

Xavier moans into you, the vibrations of his pleasured sounds thrumming straight into your body. He doesn’t let a single droplet of your nectar go to waste, his tongue lapping diligently. There’s absolutely no shortage of it, as his pointed nose brushes against your clit, his tongue stroking sweetly into your lips. 

“You taste like heaven, Y/N,” Xavier moans into your folds. The vibrations of his filthy words send you reeling and you can barely hear him, only able to respond in the whiniest moans, too wrapped up in the pleasure his mouth so skillfully brings you. 

“Xavier!” you cry, toes digging into the ropes of muscles on his back.

You can vaguely feel one of Xavier’s hands abandon your thigh, moving to free his cock from under his loose robe. You can’t see much, but you can see the way his forearm jerks up and down, the veins in his arms bulging as he pleasures himself, fueled by the taste of you. 

“O-oh f-fuck!” you cry, your back arched, the soles of your feet pressing into Xavier’s back, “Xavier…p-please don’t – nngh – stop!”

Through your widely spread legs, you can see just how aroused Xavier is by your pleas. His fingers can barely wrap around his thick girth. They move up and down effortlessly, coated in his copious pre-cum. It honestly looked like he already came with just how much of his slick was smeared on himself. He’s so impossibly angry and red as he thrusts into his own fist, your tongue unconsciously licking your lips at the sight. 

You’re only snapped out of your mesmerized staring when his lips latch onto your clit, tongue lapping eagerly against the throbbing nub of nerves. His lips suckling at your clit, tongue stroking so sweetly, is just enough to have you coming completely undone all over Xavier’s face. 

You try to pull always as you feel the warm gush coming, but Xavier only holds you down harder with his arm wrapped around your thigh, his hands jerking up and down his leaking erection even more desperation. With nowhere to run, your body thrashes erratically in his forceful arm. Your back arches into the air, your head digging into the plush mattress, as you squirt over Xavier’s insistent tongue. 

You’re well into the depths of overstimulation, feebly pushing his head away, whispering brokenly, “X-Xavier. S’too much, please.”

But he can’t seem to hear you, too wrapped up in your taste, in you. Your body curls in a stinging pleasure as he continues to devour you, positively starved. 

The lewd slurps of his face in your wet thighs, your unabashed moans and cries of ecstasy, the taste of your release against his greedy tongue, and his forceful grip on his cock drive him to his own orgasm. 

He forces himself to pull away, his lips wet with your slick, your body collapsing but still slightly elevated with your calf thrown over his shoulder. With his position kneeling at your feet, your right leg still by his neck, his cock spurts right onto your quivering and overstimulated pussy. 

“H-holy,” Xavier groans breathlessly, hands still jerking himself up and down as rope after rope lands on your glistening cunt. His spend is so deliciously hot against your sensitive skin that you can’t stop the full body tremors that wrack your body. His copious streams of cum start to drip off your quivering cunt, pooling on the mattress beneath you.

Xavier leans forward, clutching your thigh as his body heaves with an overwhelming  satisfaction. His fingers dig into your already bruised thighs, his breath heavy and desperate. 

You want to giggle at his ruined state, stroking his back teasingly with your toes, your calf still resting on his shoulder. Your fingers reach for his ear to caress his cheek and tease him with your words from earlier, “So little composure. Adorable”

Xavier’s gaze, longing and soft, twitches. Before you know it, your back is flat against the bed once more, both your legs pressed against your chest. Your feet hang in the air above your head, Xavier’s heaving body pressed on top of you, something hard and wet pressing into your still trembling core.

Out of sheer surprise, you cry out, “X-Xavier?” Your hands instinctively come up to cup his face.

Xavier doesn’t speak, his eyes trained on your cunt as he runs his tip up and down your folds. When he finally looks up at you, there’s a dark almost feral look in the storm of his cerulean eyes. A look of unbridled animalistic heat. 

He bends down, his beautiful face dangerously close to yours as he smirks, “Isn’t this what you wanted, angel?” 

You shiver at his unusually edged words, eyes widening as you nod gently. Unable to deny the truth of his words. You knew it, and he knew it. You absolutely always wanted him, especially when he was this unhinged. 

Xavier smiles, it’s deceptively gentle as you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes, “I know, Y/N. So, please. Let me give it to you.” Though he begs, you can tell he’s not really asking. Not that you minded. You’d give him absolutely everything. 

So you nod, peering up at him through your eyelashes. Xavier smiles, finger stroking your cheek. With his other hand, he takes his cock, rubbing his cockhead into your sopping folds, smearing his cum messily around. He’d spurt so much milky seed onto your pussy that it quite literally felt like a bottle of lube had been squirted onto you. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. For a brief second, the bright light returns to Xavier’s eyes as he adoringly watches you, with so much affection in his azure eyes. It’s gone just as quickly as it comes, his cock splitting you apart as he thrusts into you. 

You cry out, unable to do anything but take him, your legs caged against both your bodies. The mating press he has you in is so mean, his hard strong body so imposing as he thrusts into you. It’s so easy for him to slide inside you, his cum on your skin even slicker than lube. 

Xavier’s breathy moans wash over you at every single mean thrust, his smoldering eyes never leaving yours as he ruts into you like a madman. A man positively starved. And only one thing could satisfy him. 

His hands press into the mattress beside your head, his entire body boxing you in, with only your thighs separating you. You wish he could hold you closer, press deeper into you, as deep as his cock was currently in your throbbing pussy. 

“X-Xav…” your squeal. The position he has you in gives him easy access to your most sensitive spots. Xavier only moans in response, not typically a man of many words when it comes to being buried in your guts. 

Which is why you’re surprised when he grits out, “Mine.”

You’re so surprised, mind so clouded with his massive girthy cock, that you gasp out, “W-What?”

Xavier’s smirk is faint, almost imperceptible, “You’re mine. I would never leave you.”

His pointed thrusts make you cry out in pleasure, losing your train of thought again. His smile grows more confident at your inability to speak, “Isn’t that what you told James? That your partner left you?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, before realizing he's talking about the man you’d been flirting with for information at the protocore trade, “J-James? You – hnngh – y-you mean Henrik’s idiot – nngh – bodyguard?” 

Xavier drives into you with an even more mind-numbing intensity at the mention of another man. You can see his jaw twitches, his eyes swimming with shadowy emotions.

“What do you think he took you up to the sixth floor for?” he growls, uncharacteristically and darkly gruff, “For this?” 

To punctuate his point he slams his pelvis into your ass, the lewd pap sound of wet skin against wet skin deafeningly loud. 

“It’s too bad for him. You’re mine.” His words are a sweet threat, with no violence and all the passion in the world behind them.

The raw possession in his voice makes you approach your orgasm far too quickly. Your thighs shake uncontrollably at the strain, but even more so at the pleasure Xavier drives into your gummy walls. His cock is so thick that your body burns with pleasure as he stretches you to your limit, your walls sucking him tightly, unwilling to let go. 

Xavier moans at the unbelievably incredible feeling of your walls tightening against him, trying to wring him into you. Xavier’s thrusts become more erratic as he comes closer to his own release, and you’re desperate to cum with him, your orgasm impossibly iminent. 

You know just how to send him over the edge, as you take his jaw into your fingers, his chest pressed into the fat of your thighs as he folds you quite literally in half. Xavier looks surprised but lets his face be guided to yours, his eyes still holding glimmers of shadows held back by a thin shred of restraint. 

“Xavier,” you whisper, trying to keep your orgasm at bay so you can experience simultaneously with the blonde haired man deliciously rearranging your guts, “I’m yours, always.” 

Xavier’s eyes darken, his eyebrows furrowing, as his body responds to your sweet words. His thrusts are harder, rougher, and all the more forceful and demanding. He’s utterly desperate to feel you cum atop his cock, his beautiful girl. Entirely and completely his. 

“Yeah? Then cum for me, please.” His voice is a guttural growl, matching the animalistic intensity of his body pounding into yours. But he stutters just a bit, as you can practically feel the veins in his thick cock throbbing against your pulsing walls.

With Xavier’s intense eyes on yours, your body folded mind numbingly against his hard chiseled body, his filthy possessive words fanning across your lips, it’s impossible to keep your orgasm back any longer. 

You cum with a strangled cry of his name, your elbows bending so your fingers can furiously claw at the sheets by your head. Xavier moans out at how tightly your cunt grips him amidst your climax, absolutely forcing the orgasm out of him. 

You’re a moaning whining mess as Xavier fucks his seed into you. Even after his first orgasm, there’s so much cum, both inside and outside. The area where your bodies are joined is a sticky mess of cum and saliva.

Xavier is no better, the grunts and babbles streaming from his own mouth an absolute symphony to your ears.

“That’s it, love,” he rasps, “So good for me. Such a good girl. My good girl.”

You stroke Xavier’s soft blonde hair as his thrusts slow to an eventual stop. His softening cock is still in you, and you wince as you can vaguely feel it slipping out. Your hips scream in discomfort, your thighs still pressed firmly into your chest as Xavier gasps for air above you. 

You whimper as he shifts, and instantly Xavier is back to his usual soft self, fawning over you, “Are you okay?” It’s honestly insane how quickly he switches, because as his blue eyes search yours, you notice the darkness is gone. All that’s left is that starry glimmering sea of ultramarine, soft, concerned, and loving.

“H-heavy,” you whine, tapping at his thick shoulders. Xavier’s off of you in a flash, his soft cock slipping out as sits on his knees before you. He hovers over you, careful not to put any weight on you, as he brushes your tangled hair off  of your sweaty forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your flushed cheek, “Was I…Did I take it too far?”

“No, never,” you mumble happily, draping your arms over his neck. Through his gentle smile that could move the stars, you can see how exhausted Xavier is, but he continues to stroke circles into your skin. His hands reach down to massage your bruised thighs, hickeys littering every inch of you. The serene intimacy of the moment is enough to lull you towards sleep, despite the mess between your legs. 

–

You must’ve nodded off for a few minutes, because when you open your bleary eyes you see Xavier between your legs, carefully wiping the sticky mess away. 

“Xav, s’okay,” you whisper sleepily, stirring in his careful hands and barely able to string together complete sentences, “Clean tomorrow, sleep now.”

“It’s okay, angel,” he murmurs, his voice so warm and dreamy. He holds you gently in place as he continues to wipe you off, “Go back to sleep.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his hands soothing your aching muscles, losing the fight against sleep, “You don’t feel tired?” 

Xavier chuckles, the sound meeting your ears even in your half-conscious state, “I can still feel. But I think I may need another…taste test.”

You can hear the mischief in his voice even if you’re too exhausted to open your eyes.

“Just sleep honey, let me take care of you.”

Something about the playful heat in his voice makes you doubt he’s just going to be cleaning you up with the warm towel he had in his hands. And the thought of that excites you beyond belief, even as you succumb to sleep. 

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites

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[gremlingottoosilly]

Blind!Reader who accidentally bumped hard into Mafia!Konig, hard enough for to Konig thought it's some punk who wants to pick a fight with him but only to find a cute girlie with a walking stick that sprawled on the floor because of the wall of meat he is (feel free to use the "you hurt your ankle!?" excuse for him to take Blind!Reader for his own)

Konig was ready to kill when he felt someone bump into him. A fucker should be blind not to notice this wall of muscles and bottled anger coming his way - and Konig sure as hell would make them blind if they are dumb enough not to look around when they are walking. His hand goes to grasp his gun - an instinct, in case the fucker wasn't just dumb, but an enemy...and then he hears a whimper. Clacking of a stick falling to the ground. Cute whimpers. Female whimpers. The "oh my god, sir, I'm so sorry, I didn't want to bump into you, but they changed the street layout since winter and-" God, you were fucking adorable. Precious. Pretty. Cute. Whimpering like a kitten when he helped you stand up, letting you clutch on his hands as a guiding line. Supported you by your waist while handing you the walking stick - and not letting go of your body even as you were trying to stand up without being wobbly. He knows you're probably fine, you didn't fall that badly, but he grasps for straws in trying to keep you by his side. Apologizes, even, his nervous and anxious self returning for a second as he understands that the situation isn't about possible murder. It's about possibly finding a cute girlfriend. Now, he obviously can't leave you to fend for yourself. Konig doesn't care that you survived on your own and is perfectly fine without him - he also doesn't care that you really hate having him dote over you like you're some helpless creature. He needs you by his side, preferably under him, and the fact you survived for so long on your own actually doesn't say anything - he needs to protect you, even if it means being as overbearing as possible. Even if it means simply picking you up like a lost cat and getting you over his shoulder, squeezing your ass one time before packing you into a dark vehicle. You can calm down by trying to memorize his face through your hands, and he can memorize himself with the curves of your sweet body. God, he is going to enjoy making you his...even if it means locking you up in his mansion so no enemy could use you to get to him.

[moonsgemini]

apple pie - cowboy!rafe

summary: Rafe Cameron would have a lot of things in his life differently if he knew he’d meet an angel like you. Befriending your brother in the small town was the best and worst thing that happened to the both of you.

warnings: cowboy!rafe, brothers best friend trope, fem reader, she/her, mentions of religion but reader isn’t very religious (yeah idk either), smoking, alcohol, mutual pining, kissing, also found family you could sayyyy

an: this is inspired by feathered indians by tyler childers & my ongoing need to find a cowboy whose obsessed with me. I didn’t include topper in this bc I do not see him as a cowboy LOL y’all let me know if you want a part two. Was really feeling it at the beginning but idk if I love it.

-

Megan Maroney blasting through your headphones wasn’t enough to muffle the sound of the slamming front door and numerous loud footsteps that followed. The familiar sound of rowdy boys filling the house, then came the familiar muffled voices. It only surprised you a little because it was still early into the night.

Usually your brother and his friends came back around three in the morning from the bars, but that’s if they didn’t have work the next day. You knew they didn’t have work because your brother, Mason, had promised to take you shopping in town. You could only assume that they got into some sort of trouble. It’s the only reason why they’d be back early.

Slipping your headphones off you got up from your desk where you had been working on assignments for your summer class. Climbing down the stairs in nothing but your cut oversized tee shirt that exposed your collar bone and soft sleep shorts.

Your brother spotted you immediately, “Hey! She’s awake!” Mason exclaimed with a mouthful of the apple pie you had baked earlier. The slur in his speech giving away his intoxication.

You scoffed with a smile, “It’s only ten Mase,” you turned to the three other boys that were gathered around the kitchen table, “hi fellas.”

They greeted you with mouths full of pie. Except him. He was leaning back in his chair with a dopey grin and bloodshot eyes, his plate clean and pie long gone. You figure the other three were on their second slice.

Your gaze lingered on him like it always did. That warm feeling in your chest returned, it always did when Rafe was around. It made you feel fidgety and nervous. Like a school girl with a crush. So typical it’s on your brother’s best friend. That thought brought you out of your Rafe induced haze. You walked over to where Mason stood as he ate the last crumbs from the pie tin.

You grabbed it from him with an eye roll, “Well I’m glad you boys enjoyed that. Lucky I made two more. They’re for church tomorrow.”

“You always make the good stuff for church,” Kelce mumbled with his eyes closed blissfully savoring the dessert.

You laughed, “Maybe if y’all went you’d get a slice.”

Mason shook his head at the boys, “Why do you think I go.”

Rafe snorted, “To stare at Thea Foster actually.”

Your brother rolled his eyes and muttered, “She has a boyfriend.”

You smirked placing a hand on his shoulder, “Well I heard there’s trouble in paradise.”

He turned quickly to you bewildered, “From who? When? Why?”

Rafe, Kelce, and Jake burst out laughing. Your poor brother was so in love with a woman he couldn’t have. Rafe understood his pain, but he couldn’t let Mason know that. When the boys quieted down you answered his question, “From Sarah Ann at the nail salon yesterday. She said Thea found fake lashes in his car and then a couple weeks later she followed him because he said he had a work emergency and sure enough he was meeting some girl from the city.”

“That fucker,” Your brother seethed, “I’ll thank him then kill him and then thank him for fucking up.”

You patted his chest as you past him to grab the boys dishes, “Relax big guy.”

“Let’s celebrate with a shot,” Jake said knocking on the table excitedly.

Kelce nodded, “My buzz is wearin off.”

Rafe shrugged watching as you placed the dishes in the sink, “Sure.”

He had smoked a whole joint by himself on the way here and he was still feeling the effects. Something that he had started to regret when you walked down the stairs. He thought you’d be asleep and you wouldn’t see him high and drunk. It’s not like you hadn’t seen him like that before, but he preferred to be sober around you.

Mason poured every one shots including you. Rafe looked up at you with a mischievous smile. The floaty feeling in his head making you look like an angel. Soft bare face and comfortable clothing. He imagines you waiting at home for him dressed like that. Waiting to have dinner together after a long day. That fantasy always made his heart clench.

Mason finished pouring the glasses and began handing them out. The amber liquid sloshed onto the table since he filled them all to the brim. You’d make him clean the kitchen tomorrow.

You looked up at Rafe and found him already looking at you. Your heart raced ou held up your shot glass with the guys. Mason went on about friendship and comradery. The two of you not looking away from each other. Feeling emboldened you didn’t look away not even when you felt your blush move down your cheeks to your neck and chest.

Everyone tipped back their glasses taking the shot. The liquid burning the pit of your stomach. You scrunched your nose in disgust, “ugh I hate whiskey.”

Rafe scratched the back of his head, “I need a cig.” He walked towards the stairs heading to the office. It was the best place to get onto the roof. A spot everyone liked to go to because it looked over the whole ranch.

You pointed at the dishes in the sink, “Wash those before bed. I’m gonna finish studying then go to bed so don’t be too loud.”

“Yes ma’am,” Mason teased.

The two of you had moved to the small town a five years ago. Mason found his dream job on the ranch they live on and his boss the owner, Mr. George, let the two of you stay at one if the houses on the property. You were just grateful to leave your hometown and your parents. Your brother always felt like your only family and when he asked you to come with him you didn’t hesitate. You started community college at the next town over and got a job at the local diner. You two had built community here. Your brother befriending the other ranch hands Rafe and Jake and the local bartender Kelce who had all become more like brothers to him.

-

As you made it up the stairs you passed the office and peered in. The cool summer breeze blowing in through the open window. You stood in the doorway for a few seconds contemplating whether to go out there or not.

When you met Rafe you felt all that ooey gooey stuff you had read about in romance novels. You thought it wasn’t real because it what world would a man make you feel like that. Your faith in the male species to sweep you off your feet had completely disappeared. Until you met him. It was a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach.

It didn’t help that he looked at you the same way. Or when he would do sweet things like buy you trinkets when he went out of town. He’d give you rides if Mason couldn’t and if he was around you never had to carry anything yourself.

Rafe always wanting to be near you if you were around and making sure you’re safe. When your brother had gone out of town he texted and called all weekend making sure you were safe. He almost got in his truck and slept outside your house to make sure nothing happened but he talked himself out of that.

You were his best friend’s little sister. He loved Mason and didn’t want to do anything that would ruin that. It took Rafe so long to rebuild his life in the small town he didn’t want to ruin it by hurting you. He would lose you and your brother.

You climbed through the window to see Rafe sitting on the ledge probably on his second cigarette. You watched as he tilted his head back and exhaled.

“ain’t anyone ever told you that those things will kill you,” You said with a smirk as you walked over to sit beside him.

He shrugged with a smirk, “Never had a good reason to quit.”

You held two fingers out for him motioning for him to place one between your fingers. He shook his head with a laugh as he got one from his almost empty pack.

You brought it up to your lips as he pulled the lighter out. Rafe cupped the end of the cigarette as he lit it. Your eyes watching him the whole time. Rafe fought every fiber of his being to not look at you or else he’d throw out the damn cigarette and kiss you. You didn’t know the power you held over him. He’d cross rivers, oceans, and valleys for you without a second thought.

“I’ll come with ya to church tomorrow,” He said breaking the silence. He doesn’t even know why he just said that. Rafe has never been religious and the only times he’s thought about it were when you showed up in his life.

Now you weren’t devout or anything but when you moved here it felt like a good place to interweave yourself into the town. The move also had you feeling a little lost so you went to where people always say they find something. You’re still not sure how you feel about it but you still go when you can. Your brother started joining you after a couple weeks.

You snorted, “I’m sure you will.”

“I’m serious I’ll go,” He bumped your shoulder with his.

You smiled at him, “Okay Rafey. Then I’m gonna make sure you go because I already know that you’re stayin the night.”

He looked at her with a playful scowl, “Who said I’m stayin?”

“You’re still stoned and you’ve had more whiskey,” You shook your head, “You’re stayin.”

“Whatever you say boss,” He flicked his cigarette off the roof after finishing it.

You rolled your eyes, “I’ll get you up bright and early don’t worry.”

“As long as I get some more pie tomorrow.”

“I did make you something,” You flushed a bit at your next words, “I made you those peanut butter chocolate chip cookies you like. Hid them from the guys or they’d eat em all.”

“You’re so sweet,” He admitted, “those idiots wouldn’t savor them like me.”

You laughed softly trying not to look at him or you’d burst into flames, “So true. I’ll give em to you after church tomorrow.”

“S’that my reward?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, “So you better behave.”

He was feeling bold now. After your shy confession he wanted to be bold. His fingers itched to touch you, “What happens if I don’t behave?”

Your eyes widened a bit not expecting him to say something like that. Did he mean it like that? You couldn’t over think this right now. The tension in the air thick and pushing the two of you closer together.

You shrugged, “I could show you right now.” You didn’t even know what you mean by that but before you could take your words back a voice behind you two broke whatever trance the two of you were in.

“Hey! Are you just gonna let the rest of us get wasted by ourselves or what!” Mason exclaimed as he stuck his head through the window.

Rafe snorted, “I’m comin jackass.”

“I better finish my assignments.” He climbed through the window and held his hand out for you as you stepped through.

“Can I ask a favor?” You asked him. The dim lighting in the office illuminating his face in a way that made him look like a Greek God.

“Anything,” He responded and Rafe truly meant anything.

You sighed, “So after church tomorrow I wanted to go to that book store in the city and Mason is gonna take me. But I don’t really want hungover grumpy Mason to take me,” Just then you heard a thud and loud laughs downstairs.

“Well you know ho-“

Before you could even continue he was nodding his head, “I’ll take you, don’t worry.”

You beamed up at him with bright eyes and a wide smile, “Thank you Rafey. I’ll be quick too.”

He shook his head and wrapped an arm around your shoulders starting to walk you both out of the room, “None of that you can spend the whole day lookin and I won’t care.”

You looked away as your smile grew timid and that damn blush was back. He stopped in front of your bedroom and you already missed his warmth.

“You know where to find us when you wanna have some fun scholar,” He teased lightly.

“Yeah yeah. You know where the blankets are and please make sure that if those idiots want to go home they’re good to drive.”

He mock saluted at you, “Yes ma’am.”

Rafe constantly teased you about your over protection of the group of men. Truthfully he found it endearing because no one has cared so much for him. Even if it’s lumped in with your brother. None of you had family here so it was nice that the five of you had created your own.

As you sat back at your desk you couldn’t stop thinking about Rafe. Honestly you never stopped but after seeing him it always amplified the thoughts. There’s nothing in this world that you wanted more than Rafe Cameron, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to act on it.

You didn’t want to ruin your relationship with your brother. He’s never been that overprotective but you had no idea how he’d be if you dated his best friend. So your fantasies of the tall cowboy remained as just that, fantasies.

-

If wrangling four six foot plus men to church would get that shocked look out of Mrs.Cramer you would have done it a long time ago. The old woman could hardly believe you got those ‘hooligans’ to come. The boys had a bit of a reputation. Not necessarily bad but they knew that if something was going on it was probably them.

Like when Jake drunkly rode a pony into the post office. Or when Mason accidentally left the pig pen open and there were thirty pigs loose in town.

The five of you were now back at your house. Rafe was waiting downstairs for you to finish changing. The other boys were drinking beer watching a baseball game. Mason was beyond grateful he didn’t have to take you anymore.

“I’m ready,” You announced while walking down the stairs. You had changed into your red boots, denim shorts, and a white tee shirt. Simple yet it had his mouth watering. Imagine what it’d be like to peel it all off. He needed to get it together.

“Be back later Mason,” You waved them goodbye before grabbing your purse. Rafe mumbled a bye as he followed after you like a puppy.

-

Not only did Rafe not complain about anything you did in the car but he also let you pick the music. He was having the time of his life. On the outside he looked concentrated on driving and completely unbothered.

“It’s right up there,” You pointed to the building coming up.

He pulled into the parking lot, “You been here before?”

“I have but it’s been a couple months.”

He parked and opened the door for you. The smile on your face making the forty five minute drive worth it.

Well forty five minutes later he was starting to get antsy. He swears he’s seen you make five circles around the fairly small book shop. He was sitting in a purple chair meant for reading. You had given him about six books and your purse to hold and you were still browsing. The only reason he was getting impatient was because he was hungry.

You walked over with two more books, “Okay now I need to narrow these down to just three.”

His brows furrowed, “Three?”

You nodded, “Tips were short this week and I had to use my savings to fix my laptop.”

He stood up holding the six books, “Come on lets go pay.”

You followed him trying to keep up with his long strides, “Uhhh did you not just hear me I can’t afford it Rafe.”

“That’s why I’m buying all of them for you,” He shrugged as if it were nothing.

“No no no,” You pulled his arm to stop him right before the counter, “You can’t do that, that’s too much.”

“You want them all right?”

“Well yeah but-“

“But nothing baby, I got you.” He turned to the counter where the cashier was waiting for the two of you to finish.

You stood behind a bit dumbfounded by not only his kindness but because of what he called you. Baby. That was new.

-

After a long day of book shopping, pizza eating, and laughing you were drained. On the way home you had fallen asleep, waking up once he turned onto the dirt road that led to your house.

You yawned, “We’re here already.”

“Yup and it looks like Mason’s not home.”

“Oh he texted me telling me he was going to a bonfire. We’re invited but I’d rather stay home.”

Rafe opened the door for you like he had been doing all day. He also held your heavy bag of books.

“Me either honestly.”

“You wanna watch a movie with me?” You asked hoping he’d say yes.

“I’d love to.”

You plopped yourself onto the couch to browse movies. Rafe set the books down on the kitchen table before joining you. Except he stood in front of you and grabbed your boot tugging it off each foot.

“Thank you Rafey,” You smiled at him.

You put on Twilight knowing he won’t care and secretly loves it. Today had been perfect. Rafe made you feel like the only person existing. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted him to be more than a friend and it was starting to pain you, but it was something you could live with for now.

A half hour later you had dozed off onto Rafe. Your leg draped over him and face tucked into his neck. His head leaning on yours and one hand in your hair the other around you. This was the best sleep Rafe had ever gotten. He could feel you all around him he didn’t want this to ever end.

Yet you both jolted awake when you heard the front creak open and voices following. Twilight had ended an hour ago and New Moon had started playing. You and Rafe broke a part trying to fix yourselves. A rosy tint to his cheeks as he peered over at you with a teasing smirk. You couldn’t help your blush either as you returned the mischievous smile.

“Hey you guys are back how’d it?” Mason asked as he walked into the living room with Kelce.

“It was good, got lots of new books,” You turned to Rafe with a knowing look.

“Hey is that,” Kelce pointed at something on your inner thigh. You had one leg bent so your inner thigh was facing up on display. An right on it was an impression of a long horn and some intricate designs. Everyone knew who had something that looked like that.

“How’d that get there?” Kelce asked with an amused smile as he pointed between your thigh and Rafe’s belt buckle. He burst into laughed as mason groaned.

“Guys I know y’all like have a thing for each other but I don’t wanna know that stuff,” Mason gagged.

“What Mase!” You groaned, “Nothing like that!”

Rafe laughed feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders, “Dude we fell asleep.”

“I sure hope so, not on my damn couch.”

You decided to mess with him, “Well if you insist.” You grabbed Rafe’s hand and laughed as you pulled him upstairs. He didn’t even hesitate following and also laughing.

You dragged him into your room turning so your back was to the door. Still holding your hand Rafe used the other to push the door closed. Walking you both back in the process so your back was against the closed door. One hand beside your head and the other moving from holding yours to holding your waist.

His head dipped down as your laughter died. Things suddenly felt serious and you realized how close he was and he was touching you. It felt really good.

“So uh sounds like Mason is okay with us,” Rafe murmured.

“Is that you confessing you like me?” You teased looking down at his lips.

He nodded causing your noses to brush, “Yeah I like you baby, can I make it anymore obvious.”

“Can you?”

He squeezed your waist with a smile before dipping down and finally molding his lips to yours. It was like being able to breathe for the first time. His mouth felt good against yours. He kissed you with desperation and need showing you just how long he’s wanted this. How he’s wanted it just as much as you.

Both his hands were now on your waist and traveling over your body feeling every dip and curve. The small whine you let out making him want to throw you onto your bed, but he promised himself if he ever had you he’d take his time. Savor every moment with you.

You pulled away breathless and drunk on him, “I like you too if you couldn’t tell.”

He pecked your lips, “I’ll buy you all the books you want just to hear that again.”

“I like you,” You leaned down up and kissed him again, “Now can we finish the twilight series?”

[lizardho]

I was like 11-12 years old when I figured out at a boring-ass church activity that you could put rocks into little plastic spoons and then pelt people who annoyed me with them. I did this for the rest of the activity, and at Sunday dinner the next night was bragging about my victory (cornering the mean kid who picked on my youngest brother and pelting him with rocks). One of my cousins was like “no way, that sounds SO fun! Let’s do that RIGHT NOW!” So we grabbed spoons and went and got pebbles from the back yard and launched them at each other.

The problem was my grandma sold her soul for the world’s most resilient plastic spoons so we could launch those fuckers HARD. I gave out welts like candy on Halloween, and I got them back in kind.

So we resorted to taking cover and giggling until we got whacked, then yelping, then returning fire.

My cousin hid in my grandpa’s little fishing boat. It was a good boat, but simple and honestly underused. We didn’t know the little windows on it, meant to keep the wind out of my grandpa’s face while he drove, were cracking. However, they were definitely cracking. Eventually it became obvious and we realized we had been being dumb.

This was NOT the first time in my life I’d been dumb roughhousing and broken something, and I had developed a reputation in my family as being “suicidally honest” so I was the one to deliver the bad news. My grandpa let out a pretty good chuckle and said it was OK, tousled my hair, and asked my grandma to bring me cake. I am not kidding. I learned later he hated his boat and only bought it for his kids’ sakes, since he thought everyone needed to know how to fish. At the time though I was just bewildered and pleased at my good fortune. FINALLY, at long last, being honest and telling the truth about breaking something expensive was getting me cake. I knew if I kept trying it would eventually serve me, and now so had CAKE. I was pleased as could be.

My dad, on the other hand, was livid. He LOVED that boat. He spent several weeks each summer recovering from breaking ribs in that boat every year for about 7 years prior to this incident. He had great memories and memories that boat. So he told my Grandma NO cake for me AND that I’d be coming by this weekend to fix stuff around the house and pay for the broken window with my babysitting/lawn mowing money.

Obviously I was devastated, but that felt more in-line with the way things normally went when I broke something expensive so I just figured it was OK. My grandpa gave my grandma a look and sadly said “Ok, have her here on Saturday to help me with some yard work.”

That Saturday my dad woke me up at 6:00 sharp and drove me, sleepy and bewildered, to my grandpa’s house. He was mumbling under his breath the whole time but he thought he was teaching me consequences for my actions so he was ultimately OK with it.

We get to my grandpa’s house at 6:15. My grandpa is outside with a ladder hanging Christmas lights. The lawn is freshly mowed, the trees and garden are weeded and well-tended to, the carnations in the front yard look immaculate, and my grandpa has this giddy mischievous look on his face. He tells me he was so excited that I was coming over that he couldn’t sleep, so he did all the yard work himself. He asked me to help him put up Christmas lights and decorate the Christmas tree, which I did, then said that because I was such a good helper I could have some pancakes for breakfast. I was sent home with the slice of cake I had been denied the week before, wrapped to keep it as fresh as possible.

The whole way home my dad looked a little miffed, but told me that he was glad I had been honest and was proud of me for helping grandpa. I know he wanted me to Learn a Lesson™️the cowboy way, like he had as a kid, but didn’t have much room to complain since I’d still been Put To Work.

I think that was a lesson for both of us, although I’m not totally sure what it was supposed to show me. I think it was my grandpa’s way of showing my dad that discipline without tenderness doesn’t count as much. He died last year and I miss him terribly, as does my dad. I hope that my story of victory, drama, punishment, and ultimately a secret second victory is meaningful to someone else out there, but if not it still means a lot to me ❤️

[rainrot4me]

A Hunter's Moon

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

──────────────────────────────── smokey eyes - lincoln

── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.

CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI

✦ . Summary: Beneath late summer nights, Jack always found you. Human and monster, two different worlds separated by a picket fence. But when he didn't return, you set out to look for him. You find him in rut, in pain, in the ache of something like love—and what kind of friend would you be if you refused him?

✦ . Characters: Eyeless Jack x Female Reader

✦ . Warning: Friends to lovers, partial-canon backstory, rut/heat cycles, mentions of blood and violence, gore, cannibalism, predator/prey relationship, chasing, biting, vaginal, cunnilingus, multiple positions, rough sex, animalistic sex, belly bulge, clawing, begging, partial non-con, creampie, breeding, knotting

✦ . Words: 15.5k

✦ . Note: Monster fucker nation please stand, this one is for you. Very gross, very scary, but ohhhhhhh so good and yum and UGHHHHH. Feast my children. Don’t tell the others, hurry hurry hurry, we can’t let them know that this is what we’re into.

────────────────────────────────────────────

You always loved June.

It was one of those syrupy summer nights, the air thick and soft, clinging to skin like a second, invisible layer. Cicadas droned lazily from somewhere deep in the woods, their chorus blending with the distant hum of traffic beyond the trees. The sun had long dipped behind the hills, but the heat of the day clung on, reluctant to let the world rest.

Your backyard was a patchwork of dim porch light and moonlight, the fence throwing long shadows across the brittle grass. Beyond the fence stretched the treeline, thick and dark as spilled ink, pulsing with the unseen eyes of the forest.

The fence was old—weather-worn wood, sun-bleached, as tall as your chest, and starting to splinter in spots—but it was your fence. Your spot. The place where every night, like clockwork, you would stand on one side with the glow of your kitchen lights behind you, and he would linger on the other, half-concealed by the darkness of the pines.

You heard the faint scuff of boots on dried leaves, the rustle of branches catching on old denim. You didn’t even have to look. You knew it was him.

“Late again,” you teased, leaning against the picketed wood. Fireflies darted around overhead, slow and golden, tiny lanterns against the night.

Jack shifted closer. Tall, broad-shouldered, the faintest glint of moonlight catching the wet curve of the dark mask he wore, the slits where eyes should have been yawning and black—just two gaping sockets, still managing somehow to see you. The copper tang of dried blood still clung faintly to him, mingling with the loamy smell of the forest and his favorite cologne. All wrapped up in an oversized gray hoodie and old wrangler jeans.

“I had…business,” he rasped, voice rough like something left too long in the dark.

You studied him, heart twisting. Once, things had been different. 

You met Jack in college, before everything changed.

He was Eyeless Jack to the world now—a name passed around in hushed rumors and panicked police briefings—but once, he was just Jack. Jack Nyras, pre-med major, scruffy-haired and half-insomniac from too many late-night study sessions. You’d first bumped into him, literally, outside your genetics class when you spilled an entire iced coffee down the front of his hoodie.

Instead of getting mad, he laughed. That laugh, even now, you remembered with a painful fondness: easy, warm, too big for his slight, lanky frame.

After that, you were inseparable. You sat in labs together, sharing notes, studying for hours until your brains turned to mush. Sometimes you’d catch him drawing twisted little sketches of incredibly detailed body parts in the margins of his anatomy book, black ink dripping from his pen like nightmares, doodling hearts and vein patterns and every bone you could think of. He’d grin sheepishly if you pointed it out.

“Just to blow off steam,” he’d told you.

If only it had stayed that way.

But something was off that last semester.

It started with Jenny. A bright-eyed, over-eager girl with too many questions about death, about gods, about what might live on the other side of everything. You’d seen her hanging around Jack, pressing him for his knowledge of anatomy and the occult. You hadn’t thought much of it—she was a weird kid, but who wasn’t in college?

Until the night they took Jack to a ritual.

You hadn’t known where he went, at first. A text left on read. A worried voicemail. Then nothing. You had no clue.

They’d dragged him to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town, where Jenny and her cult had tried to summon a demon—and they’d needed a human sacrifice to open the door. Jack. Your Jack.

They had held him down, cut his eyelids away so he could never look away, and scooped out his eyes with brutal, surgical precision. You would have nightmares about that for years: those empty, bleeding sockets. Then they poured something black and slick, like tar, into the holes—a living thing that pulsed and smoked, thick with hatred.

It was supposed to let a demon pass through him, a doorway wearing a human face. But something went wrong.

Instead of a perfect vessel, Jack became the demon’s prison. The possession took root, warping him, twisting flesh and bone. His skin turned an unnatural gray, hard like stone. The black voids where his eyes once were never stopped weeping that tar-like ichor. Needle-sharp teeth split his mouth, rabid and hungry.

Jack was the only one to survive, if you could call it surviving.

When he came to you after, it was in the dead of night, half-collapsed against your back porch door, trying to hold his guts inside his ribs with clawed, shaking hands. He was weeping. You’d never heard a sound like it, the noise of someone whose soul had been torn in half.

“Don’t look at me,” he begged, voice raw, inhuman already. “Please.”

But you did. You looked. You saw him for what he had become, and refused to turn away.

You kept him alive those first weeks, when he didn’t know what to eat, didn’t understand the pull inside him. You watched him break down on your kitchen floor, apologizing over and over. You helped him find ways to stay hidden, to scavenge what he needed to keep from losing his mind completely.

When Slenderman came for him—a towering, impossible shape between your backyard trees one night—you thought you’d lose Jack for good. But even that faceless horror couldn’t break the bond you’d built. Jack still came back, slipping from his grip in brief windows, always returning to the same spot at the back fence, where your world met the dark.

You wondered if part of him fought that puppet-string control just to see you again.

The truth was, you had every reason to fear him. You’d seen the news reports, the evidence photos, the torn bodies left in his wake. The world would call you naive, maybe even insane. But you knew him. You’d seen him laugh over spilled coffee. You’d watched him hold a scared freshman’s hand in a bio lab when they passed out during a dissection.

That Jack was still there, tangled in the ruin.

So you never turned him away. Even now, years later, you stood by your back fence on humid summer nights, waiting for the quiet scuff of his boots through the weeds. You told him about your boring, safe life—air conditioners and late shifts and microwave dinners—and he told you, in broken pieces, about the horrors he couldn’t help but feed on.

And despite all of it, despite the monsters clawing at his mind, you stayed. Because sometimes being a friend wasn’t bright or easy. Sometimes it was raw and heavy and stubborn, refusing to let go of someone even when the world said you should.

If you wanted, you could forget that night he’d stumbled from the woods, half-monster and half your friend. You could pretend this fence was a line dividing your worlds.

But you didn’t.

Because he was Jack. A biology major, obsessed with genetics and a little too competitive at beer pong. Now, the woods had become his kingdom, the darkness his only safe harbor. But some things hadn’t changed: the way he still leaned forward a little when you spoke, or how he listened more than he talked.

“Rough night?” you asked gently.

He tilted his head, a gesture oddly canine in its curiosity, “Rougher for them.”

You sighed, but there was no real fear in it. If there was one truth in your world, it was that he’d never hurt you.

“I had a pretty boring day,” you offered, voice light, trying to balance out the shadows in his. “Work was slow. Mrs. Carter’s cat had kittens, I saw them in her yard. Oh—and I got a sunburn.”

His head dipped, as if acknowledging the small tragedies of a normal human life. “Show me,” he said quietly.

You laughed, brushing your sleeve up to reveal pink skin. “See? Totally my fault. I fell asleep in the hammock.”

He reached forward, clawed hand resting on top of the fence, close but not quite touching. “You should be careful,” he murmured. “The sun can be quite dangerous this time of year.”

That startled a laugh out of you—a small, real sound. “Wow, Jack, you going to lecture me on skin cancer now?”

A faint, rasping chuckle answered, like dry leaves scraping together.

You both fell into silence, the comfortable kind. The night seemed to wrap around you, humming with late-summer heat, thick with scents of honeysuckle and crushed grass. Somewhere far off, an owl called.

You studied him across the fence, trying to read the shape of him. You could still see the slope of his shoulders, the faint twitch in his jaw when he was worried. The eyeless mask made him look monstrous—but you’d stopped seeing it that way long ago. Nowadays, you were just upset you couldn’t see his cute smile.

“Jack,” you said after a while, softer now, “are you…okay?”

His shoulders rose and fell. A sigh? Maybe.

“I don’t know if I even remember what ‘okay’ feels like,” he murmured. “But… this. Talking to you. It helps.”

Your heart pinched, warm and a little sad. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

You saw him shift closer, a whisper of movement, enough that the shadows seemed to lean toward you. You swallowed, wishing you could reach over the fence and touch him, just once. Instead you let your fingers curl against the peeling paint. “I’m glad you still come back,” you smiled. He just nodded.

“You should go inside soon,” he rasped. “It’s too warm to sleep, but… safer. You should eat some dinner.”

“Will you stay out here a while?” you asked.

He dipped his chin, the faintest promise. “Yeah. I’ll keep watch.”

It was nothing, and it was everything.

Crickets sang to fill the hush that followed.

You stepped a little closer, pressing your palm to the wood between you, pretending you could feel his heartbeat through the fence. If he even still had one.

“Same time tomorrow?” you asked, trying to smile.

He nodded once again, a barely-there motion. “Same time.”

“Goodnight, Jack,” you said softly.

“Goodnight,” he answered, voice steady, a vow carried on the warm summer air.

And then, like a dream dissolving, he stepped back into the gloom of the pines. You caught one last glimpse of his silhouette before the night swallowed him whole.

The fence was still warm under your hand, the cicadas still singing. You exhaled, steadying herself, knowing that tomorrow he’d be there again—your friend in the woods, monster and boy, killer and companion.

And you would be there too, waiting for him.

── .✦

The day crawled by, the hours sticky and dull. You’d scrubbed your kitchen counters twice, answered a handful of emails for work you barely remembered, and even tried to read a book on the back steps—but the words blurred in the heavy evening heat.

All you could think about was Jack.

Ever since that night, years ago, your days felt incomplete until you met him at the fence. Those small conversations, traded across weather-ruined ply-wood, had become your strange ritual, your fragile thread of normal.

Tonight was no different. As the sun began to drop, you practically inhaled your dinner—pasta gone rubbery from the microwave, but you didn’t even taste it—swallowing mouthfuls so fast you nearly choked. Then you ran a hand through your hair, smoothed the wrinkles from your shirt, and stepped outside.

The air was still and damp, the kind that made your arms itch. The cicadas thrummed their endless song, hiding the hush of the woods. You leaned on the fence, peering into the tree line.

Nothing.

You waited, shifting your weight from foot to foot, hoping you’d see the pale glint of his mask moving between the trunks. But the woods stayed silent, the sky growing darker by the minute.

Maybe something came up. Maybe Slenderman needed him. Maybe he was hunting. He was usually late anyway.

You tried to reason with yourself, but the night stretched on, thick and empty, until the mosquitoes started biting and you had no choice but to go inside.

The next night, you came out early, practically running through the kitchen just to get to the fence faster. But again—nothing. The woods felt wrong, like a silent accusation, each leaf unmoving in the hot breeze.

The third night, you could barely stand to eat. You pushed your food around the plate, your stomach a hard knot, fingers picking at the torn edge of your thumbnail until it bled. The skin around your cuticles was raw from worry, your breathing shallow and thin.

Three days, you thought, three days is too long.

He had never gone three days without showing up, not since that night you saved him from bleeding out in your basement.

A cold panic clawed at your throat. You pictured him cornered somewhere, wounded, or worse—devoured by whatever lived inside him. You pictured Slenderman tearing him apart like a dog with a ragdoll, or the police finally catching him, gunning him down before he could explain he was more victim than monster.

Your fork clattered to the plate. You couldn’t take it.

You stood so fast your chair scraped a painful shriek across the floor. You grabbed your flashlight, heart pounding against your ribs like it wanted out, and stalked out into the night.

The fence gate to the woods creaked open, a hesitant protest that felt far too loud. The path beyond was half-eaten by weeds and dark as ink, but you forced yourself through, lungs full of warm, wet air that smelled like dirt and dying leaves.

If Jack wasn’t coming to you—then you would go to him.

You stepped across the fence line, your safe little world snapping shut behind you like a broken jaw, and let the darkness swallow you whole.

── .✦

The woods closed in around you the moment you crossed the fence line, swallowing up the distant hum of the highway and the yellow glow of your back porch light. Out here, everything was shadow layered on shadow, the air thick enough to choke.

You stepped carefully, branches scratching your shins, the beam of your flashlight bouncing across the undergrowth. Every so often you caught a flash of color—a scrap of paper, a mushroom cap, a piece of trash—and your heart would leap in false hope, only to crash back down when it wasn’t him.

Where are you, Jack?

You tried to keep your breathing quiet, tried not to think about the thousands of unseen things rustling in the tall grass. Your imagination filled the darkness with monsters: faceless giants and hollow-eyed shapes, hands reaching.

A branch snapped somewhere ahead, sharp and loud. You flinched, heart hammering up into your throat. Your flashlight jerked wildly, sending yellow arcs of light through the undergrowth.

“Jack?” you called, voice soft and strangled.

No answer. Only the startled flutter of birds erupting from the canopy, taking to the sky in a rush of frantic wings. You staggered back, hand clamped over your chest, adrenaline scalding through you.

You swept the beam of the flashlight across the trees, willing him to be there—a dark mask, a familiar slouch, anything—but the woods only gave you more silence.

Panic built behind your ribs like a scream. You tried to swallow it down.

“Jack?” you called again, a little louder this time, your voice carrying through the trees.

Nothing.

The darkness pressed in. Every stick crack, every scuttle of an animal felt like claws reaching for you. You forced yourself forward, one step at a time, your sneakers sinking into damp earth.

You called again, and again, each time a little braver, though the sound of your own voice nearly terrified you more than the silence did.

“Jack,” you pleaded, “if you can hear me… please answer.”

The flashlight beam wobbled as you clenched your shaking hand around it. The woods felt too big, swallowing your words whole. You had no idea how deep Jack had gone, or if he was even alive, or if you’d ever find him again.

But you had to try.

You would keep going. Even if it meant walking straight into a nightmare, you would keep looking for him, because Jack had never left you alone, even at his worst.

And you refused to leave him alone now.

You kept walking.

The night felt endless, the same dark trees repeating over and over until your legs burned and your feet throbbed inside your sneakers. Branches snagged at your sleeves, tearing tiny holes you barely registered. Bugs droned in the heavy air, the only thing keeping you company.

You lost track of how long you’d been out there—forty minutes, an hour, maybe more. Every step felt like you were sinking deeper into something that didn’t want you there.

Then your flashlight caught a rounded shape in the dirt.

You froze, breath stuttering, and dropped to your knees. The beam landed on it properly this time, and your heart broke in a single, sharp crack.

Jack’s mask.

It lay half-buried under leaves and mud, one side split down the cheek like something had struck it hard, the once-smooth paint now chipped and stained. It looked wrong, abandoned, like a piece of him torn away, like it had been sitting here for a couple of days.

“No,” you whispered, fingers trembling as you picked it up. It was heavier than you expected, damp with rain and sweat, smelling faintly of earth and blood.

“Jack!” you shouted, panic swallowing every scrap of caution you had left. “Jack! Where are you?”

Your voice rang off the trees, harsh and desperate.

Nothing answered.

You shoved the mask under your arm and pushed onward, scanning the cliff runoffs and dry creekbeds where you knew animals liked to hide, searching the tangled roots along the old trails, calling his name again and again.

“Jack! Please—answer me!”

The woods felt different now. As you climbed another steep rise, lungs burning, you realized it had gotten… quiet.

Way too quiet.

The cicadas were gone. No crickets. No night birds. Nothing.

Like the entire forest had been smothered under a heavy, waiting hush.

Your footsteps sounded painfully loud, each broken twig echoing off the trunks around you. You forced yourself to keep moving, scanning every hollow, every patch of shadow for a flash of gray skin or those ink-black tears—anything to prove he was still here.

But the silence felt absolute.

Crushing.

Wrong.

You swallowed, hard, the edges of the quiet closing around you until it felt like the woods themselves were holding their breath.

The stillness was so heavy it pressed on your eardrums, leaving you dizzy and unsteady. You clutched the broken mask tighter to your chest, heart hammering, flashlight flicking from one twisted branch to another.

That was when you heard it.

A wet, tearing sound, slick and raw, like someone wringing out a soaked rag. Then another noise—a sharp pop, like cartilage snapping.

Your stomach lurched.

You turned your flashlight toward the sound, its pale circle shaking so badly it barely held focus. You swallowed, took a single step, then another, trying not to crack any twigs, the silence around you making every breath sound huge.

You crept forward, through brambles that snagged your jeans, and finally reached the thick trunk of a pine tree. Its bark was rough against your palm as you steadied yourself, heart about to pound out of your chest.

The noises were louder here—slurping, chewing, flesh pulling away from bone.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a heartbeat, steeling yourself, then leaned to peek around the tree.

The sight made your legs go out from under you.

Jack was crouched low, his claws sunk deep in something—someone—sprawled in the mud. His face was buried in the corpse’s stomach, his mask gone, the ruined hollow of his sockets pressed to ruined flesh as he tore through it with those glinting, animal-sharp teeth.

Wet, black gore streaked his chin. Strings of it dripped from his mouth as he devoured what was left of the person’s organs.

He looked monstrous, more beast than man, moving in a brutal, mindless rhythm that made bile rise in your throat.

A scream clawed its way up before you could stop it, raw and terrified, tearing itself from your lungs.

The flashlight fell from your hands, clattering against a rock. Jack’s broken mask slipped after it, landing in the dirt.

Your knees buckled and you crashed to the ground, hands braced in the leaves as you gasped, the scream still echoing through the dead, silent woods.

Jack’s head snapped up, raw and slick with gore, strands of dark tissue clinging to his torn lips. For a moment, he just stared—or aimed those hollow sockets at you, emptier than any night you’d ever seen.

Then he let out a sound.

It was a low, throaty grunt, bubbling through whatever remained of the man’s organs, followed by a choked, strangled whine.

He shoved the corpse aside in a jerking, hungry motion, the wet smack of it hitting the ground making you flinch. Jack’s claws scraped through the dirt as he pushed upright, swaying on his feet. The moon caught the raw gleam of his teeth, stained black-red and sharp as glass. The front of his gray hoodie was stained dark, blood covering his chest and collar.

He took a staggering step toward you, hunched, moving in fits and starts—a predator not quite remembering how to use its limbs.

“J—Jack,” you stammered, voice cracking under the weight of your own terror.

Another grunt, this one higher, confused, almost hurt. But he kept coming, head tilted like he was trying to place you, thick lines of blood still running from his mouth.

You scrambled to your feet, hands scraping against sticks and dirt. Your flashlight lay where it had fallen, but you didn’t dare grab it—the thought of wasting a single second made your heart seize.

You ran.

Your legs barely worked at first, a jolt of panic burning through them so violently you stumbled. Behind you, Jack howled—a horrible, broken sound, like a wolf choking on its own kill—and then he charged.

You heard him crashing through the brush, smashing into trees hard enough to shake the branches overhead, snarling and sobbing all at once.

Your lungs tore with each gulp of damp air, your feet tangling in vines and roots. The world blurred, branches whipping your face and arms, your pulse a screaming rhythm in your ears.

You glanced over your shoulder—mistake.

Jack was close, horrifyingly close, lurching forward on all fours at times, then staggering upright, drool and blood flinging off his chin with every strangled cry.

The sound of him was horrible, like a nightmare given voice: gasping, wet snarls, a boy’s whimper trapped in a monster’s throat.

You pushed harder, legs on fire, tripping through a creek bed and nearly going down. Behind you, Jack crashed in after, water splashing like a thunderclap. He slammed against the bank and scrabbled up again, claws raking mud, his body moving with a terrifying, unstoppable hunger.

The night around you felt like it shrank, every tree too close, every shadow reaching. You could hear him breathing—wet, ragged, sharp—right behind you, the animal panic of a predator whose prey was slipping away.

Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, half from terror, half from heartbreak. Jack. Your Jack. Reduced to this. Hunting you like he didn’t even know your name.

He wailed again, an echoing, desperate sound that sent a fresh spike of adrenaline through your spine.

You scrambled up a hill, nails tearing into the dirt for grip, and felt him slam into the slope behind you, sending rocks and dead leaves skittering down around your heels. He tripped on a root, crashing to his knees with a scream of frustration, but he was already dragging himself up, unstoppable.

You felt pathetic, small and breakable, every instinct screaming to run run run run—

But there was nowhere to go, nowhere safe. The forest was a cage, and Jack was filling every inch of it, his cries ripping through the dark, hunting you down with mindless, monstrous determination.

You ran anyway, because you had to.

And behind you, he followed—crashing, wailing, unstoppable.

It only took one misstep of your foot, one trip—a rush of air and the thunder of clawed feet, and then he crashed into you with the force of a falling tree.

You hit the ground hard, the breath punched out of your lungs, dirt grinding into your palms. Before you could even scream, Jack was on top of you, pinning you to the forest floor with all his unnatural weight.

He snarled inches from your face, the sound raw and animal, splattering you with thick, foul-smelling gore. Blood dripped from his wide lips, fat droplets falling onto your cheek, sliding warm and sticky into your hair. You noticed it then, the absolute richness of his smell. Like his cologne, but so stout and thick you could’ve choked on it.

You froze, terror swallowing you whole, every muscle locked in place. His claws curled into the ground beside your head, framing you like steel traps.

“Jack,” you choked out, your voice breaking under the fear, “Jack, it’s me—please, please, it’s me!”

He leaned closer, so close you could smell rotted copper and damp earth on his breath. His hollow sockets flared wide, a horrible, empty focus. Another snarl tore out of him, spraying more blood across your face. Even the tips of his pointed ears were speckled with the stuff.

You raised your hands, palms open, pressing against the dampened fabric of his hoodie, feeling the quivering, rigid muscles beneath.

“Jack—Jack, please,” you sobbed, “you know me—it’s me, it’s me—”

Something in him stuttered.

The endless growling broke off, replaced by a high, confused whine. His head twitched, tilting to one side, like a dog trying to understand a new word.

His breath hitched, and then he bent down, nosing against your cheek, sucking in deep, shaky lungfuls of your scent.

His three black tongues emerged, slick and twitching, and began to sweep over your face in long, wet strokes, gathering up the blood he’d splattered there. It was revolting—warm, sticky, and far too intimate—and you flinched as he moved lower, tongues pressing to your neck, tasting, cleaning.

He breathed you in so desperately you thought he might inhale your entire soul. His chest heaved against your hands, shuddering with each inhale.

“Ssr—” he tried, voice grinding out of a throat that sounded half broken, “Mmn—Hah—”

You could hear it, buried in the monstrous ruin of his voice, “So-Sorr-ey—Mmn-sorr—Mnn-Miss yewhh—”

He kept trying to form the words, but they came out in garbled sobs and animal rasping, drool and blood dripping onto your skin.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t even breathe.

His tongues kept working, lapping gently at your throat, tasting, nuzzling, his claws scraping at the dirt on either side of your head. A pitiful whimper rattled through him every time he pulled away and tried to speak again.

It was like being pinned by a hurricane—something impossibly powerful and terrifying, but also heartbreakingly confused, lost, wanting only you.

You stared up at the empty sockets inches from your eyes, mind screaming, every nerve alight with raw, animal terror.

Jack’s blood-slick mouth hovered above you, trying so hard to shape human words, but all that came was a broken, hopeless cry.

Your heart pounded so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. Jack’s weight felt endless on top of you, a monstrous, crushing presence that smelled of blood and rot and something older, darker.

But… this was Jack.

You tried to remember that—your Jack, even buried in this nightmare. You preached about loving him and being there for him no matter what, but as soon as you’re faced with a horror, what did you do? Stupid.

You drew in a weary, shaking breath and reached up, fingers threading through the wild, tangled strands of his dark hair. The roots were tacky with drying blood, but you ignored it, combing gently, soothing.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, voice raw, “Jack… it’s okay. You’re okay.”

He whimpered against your throat, the monstrous rumble of his chest vibrating against yours. His tongues tried to drag across your cheeks again, desperate and sloppy, but you pushed him back with a shaking hand, steadying him.

“Stop—hey, it’s okay,” you tried again, voice firm but soft, like talking to a wounded animal.

He froze, breathing you in so deeply it hurt to hear, then slowly lowered his head until his brow touched yours. The blood was sticky between you, but the contact steadied him, just a little. You’d never have thought touching him, seeing him without his mask for the first time in months would’ve been like this. Fate has a weird way of working things out.

You kept your hand moving through his hair, gentle, grounding, and after another moment he shifted, claws pulling out of the dirt beside your head and instead curling around you, wrapping you in a terrifying, protective cage.

His hands—bloodied and sharp and so wrong—trembled as they ghosted under your shirt, rough against your waist, pulling you closer, pressing your ribs against his chest.

His entire body shook as he settled, breath ragged and uneven, the smell of iron so strong you wanted to gag. Still, you stayed, letting him hold you, even when every terrified instinct screamed to run.

Moonlight spilled through a break in the canopy, falling on the two of you in a cold, pale wash. It caught the gore still clinging to his jaw, the unnatural gray of his ruined skin, the inky stain of his hollow eyes.

Jack clung tighter, claws pricking your sides, breathing hard against your neck, confused sounds still rumbling in the back of his throat.

He didn’t understand. You could feel it in the frantic rhythm of his touch—he didn’t know why his body felt so raw, so starving, so desperate.

Jack stayed wrapped around you, claws trembling against your back, his breathing raw and frantic. His face was buried at your neck, those horrible tongues twitching against your skin, tasting you over and over as if it was the only thing keeping him sane.

Your head spun. He was so strong—you could feel it in every twitch of those monstrous hands, how easily he could have broken you. But he didn’t.

He was shaking, whimpering, lost.

“Jack,” you tried, voice cracking, “what is this? What’s happening to you?”

He made a mangled sound, low in his chest, trying to force words through a throat that wasn’t made for them anymore.

“Ca-c-can’t—” he rasped, wet and torn. “Can’t… s-stop.”

You swallowed, panic still clawing at your ribs. His claws flexed under your shirt, not hurting, but clutching at you like a lifeline.

“Can’t stop what?” you asked, heart hammering, “Hurting? Hunting?”

He shook his head, a violent, jerky movement against your neck, a fresh whimper breaking free.

“Smh-smell… y-you…” he gasped, voice breaking. “C-c-can’t… st-stop.”

Your mind was spinning, trying to piece it together. You thought of how he’d tracked you down, how he couldn’t stop licking you, couldn’t get enough of your scent, the way he was holding you now like he needed you to keep breathing.

Your stomach dropped.

Was this… heat? The word felt alien, but close. Or something like it. He was… an animal, twisted by what they’d done to him. Maybe his body had gone feral in more ways than just hunger.

“Jack,” you whispered, dread crawling up your spine, “are you… in some kind of… rut?”

He went still, pressed against you. A miserable, pained whimper came out, low and helpless.

“Dha-d-don’t… know,” he stuttered, voice thick with something raw and pathetic. “I… s-smell… yo-ou… need…”

It made your head swim. Of course he didn’t know. How could he? No one ever taught a monster about instincts like this.

His claws scrabbled at your back again, then curled around your waist, pulling you even tighter. His face pressed into your collarbone, those tongues working against your throat like he was trying to memorize you.

It was terrifying. It was heartbreaking.

“It’s okay, Jack,” you whispered again, voice catching, “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Jack trembled against you, his claws flexing and unflexing along your ribs, scraping your skin just enough to sting. His entire body was rigid, shaking, the way a bowstring might before it finally snapped.

A raw, pained groan crawled up his ruined throat, and then—he moved.

He shifted, his hips dragging against yours, grinding down, slow and clumsy, a desperate friction that made your blood run cold and your spine bow off the ground. He did it again, harder, a broken sob rattling out of him. He was hard, and so painfully, terrifyingly big. 

It was so wrong—but so heartbreakingly human in a twisted way.

He didn’t know what he was doing. You could feel it in how he shook, how his claws fluttered against your skin like he was afraid to hurt you. But some dark, feral instinct had its claws in him now, and it wouldn’t let go.

“J-Jack—” you stammered, terror slicing through you like a blade, “Jack, wait—wait, please—”

He didn’t seem to hear you. Or maybe he couldn’t.

He only whimpered, grinding down again, more frantic, his entire body surging with confused, alien need. The weight of him pinned you, crushing you into the damp earth, making it impossible to squirm away.

Your words turned to babbling, desperate, tears spilling from your eyes.

“Jack, please, wait, j-just—just hold on—you don’t have to—!”

But he needed to.

His tongue, the longest of the three, licked up the side of your neck, tasting your tears, and his whole body shuddered in something close to ecstasy.

You were perfect—you smelled so good, so alive, so his.

Jack keened against you, hips ramming forward again against the center of your thighs, a hopeless rhythm he didn’t understand, only that it made the gnawing ache inside ease for the briefest second. You grunted with every press, legs clamping to close around his hips, but it was no use.

His claws roved under your shirt, skittering against your bare skin, so hot and feverish it felt like they might burn you.

You tried to hold on to him, hands bracing against his chest, trying to reason with him, but he was gone to you—lost to instincts so deep and cruel they drowned out everything else.

“P-please, Jack,” you cried, voice catching on a sob, “I know you’re in there—I know you’re in there, please just—”

He didn’t answer.

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling with a desperate, shaking gasp, then ground into you again, a brutal, guttural snarl tearing from his chest.

There was hunger, yes—but not for organs, not this time. It was a hunger that was aching, tearing him apart in places he didn’t even have names for anymore.

He needed you. And he couldn’t stop.

The heat in his body was a firestorm, swallowing everything that made sense, leaving only need. You smelled so good—the salt of your skin, the sweet tang of your fear, the soft, warm human scent that had always belonged to you.

His claws scraped against your ribs as he ground down, again and again, unable to stop, each movement more desperate than the last. A whine rattled out of him, high and pained, like it physically hurt to be this close and not inside you somehow. You matched his whines, your thighs shaking with how his cock rubbed against your cunt through layers of thick clothing.

Your hands clutched at his hair, pulling, nails digging into his scalp. You were crying, babbling, your voice cracking with half-formed pleas—but you weren’t fighting him, you didn’t think you could anyhow.

He latched onto that with something feral, something primal. You wanted him, some buried part of you did, or at least you weren’t kicking him off, and that was enough to break what was left of his reason.

His tongues flicked over your neck, tasting sweat and tears and heat, making him snarl in frustrated ecstasy. The sound vibrated through your chest, and you arched up against him without meaning to, hips meeting his with a helpless grind that made his claws clench hard enough to bruise.

The world was spinning, dizzy and molten, your voice cracking again as you gasped, “J-Jack—”

He couldn’t stop.

“Mhnn—M’sorry—”

He bit you.

His jaws snapped down on your shoulder, too hard, the sharp points of his monstrous teeth tearing straight through the thin cotton of your shirt and sinking into flesh.

You screamed—a sound tangled between pain and something far, far darker, some twisted surge of relief that made you go limp under him.

He tasted your blood, hot and coppery, and moaned against you, rutting his hips so hard you could barely breathe.

Your head fell back, tears streaming, your body alight with panic and arousal and a hundred things you couldn’t name.

“Ah—Fuck—!” you sobbed, hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as you trembled from the agony of his bite.

He whined around the mouthful of your skin, drool and blood spilling down your shoulder, tongues fluttering against the broken flesh. His claws skittered under your back, catching on the fabric, desperate to feel you, to anchor himself before he tore you apart completely.

The smell of you, the taste, the way you moved against him—it was too much. It was everything.

Jack’s grinding grew more frantic, more nasty, sloppy and desperate, like an animal starved of touch for centuries, driven by something so foreign he couldn’t even name it.

You moved with him, rutting up to meet his rhythm, your voice breaking into half-sobbed moans as you clutched him closer, dizzy from pain and heat and the horrible, unbearable need radiating off of him.

It was messy, violent, a collision of instincts and terror and some warped, twisted need to save him.

It built like a storm, each frantic thrust of his hips dragging you closer to a precipice you couldn’t see, didn’t even know it was there until you felt the coil in your stomach. Jack was panting, growling, his claws scoring lines onto your ribs and back and all over as he rutted against you, mindless and unstoppable.

You were barely breathing, the pain in your shoulder mixing with something hot and carnal that had your hips moving up to meet his every time, your voice caught in your throat in sobs and broken cries. Your thighs feel open, legs coming around his broad hips to wrap around him, locking your feet together at the base of his back.

The smell of blood, sweat, the damp soil—it all blurred around you, your entire world narrowed to the way his hips slid against yours, his length pressed against your aching clit.

Jack’s tongues lashed against your skin, tasting you, claiming you, his breath so ragged it rattled his chest. His hips stuttered, harder, faster, his growl climbing into something high and keening—

You felt the tension snap inside you like a frayed wire, every nerve flaring white-hot as you choked on a sob, your hips jerking up, caught in that same unstoppable rhythm.

Your orgasm crashed through you, messy and raw, pain and pleasure and terror all tangled together until you didn’t know what you were feeling except that you couldn’t handle the pressure any longer.

He felt it too.

Jack’s whole body went rigid, a strangled, animalistic cry bursting out of him as he ground down hard, shoving you into the dirt so rough your bones ached. He shuddered, every muscle seizing, the heat of him smothering you as he came, mindlessly rutting through the last frantic pulses until his hips slowed to stutters.

For a long moment, there was only panting—his huge body draped over yours, twitching, shaking.

The forest was silent except for your breathing, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, the coppery sting of blood sharp under your nose.

Jack went still, finally, the frantic, feral madness draining out of him all at once like a burst dam. He slumped against you, heavy and limp, rasping out broken, rattling breaths.

You felt his face move against your neck, those horrible tongues twitching sluggishly, no longer hungry, just back to cleaning the blood that trickled from your bite.

A low, almost human voice crawled out of him, helpless and raw.

“C-cou-couldn’t—” he tried to say, and choked on a sob, “couldn’t s-stop…”

Your shaking hands found his hair again, combing through the blood-matted strands. Your voice was thin, ruined from crying, but you managed to get words past your cracked lips.

“I-I know,” you whispered, “Jack, I know…”

He let out a hoarse, broken whine, pressing his face harder into your throat. The pressure of his claws, still tucked under your shirt, turned gentle, almost soothing, stroking your bare skin in a clumsy mimic of affection.

The blind, animalistic need had quieted, leaving something raw and battered in its place.

He was Jack again, for now—shaky and confused and so, so sorry.

“D-didn’t… want to… h-hurt…” he stammered, one of his tongues licking a stripe up your jaw as if trying to apologize, “you smelled so-soo good…”

You swallowed hard, blinking against the tears.

“It’s okay,” you whined, voice paper-thin, “it’s… it’s okay. We’ll… we’ll figure it out.”

He let out a low, pitiful whimper and curled tighter around you, as if even after all that, he couldn’t bear to let you go.

You felt the heat of him, the ragged exhaustion, the sloppy, dazed nuzzles as he licked at the bite he’d left on your shoulder.

But then—you felt it.

Hard. Still hard.

Thick and throbbing, pressed against the curve of your hip, pulsing with a need that clearly hadn’t burned itself out yet. The realization shot a cold spear of panic through your gut, even as your mind reeled from the aftershocks of what you’d already survived.

“Jack,” you breathed, voice breaking, “wait—”

But he was moving again. A slow, rolling grind against you, the heavy ridge of him rutting over your thigh. You flinched, a fresh spike of sensitivity bursting through your half-numb body.

He whined—higher, clearer, more Jack than the animal—but still desperate.

“C-can’t stop…” he stammered, his voice raw and torn, but understandable now, “please… I need… more…”

Your heart lurched, hammering so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. You put your hands against his chest, trying to push him back.

“J-Jack—wait—just—just hold on a second—”

But he didn’t. Couldn’t.

He loomed up over you, gray skin catching in a shaft of moonlight, eyes still hollow and leaking that inky blackness, but somehow so full of you, focused only on you.

A clumsy claw caught the hem of your shirt, tugging, tearing the cotton easily as if it were paper. Another hand fumbled at your waistband, his movements frantic, awkward, scraping your skin as he tried to pull your pants down. He tore his claw through your shirt, ripping the fabric in half, shoving it off your chest. The air was warm, but your flesh still crawled with goosebumps, crossing your arms across your bra.

“J-Jack—” you pleaded, voice cracking, “slow down—”

He shook his head, a course growl pulling out of his ruined throat, all three tongues lolling and quivering as he nosed at your bare shoulder, inhaling you like your scent was the sweetest perfume known to man.

“Sm-mells so… g-good…” he slurred, breath shivering across your damp skin, “It hurts… I need…”

He sat up off of you onto his knees and tugged harder, practically ripping your pants down your hips, dragging the fabric across your thighs and off your ankles, leaving you shivering in the warm night air, half-covered in blood and dirt and his own desperate scent.

Your head spun, panic and some horrible spark of want twisting in your belly.

His claws raked down your sides, leaving angry red lines in their wake, but his grip gentled near your hips, as if trying, clumsily, to be careful with you.

“Please,” he whispered, voice cracking around the word like glass, “I need it…”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was tearing at what was left of your clothes, his claws hooking into your panties and ripping them in a single, impatient pull. The elastic snapped, leaving you bare beneath him, the humid night air kissing every inch of your trembling skin.

Jack leaned back, just enough to see you fully—the sight of you exposed made him snarl, low and guttural, his hips twitching in a spasm of aching need.

You gasped when he tore at your bra, the clasps giving way to those claws so easily, leaving you naked, splayed out beneath him in the mud and leaves. His tongues ran over his lips, shivering in the night air, and he lowered his face to your chest, sniffing so deep it made your skin prickle.

Jack shifted above you, still breathing in those ragged, animal-edged huffs of air. His claws twitched at the edge of his hoodie, scrabbling almost clumsily as he started trying to yank it off, frustration roughening his voice.

“Too… h-hot,” he snarled, voice breaking as he tried to pull the oversized fabric over his shoulders, “can’t—too tight—”

It was ridiculous, in a way—the thing was big on him, he had to roll up the sleeves for crying out loud, but with the way his body strained and trembled now, even that roomy cloth felt suffocating.

You watched, dazed and shaking, as he finally managed to drag it over his head, the hood catching for a second on his head before he ripped it free with a growl.

The air hit his skin and he shivered, shoulders rolling. His body was… terrifying, and yet so painfully, heartbreakingly familiar.

His skin, that strange ashy blue-gray, gleamed with sweat, muscles standing out in sharp, tense lines. Broad shoulders, roped with lean, powerful definition, his chest heaving, his ribs showing the slightest hollow from days of half-starved hunting. Scars ran across him in jagged, uneven tracks, some healed rough, others still pink and new.

The moonlight skimmed over his abdomen, tracing hard-cut muscle under a shimmer of sweat, each breath flexing the taut cords of his stomach. His hips were narrow, but thick with power, and every line of him looked made for violence—but somehow so vulnerable in this raw, exposed moment. But the pièce de résistance was the trail of hair that started under his belly button and traveled down to somewhere unknown beneath his waistband.

He tossed the hoodie aside and leaned back over you, hair matted and damp around his forehead, claws spreading on either side of your waist as he growled, breath ghosting over your chest.

“Hold on now, w-wait—” you stammered, but the words barely left your lips before his mouth was on you.

He licked a broad, hungry stripe up the slope of your breast, then latched on, three tongues working over your nipple at once—hot, slick, inhuman. You cried out, body arching up, nails digging into his shoulders as the wet heat sent a jolt of electricity through you.

He moaned at the taste of you, his voice raw and desperate, his hands splaying out over your hips to pin you down as he moved lower, lower still, dragging those horrible, clever tongues across every inch of you.

When he settled between your thighs, you tried to close them—but his claws kept you open, spreading you wide, your body so exposed you could hardly stand it. You leaned up onto your elbows, fingers digging into the grass.

Jack paused for just a second, panting, his face hovering over your slick, his tongues twitching with anticipation. He let out a broken, hungry little whimper. Was he… was he fucking drooling?

“P-pretty…” he slurred, the syllables barely holding together, “so… pretty…”

And then he lunged, mouth burying itself against you with no finesse, no mercy.

You screamed, your back bowing off the ground as those three tongues moved with wild, sloppy desperation, lapping at you like he was starving. It was too much—the rough flicks, the obscene wetness, the teeth scraping gently at sensitive skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure and terror straight through your core.

You gasped, hips jerking, the spark of pleasure sharp as lightning through your belly. Jack let out a deep, satisfied growl at the reaction, circling your clit with the tip of one of his tongues, soft at first, then firmer, more insistent, making your muscles clench under him.

You fisted his hair, gasping, voice cracking as you tried to guide him, tried to survive the hurricane of sensation.

The second tongue joined the first, working in a counter-rhythm, stroking and licking at you until you were shaking again, barely able to think. He was playing with you—greedy and clumsy, but somehow still so achingly precise, watching you break apart under every drag of his tongues.

“J-Jack—oh my god—slow—please—!”

He didn’t slow. Couldn’t.

He added another.

His monstrous hands pinned your thighs even wider, his growls vibrating right through you, and he sucked at your clit with all three tongues, so intense you almost blacked out, eyes rolling far beyond the back of your head.

“Fuckk—y-you—taste—” he babbled into you, lost in it, “so fucking good.”

You felt his hips rutt against the ground while he devoured you, grinding for relief even as he tore every ounce of yours from you with terrifying devotion.

It was savage. Beautiful.

You were helpless, caught under him, trembling as the pleasure built again and again, nowhere to go, nothing to do but cling to him and pray you survived.

And Jack—he just kept going, lost in you, a monster starved for more than flesh.

Then, with a hungry deliberation, he shifted, tongues drawing lower, to the dripping entrance of your core. One slick tongue traced around the tight ring of muscle, circling, then gently pushed inside—the stretch was strange, hot, noticeable, and you cried out, fisting the dirt, hips rolling helplessly.

Jack shuddered like he could feel it, letting out a sound halfway between a moan and a growl that vibrated against your cunt.

Then a second tongue slid in next to the first, thicker, the two of them twisting, writhing, pressing against places inside you that made your toes curl and your spine curl off the forest floor.

“F-fuck—Jack—!” you sobbed, barely holding on.

He whined, eager, desperate to please, and a third tongue pushed at your entrance, stretching you even more, making you feel so full and so impossibly overwhelmed. He fed them in deeper, deeper still, moving them in slow, obscene thrusts as your body fluttered helplessly around them.

His claws dug into your hips, holding you steady, and he watched you break apart, those empty sockets somehow burning with a savage, possessive adoration.

“Cant stop—I can’t—” he stammered, voice shaking as much as you were, “So warm—”

The tongues twisted inside you, slick and hot and everywhere, while the tip of one still worked your clit in perfect, punishing circles—until your mind was nothing but static. You could feel your restraint dissolve, feel every muscle coming unbound with every pass of the muscles roiling around inside your gummy walls. All you could do was hiccup through tears that spilt down your cheeks, hands lost between fisting the grass and Jack’s messy hair.

He wouldn’t make you decide for long.

Jack finally slowed, his three tongues pulsing one last time inside you before starting to pull free—inch by inch, painfully slow, the writhing muscle dragging slick and hot against your walls.

You cried out, hands scrabbling through the dirt, thighs shivering so hard they nearly clamped shut around his head. Jack lifted, and the sight of him made your stomach twist—his face was covered in you, slick and glistening all the way to the hollows of his cheeks, dripping down the edges of his jaw.

He panted, claws still gripping your hips, and then—almost absently—he used those tongues to clean himself. They swept up over his chin, lapping across his cheeks, curling to drag away every trace of you with obscene thoroughness.

The longest tongue curled all the way up to the corner of his eye socket, slicking away a streak of blood, while the others worked over his lips and down to his throat, catching every drop.

It was monstrous, horrifying—but something about it was also devoted, his noises soft and grateful as he tasted you over and over again.

When he was finished, his face shone faintly in the moonlight, wiped clean by nothing but his own inhuman hunger, and he looked down at you with those hollow, endless sockets, panting, starved, still wanting.

“Taste so… mhnn—so go-good—” he stammered, voice breaking apart, almost overwhelmed himself.

Then, shaking, he leaned back on his haunches, claws fumbling at the button of his jeans, breath coming out in deep, stripped huffs. The denim was already soaked with sweat and stained with little flecks of gore, clinging to his muscled thighs.

“C-can’t—too tight—need…” he growled, frustrated, claws almost tearing the button clean off before he finally managed to wrench it open and shove the jeans down.

The second they fell, your breath hitched. You felt your stomach roll over on itself.

His cock was monstrous, huge even by impossible standards, flushed a dark bruised-blue that almost glowed in the slivered moonlight. Thick ridges ran along the underside, pulsing faintly, and the head was slick and shiny, drooling a bead of clear precum that dripped to the dirt below. Veins wrapped around the shaft like dark ropes, throbbing with each frantic beat of his inhuman heart.

It was obscene, the sheer size of it, the way it twitched and jumped with the smallest movement of his hips. Your body tensed, terrified and aching all at once, while Jack looked down at you with those endless, hungry sockets, a guttural, whiny sound escaping his throat. A noise a dog would make if you held food above its head.

“Sweet girl,” he rasped, voice shaking, “Want—hnn—want inside… please… pl-please.”

He was so hard he looked in pain, the length of him bobbing forward, heavy, glistening, terrifyingly perfect in its brutality. One clawed hand wrapped around the base, a poor attempt to steady himself as he leaned over you, every muscle in his lean, powerful frame quivering with raw, feral need.

You could barely breathe, heart hammering against your ribs, as Jack loomed over you—huge, starved, and desperate to make you his.

A wave of terror slammed into you, cutting through every dazed, sweet ache in your body. Your instincts screamed run, and before you could even think, you rolled over onto your stomach, dirt scraping your skin, legs wobbling as you tried to get your knees under you.

You were so weak, so shaky from everything he’d already done to you, but you managed to crawl forward, dragging yourself clumsy and frantic through the leaves. No fucking way were you going to take that thing.

“Jack, no—” you gasped, voice breaking.

But he snarled behind you, a sound so deep and hungry it rattled your bones.

“Don’t run…” he growled, words wet and cracked, “…don’t run, pretty girl…”

You made it only a few feet before his claws closed around your calf, the rough grip tearing a desperate cry from your lungs. Jack hauled you backward with terrifying ease, your fingernails clawing at the dirt as he dragged you until you were flush against him, your back pressed to the heat of his bare chest, his hips crowding up behind you.

He leaned over, breath scalding against your ear, and you felt the monstrous weight of his cock slide along the curve of your ass, so heavy and thick it made your whole body clench up.

It rested there, pulsing hot against your skin, smearing precum over your lower back and leaving your mind reeling with just how deep he was going to go.

“Don’t run…” Jack repeated, lower, almost a begging whimper tangled with the snarl, “n-need you…need all of you…”

He ground forward, letting the head of his cock catch between your cheeks, then angling his hips, slid his length between your thighs, pressing against your entrance just enough for you to feel the impossible stretch waiting.

Your breath came in sharp, terrified gasps, the world a dizzy blur as his claws dug into your hips, holding you pinned, his voice breaking as he panted into your hair.

“P-pretty…don’t run…gonna make you f-full…so full…”

The sheer heat of him, the solid, inhuman girth twitching and drooling against you, made your head spin. Your heart thundered like prey under a predator’s paw—helpless, trembling, trapped.

You tried to squirm again—a panicked, half-blind attempt to drag yourself away, the leaves and damp earth clinging to your elbows. But Jack’s low, animal snarl made your heart stop, vibrating through your ribs like thunder.

“Don’t,” he rasped, breath raw and uneven, “don’t run—gonna take you—”

His hips rolled, the bulging head of his cock catching against your clit, making you yelp and arch from the sudden jolt of raw, overwhelming pleasure. He dragged it up and down your slit, soaking you with slick precum, smearing it across your folds until you were trembling so hard you could hardly breathe.

Then he shifted, the tip nudging against your entrance, parting you, teasing just enough to send another bolt of fear straight through your spine.

You tried to move again, legs kicking weakly—but that only seemed to annoy him. A harsh growl ripped out of Jack’s throat, and before you could even scream, he slammed both hands onto your back, claws spreading wide across your shoulder blades and pinning you flat against the earth.

He pushed, his massive weight bearing down, forcing your spine into a sharp arch so your ass was high in the air and your chest crushed to the dirt. It was a humiliating, bestial pose—your body forced to submit, trembling, fully exposed.

“Stay,” he snarled, voice cracking around a broken whimper, “stay still—don’t squirm…”

You felt the head of his cock pressing again, harder this time, nudging into you with enough force to steal your breath, the tight muscle of your cunt burning already. You could barely process the stretch, barely believe it would fit, your walls already fighting the impossible intrusion.

Jack’s hips flexed, and the head started to push in, painfully slow, prying you open one quivering inch at a time.

“F-fuck—so tight—so…warm…” he stammered, panting above you, his claws tightening on your shoulders until they dug sharp enough to sting.

The pain was blinding, a burn that radiated through your hips and made tears prick your eyes. Your body shook, helpless, every muscle trying to clamp down and push him out—but he wouldn’t stop.

Jack rocked his hips forward, the head bobbing deeper, pulling out a fraction only to shove in again, each movement nudging him further and further inside until your walls were clinging to the first few inches of that monstrous, ridged length.

Your mind blurred, terror and overstimulation crashing together, as the stretch split you wider and wider—and Jack’s heavy breaths grew more desperate, his voice breaking into wild, devoted praise.

“Yeah—so good—so good—take me—need you t-to take all of me…”

And you realized, in that moment of absolute terror and helplessness, that he meant to fill every aching, breaking inch of you, no matter how much it hurt.

“Oh fuck— Oh, God—wait, Jack—”

Jack’s rhythm grew steadier, more determined, as he worked deeper—each push splitting you a fraction more, the obscene stretch lighting up every nerve in your body. Your breath came in ragged, sobbing pants, eyes screwed shut against the tears as your walls spasmed helplessly around him.

He was relentless, hips rocking, drawing out and then pushing a little deeper each time, forcing your body to mold around him. You could barely process how much was already inside—it felt like too much, so impossibly full, and still he hadn’t bottomed out.

“Hold on—hold on—just wait,” you hiccuped, reaching your arms behind you to plant against his hips, trying to stop him from going any further. You could already feel him bumping against your cervix, drooling tip nudging the deepest parts inside of you.

“Almost, pretty girl—almost there,” Jack rasped, voice wet and fractured.

You choked out a half-formed plea again, but it was lost in the dark as he pressed closer, his sweaty chest crushing against your back. He shifted his claws from your shoulders to dig into the dirt on either side of your head, caging you, pinning you, leaving you nowhere to go as you trembled under him.

And then—with a low, guttural growl—he leaned down and bit into the other side of your shoulder, teeth tearing your skin, white-hot agony blinding you. He locked his jaw tight.

Your scream broke the night, ripping from your throat, echoing through the trees. You pressed your forehead to the ground, heaving and panting into the grass.

In that moment of your rawest, most helpless pain, Jack shoved forward, burying the final brutal inches in one unforgiving thrust. The monstrous cock slammed home, hilting inside you so deep you could barely comprehend it, your body jolting forward from the force as if he meant to split you in two.

Your walls convulsed, spasming wildly around his impossible girth, every nerve alight with pain and pressure and a sick, brutal pleasure that made your head spin.

Jack’s breath rattled against your neck, hot and frantic, his tongues slipping out to lap at the blood welling from his bite as he held himself buried to the hilt, trembling over you like a beast barely chained.

“So—so warm,” he whined against your torn shoulder, voice shaking, “Feels so g-good, baby. So tight—”

And you felt everything inside you go tight and molten and unbearably full, helpless under the weight of him, pinned in a way you could never escape, your body forced to take every impossible inch.

You felt him shift—a subtle grind of his hips, the head of that monstrous cock grinding even deeper, making you jolt with a strangled cry. He couldn’t even wait until you got adjusted.

He let out a wet, shattered moan. “G-gonna move—can’t—can’t stop—hold still—”

And then he pulled back. Slowly at first, dragging that inhuman length from your spasming, quivering walls until only the tip was left stretching you wide, and for a heartbeat you thought he might let you rest.

But then he slammed back in, the force of it making your eyes roll up, punching the air out of your lungs in a weak sob.

“F-fuck—so—tight—” Jack stammered, voice raw, animalistic, clawed hands braced on either side of your head as he started to fuck down into you.

Each thrust was brutal, making you lurch forward, the wet slap of his hips against your ass echoing through the dead-silent woods. He was so deep, so thick, dragging against spots inside you that left your mind spinning, the pain a white-hot brand with every punishing push.

You tried to crawl away again—an instinct, a desperate, animal attempt to survive—but Jack caught you by the hips and slammed you back against him, snarling in your ear, “Don’t run—don’t you run from me. You’re mine—mine—”

His claws dug into your sides, angling you up so every thrust hit a new nerve deep inside, making your stomach tighten painfully around him. You could barely breathe, your body forced to take it over and over as he fucked into you like a starved animal.

Jack’s moans started to crumble, breaking apart into sharp whimpers and cries, his teeth dragging over the bite-mark on your shoulder, licking the blood and sweat. You felt him trembling, desperate, the force behind his thrusts growing frantic and messy, cock twitching with every pull out.

He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.

And under the moonlight, pressed into the dirt with his massive length tearing you open over and over, you realized neither could you.

It hurt. God, it hurt—but something in the pain had started to shift, twisting deep in your belly until it burned into something hotter, something needier. Each time Jack slammed forward, your cunt clenched, not just from the brutal stretch but from a raw, wicked spark that left you reeling.

You couldn’t help it—your hips began to rock back to meet him, your battered body chasing the next drag of that searing cock as it raked through your oversensitive walls.

Jack stuttered for a second, stunned, a growling noise pulling out of his throat as he realized you were pushing back. That you wanted more.

“Yeah, yeah—sweet girl—” he stammered, voice breaking, “feel so—so good—”

Your hands scrambled backward, clinging to the thick muscle of his arms, then up to dig your fingers into his shoulders, nails dragging across hot, sweaty skin. He was burning behind you, feverish, the broad line of his chest flexing with every ragged breath.

“Jack,” you gasped, voice catching, “t-touch me—please—Jack, please—”

That was all it took.

He let out a deep, snarling whimper, the sound rolling through his chest and into you, and then he was moving even harder, rutting into you with sloppy, frantic thrusts that made your thighs spasm and your vision blur.

His claws scraped the earth beside you as he tried to keep from ripping you apart, every thrust wet and obscene—slick squelching, drool dripping from his mouths down onto your back, strings of precum and slick soaking your thighs as his jeans pooled around his knees.

The raw, nasty sounds of him splitting you open filled the air, sticky and wet and feral, each thrust making you clench tighter, wanting more, more, no matter how much it hurt.

Jack’s hips smacked against your ass again and again, leaving stinging bruises, and still you pushed back, desperate to meet every brutal stroke. Your hands clung to him like a lifeline, nails raking across his skin, your body screaming for more even as it trembled under the onslaught.

Jack’s tongues slipped out again, drooling, laving down your spine, tasting your sweat, your skin, your pain—unable to stop devouring you in every way.

“Don’t—don’t stop—” you choked out, and he let out a hoarse, shattered laugh that broke halfway to a growl.

“Can’t—never—never stopping,” he gasped, rutting forward until your knees buckled, forcing you to collapse under him, pinned to the dirt by his weight and the vicious, monstrous cock ripping you apart.

It was filthy, raw, a primal mess of slick and sweat and drool and blood, and neither of you could seem to get enough.

Jack’s thrusts slowed momentarily, a slurred, choked sound catching on his tongues as he pulled out, dragging that massive length from your trembling, ruined body inch by inch. You gasped, nearly sobbing, empty in a way that made your insides clench desperately around nothing.

But before you could catch your breath, Jack’s claws wrapped around your hips, hauling you over like you weighed nothing, flipping you onto your back. The warm night air bit into your sweat-slicked skin, making you groan—then his shadow fell over you, huge and monstrous, his eyes boring down like twin bottomless holes.

You reached up, arms instinctively curling around his shoulders, holding onto the thick, corded muscle under his burning skin. His lean, powerful torso flexed with every breath, still dripping with sweat.

He lined up again, the fat head of his cock dragging through your slick folds, and you both moaned, bodies shaking with raw, hungry need.

“Jack,” you whimpered, voice small and cracked, “fuck me, c’mon—”

“Gonna—gonna put it back in, pretty—so warm—so good—” he rasped, leaning over you, three tongues lapping from his mouth and twitching as he stared down, almost mesmerized.

Then he pushed.

It was every bit as brutal, every bit as overwhelming as the first time, the massive length stretching you to your limit and then beyond, the head forcing your walls open until you thought you’d break.

Your back arched, a scream caught in your throat—but it didn’t get out, because Jack was already sinking deeper, deeper still, until you felt a tight, blunt pressure so far inside you that it made your vision white out.

His eyes went wide, hollow sockets somehow hungry, staring right at your stomach.

“Look,” he panted, a grin tearing across his blood-streaked lips, “look at you—”

You followed his gaze, and nearly broke—a distinct bulge pressing up under the roundness of your belly, obscene and impossible, shifting every time he moved.

“Oh my god—Jack—” you cried, eyes glassy, “that’s—fuck—”

“Inside,” he growled, voice reverent and broken, his claw pressing right against that bulge. You felt it, felt the way it shifted with the head of his cock, and a raw, helpless sob tore out of you.

“Can you feel me?” he crooned, barely human, claws stroking your hips, pressing harder against the bump in your stomach. “Can you feel me all the way here?—S-so deep, pretty girl—mine—”

You shook, nodding, tears slipping from your lashes as the pleasure spiked unbearably.

“Yes—yes, Jack—yours—yours—”

He let out a hoarse, ecstatic snarl and started pounding into you again, faster, harder, the force of each thrust making that stomach bulge jump under his hand. You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, gripping for dear life as he rutted you into the dirt, tongues lapping at your face and neck, worshipping you. Each thrust knocked his cock against your g-spot.

“Never gonna—hah—let go—” he grunted between sloppy, punishing thrusts, “gonna fill you—make you full—of my babies—”

You couldn’t even answer, your body was on fire, arching and breaking under him, every nerve screaming for more as the woods spun around you.

It came faster than you could even register.

You couldn’t take any more—each brutal, slamming thrust was a lightning strike, fire rolling through your veins until everything inside you clenched, burned, and finally broke.

Your back arched hard off the ground, arms locked around Jack’s shoulders, mouth open in a silent cry as a devastating orgasm ripped through you.

“Jack—!”

Your walls squeezed him so tight he nearly lost his mind, your core fluttering and gripping him in pulsing waves, slick and scorching. Jack’s claws immediately wrapped around your back, holding you close against him as if he could fuse your bodies together.

He let out a strangled, desperate growl, eyes locked on you, breathing so ragged it almost didn’t sound human. Something in him seemed to snap—a feral instinct flooding through every monstrous inch of him.

“Pretty—so good—” he babbled, voice raw and cracking, “mine—mine—mine—”

Then he lurched down, seizing your mouth with a ferocity that stunned you.

His tongues plunged inside all at once, stretching your lips wide, thick and powerful as they explored every inch of your mouth. One curled under your tongue, another ran across your teeth, the third so deep it made you gag, stealing your breath.

You choked on the sheer overwhelming invasion, tears spilling down your cheeks, but couldn’t pull away—Jack’s hands were iron around your waist, crushing you to him, the feverish heat of him radiating through your trembling body.

His tongues moved with a filthy rhythm, tasting you, claiming you, drool mixing with your tears until everything was slick and desperate. He moaned right into your throat, rutting his hips hard against you while his tongues tangled deeper, worshipping you like you were air, water, salvation.

Your climax was still crashing through you, making your legs weak and shaky as you tried to breathe through the frantic kiss—but Jack wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t stop, lost in that blinding animal need to own you completely.

Your lungs burned as his tongues kept invading, every inch of you claimed and devoured. The taste of him—coppery, inhuman, mixed with the salt of your own tears—filled your senses until you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

His cock was still pounding into you with a punishing rhythm, the tip punching so deep inside you that your stomach bulged again and again. Every thrust made your sensitive walls clench helplessly, overstimulated, still pulsing.

Jack moaned into your mouth, frantic, tongues twisting and licking and fucking into you while he fucked harder, losing any semblance of control. His claws dug into your hips, pinning you in place, pace stuttering as he chased the final edge.

“M’gonna—” he gasped, voice barely even a voice, just a devastating, hungry snarl against your lips, “gonna fill you—make you—mine—!”

You felt him tense, the length of him swelling impossibly inside you—then he buried himself to the hilt, the head smashing up against your cervix, and roared.

Hot, thick cum poured into you in heavy pulses, stretching you so full you could feel every gush, every wave crashing deep inside. Jack’s whole body shook above you, tongues still gagging your mouth, drool and tears mixing on your face as he pumped you full.

Your walls fluttered again, clamping down on him instinctively, milking every drop until he finally slowed, breathing ragged and wild.

He collapsed against you, still inside, still impossibly hard, arms curling around you protectively like he’d never let you go. His tongues finally pulled free of your mouth, leaving you gasping for air, lips bruised and slick with spit.

Jack buried his face against your neck, panting, lost and shaking, whispering in a hoarse, cracked growl, “Mine…always mine…”

You thought—prayed—he was done, but then you felt it: a new pressure, deep in your gut, stretching you wider from the inside.

Your eyes flew wide, panic spiking again.

“J-Jack? What’s happening?” you rasped, voice shaking, but he only whined into your neck, his hips rocking against yours, grinding in short, desperate ruts.

You felt it swelling—something solid, something burning, growing right at the base of him.

Oh god.

You tried to move, to shift, but his claws curled around your hips, locking you down hard.

“Stay,” he snarled, voice a warped echo against your throat, “don’t run.”

You gasped as that thick knot stretched you, forcing you even wider, burning with a brutal, almost cruel fullness. Your walls spasmed helplessly, trying to reject it, but Jack was stronger—so much stronger—and he held you down while he forced the growing bulb past the tightest part of your entrance.

It finally popped inside with a wet, obscene sound, lodging deep against your cunt, locking you to him.

You screamed, back arching off the ground, mind breaking under the sheer bruising invasion.

Jack moaned—moaned—a weary, needy cry, shoving his face against yours as if to soothe you.

“Can’t—can’t let go—” he babbled, voice dripping hunger and desperation, “mine—mine—stay—stay here—”

He ground his knot deeper, each tiny thrust making it swell even bigger until you felt like you’d burst. The fullness was blinding, overwhelming, his cock jerking and twitching inside you as another pulse of hot cum flooded you, trapped by the knot, locked away.

Your hips shook, pinned, no escape as Jack licked and bit at your neck, rutting slow, greedy circles against you even with the knot sealing you tight.

“Don’t—don’t run, sweet girl,” he panted, voice trembling, “can’t…can’t let you go…”

You felt every throb, every pulse, the unbearable stretch, your whole body trembling and on the verge of breaking apart under him.

Jack was still, but you could feel him trembling—muscles locked tight, claws flexing against your hips as though afraid you might vanish if he let go for even a second.

You squirmed, a whimper tearing from your throat as the knot shifted painfully, the pressure pressing right up against your cervix.

“Jack,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, “Jack, it’s too much—”

He whined, the sound broken and needy, burying his face against your cheek, tongues tracing clumsy, comforting patterns over your sweaty skin.

“Can’t—can’t let go yet,” he slurred, voice ragged and half-human, “feels too good—can’t—”

You felt him try to rut again, short, choppy motions that only made the knot grind harshly against every raw, sensitive part of you. A shocked moan escaped your lips, your body arching under him, pleasure and pain blurring together until you couldn’t separate them. You slammed your fist against his shoulder.

“Shh,” he crooned, breath hot against your face, “s’okay—s’good—so warm—so warm inside—”

His hips stuttered, forcing the knot to jerk inside you, and you could swear you felt another faint gush of heat flood your battered, filled-up core.

Your walls fluttered around him helplessly, milking every drop.

Jack whimpered again, as if even he couldn’t stand the feeling, and wrapped his arms fully around your waist, drawing you up against him until your chests were smashed together. You could feel his heart hammering through your skin, a wild, frantic rhythm that matched your own.

“Don’t leave me,” he begged, voice warbled and broken, “please—pretty please—don’t leave—”

You could barely breathe, dizzy from being stretched and locked in place, but you nodded, trembling, stroking through his sweat-slicked hair.

“I’m here,” you whispered, voice cracking, “Jack, I’m here, I’m not leaving.”

He made a sound like a sob—part growl, part weep—and curled around you, knot twitching inside you, sealing you so perfectly you could feel every tremor of his body through the hot, thick lock of him.

And there, under the hush of the woods and the silver light of the moon, you stayed tangled together, your breath mixing, no escape, no space left between you.

── .✦

The woods felt endless, but you clung to him like an anchor, your hands tangled in his hair, your cheek pressed against the rough planes of his shoulder. His knot still held you in place, keeping every inch of him buried deep, a constant, heavy pressure that refused to ease for what felt like an eternity.

Neither of you could move much, so you talked, your voices small and exhausted under the wide, quiet dark.

“Where…where did you go, Jack?” you asked, trying to steady your breathing as another aftershock rolled through you.

He rumbled softly, claws smoothing along your spine. “Didn’t know,” he rasped, sounding like himself again, raw and worn-out. “Felt…wrong. Everything was red. Loud. Inside my head.”

You nodded, heart twisting. “I thought you were dead,” you admitted, a tear slipping out, catching on the blood drying across your cheek. “When you didn’t come, I— I thought—”

His arms tightened around you, a protective squeeze. “Not dead,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, “I couldn’t control much, but… I knew I had to stay away. Knew if I saw you I would hurt you.”

You sniffled, breathing in the rich, earthy scent of him, still faintly metallic from all the blood. It was terrible—but it was him, and that was enough.

“I came looking,” you whispered, voice breaking, “I couldn’t just sit there, Jack, I— I needed you to come back.”

A pained groan rattled in his chest, his claws dragging up to cradle your face as best he could. “Pretty girl,” he rasped, almost gentle, “mine…always mine. M’so sorry…”

You felt him shift, hips jerking, the knot giving a final, deep pulse inside you. It made you cry out softly, but then you felt it: the swelling finally, blessedly going down. Inch by inch, the brutal stretch began to ease, and you could feel the heavy, wet fullness slipping from your body with a messy, shuddering slide.

Jack grunted as the knot popped free, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, legs trembling uncontrollably.

For a moment you just lay there, both of you breathing hard, staring at each other. Then Jack leaned down, pressing a surprisingly sweet kiss to your cheek before sitting up, guiding you carefully.

“Come,” he murmured, voice steadier now, “let’s—let’s go.”

You nodded weakly, your body aching and filthy, but still reaching for him. 

Jack helped you with fumbling claws, reached for your jeans with shaky claws to help tug your them back onto your ankles and into place, grimacing at the mud-smeared fabric. He growled under his breath, pulling your ruined panties out of the way and scowling at the torn, limp scraps.

“Shit,” you laughed weakly, voice hoarse and a little hysterical, “Jack, those were my favorite pair.”

He shot you a look through his hollow sockets, a low, embarrassed huff.

“And my bra?” you added, smirking despite the soreness. “Guess that’s toast too.”

Jack shifted, claws fumbling with the remains of your bra, what was left of the cups shredded and hanging from one strap. “Didn’t—” he rasped, voice cracking, “didn’t mean to.”

You snorted, half delirious, letting him help pull your dirty t-shirt back down over your shoulders, trying to keep what modesty you had left.

“Yeah, well,” you sighed, “you owe me a shopping trip.”

A surprised sound rumbled from him—almost a laugh—before he bent to fix his own jeans, dragging them back up around his hips, claws clumsy from lingering adrenaline. He tried to tug his hoodie over his head, only to growl when it stuck to his sweaty back, the sleeves twisted.

“Hot,” he grunted, voice frustrated, trying to shrug out of it. “Too…tight.”

You had to bite your lip to keep from giggling as you watched him wrestle with the oversized, shredded hoodie, muscles flexing and straining as sweat dripped down the lean, scarred lines of his back and chest.

“Jack,” you teased softly, “you’re gonna rip that too.”

He shot you a sulky look, then finally tossed the hoodie aside, leaving his bare skin gleaming under the moonlight.

You spotted his mask in the dirt, cracked and stained, and you picked it up with a shaky hand.

“Here,” you whispered, offering it to him.

He stared at it, hollow eye sockets softening, then took it gently from you. Jack sighed, then leaned down and scooped you into his arms like you weighed no more than a feather.

You couldn’t help a startled little laugh, clinging to his neck. “Jack—!”

“My sweet girl,” he repeated, voice quieter now, more sure. “Taking you home.”

Your heart ached at that—so familiar, so safe despite everything.

He turned, stepping carefully through the underbrush, still clutching you close as if you’d vanish if he let go. You rested your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed, hearing only the rhythmic pounding of his heart and the slow, steady steps through the woods.

The broken flashlight swung from his claw, the cracked mask tucked into the crook of his elbow, a battered promise that somehow, the two of you had survived one more night together.

The night air clung to your skin as Jack stepped carefully along the familiar path, carrying you easily in his arms. When you saw the glow of your porch lights through the trees, you almost sobbed with relief, clinging to him tighter—and he just kept walking, carrying you still. You could see the silhouette of your fence ahead, the place where, for so many nights, you’d waited on one side while he stayed on the other, the fragile, invisible line you’d both respected all this time.

But now—

Jack shifted you in his hold, reaching out with one clawed hand to unlatch the fence gate. It creaked open, spilling a pool of soft porch light across the grass. And just like that, he stepped through, crossing the boundary he’d never dared to cross before. It was almost ceremonial, the moment so huge it stole your breath.

He came through, you thought in a daze. He finally came through.

He didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate, just carried you straight toward the back door, nudging it open with his shoulder. The house was cool inside, smelling of candle wax and lemon dish soap—so normal, so safe compared to the horror outside. The floorboards were faintly warm from the day’s sun, and the air conditioners hummed, washing over your sticky, bruised skin.

Jack set you down gently, claws steady even if you could feel him trembling. Then, without a word, he guided you to the bathroom, flipping on the light with an awkward flick of his elbow. You winced at the sudden brightness.

You didn’t even have to ask, he handled everything. Undressing you again, running warm water over your washcloth, holding you tight. He knelt in front of you, running the damp cloth across your arms, your belly, carefully dabbing away the drying blood and mess between your legs. His gray skin was flushed darker in patches, his eye sockets soft around the edges, hollow but somehow tender.

“Stay still,” he mumbled, voice low and rough, so much clearer now.

You let him clean you, trembling, heart pounding at every careful sweep of the cloth. He undressed too, cleaning the still bloodied and slick-stained parts of his body, running the rag over his jaw and neck. When he was done, you leaned against him, boneless and trusting, letting him gather you back up into his arms.

This time he carried you to your room, the house dim and quiet except for the chirping bugs outside. He paused at the foot of your bed, as if making sure you really wanted him there, the question unspoken.

You reached up and cupped his jaw. “Jack… just get in,” you whispered.

His shoulders slumped in relief, and he eased you down onto the mattress, then crawled in after you—still completely naked, still warm with the sticky night air and smelling of earth and moonlight and something feral you couldn’t name.

The sheets tangled around you both as he curled protectively against your back, claws twitching, breath tickling your ear. You could feel every line of his strong, scarred body pressed to yours, his skin so hot it almost burned.

He buried his face against your shoulder, exhaling shakily. “No more gate,” he rasped, like it was a confession. “No more fence.”

You nodded, tears pricking your eyes. “No more fence,” you agreed, voice soft and breaking.

Jack’s breathing slowed at your back, his chin nestled against the crook of your shoulder as if he might melt right into you. The cicadas outside carried on their summer song, but your room felt impossibly calm, impossibly still.

He shifted, clawed fingers brushing across your ribs, a hesitant stroke. “…Missed you,” he rasped, the words broken but more human than you’d heard in days.

You swallowed hard, reaching down to lace your fingers with his. “I missed you too. I was so worried.”

A pained noise rattled out of him, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh. “Didn’t…know where I was,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “Felt…wrong. Everything smelled and looked wrong.”

You turned in his arms, close enough to see the faint scars along his lips, the smear of blood he’d missed near one temple. “Like…a haze?”

He nodded stiffly. “A dream. A bad dream.” His claws flexed in yours. “Couldn’t…stop. Needed—Need you.”

Your heart pinched at that, at how raw he sounded. You reached to smooth his damp hair away from his forehead. “That’s why you didn’t come to the fence?”

“Didn’t want you to see,” he rasped, ashamed, looking away for a second. “Didn’t…trust myself.”

You hugged him tighter, pressing your forehead against his. “Jack, I came looking for you. I wanted to see you. Even if you were… messed up.”

His body shuddered, swallowing a rough, pained sound. “Came…through the gate,” he mumbled, voice almost childlike, like he couldn’t believe it himself.

You smiled, despite everything. “Yeah. You finally crossed my fence.”

A huff of air against your cheek—maybe the closest Jack could get to a laugh. Then he shifted closer, pressing his hips into yours. You could still feel the heavy weight of him, even now, half-hard where he lay against you.

“Still…feel it,” he admitted, cheeks darkening, as if shy.

You gave a nervous little laugh, brushing your fingers through his sweaty hair. “Yeah, I can tell.”

He ducked his head, almost hiding against your neck, mumbling something soft.

“What, baby?” you asked, gentle.

His voice was so raw it cracked in the middle. “…Never gonna leave again.”

Your chest went tight, tears pricking your eyes. You cupped the side of his face. “Good,” you whispered, letting him hear how much you meant it. “Good, Jack. I’m not leaving, either.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years, then buried his face against your shoulder again, arms banding around your waist. The two of you lay tangled together in the sticky summer night, hearts pounding, no fences, no gates, no walls left between you.

── .✦

You woke slowly, warmth and stickiness pulling at your senses before your mind could even register what time it was. The curtains glowed with that syrupy gold of a sunrise, a hint of last night still vibrating in the walls.

But what really forced you awake was the strange, achingly sweet pull deep between your legs—a wet, rhythmic swirl that nearly made you arch right out of the bed.

Your eyes shot open, breath lodging in your throat, and you gasped as you fumbled the sheets off your chest—only to see a dark, familiar shadow moving below the covers, a low, wet slurping sound vibrating straight through your bones.

“J-Jack—” you whimpered, voice a strangled mess as you dug trembling fingers into the sheets.

The shape below the blanket shifted, and then a sudden, precise flick of a tongue against your clit made your vision explode in white. You barely managed to shove your hands down to find his hair, grabbing at the strands, when your body snapped—the orgasm crashing over you so hard your knees tried to slam together, your hips twisting helplessly.

Jack didn’t even stop, if anything, his hands pinned your thighs down harder, clawed fingertips dimpling your soft skin as he let you ride the crest of that wave. You were writhing, shaking, trying to push him away, but he only rumbled deep in his chest—a possessive growl that left your body going limp.

When he finally surfaced, crawling up over your body, the blanket fell away to show his face—drool smeared his chin, along with your slick, and all three of his tongues curled out to lap at the air before sliding back behind sharp teeth.

He was panting, like he’d been starved all night.

“J-Jack,” you tried to breathe, grabbing his shoulders as he hovered over you, “didn’t we… didn’t we handle this last night?”

A pitiful, rough whine left him, one of his hands curling against the pillow beside your head. “Not enough,” he croaked, voice shredded, raw. “Need…more.”

His hips dipped against yours, and you felt the hard, achingly hot length of him, smearing against your thigh. A tremor shot through you, panic mixing with want.

“Jack, please—”

“Need you,” he repeated, lower this time, a snarl clawing through his words as his claws scraped the bedding beside your head, inches from your skin. “More.”

His body pressed you down into the mattress, wild, unstoppable, like the night had barely scratched the surface of what he needed.

Your breath caught in your throat, tangled between fear and something so shamefully eager you could hardly stand it. Jack loomed over you, the heat rolling off his body, eyes like pits of pitch and night, starved even after everything.

He lowered his head, nosing along your jaw, breathing you in like you were the only thing left on earth that could save him. “Pretty,” he rasped, tongues flicking out to taste the salt of your sweat, “smell so good…can’t stop…”

His hips rolled against yours again, grinding, thick and hard, and you felt him shiver all the way down to the bones. His claws dug into the sheets beside your ribs, trying to hold himself back, but you knew there was no holding him back.

A flicker of sunlight broke through the curtains then, kissing the two of you in the warm glow—him hunched over you like a beast out of a half-forgotten dream, you trembling and wide-eyed, your hands knotted in his hair.

You swallowed, voice breaking as you dared to smile through the haze.

“Then don’t stop,” you whispered, and you meant it—even if you were terrified, even if everything hurt and burned and ached, you still meant it.

His head bowed, shoulders heaving, and a relieved, broken sound fell from him, more human than you’d heard yet. He pressed his forehead to yours, panting, clutching you like you were the last tether to what was left of him.

And then he surged forward, capturing your lips, those monstrous tongues wrapping around yours, and in that feral, messy kiss you felt every unspoken word he couldn’t form—how he loved you, how he’d always come back, how he could never leave you again.

The world outside kept turning—birdsong and heat, soft light and the creak of old wood—but you were wrapped in him, in that terrifying, impossible devotion.

There was no fence anymore. No boundary.

Just the two of you, locked together, in all the ruin and the tenderness you’d built. Your Jack.

Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

๑ back to my masterlists

── .✦ rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ꩜ .ᐟ

[everythingspokenfor]

All characters are aged up 18+.MDNI.

This was inevitable, the constant banter, the touch, the jealousy, neither of you wanted to admit it, but your friends were right. There was some attraction between you both, one that you profusely disregarded, because you can't be attracted to that asshole.

He grunts, lips pressed against yours, messily exchanging spit as he grinds against your belly, the button of his jeans digging into your skin.

You pull back slightly, letting his spit slicked lips wander off to the column of your throat, "Thought you had plenty of experience." You breath out, vaguely repeating his words, watching as he brows furrow.

"That I do, love." It's condescending, but it makes your belly warmer, panties sticking to your wet folds. Cheeky fucker.

You scoff, the urge to get under his skin increase, "Then, why are you humping my stomach, like a dog?" You grunt, watching as he leans back, sharp eyes squinting, as he glares down at your face.

His face shifts, smile spreading on his pretty lips, he isn't angry, like you expected, "I am taking too long aren't I, love." There goes the nickname, "Neglected her for too long didn't I?"

Suddenly your feets aren't planted anymore, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, hands finding purchase on his shoulders.

One of his arms hold your entire weight, the other coming to caress your cheek, cradle of a lover, "Be good." He whispered, lips ghosting over yours as he walked over to the table.

You let out a hiss, the cold nipping at your barely covered ass, he let goes for a moment, leaving you dumbfounded, feets dingling. "Where are you-"

"Nowhere." His answer is instant, as if he knew you'd seek him out, he returns with a pillow stolen from the couch outside, "Getting greedy for me, aren't ya, can't even step away for a second?" He snorts, tossing the pillow behind you, "That's for your head."

You don't respond, couldn't respond, words stuck in your throat as you watch him strip to his underwear, eyes focused on precum stained bulge.

He returns back, in between your legs, fingers teasing your hardened nipples, prominent through your thin shirt. "Always this sensitive or am I special?"

He doesn't wait for you to answer, pulling off your shorts in one swift motion, you jerk back unintentionally, head cushioned by the damned pillow, how considerate.

"You must hate me for real." You sighed, arching your back slightly, breast jiggling slightly, putting on a show, putting on an act.

"Why do you think so?"

"You are mean, bullying me when I didn't even do anything." You pout, cheeks puffing as you wrap your hand around his wrist, watching as his squeezes the fat of your breast.

"Didn't do anything?" He mocks, genuine disbelief painted on his features, "Always trying to get under my skin, aren't ya, love."

"As if you're any better, honey~" You chimed, voice a little whiny as you get desperate for a little friction on your throbbing bud. The nickname making his cock throb, precum leaking from his slit.

His hand slides down, thumb rubbing circles on your clit, "Fuckin' minx," He huffs, smirk spreading on his pretty little face, he squeezes his bulge before pulling his cock out, elastic nudged under his ballsac.

He drags his cock against your folds, lathering himself in your slick, his precum pearling at the tip of his cock.

"I don't have a condom," He huffs, restraining himself from going further, "If you want, I can go down and get some?" Hand already reaching for his pants discarded haphazardly on the ground.

"I have one." You breathe out, chest rising and falling and you continue to look at him, "It's in the pocket of my shorts."

He snortles, "Did you prepare for tonight? Assuming you would get lucky." His ego just as big as his dick, he grabs your shorts, pulling out the condom.

"I am always prepared honey, you are the one getting lucky tonight." You lied, voice sickening sweet, considering you weren't going to give away that you indeed bought it tonight, estimating his size from the endless hours of subtle observation of his crotch.

His eyes darken as he turns his head towards you, expertly putting on the condom without looking down, fingers of his right hand pinching the tip, left hand rolling it on, a routine you hope to familiarise yourself with eventually.

"I am?" He mocks, fingers wrapping around your ankles, cock heavy as it bobs between his legs, "With the way she is drooling, I doubt that I am the lucky one."

He taps the tip of his cock against your clit, before pushing in, watching as your lips spread around his girth, "think you need to be punished for being a brat." He groans, pulling back out, only to thrust in again.

Your eyes close, lips parting in a silent moan, breath hitching at a particular thrust. Your hand slides down, fingers bumping into his length, you gather the slick before rubbing your clit, harsh little circles, as you tighten around him.

"Gonna come, already? Can feel you squeezing me." He huffs, biting his lips to prevent the noises, "Tell me now, should I let you come, hmm?"

"Pleas- so, so close," You moaned, nails digging into his wrist as you tried to pull him closer, fingers messily dragging across your clit.

"So, so close, hm," He mocked, parroting your words, "what if I pull out? What if I leave her gaping and empty?" He watches as you shake your head, eyes already starting to water at the thought of your orgasm being denied.

"Fuck, can't do that, can't be mean to her." He continues to thrust into your pussy, he reaches over, taking your hand off your clit lacing his fingers with yours, "I'll take care of the bud too, brat." He huffs at your whines, thumb coming to torture your clit.

"I-I'll cum, Suki, ahh." You moans, hips rutting against him as he stills, letting you come around his length, before picking up his pace, chasing his own high, he hunched forward, groaning against your boobs as he comes, filling the condom to the brim, it leaks at the base of his cock.

He breathed out, pressing a rather affectionate kiss against your sternum, before slowly pulling out, tying the used condom and tossing it into the trash, grabbing the box of tissues on the table, he gently cleaned you.

"Wow, I didn't expect you to be aftercare kind of guy." You spoke, after moments of comfortable silence, his brow quirked at your words, "I fully expected you to backflip out of the room once you came."

He snorts at your words, taping your thighs, signalling you to wrap them around him, he carried you effortlessly for the second time tonight, "Where are you taking me, honey?"

"The toilet, you need to piss." He spoke softly, walking into the attached bathroom and setting you onto your feets, before he leans against the wall, watching as you shuffle awkwardly under his gaze.

"Am I supposed to pee in front of you?"

He turns to leave at your words, "I'll be outside, if you need anything."

"I'll be fine, for now," You joked, plopping down on the toilet, before cleaning up and walking back out, he is dressed by the time you come out.

"I have spear clothes for you, considering your shorts aren't really wearable anymore." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, handing you his hoodie while he proceeds to kneel in front of you.

"Head?"

"Later. Now lift up your leg," He smirked, hands holding your underwear as he slide it up your legs, teasingly pulling it higher than necessary. "Want to come over, I'll make your favourite?"

"Absolutely."

Dividers by: @cafekitsune 💖✨

[d0rothydraws]

After a night out things get heated and Sylus can't control himself, revealing a new side of him.

content: f!reader, monster cock, porn without plot, public sex, multiple orgasms, Inappropriate use of Evol, after care, just a lot of smut idk

w/c: 3.7k

Ao3: Here

a/n: This took so long i'm so sorry works been wearing me out so much I haven't been able to post much. I hope this satisfies all the monster fuckers that wanted this from my one post.

Tonight had been.. A lot. You and Sylus were at a dinner banquet. Apparently a very important man was hosting the event and Sylus was looking for information about something. You didn’t really know or ask. You don’t really ask many questions these days. Sylus had custom fit you one of the most beautiful dresses you had ever seen. It was made of the softest silk, the neckline was low yet tasteful, showing enough to catch some looks but not enough to feel exposed. The skirt had a high slit that went to the top of your hip, exposing your leg once in a while. As you walked, the long skirt looked like it was flowing around you like water. You wore matching blood red heels that looked like they were carved out of ruby. The light catching them in a mesmerizing way. Your hair was done in a way where it framed your face, pulled in an updo that bounced slightly every time you took a step. And on your neck was a crow pendant embedded with a ruby. 

To say it simply, you looked beautiful. Elegant. 

And Sylus couldn’t keep his eyes, or hands, off of you.

As you walked, his hand was draped around your waist, hand on your hip. Or his hand was on your lower back, or when you sat his hand was on your thigh, fingers drawing patterns that sent a chill down your spine. He looked at you from the corner of his eye, meeting yours once in a while. You almost could feel the hot breath that left him when this happened, exhaling every time as if he was trying to control himself. 

You couldn’t lie, it felt good to see him like this. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what you would look like in the dress, it was custom fit, custom designed just for you. He had seen it on you before. And yet when anyone looked over at you, giving you just the smallest bit of attention, you felt his hand tighten, body pulled closer. Your hip flush against his. You could feel heat radiating from his body.

Part of you wondered if he was going to end up dragging you into the bathroom. A couple times you thought he was considering it, especially as his hand moved to the inside of your thigh halfway through the banquet. His rough fingers trailed higher, brushing against your panties. He leaned over whispering in your ear, his voice thick as honey. 

“You look delicious.” His words sent a shiver through your body as your hand tightened on the fork you were holding. You looked around, everyone was talking about something you didn't understand. Nobody knew what was happening under the table. And in a bold decision, you parted your thighs just a little bit more. Moving your hips to press against the fingers that were tracing your folds through your panties. You heard his breath catch, his hand pausing for only a second, Sylus’ lips returned to your ear. 

“Try not to squirm too much, kitten. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold back.” He said as his fingers dipped under the fabric, calloused fingers grazing the sensitive skin. You took a bite of food to hide a moan, your face red as a shaky breath left your lipsticked lips. You wanted nothing more than to ride his hand. To throw all caution to the wind and thrust your hips against his fingers until you were clenching and twitching around him, begging for more. 

And suddenly, his hand was gone. Your disappointment must have been audible because he chuckled, bringing his finger to his lips. Swiftly he liked them as if he was licking off a stray drop of sauce that fell onto his hand. You caught the look in his eye as his right eye started glowing slightly. Glancing down you seen the red and black tendrils of his power snake its way around your leg. It felt warm and you tried to not shiver or make a sound as you felt the weight of it move between your thighs. Your panties pushed to the side and as a reflex you tried to close your legs. The tendrils pushed your legs back open gently, like a pair of hands and as you felt the warmth against your core, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching a hand out, putting it on Sylus’ thigh, nails pressing into the thick meat. 

It felt as if it was Sylus himself between your thighs, just a different version. The feeling was like a warm tongue licking at you, lapping up every bit that you provided as you tried your damndest to not moan, or at least, too loud. You never felt anything like this before. You almost forgot you were in public until you heard his voice in your ear again. 

“Quiet, kitten. You’ll get caught.” His voice was low, strained. A rush of adrenaline flooded your veins as you choked back a whine. The energy pushed inside you, curling exactly where you needed it. Licking your sensitive, throbbing clit. Your hand on his thigh tightened, nails digging in more making him give a low groan deep in his throat. 

“Sylus-” You said, trying to be quiet, but the sound was choked out. Your breathing was heavy, face red and eyes were starting to get glossy. “I can’t. P-please, I-” You let out a choked gasp, louder than you wanted as your orgasm rushed through you. You clenched around the thick mass of energy inside you as you panted, blushing so dark that you probably matched your dress. A few people turned to look, eyebrows raised in curiosity as they saw your out of breath expression. 

“We will be taking our leave now.” Sylus said, the energy around your lower half dissolved as if it never happened. Your legs felt numb as you tried to steady your thoughts, your heart pounding and blood rushing. Your body moved on its own as Sylus stood, as if being willed by him to follow. You had no complaints about this, your anticipation was as high as ever to get him alone. His hand was firm on your lower back giving you much needed support as you walked to the car.

The drive home was quiet but the tension was thick. His body was tense as he pulled into the driveway and before you could even open the door, the red-black tendrils of energy embraced you again. Your body was moved by a force you couldn’t fight even if you wanted to. A thrill ran through your body. He had never used his Evol on you like this before. 

You were placed in the middle of the bedroom, Sylus following you through the door as his eye glowed. His hands in his pockets as he looked at you with a hunger you never saw from him before. You let out a slow breath, feeling the energy dissolve into the air as he towered over you, a hand moving to your chin. 

“Sweetie, you almost made me lose control, looking like that in public. It’s dangerous, you know.” He said, fingers trailing your skin as his other hand trailed down the curve of your waist, admiring the figure hidden under the dress he picked out. 

“I guess you could say I had a good stylist.” You said with a half laugh, he chuckled, a low sound that warmed your core. His hand moved behind your neck, fingers making quick work of the tie that held the light dress on your body. With a flick of his fingers, the fabric fell to the floor around your feet. Your hand moved to his chest, trailing up to wrap around his tie. 

The tension broke as you pulled him down into a rough kiss, one of his hands curled in your hair while the other moved to your hip. He guided you as you felt the bed hit the back of your legs, one of his legs coming to rest on the edge of the bed as you fell back. His kiss was hot, hungry. Teeth bite your lip, tongues pushing against each other as your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. He took your hand from his tie, his fingers wrapping around yours as he pinned it above your head. 

“Do you trust me?” He breathed in your ear as he pulled back, panting softly. You could feel the hardness of his cock against your thigh, straining his pants. You arched your hips up to apply some pressure, making him groan. You knew there was only one answer to his question.  

“Yes.” 

The grip on your hand tightened as it was pushed harder into the soft mattress, his other hand moved to your face bringing your lips to his as he kissed you. Slow, deep. Different from the kiss you just had. You felt hot breath on your cheek as he breathed out through his nose asif he was holding his breath waiting for your answer. In turn, the kiss took your own breath away as you pulled back, your lips slightly red from how he bit your lip as you pulled back. His fingers traced the outline of your lower lip as his eyes stared down at you, red orbs swirling.

“Darling,” His voice made a low sound as his eyes looked into you. A serious look that brought you back to reality for a moment. He didn’t give you that look often.  “I’m not sure if I'll be able to hold back tonight.” Sylus sounded just as breathless as you felt. “If you need me to stop at any point, tell me. Promise me.” He said, the hand on your cheek gently tracing the skin under his fingers. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Your heart fluttered as you looked up at him. Your cheeks flushed as you took a deep breath, processing his words. 

You two had a safe word. It was well established when you started becoming physical. There was one time you did have to use it, not because of anything horrible but you weren’t in the right mindset for what he had planned that night. So instead of putting yourself through it, knowing that he wouldn’t want you to do that, you said it. He stopped instantly followed by a warm bath, snacks, and your favorite show. 

“I promise.” You breathed, looking into his eyes as he stared down at you. There was something that you couldn’t tell, that you never had seen before. “I trust you, Sylus.” You whispered, bringing your free hand to pull him into a slow kiss that matched the last one. You put your whole soul into that kiss, as if hoping he would understand just how much you cared for him. How without a thought you would put your life in his hands, knowing damn well that he would do the same for you. 

As the kiss continued, the energy began to change. Once soft and gentle was becoming something more. His lips were hot, hungry as he straddled your hips. His clothed cock grinded against your thigh making your body twitch and shiver with need. His hand on your face became rougher, holding your jaw firmly as his kiss devoured you. He pulled away with a soft growl, licking his lips. 

“You’re like a drug to me.” Sylus said as his hands moved to pull at his clothes, buttons unfastening to reveal his chest. Your mouth started to salivate at the sight.  Your hands moved up to help him, guiding your palms over the surface of his skin. Sylus let out a low sound, watching you as you made your way to his belt. He didn’t stop you as you undid the fasten. The sound of metal was loud in the room as it fell from its hold as Sylus pulled the belt and tossed it on the floor. 

His lips were on you again. Hungry, hot. You felt your breath be taken from your lungs as your hands were pinned above your head. His tongue pushing into your mouth, devouring you whole. He pulled away with a low growl, looking down at you, his eyes dark and his lips red from the kiss and the stain of your lipstick. 

“Roll over kitten.” Sylus purred as he let go of your hands and instantly you followed his direction. You felt the slick of your arousal as you moved, making your need even more known to you as you turned. Now with your ass to him, arched as your cheek laid against the pillow. You felt his fingers wrap under the lace of your panties, pulling them down to your knees. You looked over to him, your view obstructed but still managed to match his eyes. 

No words needed to be said, both of you needed the same exact thing and he wasn’t in a mood to tease you, at least not at the moment. His hands worked on his pants, letting them fall to the floor as he stood off of the bed, his boxers following. Your mouth watered, moaning into the pillow at the sight of him. Hard, dripping. His hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly as his thumb brushed against the angry red head. You felt your pussy clench as if trying to draw him in. He was beautiful. He didn’t even look human. No human could be this beautiful. 

As he climbed back onto the bed he wasted no time in positioning himself. He kissed your back, one hand on himself to adjust while the other was on your ass, sinking into the soft flesh. He kissed your back again before speaking into your ear, his voice was rough, deep.

“Remember our promise?” He whispered, his voice strained. Reminding you that you would use the safe word if you needed. You felt his tip slide against you, eager for the final confirmation. You nodded into the pillow, shifting your hips as you grinded against him. He groaned, the hand on your ass getting rougher as he held you still. 

He began to push into you slowly. You felt your body stretch to accommodate him, your moan loud as your body felt like electricity was pulsing through your veins at the feeling. Fuck he always felt so good. So thick, so heavy inside you. Your eyes rolled as he bottomed out his hands gently rubbing your back, your ass, the back of your thighs. He waited a moment, his breath strained as he tried to contain himself. But as he started to thrust it was a lost cause. 

You cried out moaning as he pulled out, thrusting back in. Your body shook as you felt him fuck you, his thrusts started to get faster the louder you moaned as if the sound of your cries edged him on, which was very much the case. You tightened around him, gasping as you felt his hand coming to rub against your clit, his rough thumb brushing the sensitive skin. 

“You sound so beautiful darling. Let me hear how you sound as you cum on my cock.” He purred in his ear. His voice sounded.. Different. Deeper somehow, more primal, needy. It drove you wild. You moaned gasping as you moved your body against him, fucking yourself on his cock while he pressed his thumb against you. You felt the sensation take over your body as Sylus hit that spot inside you that made you cry out and see stars. Your orgasm flowed through you as your pussy fluttered and clenched around him, pushing him to the brink as he filled you with his hot cum. 

You caught your breath, your forehead sticky with sweat as you felt your body tremble from the release. Sylus on the other hand, was still inside you. Cock hard, twitching as if he didn't just cum inside you. His hands gripped your hips, his lips moving to your back as he kissed your sweaty skin. You could hear his heart pounding, as fast as ever. 

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetie. That was a warmup.” He said as he started to thrust again, slowly at first. Your body shivered and moaned at the sudden movement, sensitive from your orgasm as he stated to fuck you. You felt his cum inside you, being fucked deeper. You blushed gasping, your head spinning with pleasure. 

As he fucked you, you swore his hands on your hips felt larger. His nails were digging into your skin as if they were talons. Not cutting into you, but more noticeable than before. You gasped, your mouth opening against the pillow, eyes widening as you whimpered. 

“Sylus!” You cried out as you felt your pussy stretch more than before. You felt his cock, which was already big and thick, get even bigger. The girth stretching you out more to the point your legs were shaking. You felt him hit places inside you you didn't even know existed. You felt tears fall from your eyes, sure it hurt a little but god you never felt so good in your life. You felt his tongue lick up your spine, long, thick. His mouth moved to your ear, sharp teeth nipping the skin. You could hear your heart pound. What was he? How did he become… like this? 

“Wow kitten, you took me so well.” Sylus purred. He wasn’t even moving yet and you were a whimpering crying mess. “I bet you love being stretched out on my cock like this, don’t you? I’m not even moving and it feels like you’re about to cum again.” He teased as you felt a rough, larger than normal thumb brush against your clit. “Careful, if you do, you might boost my ego. I could get addicted to this.”

Your head spun as you whimpered and moaned. You couldn’t see him. Even if you tried to turn, he was pressed against your back. But he wasn’t wrong. You were close. So agonizingly close that when he touched his thumb to that damn spot between your legs it was instant. You cried out, clenching around him and he hissed at the feeling. His cock twitched inside you as he felt you cum on his cock from nothing more than just being inside you. Filling you up completely. Stretching you to your limit to the point you weren’t sure if you’d be able to walk later. 

“Good girl. You’ve been such a good girl for me, haven’t you?” Sylus purred into your ear as he started to move. Your eyes widened as you cried out, hands clawing at the bedsheets as you felt how massive he truly had become now that he started moving. Your legs shook as you struggled to keep yourself propped up on your knees. His hands came to grab your hips as you whimpered and moaned mindlessly into the pillow. His hands felt so big, so strong. He had always been strong but this was different, otherworldly. He held you exactly how and where he wanted you as he began to fuck into you. Your body bounced and shook as if you were a ragdoll. 

“That’s it, sweetie, just like that. You’re a perfect little slut for me, aren’t you. Taking anything I give you, no matter how big. You’ll stretch your tight little pussy for me, won’t you?” Sylus growled in your ear and you gasped, eyes rolling back at his words. You couldn’t control the sounds coming from your lips, or the drool that spilled out onto the silk pillowcase. You couldn’t stop the loud needy whimper at the things he said to you. His nails pressed into your soft flesh as he continued to ravish you. 

His thrusts started to get unsteady as he panted, one hand groping your ass as the other curled into your hair, turning your face for him to kiss you. His long tongue forced its way into your mouth, his teeth were sharper but it felt more like fangs now that you could feel him better. You opened your eyes for a second, catching a glimpse to see that he looked normal. As he pulled away and opened his eyes though, you noticed how both eyes were glowing red. It looked like orbs of the red mist of his Evol flowing inside his eyes. It was beautiful. If you weren’t getting your brains fucked out you would have more time to appreciate it. 

The hand returned between your thighs, drawing circles against your sensitive nub. As he felt you twitch and whimper, his hand continued until he pulled another orgasm out of you. Your scream was muffled by the pillow but the sound made him take in a sharp breath. Even when he was like this, the sounds you made affected him more than you could ever know. You felt as his cock twitched, his thrusted uneven before he came inside you. The feeling was different than before. It was thicker and it felt like there was more than usual. You gasped, moaning as you felt him thrust a few more times, the thick globs of cum running down your thighs. 

Slowly, you felt him begin to pull out. Your body was too weak and tired to turn around and look at him but that was the last thing on your mind right now. You didn’t care what form he took. He was still yours. And you were still his. You felt him shift around you, his arms pulling you into his chest as he kissed your head. The smell of him flooded your senses as a sense of calm you never felt before came over you. 

His hands were so gentle as he carefully checked for marks and scratches. You felt a warm cloth on your thighs. A cold bottle of water pressed to your lips. You opened your mouth and the bottle tipped so gently. His hands were still on you, gently touching and caressing you. As you opened your eyes gently you saw the oh so familiar black and red mist surrounding you. Cleaning you, giving you water. You felt a kiss on the top of your head as Sylus pulled you closer. 

“Relax, kitten. You’ll need to recover. I’ll take care of everything.”

~•~•~•~

some people on my post asked to be tagged or really seemed to want this so here u guys go i hope you dont mind the tag

@lunacielooo @in-too-deepspace @sefynarose

[monstersholygrail]

I am here to ask for more monster fucker scientist nerd, BUT

With a moth hybrid reader (like they lowkey are just mothman but a Luna moth) who can’t talk but is very smart and squeaks likes moths do sometimes

I’m sorry I just rarely see the ‘reader is monster’ kind of thing and I really like weird nerd for some reason

You write so good I love ittt

Ayyye, very cool idea!! And don’t apologize, you’re all good, babe. I like reader!monster and nerds too (and thank you oh my goodness!!)

The Scientist throws the newspaper onto the counter with a scowl on his face. ‘Government Scientist Breaks Out of Facility with Hybrid: Insider Conspiracy?’

The nerve of that guy. Letting his passion and lust warp his brain like that. To ruin an entire government study and all for what? Love. To have a mate. He would never make a mistake like that if he got the chance. Just once chance and they’d all see how brilliant he was!

Bugs were his field of study. Close to Hybrids. If only they had picked him instead he could’ve shown them the benefits and uses to what a bug can produce. His entire home lab is lit up with the evidence of it. Countless vials fill the rows of shelves along his walls. Each and every one of them glowing a lovely neon color.

Suddenly a banging at the glass door that leads to his patio shakes the scientist out of his dark thoughts. Turning around he watches as you, a Moth Hybrid, walks right into the door. Over and over again, your eyes glazed over as you look into the light.

Despite knowing what brought you here, the scientist remains just as curious about you. He gently guides you inside and helps you to focus on him instead of the vials. Next he tries to get you to speak, to explain yourself. He can’t figure out how annoyed to be at your interruption until you do. But when you open your mouth all you do is let out the tiniest little squeaks that grate against his eardrums.

He guesses you said something though as a second later you’re popping out of your seat and scurrying about. Your wings nearly knocking into everything around you in a way that has his heart jumping up into his throat. He watches you with rapt attention as you walk around his lab, mixing things together. He wants to stop you, to tell you you’re messing everything up, but he’s mesmerized by you. The way your green wings shine against the light of the vials.

Eventually you walk over and hand him something. It takes him far longer than he’s willing to admit to realize you had made a breakthrough in his recent hypothesis. He looks between you and the vial in awe, wondering exactly how long you had been watching him.

After such a discovery the scientist felt he couldn’t truly kick you out. You were now a team. And as the months passed in which you two worked together. It became more. He kisses you first thing when he walks into the lab, he asks you your thoughts even though all you can do is squeak in return, and he lets you take lead when you’re onto something he shockingly didn’t notice.

It’s as close to marital bliss as the scientist could ever imagine himself being. And it seems you feel that way too as one day, the both of you working furiously in the lab together, you bring him a vial dull and black. He doesn’t understand but he’s getting quite used to the feeling. You motion between the vial and your belly before touching his. Restoring the motion until it dawns on him.

You want to have babies with him. Correction— you want him to have babies with you. He’d be carrying them. He looks down at the vial, his expression full of contemplation. He would have to take it easy on his work, leaving most of it to you. He’d be growing multiple lives inside his body. He’d be giving up his chance to make a difference in order to do this with you.

He quickly takes the vial and downs it in a single gulp, exhaling shakily. He knows he made the right choice. Because he may be giving up the chance to make a difference but he’d be making a difference in his own life. In yours. And with your arrival he’s learned over time that that’s enough.

A heat slowly overcomes his body and he can feel something inside of him expanding. Making room for the eggs you’ll deposit inside him. The urge to slam you down on the lab counter and fuck you till you breed him seizes control of his actions till he does exactly as the urge demands.

You look so beautiful, glittering amongst the shining lights. Yet you’re the brightest thing he’s ever seen and he’s drawn to you. Always has.

[sexlapis]

cecil stedman x female!reader. ns4w. smut. no gender/prns mentioned. short fic. smoking. pet-names. reverse cowgirl. cream pie. r calls cecil “cece”. this is kinda dirty.

a/n: guys i might be an old man fucker😭😭 pray for me

masterlist

*

Cecil…Cecil is not quite sure how he has found himself in this position.

It’s all a blur really. A flash. A blink in time. An artificial warp of reality.

One minute, you’re innocently inviting him into your house for coffee. Cecil wonders for brief moment why you or himself would be drinking coffee so late at night, but he accepts your invite. He assumed he wouldn’t be here for long anyway.

Then you two get to talking; work, the “superheroes”, the goddamn weather, anything you get your mind to.

A cup of coffee turns into a glass of wine.

Then two. Three.

You two were sitting far too close to one another for it to be considered “professional”.

Bare, short-clad knees brushing against his dark-coloured cotton suit that looks far too expensive for someone like him. He lost his suit jacket and loosened his red tie as soon as you poured him his second glass of wine.

Cecil isn’t usually so lax, so accepting of offers like house invitations and wine, but he figures it’s been a long week, an even longer year and that he deserves a break no matter how short it will last.

“Debbie just doesn’t understand.” Cecil sighs, downing the rest of his wine. It takes the weight of the world off his shoulders. “I don’t want to hurt her. Or Mark, or Oliver. They just don’t-“” He sighs, “They just don’t get it.”

“I know, Cece.” Your head buzzed so much that you don’t even remember placing your hand on his shoulder. “They don’t live in our world. They don’t under…understand the sacrifice. They think you’re evil but you’re not. I know you’re not evil.”

Cecil is staring at you now, rusty-blue irises filling your vision like the ocean, ivory eyelashes frost around them. His eyes are glassy.

“You believe that?”

Your face is too close to his now. You take your hand in his large one.

“You’re a good man, Cecil. I believe that."

Cecil's gaze flickers down to where your two hands are connected then back to you again. He gulps. It follows the swipe of your tongue over your lips like a moth to a flame. He hears your breath hitch.

"Cece..."

You eye the mangled skin of his lip. Then your own lips find them.

At first he doesn't respond. He's frozen in his spot on your couch, hand flopping limply in your own.

Cecil seems to be snapped back into his senses when you pull back, apologising viciously, offering him a way out, far, far away from the mess you have conjured up from the sinful movement of your lips.

He quickly puts a stop to that babble with his own lips.

He should not have done that. He should not have done that.

But God, your lips were so soft. You were so responsive and enthusiastic to his touch, a feeling he hasn't felt in over a decade. So sue him for breaking his own rules for once in his shit life.

You both stumble to your bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes (mainly yours) in the wake. You’re pushing him onto your plush sheets. The fly to his pants are down.

It’s a whirl. He’s blinded by it all - your body, your hands, your lips, your breath - it’s all too much and not near enough.

That’s how he finds himself in this position - lying on your bed, his shirt unbuttoned and pants down to his ankles, with you bouncing up and down on his dick.

You’ve already came twice, courtesy of his mouth and length. You seem to be returning the favour judging by the ferocity of your hips.

Cecil can’t take his eyes away from where you both meet - your wet folds leave strings of gossamer with every desperate rise and fall of your bounces, and your gorgeous ass ripples and shines with each movement.

This was it. This is what kills him.

If someone five years ago had told him that he’d be fucking his most attractive coworker, he wouldn’t have believed it. Gone were the days that he could have some sort of freedom in his life, any dream of relaxation was just that; a dream. Fantasies that will never come into fruition.

But Cecil guesses he was wrong.

“Oh, oh fuck.” He curses. His stomach clenches. “Fuck.”

Cecil’s hand grips one of your soft, pert cheeks in his hand. You arch into the contact.

“Cece…Cece, are you gonna cum?”

You really were trying to kill him.

The visual of your coy face peering back at him over your shoulder, the rotations of your ass, and most importantly, the way your hot, seeping tight cunt swallows his cock so tightly that you may have gifted him with a small experience of the heaven he will never face.

“Don’t say that shit.”

You giggle. You fucking giggle.

“I’m just saying,” - you cut yourself off with a loud moan - “I’m just saying tha-that you can cum inside of me.”

An animalistic growl spews from Cecil’s mouth as his grip turns into searing iron on your hips.

“Don’t say that shit.”

“‘M serious, you can.” As if to emphasise your point, you switch on an ecstatic pace with your hips, rotating yourself on his cock like a cog in a wheel. Quick and precise. You can feel your own wetness dripping down his cock.

Cecil didn’t stand a chance.

Not with the way you moved or the sounds that kept pouring out of your mouth or the smooth tilts and curves of your supple body.

His heavy balls draw up tight. His head is thrown back. His hips buck up once, twice, thrice-

“Oh shit, fuck, fuck, get off- fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, I’m fucking-“”

He erupts inside of you with a tremulous groan, one that echoes throughout your quaint room. His cock spurts rope after rope of sticky seed inside of your walls, more than you knew a man his age was capable of giving. His hands remain of your still-moving hips, slowing you down just a little. He wanted a break, not to be a victim of an accidental murder.

You hum, biting your lip at how full you are. Planting your hands on the bed, you raise yourself off his dick. Cecil hisses at the cool air hitting his now flaccid member. You wiggle your hips.

Cecil sees what you’re drawing his attention to - his cum, his cum that is seeping around and from your velvet, glistening walls. If he had the energy he did twenty years ago, this would’ve called for a round two.

“Jesus.” He spits, the bite mellowed out by his fatigue. “You’re fucking greedy, aren’t you?”

You laugh at him. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”

You clamber off his lap, sweaty, sheen and sly as fox you crawl up to his side. Your rouge-bitten lips find solace on his clear neck, a neck in desperate need of some dark love bites.

Cecil reaches into his trousers that are still hooked around his ankles. He pulls out his lighter and a cigarette. He lights it.

“I’m getting too old for this shit, kid.”

*

a/n: cecil fuckers unite? 🩷

[ozzgin]

On the topic of shameless monster fuckers… Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance

The Monster under your bed loves haunting you. You see, scaring someone is an art few can master. One has to apply just the right amount of fright in order to have the poor human on their toes, yet perpetually clueless. Too much, and one risks unwanted exposure. Too little, and it wouldn’t be fun.

So, he settles for humble, yet efficient tricks. Creaks of the floor, a faint scratch underneath your bed. Did something touch your leg just now? He cackles in delight every time you jolt, or gasp, or bend over to check for the source of all these mysterious sounds. Useless.

Tonight he returns for his routine. The room is pitch black, and he drags along his grotesque limbs in skillful silence. As he lowers himself, his smirk abruptly falters, eyes wide in disbelief.

You’re lying in his very own spot, pillows strategically scattered, fingers joined together like a maiden about to say the lunchtime prayer. An impertinent smile crosses your face, cheeks dusted hot pink.

“Finally. I almost fell asleep waiting for you”, you declare, batting your eyelashes.

Was his long-standing, methodical approach flawed? Could it be? The shadow creature omitted one vital detail, one absurd possibility: that you could reverse the roles. Very well, now what? Have you come to seek your revenge? Do you truly believe you have the slightest chance against an ancient, unholy being of no creation or beginning?

Here’s another mistake - assuming your intention was that of confrontation. Thankfully he is quick to catch his own fallacy. He notes your circumstance: defenseless, curled in a tight, cramped space, with no escape. You have set yourself for failure. Before he can consider your reasoning, you pull him underneath, your small hands holding onto the cold, rugged surface of his blasphemous body.

Tonight you won’t be getting much sleep, yet for different reasons.

[More Monsters]

[batchilla]

False Accusations (You know I KNOW right? Chapter Two)

Let me first say thank you for all the kind reception part one received. It was … a surprise, and a welcome one.

Also, a massive thank you to @sunnie-angel for beta reading. If you haven’t read their work… Do yourself a favor and check out their masterlist!

This Chapter takes place over a few days in two mini stories., and I would appreciate being told if at any point this causes confusion. Currently how I’ve done it is as tilted segments. Content warning: this chapter has themes of sexual harassment in the workplace up to the point of groping (from an OC), and corruption. Proceed with caution. Be safe.

The morning after. You are going to murder your partner, Grayson. Perhaps with a gun. Maybe your own two hands. Or maybe you just need coffee.

It's probably the coffee thing. Coffee, then you’ll decide if you're going to kill him and how. As you sit at your table, surrounded by notes you’d made at 4am, the urge to throttle Grayson slowly subsides. You hadn’t slept a wink. You’d had a weird night. But if you were going to do this, help him find this killer… you’d need a plan for if it all goes to hell. A diversion. A plan so that if you’re made, maybe the killer will think you’re on the wrong track. A dummy investigation. But simultaneously one that you won’t overthink, so that you can devote your time and brainpower to the truth. Luckily for you, you have the perfect person to pretend to accuse. After all, your partner, Grayson, is an incredibly weird guy. 8:55 am finds you walking into the station sipping your third coffee of the morning, only to find Grayson sat at his desk. Shirt pressed, tie perfect, hair shampoo commercial glamourous yet slightly messy. The urge to murder your partner returns, just a little. How dare he be so… normal? So unaffected? How dare this man fight crime by night, and be smiling at you as he is now, chipper and bright and perfect, before 9am? The nerve. Maybe you could hit him with a patrol car and claim it was an accident. “Morning detective… Long night?”

Oh.. This fucker. Your partner, Grayson, is the most annoying man alive. You hate how badly you have to fight the urge to grin at the sheer audacity.

She looks exhausted, the poor thing. Dick remembered the feeling, but at some point he’d adapted to running on less sleep than was by any means reasonable. He hoped she wouldn’t need to. That this would be over in a few weeks and she’d be back to getting a full eight hours. “Morning Detective… Long night?” She glares at him like he’s caused personal offence. He raises an eyebrow at her to prompt a response. Inside though, he panics. Had he done something wrong? Could she suspect? No. no of course not. But whatever she said next would surely be important. It was a test of sorts. What would she say she’d spent the night doing? Would she betray his alter ego? Could she sell the lie if she didn’t? “Just had a night in, had a little too much to drink,” she shrugs, opening her bag and removing a notebook. Casual, calm, partially true and nearly impossible to disprove short of a blood test or breathalyser, and even then there was deniability. Dick nods, and looks back down to his computer to hide the grin that splits his face in half. He knows he can’t dwell on it, knows he can’t act on it, but it’s completely unfair that she was that smooth. That helpful. She’d agreed to help him - as Nightwing - instantly. Her words about how Blud owed him a debt had played in his mind on loop for the rest of his patrol. He knew what it felt like to fly. To flip through the air at dizzying heights, gravity a mere afterthought. It was cruel, frankly, that he’d found someone who made him feel even better than that, only for her to be someone he couldn’t be with out of principle and professionalism. It wasn’t that he objected to her as a partner - short of his family, she was possibly the best he’d ever met. Frankly, if she was transferred to Gotham, the bat signal would be turned on far less frequently. And he didn’t object to rules about dating fellow officers, especially one’s partner. Objectively it made sense. But it didn’t change the fact that her smile was the best part of his day. That on the rare times she laughed he could swear he heard an angel just straight up quit its position in the heavenly chorus out of pure envy. That when she’d said she’d help he’d wanted nothing more than to grab her face and kiss her till she was breathless. But he can’t. Or at least Dick Grayson can’t. A new voice breaks him from his spiralling thoughts. “Detective Grayson.” The man standing behind his partner's desk has a hand on the back of her seat, preventing her from swivelling around. 

“We haven’t met yet, I’m Sergeant James McElroy. Seems you spent most of my first day back stuck on a stakeout.” “Pleasure.” he responds, with all the charm he’s learnt to use at galas and parties, forcing down the venom incurred by the way his partner had seemed to lose a gallon of blood at the sound of his voice, and the way she had seemed not to breath since the name was spoken.

He's not touching you. Of course not. He knows better than to do anything so blatant. It's how he’d gotten away with it for so long last time. He doesn’t touch you, or say the things he was so clearly thinking. He would masterfully walk the line between making you feel unsafe, alone, and naked, while never crossing over into anything actionable. Till one day he had. It had been in a crowded lift where he’d used the crush as an excuse to grab and to feel, whispering something vile in your ear. 

He’d figured he’d gotten away with it when you tried to tell your captain and he’d asked if you had a witness. You’d thought he’d gotten away with it too. Till a uniformed officer, Janet Rodwell, had stepped up to have your back. You should have known, really. For the second time in 24 hours you feel like a fool. But while the first time it had been accompanied with a dizzying realisation of love, this time the realisation is dark and chilling to your core. You’d thought you’d won, that it was over. But he’s back and he’s not touching you, but you feel the ghost of his hands all over. You can’t win. He’d been sent away and you thought you were safe again, but he’s back and he’s a sergeant now. Because Bludhaven, as it is, rewards men like him. You can’t bring yourself to look over your shoulder at him, so you look straight ahead, across your desk and to your partner’s adjoining one.

It's not Dick Grayson’s eyes you meet though. They aren’t cheerful, carefree and beautiful. Well, they are beautiful. But they are angry, intelligent, and fierce. You meet Nightwings gaze, and you feel the claws around your lungs relax, even if they do not recede. 

His partner did not rattle easily. Did not panic unnecessarily. 

Pinned down by the Penguin’s smugglers, he’d thought their goose had been cooked unless he could work at his true capacity, so he had shot out the lights and gotten to work. He’d taken out nine, but been unable to find the tenth, until he’d heard the struggle. 

She’d taken him down blind, without drawing her gun. When he’d asked her why she hadn’t, she’d told him she’d lost sight of him in the chaos, and was unwilling to risk it. He wished he hadn’t shot the light out so he could have seen it. 

Still, he had been oblivious. It had hit him like a batarang to the face last night, in that moment where she agreed without hesitation to help him find a serial killer. He’d known she was beautiful, and brilliant. That he had a crush. 

He’d realised last night he was in far, far deeper trouble than that. So, if she was frightened and upset by the presence of this man, then Dick would take his looming over her as a serious threat. He trusted her gut. “You haven’t introduced yourself to my partner, Detective—-” He’s cut off with a dismissive wave that boils his blood. “Oh we’ve met. In fact, she was my partner first. Until the misunderstanding.” There are many ways to snap someone out of a panic. He’s seen sheer rage do it many times. As it does now. “There was no misunderstanding,” she says, her voice firm, her teeth gritted. “Well. I want you to know-” he moves from directly behind her, to her side, leaning down over her, invading her space. Dick wanted to hit him. “I understand that what I did could have been seen as invasive, and you may have felt that I overstepped. I have completed a course, as demanded by HR, and will attempt not to cause you to feel that I have been inappropriate again.”

She takes a deep breath. He can practically hear her count in his head. He stands, moving around the desk to stand beside her, not quite a barrier but a comforting presence, or at least he hoped. “Well. Whatever occurred, we have work to be getting on with, if you don’t mind.” It takes a great deal of the restraint his training has given not to add the words ‘you bastard’, or something far more creative. “But of course. Detective. Detective.”  

Your hands shake as you sit back down in your seat. Your partner, Grayson, returns to his own, his gaze - Richard’s gaze, never leaving your face, crumpled in concern. “I don’t want to overstep… but are you alright? What … did he do?” “I…” you want to tell him, in part. Or maybe you don’t, and you want him to know without having to go through the ordeal of rehashing it all. Maybe by consulting whatever ‘oracle’ he used as nightwing. But you can’t right now. So you don’t. “I… need some air.” Your partner just gives you a comforting smile, a nod, and lets you leave without question. Wingding in the window 

It's five days later, on his patrol, when he notices it. The wingding left in her window. He stops on the roof of the building adjacent to her. As far as city roofs go, this one’s relatively nice. Someone’s placed some potted plants around, in an eclectic attempt at a rooftop garden. Some of these pots contain small pebbles as cover for the soil from the wind. Grinning to himself, he takes a handful. 

Was this a good idea? No. 

Was it deceptive? Well, no more than anything else he did as Nightwing… well, maybe a little more. 

But it hurt, holding her at arm's length, when a part of his soul he tried to ignore yearned to be as close as she would allow. He knows it’s not good. He knows it’s a violation of the utter trust she seems to hold in Nightwing. Really, it would only make things even more messy for his chances as Dick. But he wants to make her smile. Blush, even. He knows she finds him attractive, and in both contexts, but he wants more than that. Over the last week he’s realised just how much he wants to have with her, and it terrifies him. 

If it was simple lust he could deal with it.  But it wasn’t, and so here he was, about to attempt the cheesiest move known to hallmark films, just to see if it would make her laugh at him again. 

He’d managed to be professional while surrounded by highly capable, badass women in skintight clothes for most of his life. He’d had crushes before and gotten over them. He wanted everything with her. And that was not something he knew how to handle, given the mess of their situation. Dick shakes his head, snapping himself out of his doom spiral. He had a detective to meet, and a serial killer to find.

Bap. Bap. Bap. You look up from your book. You’d been getting ready for sleep, wearing your cosy pyjamas, curled up in bed with a book and a hot chocolate. You go still, listening. Bap. Bap. A pause. Then, the rap of knuckles on glass. “I ran out of rocks”

You know that voice. “With you in a moment.” You pull on a dressing gown, and take a moment to curse the fact that your slippers are rabbits before pulling the curtains aside. Nightwing is crouched on your windowsill. You lift it, stepping back as he enters through the window with all the grace of a cat. You know that you shouldn’t be embarrassed to be in your pyjamas, it's late, you had no means of knowing when he’d arrive. But he looked divine in that suit. An adonis. And you're in your old bathrobe and bunny slippers. Truely, you must have done terrible things in a past life. “Nice footwear.” Nightwing says with a smirk. Curse him. Curse his cheekbones and the way his lips look so damn inviting. “You picked up what, five rocks?” you sass right back. Nightwing makes a noise you suspect was supposed to be a scoff, but is more of a squeak. “Do you see a lot of pocket space on this?” 

“Fair.” you say, leading him out of your bedroom and into your living room. He sits on your couch, one leg spread wide, the other’s ankle resting on its thigh, as you open a drawer on your coffee table and produce your masterpiece. Nearly five metres of red string. Names, photos, dates, all studded with pins so pressed so tightly in they haven’t a prayer of accidental removal. You prop it up on the coffee table. 

Maybe your friends were right. Maybe you did need to touch grass. A line of thought for later. You look at Nightwing, who’s no longer relaxed and laying back on your sofa like he owned the place. 

Its years of maintaining a poker face in interrogations and more recently, dealing with his shenanigans that prevents you from grinning. 

He's as pale as you’ve ever managed to see him, and leaning forward now, elbow on knee and chin in hand. “Well, this is… impressive.” He sounded like he’d inhaled helium. “Shall we start with Sergeant McElroy?” you offer, smiling your best ‘there’s nothing wrong’ smile, enjoying making him squirm. “You seem to have … a significant amount of evidence against Detective Richard Grerson?” You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you take a ruler, poking your picture of him between the eyes. You hadn’t planned to do him first, you’d hoped to discuss evidence that would actually lead somewhere. 

This was still going to be fun though. You take a deep breath, and pause for a suitable level of dramatic effect, and begin your game. 

“Detective Richard Grayson. He’s my partner. He’s an excellent detective, and a good man. You might have heard of the charity he founded.” Nightwing makes a noncommittal humming noise. “But is it all too good to be true?” you ask, moving to your first notecard. “Exhibit one. He asked about the file. On its own, innocuous. But then, exhibits two through four. He’s prone to frequent disappearances on cases. He often knows a little too much about the criminal underside of Blud. Things that I have triple checked are not in any police database.”

You run a hand through your hair. “He’s a highly trained combatant. I once saw him take down nine men armed with guns, in the dark. They don’t teach that at the police academy.” “No? No.” Nightwing says, clearing his throat. “I mean yes. That is… suspicious.” “Incredibly. Which brings me to exhibit five. Now I’m no behavioural analyst or shrink. But I know my basics. Childhood trauma and instability can have… lingering impacts. I… don’t feel the need to dredge up his past, but I did look into it… and it’s grim. He was then taken in by Bruce Wayne. His relationship to his father, whatever it is, is something he’s even tighter lipped about then… everything else honestly. It’s not on the board because it’s circumstantial at best… but he has this skill of being able to hold long conversations and yet you come away not having learnt anything deeper about him.” 

He was pretty sure he’d been nodding for a good thirty seconds at this point.  

It would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. 

The worst part was that it was all well reasoned. Practical. He had done everything she accused him of. She had just drawn a far more down to earth conclusion, that he was a corrupt cop, rather than Nightwing. 

It made sense. Too much sense. How could he shut this down without seeming invested in his own innocence? 

That isn’t what causes his lungs to burn though. No. The root of that was that even if he’d forced himself to maintain a professional - if friendly - distance from her, he would have hoped that she trusted him. 

But in this moment, looking at the evidence, looking at her holding that ruler to his photo’s face like a judge's gavel ready to condemn… he knows. He knows that she will never look at Dick the way she does as Nightwing, happy to see him, believing in his mission, ready to help as soon as he’d asked. Even if he clears himself of this crime, she would surely suspect him of others. 

He’d known it, at least on one level, ever since he’d first met her. He knows it now all the deeper, and he wants to scream. Dick Grayson will never get to tell her how truly wonderful she is.

How highly he regards her. 

How she is one of the reasons he keeps fighting for Bludhaven. 

Dick Grayson will never get to tell her that he loves her. 

But… perhaps Nightwing could have something. Because if she was his north star, then the way he’d felt when she agreed to help him had been like being engulfed by a supernova. 

If she was water, then seeing her cosy and ready for bed and smiling as she let him in through the window had been an oasis in the Sahara. 

If music was the food of love, her attempts not to laugh and stifled giggles over his peeps popcorn had been a symphony orchestra. 

But he’d never have her as himself. Not at all. Nightwing though? She at least found him attractive. Aligned with his ideology. No, he’d never feel that warmth of 10,000 stars directed at the real him. 

No, he’d never be able to be quenched by her life saving presence. 

No, he’d never feel her laughter shaking his bones as if in a musical crescendo.

But even the dimmest and most distant star gave off some light.

Even the last drop in an empty water skin was better than nothing.

Even the memory of a melody could be sweet. True, he would only ever have scraps of her affection. True, he could flirt, and perhaps go even further… but he’d never truly be with her. 

But who was a starving man to deny scraps of sustenance? He’d take what he could have and try to ignore the lingering hunger. 

“Perhaps we should discuss… another suspect?” he prompts, realising how long he’s been silent. How long she had been too, watching him with a strange, concerned look.

She nods, and moves on to their Captain.

Dick is almost relieved when some ten minutes later Oracle calls in a robbery downtown. “Well - sorry Sherlock.” He takes a picture of her board for further study. “I’ll be around next week to continue this discussion, and look over this in my own time till then. Duty calls.” “Be safe,” She says softly, as he’s halfway through the window He looks over his shoulder. “As you wish.”

Chapter Three Taglist: @jasontoddproblems

@sunnie-angel

@stormz369

@love-theangel-blog

@torchbearerkyle

@interwebseriesfan24

@love-theangel-blog

@alwaysnervouswitchprince

@underlinekasis

@tiredsleepyandreading

@soradragon Banner credit is to @strangergraphics

If you would request to be added to my taglist, please reblog the fic. Honestly please just reblog it anyway? I worked hard on this. Nothing more demotivating than a fic getting only likes. If you want part three, reblog part two. 

[littlemissaddict]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Nurse!Reader

Merry Christmas everyone 🎄 had this stuck in my head for a little while and it's took even longer to write. Slightly jealous ghost if you squint.

All the nurses knew as soon as they saw Ghost enter the Medics station on base that there was only one nurse he'd see. Some of the long term staff who treated his injuries before she'd arrived on base were thankful they didn't have to work through the glowering stare, the gruff grunts and all-around hardship he'd made there job of tending to him. In fact it was a hardship in itself just convincing him to see a base nurse.

With her though he was different, he sat willing while she tended to his wounds and they've even seen him sit for an hour after arriving back from one deployment so that she was the one to see to him despite other nurses being free.

No one knew why he favoured her and if anyone asked him he would never admit the real reason he took a liking to her was because she snapped at him on their first meeting. He was so used to the other nurses tip toeing around his large form and intimidating presence but she was different, becoming annoyed with his constant squirming as she tried to stitch the cut along his shoulder, that she didn't ever care to ask how he'd gotten.

"Stop moving so I can finish this and get you out of my sight"

If anyone else had said it, he'd have had something to say about it but with her stood there, tiny form next to him with teeth gritted and eyebrows set into a deep frown then he knew that she was different to the other nurses and that he liked. Hence the reason she'd become the only one he'd see.

Since that first meeting though he'd become a lot easier to handle and she hadn't had to snap at him anymore. In fact there was a little more joking around between the two of them.

"You're hurt, why are you always hurt?" She fussed coming back to her station to find him sat on the bed.

"S'my job" he grumbles, surrendering to her soft touch as she inspects his arm.

With a sigh, she turns her head to look up at him, "If it was your job, then wouldn't I see the rest of your unit just as much as I see you?" She phrases it as a question but they both know it doesn't require an answer. "Hell I don't even seen Johnny as much as I see you" She adds, as Johnny maybe a soldier but he's a clumsy fucker sometimes.

At the mention of Johnny's name, Simon tenses, he's a little hurt even though he knows he shouldn't be, but she's never once called him Simon. It's always Ghost or Lt. Yet she's casually dropping Johnny's name as though she always calls him that instead of Soap or sergeant.

She mistakes his tensing for pain in his arm instead of what it is and she let's go of him as he grumbles out, "Simon"

"Sorry?" She replies not sure if she'd quite heard what he said correctly.

"Call me Simon" his voice is as gruff as usual but she could be mistaken when she hears the hint of pleading in his tone.

"Okay but you gotta do one thing for me in return" she's teasing, she'll call him Simon if that's what he wants regardless, but this constantly getting hurt has to stop so maybe she's going to abuse the power she has over him in this moment but it's with his best interest at heart. Simon nods once, slowly before she continues, "You have to stop being so reckless, I know you have a dangerous job, but at least try not to get injured"

Simon sits and stares at her for a minute or so as if considering her words, he is really because not getting injured means he can't come down to medical and that means he won't get to see her as often but getting to hear her call his name is the desire that's currently outweighing everything else. "Fine" he huffs as if she's asking the hardest thing in the world from him.

"Good, now, let's get this arm sorted." She smiles, turning away from him to gather the equipment she needs. It takes her practiced hands barely anytime at all to complete the task at hand and Simon almost resents her for how quickly she works as now he has to leave her.

He thanks her with a grunt as he stands from the medical bed but she stops him before he leaves, "Simon" his name finally drips from her lips like honey and he's putty in her hands, he's very thankful for the mask right now so that she can't see the colour spreading across his cheeks. "You know you don't have to get hurt to come see me, I do enjoy your company" she reveals and he nods, unable to speak.

Oh but when he thinks about it later on when he's alone in his bunk, he realises she doesn't know what she's let herself in for as he plans to be by her side whenever he gets any free time on base.

[agreeewrites]

Freefall | D.M. & H.P

feat Draco Malfoy x roommate!reader x Harry Potter

SUMMARY: Secrets can only stay buried for so long in a cramped London flat. When the truth finally comes out, your relationship with your flatmates, Harry and Draco, will never be the same.

CW: MDNI 18+, college roommates!au, smut, mfm, slight angst, pining!drarry, going from friends/roommates to friends with benefits, dom!draco and switch!harry

AN: much more to come! I wouldn't call this a series, more like a collection of fics/drabbles/headcanons. my asks are open if there's anything you'd like to see!

masterlist

“Here, taste this,” Harry said, approaching the kitchen island where you were combing through your coursework, spoon covered in sauce held aloft.

You opened your mouth, not looking up from the passage on the Demiguise.

Harry chuckled, feeding you the bit of sauce. You smacked your lips, tasting the marinara Harry's made one hundred times. “Needs a bit more garlic,” you said. “But otherwise perfect.”

“You always say that,” Harry teased, rolling his eyes as he turned back to his sauce. There was something so warm about Harry, so safe, with his fluffy black hair and broad shoulders, his easy smile and quick wit.

“It's always true,” you argued, taking a sip of your wine to hide your smile.

Music from one of his muggle records filled the air, something acoustic and folksy that added to the peaceful vibe of the flat, carefully curated by yourself and your other roommate, Draco. The two of them needed a sanctuary after every they endured, and your shared flat became exactly that. A safe harbor from the chaotic world.

“Need a refill?” Harry asked, glancing at your almost empty glass, always trying to take be helpful.

“Trying to get me drunk, Potter?”

“Are we drinking?” Draco strode out from his room, his platinum hair still damp from the shower, dressed in a Slytherin crew neck and sweatpants. Your mouth went a little dry at the sight of him, the clean smell lingering on his skin, and you swallowed the rest of your wine.

“Someone is,” Harry chuckled, flashing you a cheeky smile.

Draco entered the kitchen, moving around Harry to grab a wine glass from a tall cabinet, his shirt riding up a bit to reveal the smooth skin of his lower abdomen.

“Ow! Fucker,” Harry hissed, shaking out his hand. “Damn stove.”

Draco snickered, pouring himself a generous glass of wine and topping up yours. “Distracted, Potter?” he teased, and a a flush crawled up Harry’s neck.

“Leave him alone,” you chastised, beckoning the spectacled boy towards you with a crooked finger. “Or else he’ll stop cooking for us.”

“Maybe for Malfoy,” Harry grumbled, placing his hand in your outstretched palm.

“Well, can’t have that. I’d starve to death.” Draco smirked, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of wine.

“Episkey,” you cast, healing the burn on Harry’s finger with a swipe of your thumb. “There we go,” you hummed, grinning at him.

“T-thanks,” he said, adjusting his glasses.

“How convenient, having our own pretty nurse at home,” Draco said, winking at you when you flipped him off.

Harry playfully checked Draco’s shoulder when he returned to the kitchen, and Draco muttered something in Harry’s ear, making him roll his eyes with a coy half-smile. They dove into conversation about their shared Auror classes, drastically different than your own courses for your Magical Creatures degree.

You turned back to your work, trying to tune them out and ignoring the increasingly familiar feeling of otherness that trickled in. Harry and Draco had a past that was inextricably entwined, two sides of the same coin, and their bond often left you feeling like a third-wheel in your own flat. Usually it didn't bother you, but the feelings had grown stronger and stronger over the last few weeks, creeping into almost every interaction with them and sucking the joy out of it. Tonight, it sat like a stone in your stomach.

You missed them, even though they were only a few feet away from you and you occupied the same 900 square foot space.

After a few minutes, Draco sidled up next you, leaning over your shoulder to read your notes. “Still studying, love?” He asked, close enough that his breath ghosted over your ear.

You suppressed a shiver. Draco loved nothing more than to get a rise out of you and Harry, and you weren’t in the mood to stroke his ego.

“Yes, I am,” you replied, voice more clipped than you intended, and you caught him and Harry share a look over you head, fueling your irritation.

Draco didn’t push, retreating back to his place in the kitchen. He and Harry continued to mutter to one another and exchange meaningful looks while Harry finished up dinner, acting as if you weren’t there at all.

Sometimes, if felt like they could read each other's minds, shared a connection deeper than words. Like two great trees with tangled roots, communicating in a language only the two of them understood.

Just when you were about to gather your things and hole up in your room for the night to wallow in self-pity, Harry set a plate under your nose, piled high with pasta.

“Added extra garlic for you,” he murmured, giving you a soft smile, and some of your irritation unwound.

“Thanks,” you said, a bit sheepish about your attitude.

“Course, can’t let you go hungry,” he teased, turning back to make his own plate.

Your heart gave a weak trill, but you quickly squashed it down. You were being silly, you all were just friends, roommates. They didn’t owe you anything, least of all a place in their hard-earned inner circle.

Their lives were full, and there wasn’t room for you.

After dinner, you retreated to your room to shower, trying to pull yourself together. They had enough going on in their lives; the last thing they needed was your drama on top of everything else.

But no matter what you told yourself, the feeling lingered, sour on your stomach and bitter on your tongue.

Hair towel dried and dressed in a PJ set, you ventured back out into the living room. It was empty, but the large window leading to the fire escape was cracked open, low, masculine voices floating on the air.

You debated making yourself a cup of tea and leaving them to it, but your curiosity won out. You wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and lifted the window, stepping out onto the small balcony.

Harry was leaned against the railing, hands stuffed in his hoodie, and Draco was perched on the iron steps leading to the next floor, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

To your surprise, the air was thick with tension, heavy like an incoming storm. Draco's shoulders were up to his ears, the smoke from his cigarette hanging like smog in the London streetlights.

Was it because of you?

Harry moved to help you down, his hand steady and strong in yours, and closed the window behind you. “It's cold out here,” he cautioned, noting your still damp hair. “Is that blanket warm enough?”

You nodded, giving him a small smile of thanks. “Am I, uh, interrupting?” You asked, looking up at Draco. He looked so handsome in the low light, shadows sharpening his jaw, the cherry of the cigarette making his light eyes glow.

He shook his head, taking another drag.

“Course not.” Harry rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, leaning against the railing once again. He wasn't nearly as good of a liar as Draco.

“What were you talking about?” You asked, trying to sound casual.

“Just school stuff—”

“Nothing—”

They spoke at the same time, interrupting each other, then fell quiet again.

“Uh-huh,” you crossed your arms over your chest. “Don't stop on my account,” you said, sitting on the window sill and pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

But, as you suspected, they stayed mum, exchanging a glance you couldn't decipher.

You wish it didn't, but it made you feel so alone, so…jealous. You craved their closeness more than anything.

“If you tell me what's going on, maybe I could help,” you offered.

Harry’s eyes softened. “Everything's okay. Please don't worry about us.”

“Of course I'm going to worry about you,” you countered, the edge of your voice betraying the hurt feelings you were trying to shove down.

Harry frowned, concern drawing his dark brows together. “I know, but…”

Draco stubbed his cigarette on the steps. “Come here,” he said, extending a hand to you.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise.

Uncertainty made your heart beat quicken, but you placed your fingers in Draco’s palm. He drew you up and between his knees on the steps, guiding your hand to wrap around his middle. The warmth of his body overruled your hesitation, and you leaned into his chest, head resting on his shoulder.

He smelled like smoke and his amber body wash, and something new fluttered to life in your belly.

“Potter’s right,” Draco murmured, his voice resonant in his chest. “You shouldn't worry about us.”

You didn't reply, unable to articulate why ‘us’ bothered you so much. Just another reminder that there was them, and then there was you.

You glanced up at Draco, finding his eyes not trained on you, but on Harry, molten like fired glass, and your hurt deepened. You tried to pull away, but Draco locked an arm around your shoulders, his gaze flicking down to yours.

You turned away, averting your eyes.

“Please don't be upset,” Harry said, a twinge of worry in his voice. “We just don't want you too—”

“We're trying to protect you,” Draco said.

You pulled back, and Draco let you, though he didn't let you step out from between his long legs. “Protect me from what? Memories?” You asked, looking to Harry.

“Memories are powerful,” he said. “They're a burden. We’re a burden, and we don't want to put that on you.”

You stared at him. “A burden?” You hissed, pulling away from Draco fully to face Harry. “How could you think that?”

Harry couldn't look at you, his eyes on the ground. “We said we would never make your life harder, pile our shit onto your shoulders after you were kind enough to open your home,” he muttered. “You don't deserve that.”

“That’s what friends do,” you said, throat thick with frustrated tears. “I thought we were friends.”

Harry's head snapped up, pain evident in his eyes. “We are friends,” he insisted, pushing off the railing to approach you. “That's why we—”

“We,” you scoffed. “You don't get it, Harry.” You turned away from him, only to bump directly into Draco's chest, his expression hard.

“You really want to know what we were talking about?” He asked, jaw feathering with tension.

“That's not—”

“It is, though. Isn't it? You're feeling left out.”

You flushed, turning away from his too-perceptive gaze, but he caught your chin with his hand, forcing you look up at him.

“Malfoy,” Harry warned.

“No, if she wants the truth, she'll have it.” Draco shot Harry a look, and the other boy made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Draco looked back at you, a reckless sort of intensity in his eyes. “Potter here was telling me about how he asked you to taste the sauce just so he could feed it to you. It's why he made it in the first place.”

“Draco,” Harry snapped, and your eyes widened in shock.

“And then I told him that I liked your new body wash—coconut or something? And that I wondered what it tasted like on your skin.” He backed you against the brick wall, his body warm and solid against yours. Your heart was beating so loud, you almost couldn't hear him. “That the reason I came out here was because the fucking smell of you, hot and wet and naked in the shower, was driving me mad, and I was this close to charging into that bathroom and eating you for dessert.”

You were stunned silent, staring up at him in complete and utter disbelief. He wanted you? They both wanted you?

“Draco, I—”

“You wanted to know the big fucking secret, darling. That's it. We're both completely and utterly obsessed with you, sick with it.” His breath was hot against your cheek, the rumble of his voice swirling around the shell of your ear and making you shiver, that flutter you felt earlier building to a twister of want, the clarity sudden and striking.

You were jealous and hurting because you wanted them.

“We haven’t said anything because—because we don't want to ruin the one friendship we have that isn't rooted in our past,” Harry added, wringing his hands together. “We don't want to lose you, or make you uncomfortable.”

Draco moved to step back, uncertainty creeping into his expression, and a bolt of fear pierced your heart. No, no, no. You grabbed him without thinking, letting your blanket fall to the ground

“You couldn't lose me,” you admitted. “I want you both too.”

“You want us too?” Draco asked, skeptical eyes searching your face.

“Please,” you whispered.

He immediately folded, crushing you back against the wall, and crashed his mouth to your in a rough, desperate kiss. He groaned low in his throat, the sound turning your core to liquid, and drove his tongue into your mouth, swiftly taking control of the kiss. You were putty in his hands, flayed open for him to claim, to ravage with tongue and teeth. It felt like you were flying. Like he'd picked you up and dropped you over the edge of the roof. Plummeting. Freefall.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet,” he rasped, kissing down your jaw and lapping at the place where your pulse surged under your skin. In a quick movement, Draco spun your around, his back to the wall with your back pressed to his front, his arms bracketed around your middle.

Harry was standing there, eyes wide and cheeks pink, his grip tight on the railing behind him.

“Harry,” you whined, voice pitching higher when Draco's mouth found the sweet spot under your ear.

“I—”

“Bloody hell, Potter. Fucking kiss her.” Draco ordered, and Harry surged forward like he was waiting for permission. His hands reached up to cradle your face as his lips connected with yours. Harry's kiss was softer, more timid than Draco's. A question, rather than a command.

Your hands fisted in his hoodie, drawing him closer as you licked along the seam of his lips, tasting wine and his honey lip balm as he parted for you, gliding his tongue along yours.

“Fucking finally,” Draco purred, his hand sliding under your shirt to splay across your stomach, pressing you tighter against him. “How's she taste, Potter?” He asked, his other hand coming up to rest against your throat.

“Like heaven,” Harry murmured, breath hitching when you nipped at his lower lip. He pressed himself harder against you, squishing you between their bodies, and you gasped, hands flying up to tangle in Harry’s unruly hair.

Harry grew a bit bolder, licking into your mouth with hungry strokes. Your hips canted forward, your pussy practically begging for attention, and you felt Harry's erection press against your hip, throbbing beneath his pajama pants.

“What a good girl,” Draco cooed, his hand sneaking higher to cup your breast, his thumb grazing your taught nipple. You moaned into Harry's mouth, arching your spine to press your chest into Draco's palm. “Being so sweet for us.” Draco tightened his hand around your throat, grinding his erection into your ass.

Harry's hands wandered south, pawing at your curves over your pajamas until he gripped your ass, rocking your more intentionally against him and Draco.

Draco hissed through his teeth when Harry's hand grazed his cock. You thought maybe it was an accident until you felt Harry smile, the slightest quirk of his mouth, as he brushed Draco's cock again.

“Inside, now,” Draco rumbled, shifting off the wall and send you and Harry stumbling forward.

Harry steadied you, a hand on your hip. “Is that what you want?” He asked, searching your face.

“Yes.” You nodded, tugging him in by the hoodie strings for a quick peck. “I want you,” you murmured against his lips, and he grinned.

“Come on, then,” Draco called, already inside, a hand extended to you. You took it and he hauled you inside, placing a hand over the bottom of the open window so you didn't hit your head in your haste. Harry clamored in right behind you, shutting and locking the window while Draco guided you to sit down on the couch, his lips on yours again.

Harry sat on the other side of you, shirking his hoodie. Draco leaned you back to drape across Harry's thighs, pushing up your shirt to kiss across your hips. Harry tugged the shirt over your head, exposing your chest to them.

“So pretty, sweetheart,” Harry murmured, his fingertips grazing over your ribcage, the other draped over the back of the couch. You felt like you were burning, desire spreading under your skin like a brush fire.

“Lift your hips for me, love,” Draco said, looking up at your through blond lashes. You obeyed, leaning more of your weight onto Harry, and Draco hooked his fingers into your waist band, sliding down your pants and panties in one go.

It struck you how normal this all felt. How comfortable and right.

Draco spread your legs, fingertips dimpling into your tender skin. His lips connected with your inner thigh, feather light and teasing as he trailed closer towards your dripping pussy.

Harry's hand cupped your tits, pinching and rolling your nipples lightly, just enough pressure to make you squirm, head falling back onto the couch. His eyes bounced around your body, like he couldn't decide where to focus his attention.

“Merlin, please,” you whined when Draco kissed just north of your clit, smirking against your skin.

“Please what, baby?” Draco asked, resting his cheek on your thigh.

“Please touch me.” You tangled your fingers into Draco's hair, nudging him closer to your core. “Please.”

Harry groaned above you, his cock kicking against your shoulder. But he continued his leisurely ministrations, following Draco's lead. Their easy, instinctual dynamic made your head a little fuzzy, your pussy ache.

Draco hummed, gliding his thumb over your slit, collecting the honey waiting for him. You moaned, hips chasing Draco's touch, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

Holding your gaze, he swiped his tongue over his thumb, tasting you. You loosed an aggravated huff, squirming between them.

Harry shushed you, petting your head like you were an unruly kitten. “Stop torturing her, D,” Harry said, glaring down at the blond.

Draco tsked. “But don't you want a taste?” He asked, dragging two fingers through you before lifting them to Harry's mouth.

Harry’s eyes widened, going a bit glassy, and he nodded. Draco smirked triumphantly and fed his fingers between the other boys lips. Harry moaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he sucked your slick off Draco's long fingers, his tongue twining around his knuckles.

You whimpered, thighs clenching around Draco.

“Can you blame me for wanting to savor this?” Draco murmured, slipping his fingers from Harry’s mouth and bringing them back between your legs. He eased his middle finger inside of you, pumping slowly and watching your face crumble in pleasure, a broken moans spilling from your lips.

Harry placed a hand behind your head, lifting your face to his for an eager kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, heady and sweet, and you tangled your fingers into his hair, drawing him closer, kissing him harder.

Draco added another finger, scissoring you open and massaging your gummy walls with precision. His lips found your clit, nursing gently, and pleasure bloomed through you, a burgeoning glow in your belly. You gasped into Harry's mouth when he tweaked your nipples again, tugging his hair hard enough to make him whimper.

Draco kissed up your body, his fingers still fucking into you, and dragged his tongue along your cheek, a silent question. You turned your head to kiss him, his nose and chin covered in your slick. Harry nosed closer, licking at the mess along Draco's chin, and he turned, catching Harry's lips in a sloppy, almost competitive dueling of tongues. Harry groaned when you licked and kissed down his neck, Draco's fingers still coaxing soft moans from your lips.

You grabbed at the hem of Draco's shirt, struggling to pull it off in the tangle of limbs, and Draco chuckled, sitting back on his heels. He withdrew his fingers, sucking them clean before standing up to undress himself.

Harry shifted behind you, tossing his t-shirt aside. You sat up, shifting to straddle him, the only thing separating you the thin fabric of his pajama pants. You'd seen Harry shirtless countless times, his tanned skin drawn tight over lean muscles from years of Quidditch and Auror training, but having him spread out beneath you, yours to enjoy, made your cunt quiver with anticipation, your mouth fill with saliva.

Harry flushed under your gaze, averting his eyes from your openly appreciative expression. You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek, in a trail towards his ear.

“You're gorgeous, Harry,” you murmured, rolling your hips over the thick bulge between his legs. He groaned, hands moving from your thighs to grip your hips.

“Isn't he?” Draco hummed, taking a swallow of wine while he watched the two of you, an almost predatory glint in his eye. “Was always jealous that I never filled out like that.” He chuckled.

“Oh, sod off,” Harry said, breathless as you slowly rocked against him. “You were always the hot one.”

“Never said I wasn't,” Draco smirked, setting the wine glass down.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but you silenced him with a kiss, drawing his attention back to you.

His hips bucked up into you, his cock so hard it had to be painful. Desperate to be sheathed inside you. You were ravenous for him too, plagued by the absence left by Draco's fingers. The grinding grew more intense as your need mounted, rough and sloppy in a way that had the two of you whining into the kiss, waiting for…something.

Draco leaned on the back of the couch behind Harry, smoothing your hair from your face. “You look unbelievable right now, darling,” he murmured. “So perfect for us. Right, Potter?”

Harry nodded, his face buried into the crook of your neck, calloused hands like a vice on your hips.

“You want to fuck her, Harry?” Draco combed his fingers through Harry's dark waves, tugging his head back against the couch.

“Merlin, yes. Want to fuck you so bad, love,” he panted up at you, glasses fogging from the heat of his body.

“Yes, please, Harry. Need you,” you moaned, your swollen clit dragging against his cock in a way that made you see stars.

“Go on, then. What are you waiting for?” Draco purred, knowing damn well you were waiting for his permission, even if you didn't quite know why.

Both you and Harry were too far gone to respond to his teasing. Harry wrapped an arm around your waist, lifting you up so he could free himself from his bottoms. You couldn't see what he was packing from your position, but when the head nudged your entrance, it felt like a fist prodding at you.

“Holy fuck, Harry—” you gasped, grabbing onto Draco when the head breeched your pussy, Harry grunting beneath you at the tight fit.

“Seven bloody saints, baby. S'fucking tight,” he groaned, his face buried in your tits.

“Relax, love,” Draco soothed, caressing your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You can take it.”

“Fuck, fuck—ngh, it's too big,” you cried, even as your pussy stretched around Harry’s length, accepting him inch by torturous inch.

“It’s alright, darling. You're doing so well already.” Draco placed a tender kiss to your forehead. “Isn't she, Potter?”

“M'trying to be careful, baby but f-fuck,” Harry grated, his hips stuttering up, a flicker of pain making you whimper. “Sorry, sorry. You just feel so good.” Harry kissed up your sternum, his free hand coming up to angle your head down towards him. “Just a little more,” he murmured, your forehead resting on his. His chest rose and fell in a deep breath, and you mirrored him, breathing in tandem through the final stretch.

Your full weight settled onto his hips, his cock buried inside of you, and you both moaned as the pain morphed into pleasure, lips connecting an airy, breathless kiss.

You flexed your thighs, lifting up on Harry's cock before rolling back down, gasping into Harry's mouth at the delicious, full feeling.

“Fuck, just like that,” Harry moaned, using his grip on your hips to help you slide up and down his cock. “Merlin, you're so fucking sexy.”

Your head tipped back on your shoulders, moans spilling freely as Harry started bucking up into you, cockhead kissing your cervix with every powerful thrust and making your eyes cross. You could feel him everywhere, ecstasy humming along your nerves and sweetening your blood, the sound of your sopping pussy squelching around him wonderfully lewd.

Lost in Harry, you hadn't noticed Draco move until you heard him moan, the sound scraping through his teeth. You glanced over, seeing him stretched out in his chair, his fist wrapped around his cock and stroking slowly, watching you and Harry through heavy-lidded eyes.

It wasn't as thick as Harry’s, but long and slightly curved, the head and angry pink and shiny with precum. Draco spit onto it, lubricating himself, and your whole body reacted to the sight, clenching hard around Harry as a fresh gush of arousal surged through you.

Harry cried out, his rhythm faltering for a moment, and Draco smirked, knowing what affect he had on you.

“Shit, m’not gonna last much longer with you squeezin’ me like that—f-fucking hell,” his voice fractured into another moan when you clenched around him again, watching Draco synchronize his hand to Harry's thrusts, keeping pace with the two of you.

Fuck, it was so hot being caught between the two of them. You were the clearly at the center of their desires, but you could tell they craved one another too, got some satisfaction out of sharing you. Whether it was for pleasure, or some twisted game between old rivals, you couldn't quite tell.

You were teetering on the edge of release, Harry's hunger coupled with Draco's restraint ratcheting you higher and higher.

“Come for me, love.” Harry grabbed you by the hair, rougher than he had been, and forced you to look at him while he pounded up into you. His eyes were lust-blown and wild, cheeks flushed and brow sweaty. “Need to make you come first. C’mon, sweetheart, please—yes, baby, just like that—fuck, fuck!”

The coil in your stomach snapped at the same moment Harry's cock kicked against your walls, the first jet of release splattering against your cervix.

“Fuck, Harry!” You cried as the orgasm tore through you, bright and blissful. You clung to him, your spasming pussy making you both gasp and whine in pleasure as he continued working you over his cock. Milking himself with your limp body until the ecstasy finally dissipated.

You both collapsed back onto the couch, chests heaving and sticky with sweat. Harry drew you in for a kiss, his lips plush and tender, and you melted into his embrace, limbs heavy and thoughts sluggish.

You felt cool fingers run down your spine, making you twitch and whimper with sensitivity.

“Not done yet, are you, sweet girl?” Draco asked, urging you to turn over onto your back with a hand on your hip.

You obliged, settling with your back pressed against Harry's chest, legs falling open as Draco kneeled onto the couch. He loomed like hunter over a fresh catch, eyes shaded with desire, cock standing proud between his legs.

His fingers glided between your slit, collecting yours and Harry's combined released and pushing it back inside of you, pumping his fingers slowly into your messy entrance.

You mewled, head falling back onto Harry's shoulder as pleasure warred with overstimulation, the muscles in your legs trembling as your hips rocked into his palm.

“Shit, Draco,” Harry said, breathless as he watched Draco toy with you. “So fucking hot.”

Draco smiled, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to his cock, smearing the mix of fluids over his shaft. “I'll corrupt you yet, Potter,” he teased, then looked down at you, eyes burning. “Come here, darling.”

You instantly sat up and leaned towards him, drawn like a magnet. Helpless to disobey. His fingers carded through your hair and fisting at the base of your scalp.

“Show me that pretty little tongue,” he ordered, grabbing the base of his cock and causing it swell even larger.

Your mouth fell open, tongue lolling out, and you heard Harry curse behind you, getting a clear view from the mirror against the wall.

“Such a good slut for us, hm?” Draco traced the edge of your lips with his cockhead, smearing release across your mouth, taunting you. “One cock isn't enough for you?”

You shook your head, batting your lashes up at him, wanting to give them both a show. To please them.

“Salazar’s sakes, love. Better stop looking at me like that, or I just might run out of patience,” Draco warned, tapping your tongue with his cock.

“I think she might like that,” Harry chuckled, kissing along the curve of your shoulder.

“I think you might be right, Potter.” Draco dragged you forward, driving halfway into your mouth.

You fastened your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks while you lapped at his velveteen skin. You could taste yourself, and what must be a mix of the two of them, and your eyes rolled back into your head, a pulse of arousal making your pussy clench and drip.

Draco cursed under his breath, moving you up and down his length by your hair, watching with rapt attention as you drooled and slurped around him, going completely brainless on his cock.

“Fuck, that feels so good. If your cunt feels half as good as your mouth—shit,” Draco moaned, holding you still so he could thrust into your throat, just hard enough to make tears spring in your eyes.

“Better, I’d wager,” Harry said, reaching around to grope your tits, making you moan around Draco's cock. “Wraps around ‘ya like a glove.”

Draco grunted, suddenly pulling you off of him. He crashed his mouth to yours with nearly as much fervor as the first kiss on the balcony, all tongue and teeth . He eased you back onto Harry's chest, using his other hand to line himself up with your center.

In one thrust, he bottomed out inside you, Harry's efforts ensuring your were pliable and ready.

“Fuuuuck,” Draco moaned, his head falling onto Harry's shoulder. “So fucking ready for me, baby. Weren't you?”

You nodded, crying out when he withdrew then slammed back into you, nails raking down his back at the intensity.

“That's it—good girl, such a good little slut f’me.” He wasted no time setting a brutal pace, fucking you hard into Harry while you screamed beneath him, lost in the dizzying, brutal pleasure. Draco fucked you out of your mind while Harry kept your body rooted in place. Murmuring sweet praise in your ear, coddling you like an angel, while Draco fucked you like you were anything but.

Harry's hand slid down between your legs, quick fingers working your puffy clit. “Doing so well, lovey. He's not being too rough, is he?”

You shook your head, nails digging into Harry's veiny forearm. “N-no—feels good.”

“Merlin, this cunt is a dream,” Draco growled against your ear, nipping at your skin when you fluttered around him, his words drawing a visceral reaction from your body. “Ours, now, yeah? Potter and I’s pretty cunt?”

“Yes, yes! Fuck, Draco—m’gonna come.” You clung desperately to them, trying to find purchase in the raging storm of pleasure, but it was quickly sweeping you away, dragging you under.

“That's it, give it to me—fuck!” Draco cried out, bottoming out inside of you when his release slammed into him, the heavy kick of his cock sending you over the edge. You came hard, feeling yourself bear down on him to an almost painful degree as you entire body locked up, vision swimming from the tears pooling on your eyes.

Harry shushed you, pressing kisses into your hair. “You can take it,” he murmured. “We've got you.”

“Fucking hell, love,” Draco panted, rocking his hips into you as you rode out the waves of pleasure, the weight of their bodies keeping you from squirming away when overstimulation kicked in.

“Draco—fuck, ah, too much,” you whimpered.

“Sorry, baby,” he cooed, catching your lips in an apologetic kiss. “Could stay wrapped in your forever,” he murmured against your lips, and you felt your heart flip, heat spreading in your cheeks. Draco stole a final thrust before slumping back onto the other end of the couch, chest heaving, softening cock glistening with your combined release.

If you weren't wrung out like a sponge, you'd clean him up with your tongue.

Harry slipped out from behind you, grabbing his wand from the table to magically clean the three of you up and put his pants back on. “Are you alright, love?” He asked, draping a blanket over your shoulders and sitting beside you, suddenly sheepish again.

“I'm exhausted,” you replied with a breathy chuckle. “Good exhausted.” You amended when concern flickered across his face. “Are you okay?”

“I'm good.” He glanced over at Draco, still prone with his eyes closed. “I think you may have killed him.”

Draco lifted an arm, flipping Harry off, and you giggled. He sat up, not making any move to cover himself. “We should set some ground rules.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Would it kill you to relax for a second?”

“It's for her benefit,” Draco bit. “This could get…messy.”

You nodded in agreement, a tendril of worry curling around your spine. Draco was notorious for one night stands, was that all this was?

“It stays between us, firstly,” Draco said, and you and Harry nodded in agreement. “Potter and I living together kept the Daily Prophet open for weeks. A sex scandal is the last thing we need.”

“It's a flat thing, nothing else,” you said, getting ahead of what you were sure was coming. “Roommates that fuck.” It was safer that way, less complicated.

“Flatmates with benefits,” Harry gave a wry chuckle, though it didn't meet his eyes.

“Group only, or…?” You glanced at Draco, and he looked back at Harry.

Harry shrugged. “I'm okay with splitting off now and then.”

Draco's jaw feathered, but he didn't argue.

Shit, this really could get messy. But you were too relieved to care. Now that you'd had a taste of them, there was no way you could turn back. And it seemed the men were in agreement, even if the details were a bit murky.

“So, we have a deal?” You asked.

“Deal,” they said in unison, and you shook on it, a clumsy arrangement of three hands.

Flatmates with benefits, how hard could that be?

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