#Mercy is Out of Your Reach | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spikedfearn · 1 month ago

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Mercy Made Flesh

one-shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: In the heat-choked hush of the Mississippi Delta, you answer a knock you swore would never come. Remmick—unaging, unholy, unforgettable—returns to collect what was promised. What follows is not romance, but ritual. A slow, sensual surrender to a hunger older than the Trinity itself.

wc: 13.1k

a/n: Listen. I didn’t mean to simp for Vampire Jack O’Connell—but here we are. I make no apologies for letting Remmick bite first and ask questions never. Thank you to my bestie Nat (@kayharrisons) for beta reading and hyping me up, without her this fic wouldn't exist, everyone say thank you Nat!

warnings: vampirism, southern gothic erotica, blood drinking as intimacy, canon-typical violence, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f!receiving), first time, bloodplay, biting, marking, monsterfucking (soft edition), religious imagery, devotion as obsession, gothic horror vibes, worship kink, consent affirmed, begging, dirty talk, gentle ruin, haunting eroticism, power imbalance, slow seduction, soul-binding, immortal x mortal, he wants to keep her forever, she lets him, fem!reader, second person pov, 1930s mississippi delta, house that breathes, you will be fed upon emotionally & literally

tags: @xhoneymoonx134

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated! please enjoy

Mississippi Delta, 1938

The heat hadn’t broken in days.

Not even after sunset, when the sky turned the color of old bruises and the crickets started singing like they were being paid to. It was the kind of heat that soaked into the floorboards, that crept beneath your thin cotton slip and clung to your back like sweat-slicked hands. The air was syrupy, heavy with magnolia and something murkier—soil, maybe. River water. Something that made you itch beneath your skin.

Your cottage sat just outside the edge of town, past the schoolhouse where you spent your days sorting through ledgers and lesson plans that no one but you ever really seemed to care about. It was modest—two rooms and a porch, set back behind a crumbling white-picket fence and swallowed by trees that whispered in the dark. A little sanctuary tucked into the Delta, surrounded by cornfields, creeks, and ghosts.

The kind of place a person could disappear if they wanted to. The kind of place someone could find you…if they were patient enough.

You stood in front of the sink, rinsing out a chipped enamel cup, your hands moving automatically. The oil lamp on the kitchen table flickered with each breath of wind slipping through the cracks in the warped window frame. A cicada screamed in the distance, then another, and then the whole world was humming in chorus.

And beneath it—beneath the cicadas, and the wind, and the nightbirds—you felt something shift.

A quiet. Too quiet.

You turned your head. Listened harder.

Nothing.

Not even the frogs.

Your hand paused in the dishwater. Fingers trembling just a little. It wasn’t like you to be spooked by the dark. You’d grown up in it. Learned to make friends with shadows. Learned not to flinch when things moved just out of sight.

But this?

This was different.

It was as if the night was holding its breath.

And then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Not loud. Not frantic. But final.

Your body went stiff. The cup slipped beneath the water and bumped the side of the basin with a hollow clink.

No one ever came this far out after sundown. No one but—

You shook your head, almost hard enough to rattle something loose.

No.

He was gone. That part of your life was buried.

You made sure of it.

Still, your bare feet moved toward the door like they weren’t yours. Soft against the creaky wood. Slow. You reached for the small revolver you kept in the drawer beside the door frame, thumbed the hammer back.

Your hand rested on the knob.

Another knock. This time, softer.

Almost...polite.

The porch light had been dead for weeks, so you couldn’t see who was waiting on the other side. But the air—something in the air—told you.

It was him.

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

You stood there with your palm flat against the rough wood, your forehead nearly touching it too—eyes shut, breath shallow. The air on the other side didn’t stir like it should’ve. No footfalls creaking the porch. No shuffle of boots on sun-bleached planks. Just stillness. Waiting.

And underneath your ribs, something began to ache. Something you hadn’t let yourself feel in years.

You didn’t know his name, not back then. You only knew his eyes—gold in the shadows. Red when caught in the light. Like a firelight in the dark. Like a blood red moon through stained-glass windows.

And his voice. Low. Dragging vowels like syrup. A Southern accent that didn’t come from any map you’d ever seen—older than towns, older than state lines. A voice that had told you, seven years ago, with impossible calm:

"You’ll know when it’s time."

You knew. Your hands trembled against your sides. But you didn’t back away. Some part of you knew how useless running would be.

The knob beneath your hand felt cold. Too cold for Mississippi in August.

You turned it.

The door opened slow, hinges whining like they were trying to warn you. You stepped back instinctively—just one step—and then he was there.

Remmick.

Still tall, still lean in that devastating way—like his body was carved from something hard and mean, but shaped to tempt. He wore a crisp white shirt rolled to the elbows, suspenders hanging loose from his hips, and trousers that looked far too clean for a man who walked through the dirt. His hair was messy in that intentional way, brown and swept back like he’d been running hands through it all night. Stubble lined his sharp jaw, catching the lamplight just so.

But it was his face that rooted you to the floor. That hollowed out your breath.

Still young. Still wrong.

Not a wrinkle, not a scar. Not a mark of time. He hadn’t aged a day.

And his eyes—oh, God, his eyes.

They caught the lamp behind you and lit up red, bright and glinting, like the embers of a dying fire. Not human. Not even pretending.

"Hello, dove."

His voice curled into your bones like cigarette smoke. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

You hated how your body reacted.

Hated that you could still feel it—like something old and molten stirring between your thighs, a flicker of the same heat you’d felt that night in the alley, back when you were too desperate to care what kind of creature answered your prayer.

He looked you over once. Not with hunger. With certainty. Like he already knew how this would end. Like he already owned you.

"You remember, don’t you?" he asked.

"I came to collect."

And your voice—when it finally came—was little more than a whisper.

"You can’t be real."

That smile. That slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. Wolfish. Slow.

"You promised."

You wanted to shut the door. Slam it. Deadbolt it. But your hand didn’t move.

Remmick didn’t step forward, not yet. He stood just outside the threshold, framed by night and cypress trees and the distant flicker of heat lightning beyond the fields. The air around him pulsed with something old—older than the land, older than you, older than anything you could name.

He tilted his head the way animals do, watching you, letting the silence thicken like molasses between you.

"Still living out here all on your own," he murmured, gaze drifting over your shoulders, into the small, tidy kitchen behind you. "Hung your laundry on the line this morning. Blue dress, lace hem. Favorite one, ain’t it?"

Your stomach clenched. That dress hadn’t seen a neighbor’s eye all week.

"You've been watching me," you said, your voice low, unsure if it was accusation or realization.

"I’ve been waiting," he said. "Not the same thing."

You swallowed hard. Your breath caught in your throat like a thorn. The wind shifted, and you caught the faintest trace of something—dried tobacco, smoke, rain-soaked dirt, and beneath it, the iron-sweet tinge of blood.

Not fresh. Not violent. Just…present. Like it lived in him.

"I paid my debt," you whispered.

"No, you survived it," he said, stepping up onto the first board of the porch. The wood didn��t creak beneath his weight. "And that’s only half the bargain."

He still hadn’t crossed the threshold.

The stories came back to you, the ones whispered by old women with trembling hands and ash crosses pressed to their doorways—vampires couldn’t enter unless invited. But you hadn’t invited him, not this time.

"You don’t have permission," you said.

He smiled, eyes flashing red again.

"You gave it, seven years ago."

Your breath hitched.

"I was a girl," you said.

"You were desperate," he corrected. "And honest. Desperation makes people honest in ways they can’t be twice. You knew what you were offering me, even if you didn’t understand it. Your promise had teeth."

The wind pushed against your back, as if urging you forward.

Remmick stepped closer, just enough for the shadows to kiss the line of his throat, the hollow of his collarbone. His voice dropped, intimate now—dragging across your skin like a fingertip behind the ear.

"You asked for a miracle. I gave it to you. And now I’m here for what’s mine."

Your heart thudded violently in your chest.

"I didn’t think you’d come."

"That’s the thing about monsters, dove." He leaned down, lips almost grazing the curve of your jaw. "We always do."

And then—

He stepped back.

The wind stopped.

The night fell quiet again, like the world had paused just to watch what you’d do next.

"I’ll wait out here till you’re ready," he said, turning toward the swing on your porch and settling into it like he had all the time in the world. "But don’t make me knock twice. Wouldn’t be polite."

The swing groaned beneath him as it rocked gently, back and forth.

You stood there frozen in the doorway, one bare foot still inside the house, the other brushing the edge of the porch.

You’d made a promise.

And he was here to keep it.

The door stayed open. Just enough for the night to reach inside.

You didn’t move.

Your body stood still but your mind wandered—back to that night in the alley, to the smell of blood and piss and riverwater, your knees soaked in your brother’s lifeblood as you screamed for help that never came. Except it did. It came in the shape of a man who didn’t breathe, didn’t blink, didn’t make promises the way mortals did.

It came in the shape of him.

You thought time would wash it away. That the years would smooth the edges of his voice in your memory, dull the sharpness of his presence. But now, with him just outside your door, it all returned like a fever dream—hot, all-consuming, too real to outrun.

You turned away from the threshold, slowly, carefully, as if the floor might cave in under you. Your hands trembled as you reached for the oil lamp on the table, adjusting the flame lower until it flickered like a dying heartbeat.

The silence behind you dragged, deep and waiting. He didn’t speak again. Didn’t call for you.

He didn’t have to.

You moved through the house in slow circles. Touching things. Straightening them. Folding a dishcloth. Setting a book back on the shelf, even though you’d already read it twice. You tried to pretend you weren’t thinking about the man on your porch. But the heat of him pressed against the back of your mind like a hand.

You could feel him out there. Not just physically—but in you, somehow. Like the air had shifted around his shape, and the longer he lingered, the more your body remembered what it had felt like to stand in front of something not quite human and still want.

You passed the mirror in the hallway and paused.

Your reflection looked undone. Not in the way your hair had fallen from its pin, or the flush across your cheeks, but deeper—like something inside you had been cracked open. You touched your own throat, right where you imagined his mouth might go.

No bite.

Not yet.

But you swore you could feel phantom teeth.

You went back to the door, holding your breath, and looked at him through the screen.

He hadn’t moved. He sat on the swing, one leg stretched out, the other bent lazily beneath him, arms slung across the backrest like he’d always belonged there. A cigarette burned between two fingers, the tip flaring orange as he dragged from it. The scent of it hit you—rich, earthy, and somehow foreign, like something imported from a place no longer on the map.

He didn’t look at you right away.

Then, slowly, he did.

Red eyes caught yours.

He smiled, small and slow, like he was reading a page of you he’d already memorized.

"Thought you’d shut the door by now," he said.

"I should have," you answered.

"But you didn’t."

His voice curled into the quiet.

You stepped out onto the porch, barefoot, the boards warm beneath your soles. He didn’t move to greet you. He didn’t rise. He just watched you walk toward him like he’d been watching in dreams you never remembered having.

The swing groaned as you sat down beside him, a careful space between you.

His shoulder brushed yours.

You stared straight ahead, out into the night. A mist was beginning to rise off the distant fields. The moon hung low and orange like a wound in the sky.

Somewhere in the bayou, a whippoorwill called, long and mournful.

"How long have you been watching me?" you asked.

"Since before you knew to look."

"Why now?"

He turned toward you. His voice was velvet-wrapped iron.

"Because now…you’re ripe for the pickin’.”

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

One moment you were on the porch beside him, listening to the slow groan of the swing and the way the crickets held their breath when he exhaled, the next you were waking in your bed, the sheets tangled around your legs like they were trying to hold you down.

The house was too quiet.

No birdsong. No creak of the windmill out back. No rustle of the sycamores that scraped against your bedroom window on stormy nights.

Just stillness.

And scent.

It clung to the cotton of your nightdress. Tobacco smoke, sweat, rain. Him.

You sat up slowly, pressing your hand to your chest. Your heart thudded like it was trying to remember who it belonged to. The lamp beside your bed had burned down to a stub. A trickle of wax curled like a vein down the side of the glass.

Your mouth tasted like smoke and guilt. Your thighs ached in that low, humming way—though you couldn’t say why. Nothing had happened. Not really.

But something had changed.

You felt it under your skin, in the place where blood meets breath.

The floor was cool under your feet as you moved. You didn’t dress. Just pulled a robe over your slip and stepped into the hallway. The house felt heavier than usual, thick with the ghost of his presence. Every corner held a whisper. Every shadow a shape.

You opened the front door.

The porch was empty.

The swing still rocked gently, as if someone had only just stood up from it.

A folded piece of paper lay on the top step, weighted down by a smooth river stone.

You picked it up with trembling hands.

Come.

That was all it said. One word. But it rang through your bones like gospel. Like a vow.

You looked out across the field. A narrow dirt road stretched beyond the tree line, overgrown but clear. You’d never dared follow it. That road didn’t belong to you.

It belonged to him.

And now…so did you.

You didn’t bring anything with you.

Not a suitcase. Not a shawl. Not a Bible tucked under your arm for comfort.

Just yourself.

And the road.

The hem of your slip was already damp by the time you reached the edge of the field. Dew clung to your ankles like cold fingers, and the earth was soft beneath your feet—fresh from last night’s storm, the kind that never really breaks the heat, only deepens it. The moon had gone down, but the sky was beginning to bruise with that blue-black ink that comes before sunrise. Everything smelled like wet grass, magnolia, and the faint rot of old wood.

The path curved, narrowing as it passed through trees that leaned in too close. Their branches kissed above you like they were whispering secrets into each other’s leaves. Spanish moss hung like veils from the oaks, dripping silver in the fading dark. It made the world feel smaller. Quieter. As if you were walking into something sacred—or something doomed.

A crow cawed once in the distance. Sharp. Hollow. You didn’t flinch.

There was no sound of wheels. No car waiting. Just the road and the fog and the promise you'd made.

And then you saw it.

The house.

Tucked deep in the grove, half-swallowed by vines and time, it rose like a memory from the earth. A decaying plantation, left to rot in the wet belly of the Delta. Its bones were still beautiful—white columns streaked with black mildew, a grand porch that sagged like a mouth missing teeth, shuttered windows with iron latches rusted shut. Ivy grew up the sides like it was trying to strangle the place. Or maybe protect it.

You stood there at the edge of the clearing, breath caught in your throat.

He’d brought you here.

Or maybe he’d always been here. Waiting. Dreaming of the moment you’d return to him without even knowing it.

A shape moved behind one of the upstairs curtains. Quick. Barely there.

You didn’t run.

Your bare foot found the first step.

It groaned like it recognized you.

The door was already open.

Not wide—just enough for you to know it had been waiting.

And you stepped inside.

The air inside was colder.

Not the kind of cold that came from breeze or shade—but from stillness, from the absence of sun and time. A hush so thick it felt like you were walking underwater. Like the house had held its breath for decades and only now began to exhale.

Dust spiraled in the faint light seeping through fractured windows, casting soft halos through the dark. The wooden floor beneath your feet was warped and groaning, but clean. Not in any natural sense—there was no broom that had touched these boards. No polish or soap.

But it had been kept.

The air didn’t smell like rot or mildew. It smelled like cedar. Like old leather. And deeper beneath that, like him.

He hadn’t lit any lamps.

Just the fireplace, burning low, glowing embers pulsing orange-red at the back of a cavernous hearth. The flame danced shadows across the faded wallpaper, peeling in long strips like dead skin. A high-backed chair faced the fire, velvet blackened from age, its silhouette looming like something alive.

You swallowed, lips dry, and stepped further in.

Your voice didn’t carry. It didn’t even try.

Remmick was nowhere in sight.

But he was here.

You could feel him in the walls, in the way the house seemed to lean closer with every step you took.

You passed through the parlor, past a dusty grand piano with one ivory key cracked down the middle. Past oil portraits too old to make out, their eyes blurred with time. Past a single vase of dried wildflowers, colorless now, but carefully arranged.

You paused in the doorway to the drawing room, your hand resting lightly on the frame.

A whisper of air moved behind you.

Then—

A hand.

Not grabbing. Not harsh. Just the light press of fingers against the small of your back, palm flat and warm through the thin cotton of your slip.

You froze.

He was behind you.

So close you could feel his breath at your neck. Not warm, not cold—just present. Like wind through a crack in the door. Like the memory of a touch before it lands.

His voice was low, close to your ear.

"You came."

You didn’t answer.

"You always would have."

You wanted to say no. Wanted to deny it. But you stood there trembling under his hand, your heartbeat so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Maybe that was why he smiled.

He stepped around you slowly, letting his fingers graze the side of your waist as he moved. His eyes glinted red in the firelight, catching on you like a flame drawn to dry kindling.

He looked at you like he was already undressing you.

Not your clothes—your will.

And it was already unraveling.

You’d suspected he wasn’t born of this soil.

Not just because of the way he moved—like he didn’t quite belong to gravity—but because of the way he spoke. Like time hadn’t worn the edges off his words the way it had with everyone else. His voice curled around vowels like smoke curling through keyholes. Rich and low, but laced with something older. Something foreign. Something that made the hair at the nape of your neck rise when he spoke too softly, too close.

He didn’t speak like a man from the Delta.

He spoke like something older than it.

Older than the country. Maybe older than God.

Remmick stopped in front of you, lit only by firelight.

His eyes had dulled from red to something deeper—like old garnet held to a candle. His shirt was open at the collar now, suspenders hanging slack, the buttons on his sleeves rolled to his elbows. His forearms were dusted with faint scars that looked like they had stories. His skin was pale in the glow, but not lifeless. He looked like marble warmed by touch.

He studied you for a long time.

You weren’t sure if it was your face he was reading, or something beneath it. Something you couldn’t hide.

"You look just like your mother," he said finally.

Your breath caught.

"You knew her?"

A soft smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

"I’ve known a lot of people, dove. I just never forget the ones with your blood."

You didn’t ask what he meant. Not yet.

There was something heavy in his tone—something laced with memory that stretched back far further than it should. You had guessed, years ago, in the sleepless weeks after that alleyway miracle, that he was not new to this world. That his youth was a trick of the skin. A lie worn like a mask.

You’d read every folklore book you could get your hands on. Every whisper of vampire lore scratched into the margins of ledgers, stuffed between church hymnals, scribbled on the backs of newspapers.

Some said they aged. Slowly. Elegantly.

Others said they didn’t age at all. That they existed outside time. Beyond it.

You didn’t know how old Remmick was.

But something in your bones told you the truth.

Five hundred. Six hundred, maybe more.

A man who remembered empires. A man who had watched cities rise and burn. Who had danced in plague-slick ballrooms and kissed queens before they were beheaded. A man who had lived so long that names no longer mattered. Only debts. And blood.

And you’d given him both.

He stepped closer now, slow and deliberate.

"Yer heart’s gallopin’ like it thinks I’m here to take it."

You flinched. Not because he was wrong. But because he was right.

"You said you didn’t want my blood," you whispered.

"I don’t." He tilted his head. "Not yet."

"Then what do you want?"

His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"You."

He said it like it was a simple thing. Like the rain wanting the river. Like the grave wanting the body.

You swallowed hard.

"Why me?"

His gaze dragged down your frame, unhurried, like a man admiring a painting he’d stolen once and hidden from the world.

"Because you belong to me. You gave yourself freely. No bargain’s ever tasted so sweet."

Your throat tightened.

"I didn’t know what I was agreeing to."

"You did," he said, softly now, stepping close enough that his chest nearly brushed yours. "You knew. Your soul knew. Even if your head didn’t catch up."

You opened your mouth to protest, to say something, anything that would push back this slow suffocation of certainty—

But his hand came up to your jaw. Fingers feather-light. Not forcing. Just holding. Just there.

"And you’ve been thinkin’ about me ever since," he said.

Not a question. A statement.

You didn’t answer.

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek, his voice a rasp against your ear.

"You dream of me, don’t you?"

Your hands trembled at your sides.

"I don’t—"

"You wake wet. Ache in your belly. You don’t know why. But I do."

You let your eyes fall shut, shame burning behind them like fire.

"Fuckin’ knew it," he murmured, almost reverent. "You smell like want, dove. You always have.”

His hand didn’t move. It just stayed there at your jaw, thumb ghosting slow along the hollow beneath your cheekbone. A touch so gentle it made your knees ache. Because it wasn’t the roughness that undid you—it was the restraint.

He could’ve taken.

He didn’t.

Not yet.

His gaze held yours, slow and unblinking, red still smoldering in the center of his irises like the dying core of a flame that refused to go out.

"Say it," he murmured.

Your lips parted, but nothing came.

"I can smell it," he said, voice low, rich as molasses. "Your shame. Your want. You’ve been livin’ like a nun with a beast inside her, and no one knows but me."

You hated how your breath stuttered. Hated more that your thighs pressed together when he said it.

"Why do you talk like that," you whispered, barely able to get the words out, "like you already know what I’m feeling?"

His fingers slid down, grazing the side of your neck, stopping just before the pulse thudding there.

"Because I do."

"That’s not fair."

He smiled, slow and crooked, nothing kind in it.

"No, dove. It ain’t."

You hated him.

You hated how beautiful he was in this light, sleeves rolled, veins prominent in his arms, shirt hanging open just enough to show the faint line of a scar that trailed beneath his collarbone. A body shaped by time, not by vanity. Not perfect. Just true. Like someone carved him for a purpose and let the flaws stay because they made him real.

He looked like sin and the sermon that came after.

Remmick moved closer. You didn’t retreat.

His hand flattened over your sternum now, right above your heartbeat, the warmth of him pressing through the cotton of your slip like it meant to seep in. He leaned down, mouth near yours, not kissing, just breathing.

"You gave yourself to me once," he said. "I’m only here to collect the rest."

"You saved my brother."

"I saved you. You just didn’t know it yet."

A shiver rippled down your spine.

His hand moved lower, skimming the curve of your ribs, hovering just at the soft flare of your waist. You could feel the heat rolling off him like smoke from a coalbed. His body didn’t radiate warmth the way a man’s should—but something older. Wilder. Like the earth’s own breath in summer. Like the hush of a storm right before it split the sky.

"And if I tell you no?" you asked, barely more than a breath.

His eyes flicked to yours, unreadable.

"I’ll wait."

You weren’t expecting that.

He smiled again, this time softer, almost cruel in its patience.

"I’ve waited centuries for sweeter things than you. But that don’t mean I won’t keep my hands on you ‘til you change your mind."

"You think I will?"

"You already have."

Your chest rose sharply, breath stung with heat.

"You think this is love?"

He laughed, low and dangerous, the sound curling around your ribs.

"No," he said. "This is hunger. Love comes later."

Then his mouth brushed your jaw—not a kiss, just the graze of lips against skin—and every nerve in your body arched to meet it.

Your knees buckled, barely.

He caught your waist in one hand, steadying you with maddening ease.

"I’m gonna ruin you," he whispered against your throat, his nose dragging lightly along your skin. "But I’ll be so gentle the first time you’ll beg me to do it again."

And God help you—

You wanted him to.

The house didn’t sleep.

Not the way houses were meant to.

It breathed.

The walls exhaled heat and memory, the floors creaked even when no one stepped, and somewhere in the rafters above your room, something paced slowly back and forth, back and forth, like a beast too restless to settle. The kind of place built with its own pulse.

You’d spent the rest of the night—if you could call it that—in a room that wasn’t yours, wearing nothing but a cotton shift and your silence. You hadn’t asked for anything. He hadn’t offered.

The room was spare but not cruel. A basin with a water pitcher. A four-poster bed draped in a netting veil to keep out the bugs—or the ghosts. The mattress was soft. The sheets smelled faintly of cedar, firewood, and something else you didn’t recognize.

Him.

You didn’t undress. You lay on top of the blanket, fingers threaded together over your belly, the thrum of your heartbeat like a second mouth behind your ribs.

Your door had no lock. Just a handle that squeaked if turned. And you hated how many times your eyes flicked toward it. Waiting. Wanting.

But he never came.

And somehow, that was worse.

Morning broke soft and gray through the slatted shutters. The sun didn’t quite reach the corners of the room, and the light that filtered in was the color of dust and river fog.

When you finally stepped out barefoot into the hall, the house was already awake.

There was a scent in the air—coffee. Burned sugar. The faintest curl of cinnamon. Something sizzling in a skillet somewhere.

You followed it.

The kitchen was enormous, all brick hearth and cast iron and a long scarred table in the center with mismatched chairs pushed in unevenly. A window hung open, letting in a breath of swamp air that rustled the lace curtain and kissed your ankles.

Remmick stood at the stove with his back to you, sleeves still rolled to the elbow, suspenders crossed low over his back. His shirt was half-unbuttoned and clung to his sides with the cling of heat and skin. He moved like he didn’t hear you enter.

You knew he had.

He reached for the pan with a towel over his palm and flipped something in the cast iron with a deft flick of the wrist.

"Hope you like sweet," he said, voice thick with morning. "Ain’t got much else."

You didn’t speak. Just stood there in the doorway like a ghost he’d conjured and forgotten about.

He turned.

God help you.

Even like this, barefoot, collar open, hair mussed from sleep or maybe just time—he looked unreal. Like a sin someone had tried to scrub out of scripture but couldn’t quite forget.

"Sleep alright?" he asked.

You gave a small nod.

He looked at you a moment longer. Then—

"Sit down, dove."

You moved toward the table.

His voice followed you, lazy but pointed.

"That’s the wrong chair."

You paused.

He nodded to one at the head of the table—old, high-backed, carved with curling vines and symbols you didn’t recognize.

"That one’s yours now."

You hesitated, then lowered yourself into it slowly. The wood groaned under your weight. The air in the kitchen felt thicker now, tighter.

He brought the plate to you himself.

Two slices of skillet cornbread, golden and glistening with syrup. A few wild strawberries sliced and sugared. A smear of butter melting slow at the center like a pulse.

He set the plate in front of you with a quiet care that felt almost obscene.

"You ain’t gotta eat," he said, leaning against the table beside your chair. "But I like watchin’ you do it."

You picked up the fork.

His eyes stayed on your mouth.

The cornbread was still warm.

Steam curled from it like breath from parted lips. The syrup pooled thick at the edges, dripping off the edge of your fork in slow, amber ribbons. It stuck to your fingers when you touched it. Sweet. Sticky. Sensual.

You brought the first bite to your mouth, slow.

Remmick didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His eyes tracked the motion like a starving man watching someone else’s feast.

The bite landed soft on your tongue—golden crisp on the outside, warm and tender in the middle, butter melting into every pore. It was perfect. Unreasonably so. And somehow you hated that even more. Because nothing about this should’ve tasted good. Not with him watching you like that. Not with your body still humming from the memory of his voice against your skin.

But you swallowed.

And he smiled.

"Good girl," he murmured.

You froze. The fork paused just above the plate.

"You don’t get to say things like that," you whispered.

"Why not?"

Your fingers tightened around the handle.

"Because it sounds like you earned it."

He chuckled, low and easy. A slow roll of thunder in his chest.

"Think I did. Think I earned every fuckin’ word after draggin’ you out that night and lettin’ you walk away without layin’ a hand on you."

You looked up sharply, heat crawling up your neck.

"You shouldn’t have touched me."

"I didn’t," he said. "But I wanted to. Still do."

Your breath caught.

His knuckles brushed the edge of your plate, slow, casual, like he had all the time in the world to make you squirm.

"And I know you want me to," he added, voice low enough that it coiled under your ribs and settled somewhere molten in your belly.

You pushed the plate away.

He didn’t flinch. Just reached forward and dragged it back in front of you like you hadn’t moved it at all.

"You eat," he said, gentler now. "You need it. House takes more from you than it gives."

You glanced around the kitchen, suddenly uneasy.

"You talk about it like it’s alive."

He gave a slow nod.

"It is. In a way."

"How?"

He looked down at your plate, then back at you.

"You’ll see."

You pushed another bite past your lips, slower this time, aware of the weight of his gaze with every chew, every swallow. You didn’t know why you obeyed. Maybe it was easier than defying him. Maybe it was because some part of you wanted him to keep watching.

When the plate was clean, he reached out and caught your wrist before you could stand.

Not hard. Not even firm. Just…inevitable.

"You full?" he asked, his voice all smoke and sin.

You nodded.

His eyes darkened.

"Then I’ll have my taste next."

Your breath lodged sharp in your throat.

He said it like it meant nothing. Like asking for your pulse was no more intimate than asking for your hand. But there was a glint in his eye—red barely flickering now, but still there—and it told you everything.

He was done pretending.

You didn’t move. Not right away.

His fingers were still wrapped around your wrist, light but unyielding, the pad of his thumb grazing the fragile skin where your pulse drummed loud and frantic. Like it wanted to leap out of your veins and spill into his mouth.

You swallowed hard.

"You said you didn’t want blood."

"I don’t."

"Then what do you want?"

"You."

You watched him now, trying to make sense of what you wanted.

And what terrified you was this—

You didn’t want to run.

You wanted to know how it would feel.

To give something he couldn’t take without permission.

To see if your body could handle the worship of a mouth like his.

Remmick’s other hand came up slow, brushing hair from your cheek, his knuckles rough and reverent.

"You said I smelled like want," you whispered.

"You do."

"What do you smell like?"

He leaned in, mouth near your throat again, his nose dragging along your skin, slow, as if he were drawing in the scent of your soul.

"Rot. Hunger. Regret," he said. "Old things that don’t die right."

You shivered.

"And still I want you," you breathed.

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

"That’s the worst part, ain’t it?"

You didn’t answer.

Because he was right.

His hand slid down to your elbow, then lower, tracing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric. His touch was warm now, or maybe your body had just given up trying to tell the difference between threat and thrill.

He guided you up from the chair.

Didn’t yank. Didn’t drag.

Just stood and took your hand like a dance was beginning.

"Come with me," he said.

"Where?"

"Somewhere I can kneel."

Your heart stuttered.

He led you through the house, down the long hallway past doorways that watched like eyes. The floor groaned underfoot, the air thickening around your shoulders as he brought you deeper into the home’s belly. You passed portraits whose paint had faded to shadows, velvet drapes drawn tight, mirrors that refused to hold your reflection quite right.

The door at the end of the hall was already open.

Inside, the room was dark.

Just one candle lit, flickering low in a glass jar, its light catching the edges of something silver beside the bed. An old bowl. A cloth. A pair of gloves, yellowed from time.

A ritual.

Not violent.

Intimate.

Remmick turned toward you, his face bare in the soft light. He looked younger. More human. And somehow more dangerous for it.

"Sit," he said.

You sat.

He knelt.

And then his hands found your knees.

His hands rested on your knees like they belonged there. Not demanding. Not prying. Just there. Anchored. Reverent.

The candlelight licked up his jaw, catching in the hollows of his cheeks, the deep shadow beneath his throat. He didn’t look like a man. He looked like a story told by firelight—half-worshipped, half-feared. A sinner in the shape of a saint. Or maybe the other way around.

His thumbs made a slow pass over the inside of your thighs, just above the knee. Barely pressure. Barely touch. The kind of contact that made your breath feel too loud in your chest.

"Yer too quiet," he murmured.

"I don’t know what to say," you whispered back.

His gaze lifted, locking with yours, and in that moment the whole room seemed to still.

"Ya ain’t gotta say a damn thing," he said. "You just need to stay right there and let me show ya what I mean when I say I don’t want yer blood."

Your lips parted, but no sound came.

He leaned in, slow as honey in the heat, until his mouth hovered just above your knee. Then lower. His breath ghosted over your skin, warm and maddening.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he pressed a single kiss just above the bone.

Your lungs stuttered.

His lips trailed higher.

Another kiss.

Then another.

Each one higher than the last, until your legs opened on instinct, until you felt the hem of your slip being eased upward by hands that moved with worshipful patience. Like he wasn’t just undressing you—he was peeling back a veil. Unwrapping something sacred.

"You ever had someone kneel for ya?" he asked, voice rough now. Thicker.

You shook your head.

He smiled like he already knew the answer.

"Good. Let me be the first."

He kissed the inside of your thigh like it meant something. Like you meant something. Like your skin wasn’t just skin, but a prayer he intended to answer with his mouth.

The air was too hot. Your thoughts slid loose from the edges of your mind. All you could do was breathe and feel.

He looked up at you once more, red eyes burning low, and said—

"You gave yerself to me. Let me taste what I already own."

And then he bowed his head, mouth meeting the softest part of you, and the rest of the world disappeared.

His mouth touched you like he’d been dreaming of it for years. Like he’d earned it.

No rush. No hunger. Just that first velvet press of his lips against the tender center of you, reverent and slow, like a kiss to a wound or a confession. He moaned, low and guttural, into your skin—and the sound of it vibrated up through your spine.

He parted you with his thumbs, just enough to taste you deeper. His tongue slipped between folds already slick and aching, and he groaned again, this time with something like gratitude.

"Sweet as I fuckin’ knew you’d be," he rasped, voice hot against your core.

Your hands gripped the edge of the chair. Wood bit into your palms. Your head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as your thighs trembled around his shoulders.

He didn’t stop.

He licked you with patience, with purpose, like he was reading scripture written between your legs—each flick of his tongue slow and deliberate, every pass perfectly placed, building pressure inside you with maddening precision.

And all the while, he watched you.

When your head dropped forward, you found him staring up at you. Red eyes glowing low, heavy-lidded, mouth glistening, jaw tense with restraint. He looked ruined by the taste of you.

"Look at me," he said. "Wanna see you fall apart on my tongue."

Your breath hitched, hips rocking forward on instinct, chasing his mouth. He growled low and deep in his chest, gripping your thighs tighter.

"That’s it, dove," he murmured. "Don’t run from it. Give it to me."

He flattened his tongue and dragged it slow, then circled the swollen peak of your clit with the tip, teasing you to the edge and pulling back just before it broke.

You whined. Desperate.

He smirked against your cunt.

"You want it?" he asked, voice thick. "Say it."

Your lips barely formed the word—"Please."

He hummed in approval.

Then he devoured you.

No more teasing. No more pacing. Just his mouth fully locked on you, tongue relentless now, lips sealing around your clit while two fingers slid into you with that obscene, perfect pressure that made your body jolt.

You cried out, gasping, your thighs tightening around his head as the world tipped sideways.

"That’s it," he groaned, curling his fingers just right. "Cum f’r me, girl. Let me taste what’s mine."

And when it hit—

It hit like a fever. Like lightning. Like your soul cracked in half and bled straight into his mouth.

You broke with a cry, hips bucking, your fingers tangled in his hair as wave after wave crashed through you.

He didn’t stop. Not until your thighs twitched and your breath came in ragged little sobs, not until your body went limp in his hands.

Then, finally—finally—he pulled back.

His lips were wet. His eyes were feral. And he looked at you like a man who’d just fed.

"You’re fuckin’ divine," he whispered. "And I ain’t even started ruinin’ you yet."

The room pulsed with quiet. The candle flickered low, flame swaying as if it too had held its breath through your unraveling.

Your body felt boneless. Glazed in sweat. Your pulse echoed everywhere—in your wrists, your throat, between your legs where he’d buried his mouth like a man sent to worship. You weren’t sure how long it had been since you’d spoken. Since you’d breathed without shaking.

Remmick still knelt.

His hands were on your thighs, thumbs drawing idle circles into your skin like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. His head was bowed slightly, but his eyes were on you—watchful, reverent, hungry in a way that had nothing to do with the softness between your legs and everything to do with something older. Something darker.

He looked drunk on you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice caught on the edge of a sigh.

He beat you to it.

"Reckon you know what’s comin’ next," he murmured.

You didn’t answer.

He rose from his knees in one slow, unhurried motion. There was a heaviness to him now, a tension rolling just beneath his skin, like a dam about to split. He reached up with one hand and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of it—then licked the taste from his thumb like it was honey off the comb.

You watched, breath held tight in your chest.

He stepped closer. You stayed seated, knees still parted, your slip pushed up indecently high, but you didn’t fix it. Didn’t move at all. The heat between your legs hadn’t faded. If anything, it curled deeper now, thicker, laced with something close to fear but not quite.

He stopped in front of you.

Tilted his head slightly.

"How’s yer heart?"

You blinked.

"It’s…fast," you whispered.

He smiled slow. Not mocking. Not soft either.

"Good. I want it fast."

Your throat tightened.

"Why?"

He leaned in, hands bracing on either side of your chair, body boxing you in without touching.

"‘Cause I want yer blood screamin’ for me when I take it."

Your breath caught somewhere between your ribs.

He didn’t touch you yet—didn’t need to. The weight of his body, caging you in without a single finger laid, made your skin flush from your chest to your knees. Every inch of you throbbed with awareness. Of him. Of your own pulse. Of the air cooling the places he’d worshiped with his mouth not moments before.

You swallowed.

"You said you’d wait," you whispered.

He nodded once, slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I did. And I have. But yer body’s already beggin’ for me. Ain’t it?"

You hated that he was right. That he could feel it somehow. Not just see the tremble in your thighs or the way your lips parted when he leaned closer—but that he could feel it in the air, like scent, like vibration.

You lifted your chin, barely.

"I’m not scared."

He chuckled low, and it rumbled through your bones.

"Good. But I don’t need ya scared, dove. I need ya open."

He raised one hand then, slow as scripture, and brushed his knuckles along the column of your throat. Just a whisper of contact, a ghost’s touch. Your head tilted for him without thinking, baring your neck.

"Right here," he murmured. "Right where it beats loudest. That’s where I wanna taste ya."

You shivered.

He bent down, mouth near your pulse. His breath was warm, slow, drawn in like he was savoring you already.

"I ain’t gonna hurt ya," he said. "Not unless you want it."

Your fingers twisted in your lap.

"Will it—" you started, but the question got tangled.

He smiled against your skin.

"Will it feel good?"

You said nothing.

"You already know."

You did.

Because everything with him did. Every word. Every look. Every touch. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t holy. But it was real. It lived under your skin like rot and root and ruin.

You nodded once.

"Then take it."

Remmick stilled.

And then his lips pressed to your throat. Not with hunger. With reverence. Like a blessing.

"That’s my girl," he breathed.

And then he bit.

It wasn’t pain.

It was pressure, first.

A deep, aching pull that bloomed just beneath the skin, right where his mouth latched onto you. His lips sealed tight around your throat, and then—sharpness. Two points sinking in like teeth through silk. Like sin through flesh.

You gasped.

Not from fear. Not even from the sting. But from the rush.

Heat burst behind your eyes, white and sudden and dizzying. Your hands flew to his shoulders, clinging, grounding, anchoring you to something real while your mind drifted into something else—something otherworldly.

The pull came next.

A steady rhythm, slow and patient, like he was sipping you instead of drinking. Like he had all the time in the world. You could feel it, the way your blood left you in waves, not violent, not greedy—just…intimate. Like giving. Like surrender.

He groaned low against your neck, the sound vibrating through your bones.

"Fuck, you taste like sunlight," he rasped against your skin, voice thick with hunger and awe. "Like everythin’ warm I thought I’d forgotten."

Your head tipped further, offering him more.

You didn’t know when your legs opened wider, or when your hips rocked forward just to feel more of him. But his body shifted instinctively, meeting yours with a growl, his hand gripping your thigh now, possessive and unrelenting.

Your pulse faltered. Not from weakness, but from pleasure. From the unbearable knowing that he was inside you now, in the most ancient way. That your body had opened to him, and your blood had welcomed him.

Your moan was breathless.

"Remmick—"

He shushed you, mouth never leaving your throat.

"Don’t speak, dove. Just feel."

And you did.

You felt every lick. Every pull. Every sacred claim. You felt his tongue soothe where his fangs pierced, his hand slide higher along your thigh, his knee pushing between your legs until your breath stuttered out of you in something like a sob.

It was too much. It was not enough.

And when he finally pulled back, slow and reluctant, your blood on his lips like a mark, like a vow, he stared at you like you were holy.

Like he hadn’t fed on you.

Like he’d prayed.

The room was quiet, but your body wasn’t.

You felt every beat of your heart echo in the hollow where his mouth had been. A slow, reverent throb that pulsed through your neck, your chest, your thighs. It was like something had been lit beneath your skin, and now it smoldered there—glowing, aching, changed.

Remmick’s breath was uneven. His lips were stained red, parted just slightly, his jaw slack with something like awe. The burn of your blood still shimmered in his eyes, brighter now. Alive.

He looked undone.

And yet his hands were steady as he reached up, cupped your jaw in both palms, and tilted your face toward him. His thumb swept across your cheekbone like you might vanish if he didn’t touch you just right.

"You alright?" he asked, voice quieter now, roughened at the edges like a match just struck.

You nodded, though your limbs still trembled.

"I feel…" you swallowed, the word too small for what bloomed in your chest, "…warm."

He laughed, soft and almost bitter, and leaned his forehead against yours.

"You should. You’re inside me now. Every drop of you."

The words rooted somewhere deep. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. You could still feel the heat of his mouth, the bite, the pleasure that followed. It wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just surrender. It was something older. Something binding.

"Does it hurt?" you asked, your fingers brushing the side of his neck, the line of his collarbone slick with sweat.

He looked at you like you’d asked the wrong question.

"Hurt?" he echoed. "Dove, it’s ecstasy."

You stared at him.

"You mean for you?"

He shook his head once.

"For us."

Then he pulled back just enough to look at you—really look. His gaze swept your features like he was committing them to memory. As if this moment, this very breath, was something sacred. His fingers moved to your throat again, this time to the place just above the bite, and he pressed lightly.

"You’ll bruise here," he said. "Won’t fade for a while."

"Will it heal?"

"Eventually."

"Do you want it to?"

His mouth curved, slow and wicked.

"No," he said. "I want the world to see what’s mine."

And before you could reply—before the heat in your belly could cool or your mind could gather itself—he kissed you.

Not soft.

Not careful.

His mouth claimed you like he’d already been inside you a thousand times and wanted to do it a thousand more. He kissed you like a man starving. Like a creature who’d gone too long without flesh, and now that he had it, he wasn’t letting go.

You tasted your own blood on his tongue.

And it tasted like forever.

The house knew.

It breathed deeper now. Its wood swelled, its walls sighed, its floorboards creaked in time with your heartbeat—as though it had taken you in too, accepted your offering, and now it wanted to keep you just like he did. Not as a guest. Not as a lover.

As a belonging.

Remmick hadn’t let you go.

Not when the kiss ended. Not when your blood slowed in his mouth. Not when your knees gave and your body folded forward into him. His arms had caught you like he knew the shape of your collapse. Like he’d been waiting for it. Like he’d never let you fall anywhere but into him.

He carried you now, one arm beneath your legs, the other braced around your back, his chest solid against yours.

"Don’t reckon you’re walkin’ after all that," he muttered, gaze fixed ahead, voice gone syrup-slow and thick with something possessive.

You didn’t argue. You couldn’t.

Your head rested against the place where his heart should’ve beat. But it was quiet there. Not lifeless—just other.

He carried you past rooms you hadn’t seen. A library, long abandoned, lined with crooked books and a grandfather clock that had no hands. A parlor soaked in velvet and silence. A door nailed shut from the outside, something heavy breathing behind it.

You didn’t ask.

He didn’t explain.

The room he took you to was nothing like the others.

It wasn’t grand.

It was personal.

The windows here were narrow and high, soft light slanting through the dusty glass in thin gold ribbons. The bed was simple but large, the sheets dark, the frame iron-wrought and worn smooth by time. A single cross hung above the headboard—but it had been turned upside down.

He set you down like you were breakable. Sat you on the edge of the bed, knelt once more to remove the slip still clinging to your body, inch by inch, as if undressing you were a sacrament.

"Y’ever wonder why I picked you?" he asked, voice low as the hush between thunderclaps.

Your breath stilled.

"I thought it was the blood."

He shook his head, his hands pausing at your hips.

"Nah, dove. Blood’s blood. Yours sings, sure. But it ain’t why I chose."

He looked up then, red eyes gleaming in the half-light.

"You remind me of the last thing I ever loved before I died."

The words landed like a stone in still water.

They rippled outward. Slow. Wide. Deep.

You stared at him, breath shallow, your skin bare under his hands, your throat still warm from where he’d fed. The room held its silence like breath behind gritted teeth. Outside, somewhere beyond the high windows, something moved through the trees—branches bending, wind pushing low and humid across the land—but in here, it was only the two of you.

Only his voice.

Only your blood between his teeth.

"What…what was she like?" you asked.

His thumbs drew circles at your hips, but his eyes drifted, not unfocused—just distant. Remembering.

"She had a mouth like yours. Sharp. Didn’t know when to shut it. Always speakin’ when she should’ve stayed quiet." A smile ghosted across his lips. "God, I loved that. I loved that she ain’t feared me even when she should’ve."

He exhaled through his nose, slow.

"But she didn’t get to finish bein’ mine."

Your brows pulled.

"What happened to her?"

He looked back at you then, and the heat in his gaze returned—not hunger, not even desire, but something deeper. Possessive. Terrifying in its tenderness.

"They tore her from me. Burned her in a chapel. Said she was a witch on account’a what I’d given her."

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

"Remmick—"

"She didn’t scream," he said, voice rough. "Didn’t cry. Just looked at me like she knew I’d find her again. And I have."

You froze.

His hands slid higher, up your ribs, his palms reverent.

"I don’t believe in fate. Not really. But you—" he leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, voice low like a spell, "you make me wanna believe in things I ain’t allowed to have."

You whispered against the curl of his mouth.

"And what do you think I am?"

He kissed the hinge of your jaw.

"My penance," he said. "And my reward."

You shivered.

"You said you saved me."

He nodded.

"I did."

"Why?"

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, and his voice dropped to a near whisper.

"‘Cause I ain’t lettin’ another thing I love burn."

You didn’t realize you were crying until he touched your face.

Not with hunger, not with heat, but with the kind of softness that had no business living in a man like him. His thumb caught a tear on your cheek like he’d been waiting for it, like it meant something sacred.

"You ain’t her," he murmured. "But you feel like the same song in a different key."

His voice cracked a little at the edges, not enough to ruin the shape of it, just enough to prove that something in him still bled.

You reached up, fingers trembling, and cupped the side of his neck. The skin there was warmer now. Still inhuman, still not quite alive, but it held your heat like it didn’t want to give it back. You felt the ridges of old scars beneath your palm. The echo of stories not told.

"I don’t know what I’m becoming," you said.

He leaned into your hand, eyes half-lidded.

"You’re becomin’ mine."

Then he kissed you again—not like before. Not full of fire. But slow, like he had all the time in the world to learn the shape of your mouth. His lips moved over yours with a kind of tenderness that made your bones ache. A kind of reverence that said this is where I end and begin again.

When he pulled back, your breath followed him.

The room shifted.

You felt it. Like the house had exhaled too.

"Lie down," he said, voice softer than it had ever been. "Let me hold what I almost lost."

You obeyed.

You lay back against the sheets that smelled like him, like dust and dark and something unnameable. The iron bed creaked softly beneath you, and the candlelight trembled with the movement. He undressed with quiet purpose, shirt sliding from his shoulders, buttons undone by slow fingers, trousers falling away to bare the sharp planes of his body.

And when he climbed over you, it wasn’t to take.

It was to be taken.

Remmick hovered above you, breath warm at your lips, hands braced on either side of your head. He looked down at you like he was staring through time. Like you were something he'd pulled from the fire and decided to keep even if it burned him too.

You’re mine, he whispered, but didn’t say it aloud.

He didn’t have to.

His body said it.

His mouth said it.

And when he finally eased inside you, slow and steady, filling you inch by trembling inch—your soul said it too.

His body hovered just above yours, every inch of him trembling with a control you didn’t quite understand—until you looked into his eyes.

That red glow was dimmer now. No less powerful, but softened by something raw. Something reverent.

Not hunger.

Not lust.

Not even possession.

Devotion.

The kind that didn’t speak. The kind that buried itself in the bones and never left.

His hand slid down the side of your face, tracing the curve of your cheek, then the line of your jaw, calloused fingers lingering in the hollow of your throat where your heartbeat thudded wild and uneven.

"Still fast," he murmured, half to himself.

"You’re heavy," you whispered, not in protest, but in awe. Every breath you took was filled with him.

He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching in that crooked, wicked way of his.

"Ain’t even layin’ on you yet."

You didn’t laugh. Couldn’t. Your body was stretched too tight, strung out with anticipation and need. Every inch of you burned.

He leaned down then, not to kiss you, but to breathe you in. His nose skimmed your cheek, the edge of your ear, the curve of your throat already marked by his bite. His hands traced your ribs, the sides of your waist, slow and steady, like he was trying to learn you by touch alone.

"You’re shakin'," he whispered, voice low, thick with something close to worship.

"So are you."

A pause.

Then softer—truthfully,

"Yeah."

He kissed the inside of your wrist, then the space between your breasts, then lower still—his lips reverent as they moved over your belly, your hipbone, the softest parts of you.

"You ever had someone take their time with you?" he asked, mouth against your skin.

You didn’t speak.

"Didn’t think so," he muttered. "Shame."

His hand slid between your thighs, spreading you again—not rushed, not greedy, just gentle. Like he knew he’d already had the taste of you and now he wanted the feel.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he said.

"It already is."

He looked up at you then, his face half-shadowed, half-lit, and something flickered in his eyes.

"Good."

His cock brushed against your entrance, hot and heavy, and you nearly arched off the bed at the first contact. Not even inside. Just there. Teasing. Pressed to the slick mess he'd made of you earlier with his mouth.

He groaned deep.

"Fuck, you feel like sin."

You reached for him, pulled him down by the back of his neck until your mouths were inches apart.

"Then sin with me."

He didn’t hesitate.

He began to press in—slow. Devastatingly slow. The head of his cock stretching you open with a care that felt like madness. His hands gripped your hips as if holding himself back took more strength than killing ever had.

He moved in inch by inch, his breath hitched, jaw tight, sweat beginning to bead at his temple.

"Shit—ya takin’ me so good, dove. Just like that."

You moaned. Your fingers dug into his back. You were full of him and not even halfway there.

"Remmick—"

"I gotcha," he whispered. "Ain’t gonna let you break."

But he was already breaking you. Gently. Thoroughly. Beautifully.

He filled you like he’d been made for the task.

No sharp thrusts. No hurried rhythm. Just the unbearable slowness of it. The stretch. The burn. The drag of his cock as he sank deeper, deeper, deeper into you until there was nothing left untouched. Until your body stopped bracing and started opening.

You clung to him—hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt that still clung to his back, damp with sweat. He hadn’t even undressed all the way. There was something obscene about it, something holy, too—the way he kept his shirt on like this wasn’t about bareness, it was about belonging.

"That’s it," he rasped against your throat. "There she is."

Your moan was caught between breath and prayer.

He buried himself to the hilt.

And still—he didn’t move.

His hips pressed flush to yours, his breath shaky against your skin as he held himself there, nestled so deep inside you it felt like you’d never known emptiness before now. Like everything that came before this moment had just been the ache of waiting to be filled.

"You feel that?" he whispered, voice thick, almost reverent. "Where I am inside ya?"

You nodded. Couldn’t find your voice.

His lips brushed the shell of your ear.

"Ain’t no leavin’ now. I’ll always be in ya. Even when I ain’t."

You whimpered.

Not from pain. From how true it felt.

He moved then—barely. Just a slow roll of his hips, a gentle retreat and return. It was enough to make your breath hitch, your body arch, your legs wrap tighter around him without thinking.

"That’s right, dove. Let me in. Let me have it."

You didn’t even know what it was anymore.

Your body?

Your blood?

Your soul?

You’d already given them all.

And still, he took more.

But not cruelly.

Like a man kissing the mouth of a well after years of thirst. Like a thief who knew how to make you feel grateful for the stealing.

He found a rhythm that made the air vanish from your lungs.

Slow. Deep. Measured. His hips grinding just right, dragging his cock against every place inside you that had never known such touch. Every stroke sang with heat. Every breath he took turned your name into something more than a sound.

"Fuck, I could stay in you forever," he groaned. "Like this. Warm. Tight. Mine."

You dug your nails into his shoulders, legs trembling.

"Please," you whispered, though you didn’t know what you were asking for.

He did.

"Beg me," he said, dragging his mouth down your neck, over the bite he’d left. "Beg me to make you come with my cock in you."

"Remmick—"

"Say it."

You were already gone. Already shaking. Already his.

"Make me come," you breathed. "Please—God, please—"

His smile was sinful.

And then he fucked you.

His rhythm shifted—no longer slow, no longer sacred.

It was worship in the way fire worships a forest. The kind that devours. The kind that remakes.

Remmick braced a hand behind your thigh, hitching your leg higher as he thrust harder, deeper, dragging guttural sounds from his chest that you felt before you heard. The bed groaned beneath you, iron frame clanging soft against the wall in time with his hips. But it was your body that made the noise that filled the room—the gasps, the breaking sighs, the high whimper of his name torn raw from your throat.

He kissed your jaw, your collarbone, your shoulder, not like he was trying to be sweet but like he needed to taste every inch he claimed.

"You feel me in your belly yet?" he growled, words hot against your skin.

You nodded frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the sheer force of sensation.

"Say it," he panted, each thrust brutal and beautiful.

"Yes—yes, I feel you, Remmick, I—"

"You gonna come f’r me like a good girl?"

"Yes."

"Say my fuckin’ name when you do."

His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit like he’d owned it in another life, and the moment his fingers circled that aching bundle of nerves, your vision went white.

Your body seized around him.

The sound you made was raw, wrecked, something no one but him should ever hear.

He kept fucking you through it, hissing curses through his teeth, chasing his own high with the rhythm of a man who’d waited centuries for the perfect fit.

And then he broke.

With your name groaned low and reverent in your ear, he came deep inside you, hips stuttering, breath ragged, body shuddering with the force of it. You felt every throb of his cock inside you, every spill of heat, every ounce of him taking root.

For a long, suspended moment, he didn’t move.

Only the sound of your breaths tangled together.

Your sweat mixing.

Your bodies still joined.

"That’s it," he whispered hoarsely, pressing his forehead to yours. "That’s how I know you’re mine."

The house exhaled around you.

The candle sputtered in its jar, flame dancing low and crooked, like even it had been made breathless by what it had witnessed. Somewhere in the walls, the wood groaned—settling. Sighing. Accepting.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Your body was a temple razed and rebuilt in a single night, still pulsing with the memory of his mouth, his weight, the stretch of him inside you like a secret only your bones would remember. Every nerve hummed low and soft beneath your skin, like your blood hadn’t figured out how to move without his rhythm guiding it.

Remmick stayed inside you.

His body was heavy atop yours, but not crushing. His head tucked into the curve of your neck, the same place he’d bitten, the same place he’d worshipped like it held some holy truth. His breath came slow and ragged, the rise and fall of his chest matching yours as if your lungs had struck the same pace without meaning to.

"Don’t move yet," he muttered, voice wrecked and hoarse. "Wanna stay here just a minute longer."

You let your hand drift through his hair, damp with sweat, curls sticking to his forehead. You carded through them lazily, mind blank, heart full.

He pressed a kiss to your throat. Then another, just above your collarbone.

"You still with me?" he asked, quieter now.

You nodded.

"Good," he murmured. "Didn’t mean to fuck the soul outta ya. Just…couldn’t help it."

You let out the softest laugh, and he smiled into your skin.

His hand slid down your side, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip, the spot where your thigh met his. His fingers moved slowly, not with lust, but with a kind of quiet awe.

"Y’know what you feel like?" he whispered.

"What?"

"Home."

The word struck something inside you. Something tender. Something deep.

He lifted his head then, just enough to look down at you. His eyes had faded from red to something darker, something richer—garnet in low light. The kind of color only seen in blood and wine and promises too old to be remembered by name.

"You still think this is just hunger?" he asked.

You blinked at him, dazed.

"It was never just hunger," he said. "Not with you."

The silence between you was warm now.

Not empty. Not tense. Just quiet, the kind that comes after thunder, when the storm’s rolled through and the trees are still deciding whether to stand or kneel.

You felt it in your limbs—heavy, humming, holy. The afterglow of something you didn’t have language for.

Remmick hadn’t moved far.

He still blanketed your body like a second skin, one arm braced beneath your shoulders, the other tracing idle shapes across your hip as if he were still mapping the terrain of you. His cock, softening but still nestled inside, pulsed faintly with the last of what he’d given you.

And he had given you something. Not just release. Not just blood. Something older. Something that whispered now in the place between your ribs.

You turned your head to look at him.

His gaze was already on you.

"What happens now?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he ran the back of his fingers along your cheekbone, down the side of your neck, pausing over the place where his mark had already begun to bruise.

"You askin’ what happens tonight," he murmured, "or what happens after?"

You blinked slowly. "Both."

He let out a breath through his nose, the sound tired but not cold.

"Tonight, I’ll hold you. Long as you’ll let me. Won’t leave this bed unless you beg me to. Might even make ya cry again, if you keep lookin’ at me like that."

You flushed, and he smiled.

"As for after…"

He looked past you then, toward the ceiling, like the truth was written in the beams.

"Ain’t never planned that far. Not with anyone. Just fed. Fucked. Moved on."

"But not with me."

His eyes snapped back to yours. Serious now.

"No, dove. Not with you."

You swallowed the knot rising in your throat.

"Why?"

His jaw flexed, tongue darting briefly across his lower lip before he answered.

"‘Cause I been alone too long. Lived too long. Thought I was too far gone to want anythin’ that didn’t bleed beneath me."

He leaned closer, forehead resting against yours, his next words no louder than a ghost’s sigh.

"But you—you made me want somethin’ tender. Somethin’ breakable."

"That doesn’t make sense."

"Don’t gotta. Nothin’ about you ever has. And yet here you are."

You let your eyes drift shut, just for a moment, and whispered into the stillness between your mouths.

"So I stay?"

He didn’t hesitate.

"You stay."

The candle had burned low.

Its glow flickered long shadows across the walls—your bodies painted in gold and blood-tinged bronze, limbs tangled in sheets that still clung with sweat and want. The house had quieted again, the way an animal settles when it knows its master is content. Outside, the wind threaded through the trees in soft moans, like the Delta herself was eavesdropping.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You didn’t need to.

Your fingers traced lazy patterns across Remmick’s chest—over his scars, the slope of muscle, the faint rise and fall beneath your palm. You still half-expected no heartbeat, but it was there, slow and stubborn, like he’d stolen it back just for you.

He watched you. One arm draped across your waist, his thumb stroking your bare back like you might fade if he stopped.

"You still ain’t askin’ the question you really wanna ask," he said, voice rough from silence and sleep.

You paused.

"What question is that?"

He tipped his head toward you, resting his chin on his knuckles.

"You wanna know if I turned you."

Your heart gave a traitorous flutter.

"And did you?"

He shook his head.

"Nah. Not yet."

"Why not?"

His fingers stilled. Then resumed.

"’Cause you ain’t asked me to."

You looked up at him sharply.

"Would you?"

A long beat passed. Then he nodded once.

"If it was you askin’. If it was real."

Your breath caught.

"And if I don’t?"

His gaze didn’t waver.

"Then I’ll stay with you. ‘Til you’re old. ‘Til your hands shake and your bones ache and your eyes stop lookin’ at me like I’m the only thing that ever made you feel alive."

Your throat tightened.

"That sounds awful."

He smiled, slow and aching.

"It sounds human."

You looked at him for a long time. At the man who had killed, who had bled you, who had tasted every part of you—body and soul—and still asked nothing unless you gave it.

"Would it hurt?"

His hand slid up, fingers curling beneath your jaw, tilting your face to his.

"It’d hurt," he said. "But not more than bein’ without you would."

The quiet stretched long and low.

His words hung in the space between your mouths like smoke—something sweet and terrible, something tasted before it was fully breathed in.

Your chest rose and fell against his slowly, and for a long time, you said nothing. You just listened. To the house settling around you. To the wind curling past the windows. To the steady thrum of blood still echoing faintly in your ears.

And beneath it all—

You heard memory.

It came soft at first. A shape, not a sound. The slick thud of your knees hitting the alley pavement. The scream you didn’t recognize as your own. Your brother’s blood, warm and fast, pumping between your fingers like water from a broken pipe. His mouth slack. His eyes wide.

You remembered screaming to the sky. Not to God.

Just up.

Because you knew He’d stopped listening.

And then—

He came.

Out of nothing. Out of dark.

You remembered the slow scrape of his boots on the gravel. The silhouette of him under the weak yellow glow of a flickering streetlamp. You remembered the quiet way he spoke.

"You want him to live?"

You didn’t answer with words. You just nodded, crying so hard you couldn’t breathe. And he’d knelt—right there in the blood—and laid his hand flat against your brother’s chest.

You never saw what he did. Only saw your brother’s eyes flutter. Only heard his breath return, sudden and wet.

And then he looked at you.

Not your brother.

Remmick.

He looked at you like he’d already taken something.

And he had.

Now, years later, lying in the hush of his house, your body still joined to his, you could still feel that moment thrumming beneath your skin. The moment when everything shifted. When your life became borrowed.

You looked up at him now, breathing steady, lips parted like a prayer just barely forming.

"I’ve already given you everything."

He shook his head.

"Not this."

He pressed two fingers to your chest, right over your heart.

"This is still yours."

"And you want it?"

He didn’t smile. Didn’t look away.

"I want it to keep beatin’. Forever. With mine."

You stared at him.

You thought about that alley. About your brother’s eyes opening again.

About how no one else came.

And you made your choice.

"Then take it."

Remmick stilled.

"Don’t say it unless you mean it, dove."

"I do."

His voice was barely more than a breath.

"You sure?"

You reached up, touched his face, fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

His eyes shimmered—deep red now, alive with something wild and tender.

"Then I’ll make you eternal," he whispered. "And I’ll never let the world take you from me."

He didn’t rush.

Not now. Not with this.

Remmick looked at you like you were something rare—something holy—like he couldn’t believe you’d said it, even as your voice still echoed between the walls.

Then he moved.

Not with hunger. Not with heat.

With purpose.

He sat up, kneeling beside you on the bed, and pulled the sheet slowly down your body. His eyes drank you in again, but this time there was no heat in them. Just reverence. As if you were the altar, and he the sinner who’d finally been granted absolution.

"You sure you want this?" he asked one last time, voice soft, like the hush of water in a cathedral.

You nodded, throat tight.

"I want forever."

His jaw clenched. A tremble passed through him like he’d heard those words in another life and lost them before they were ever his.

He leaned down.

His hand cupped the back of your head, the other settled flat on your chest, palm over your heart.

"Close your eyes, dove."

You did.

And then—

You felt him.

His breath. His lips. The soft, cool press of his mouth against your neck. But he didn’t bite.

Not yet.

He kissed the mark he’d already left. Then higher. Then lower. Slow. Measured. Your body melted beneath him, your hands curling into the sheets.

And then—

A whisper against your skin.

"I’ll be gentle. But you’ll remember this forever."

And he sank his fangs in.

It wasn’t like the first time.

It wasn’t lust.

It wasn’t climax.

It was rebirth.

Pain bloomed sharp and bright—but only for a heartbeat. Then the warmth flooded in. Then the cold. Then the ache. Your pulse stuttered once, then surged. It was like drowning and being pulled to the surface at once. Like everything you’d ever been burned away and something older moved in to take its place.

He held you as it happened.

Cradled you like something delicate.

His mouth sealed over the wound, drinking slow, but not to feed. To anchor you. To tether you to him.

You felt yourself go limp. The world turned strange. Light and dark bled into each other. Your breath faded. Your heartbeat fluttered like wings against glass.

And then—

It stopped.

Silence.

Stillness.

And in the space where your heart had once beat…

You heard his.

Then—

Your eyes opened.

The world looked different.

Sharper.

Brighter.

Every shadow deeper. Every color richer. The candlelight burned gold-red and alive. The scent of the night air was so thick it choked you—smoke, soil, blood, him.

Remmick hovered above you, lips stained crimson, breathing hard like he’d just returned from war.

And when he looked at you—

You saw yourself reflected in his eyes.

He smiled.

"Welcome home, darlin’."

#turns out vampire jack o’connell is my roman empire #the only plot here is what if a monster loved you too gently and then ruined you anyway“#yes he eats you out like it’s the last supper. no i will not be taking criticism at this time #sinners 2025 #sinners au #sinners fic #remmick #remmick x reader #sinners remmick #jack o'connell

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najahmeq7 · 3 months ago

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Urgent appeal to those with merciful hearts.🚨 I hope you will help me save my child from his serious illness, which may lead to the worst if we do not address the bad situation that he and my husband are going through, who is injured in this war.

I am Najah Al-Hila, married to Khaled Muqdad from Gaza City. I am a mother of four young children. My family consists of Waleed, 9 years old, Mira, 6 years old, Ahmed, and Mayar, 3 years old.

Ahmed suffered from head cramps and increased electricity after his birth. He was given medication and had blood tests done every two months to make sure his health was stable. He suffered from these cramps in 2021. My husband also suffered from liver and digestive system problems five years ago and is still suffering from these problems. Over time, my husband was injured during the war, which made things worse for him. We thank God for everything. Because of the instability and unavailability of the medication, we face difficulties in buying medications due to their high prices. Now life has become very difficult and the prices of medications have increased due to their scarcity. Things have become more difficult due to the lack of money and his expensive treatment, which has led to its unavailability due to money. I hope that all donors and supporters will not forget Ahmed and his father Khaled in alleviating their pain by providing the costs of his treatment and buying him the appropriate medicine and food. We also do not forget his brothers from the malnutrition they suffered from during this difficult period.

Please everyone pay attention, I have been away from you for a while due to my health condition. I hope this situation is taken seriously. My husband and children's lives are in grave danger, I hope you do not suffer what he suffered. May your children and loved ones be safe and sound. I hope you help in their treatment and that their condition, which has worsened over time, stabilizes. Save Khaled and Ahmed from this disease that has afflicted them, please. Help us.

Note: My husband Khaled was working as a teacher before the war and obtained a teaching certificate from Al-Aqsa University and became an Arabic language teacher, but he was not lucky enough to find a job, so he became a worker due to the poor economic situation we are going through. At the end of my talk, he became injured and unable to work in this current situation. I hope you do not forget this and take it into consideration that there is a mother who seeks to preserve her husband and children by fighting for them. Your support is a support for me in these critical moments that we are living in and we may not live due to the repeated attacks by the occupation and the failure to reach an agreement to end the war.

We are now living in dilapidated tents, my child and husband are suffering.

We can no longer provide the necessities of life. My family's future is completely destroyed. I can no longer live in Gaza. I want to leave the Strip and treat my child and husband, so I need $5,000 per person.

I hope that everyone who watches my story will help me.

To get out of Gaza and find treatment and a better life for my children and family.

I am asking for help, and I hope that you will help me and donate to me.

To save my life from death.

I hope that you will donate even $25-50, it would be wonderful.

This will save my child's life. My husband's life. Donate to help Ahmed and his father evacuate Gaza.

My account vetted by :

@gazavetters Our team at #GazaVetters has rigorously vetted and approved this campaign, earning it a spot on our official list at (#49)

@el-shab-hussein

My campaign has been verified by @el-shab-hussein

@tamamita

@90-ghost

The campaign was documented by @gaza-giving-tree

@a-shade-of-blue The campaign was documented by

My campaign was verified by @sar-soor

My campaign was verified by @bilal-salah0

The campaign was documented by victormcdicktor-deactivated2024

My heroic friends who support the Palestinian cause... Today, after we have lost hope in this world, I ask you to help us and stand by.

Najah alhela and Khaled Muqdad

@ashwantsafreepalestine @feluka @3000s

@b0nkcreat

@postanagramgenerator

@wis-art @ot3 @ @wolfertinger666

@tamamatango @rammbook @ravenisheree @flawlessgentlemen

@sar-soor @ashwantsafreepalestine @sayruq @queerstudiesnatural @bluebellsinthedells @rizzyluke @kordeliiius @self-hating-zionist @raelyn-dreams @unfortunatelyuncreative @licencetokrill-blog @jezebelgoldstone @ramelcandy @labutansa @sammywo @autistwithattitude-blog

@tortiefrancis @sparklinpixiedust @revcuse @golvio @leftism @star-the-gremlin

@space-ace-studies @applebunch @rainbowywitch @marscodes @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @timetravellingkitty @applebunch @applejupiter @malcriada @retvolution @heritageposts

@determinate-negation @littlegermanboy

Qmalcriada @heliopixy

@brokenbackmolars@northgazaupdates2 @boudicca@finalgirlabigailhobbs@fireyfobbitmedicine@heydreamcatcher-blog

@ashwantsafreepalestine

@queerstudiesnatural @bluebellsinthedells @rizzyluke @kordeliiius @self-hating-zionist @raelyn-dreams @unfortunatelyuncreative @licencetokrill-blog @jezebelgoldstone @ramelcandy @labutansa @sammywo @autistwithattitude-blog

@tortiefrancis @sparklinpixiedust @feluka @revcuse @golvio @leftism @star-the-gremlin

@space-ace-studies @applebunch @rainbowywitch @marscodes @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @boyvander @the-bastard-king @ammonitetheseaserpent @girlinafairytale -blog @timetravellingkitty @applebunch @applejupiter @brutaliakent @malcriada @retvolution @deansmultitudes @devilofthepit

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save-mohamed-family · 11 months ago

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My campaign is verified and added to the Gaza Donations page with number 192.

Thank you for documenting my campaign from the following accounts:

@sar-soor @heba-20 @el-shab-hussein @90-ghost @soon-palestine@ibtisams @marnota @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @i-am-aprl @northgazaupdates @fallahifag @fairuzfan

I love you all 🙏🙏♥️🌹

I am Mohammed Almanasra, 32 years old, married, and a father of three children: Abdulrahman, 6 years old, Sarah, 4 years old, and Lina, 3 years old.

My story began with the loss of my parents and four of my sisters, who were bombed and lost their lives along with their children after the events of October 7 and the severe war on Gaza. Now, I am facing a severe injury to my leg, which is at risk of amputation if I do not receive the necessary treatment. My wife, children, and I are displaced, without parents or siblings, and my wife is also suffering from uterine cancer.

Recently, I moved to the south of the Gaza Strip, fearing for the lives of my children. We left behind our memories and our new home, for which we had not finished paying the installments, in addition to losing my job. Currently, I live in a tent that does not protect me from the heat of summer or the cold of winter, and without the minimum necessary livinng basics including water, food medical care, clothe and even bedding .

I suffer from a chronic asthma and severe attacks from tightness and an extreme allergy in the ear and I need medicine that are not available, or very expensive .

Under these difficult circumstances, after five attempts at displacement and narrowly escaping death from the bombing, I am trying with all my might to protect my family, the most precious thing I have.

My dreams were shattered, and my house was destroyed, and I found myself living in a tent no larger than 4 square metres. My work turned from a tailor to a street vendor in order to barely buy a few crumbs of bread to feed my children.

Look at what happened to my children because of the intense heat and the insects that thrive in the summer season. Every day, I take them to the hospital to treat them due to poisonous insect bites. I implore every kind-hearted soul to help me protect my children.

My son, Abdul Rahman, has a deep passion for playing football and is a devoted fan of Real Madrid. He always dreamed of playing football at his school, but the war prevented this dream from coming true.

Where are you, Real Madrid fans ?

Help Abdul Rahman achieve his dream.

Every donation will make an enormous difference in helping me save my family.

I feel very sad and embarrassed to ask for help, but I have no other options left. I know that this request is difficult, but I also know that there is still humanity and living consciences and I believe in miracles.

Your support during this extremely difficult time will give us hope in the midst of devastation and despair.

If you have any inquiries or questions, feel free to ask me, please!

To everyone with a compassionate heart,

To all who understand the essence of humanity,

This is a message from my innocent children, who trust that their words will reach everyone who truly understands the meaning of childhood.

We cry out to you, asking you to feel our sorrow and pain, and to extend a helping hand to us in this time when we are in desperate need of your mercy and compassion.

My name is being repeatedly added to many public and private donation campaigns. Please, be a support for me in this difficult situation.

Sincere greetings & thanks

Mohammed & the family

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thwipsthrown · 5 months ago

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#saw some shit that literally made my blood boil and entirely distracted me for several hours so. the people in question have been blocked #for my own mental health. because that shit was actively affecting my heart rate and im still waiting for it to come down.#maybe i need to make it more clear in my rules to hardblock me. i fucking hate seeing people vaguepost and try to play the victim for #actions THEY took. and expect me not to see it. and the petty and spiteful actions they took afterwards. especially when i was trying to be #the bigger person because THEY don't know how to set actual boundaries. i know i said to protect your peace but don't give me hope for #reconciliation later when you know you don't mean it. this is negatively affecting my sleep atp. and in the future i will be more clear.#if you softblocked for the stuff mentioned last week. make it a hardblock actually. find other avenues to reach out when you're ready to be #an adult about handling your issues. don't fucking lie to me and then do shit to erase the effort time and thought i put into things we #shared. and if i fucking catch you stealing the shit we talked about for our ship for your new shit. i will go full scorched earth.#blocking you is a mercy. stop being a fucking hypocrite.#also i need to make it known that *i* have been private about this situation for a week now and was not granted that same courtesy so #this will be my first last and only post about it and after this im moving on. if you're here you're here and if you're not then hardblock.

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7hursday · 5 months ago

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bestfriend!suguru who finds you sitting in the bathtub with your legs spread, hands that were frantically rubbing at your clit now frozen in place as you two blink at each other.

he was never supposed to even enter the bathroom — best friends have boundaries, after all — but hearing a strained scream of his name had him rushing to check if you were okay.

…only for him to realize a few moments later that it wasn’t a scream.

bestfriend!suguru who wordlessly pulls you out of the bathroom and tosses you onto the bed, ravaging you like a thirsty man that had been stranded in a desert.

your cunt was already sensitive from your previous actions, making you cry out and tangle his locks in between your fingers, but oh god — the way his tongue circled your clit before pushing inside your entrance, lapping up all of your wetness and tongue-fucking you without mercy — you weren’t sure whether to push him away or pull him impossibly closer.

at one point, his spit was almost entirely the reason why you were even wet. he was so persistent, making out with your pussy as if this was his last meal on earth. a clear, stream of liquid shoots out of your pussy when he inserts two fingers and curls them just right, hitting that spongy spot you couldn’t usually reach by yourself.

“oh my fucking god,” suguru pulls away, slick coating his lips and chin as he stares at the mess you’ve made. “look at that pretty pussy. so wet, all f’me,” a soft slap! has your body jolting, making you lift your head to look at him.

bestfriend!suguru who looked absolutely pussydrunk, eyes glazed over and still glued to the spot in between your legs as he fumbled with his belt. his cock was straining so hard against his pants you could’ve sworn they’d actually rip apart.

when he pushes his cock into your cunt, he has to bite down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, to stop himself from just burying himself to the hilt and fucking you to the point of bruising your cervix. the warmth and wetness surrounding and squeezing around his shaft has him seeing stars, and he hasn’t even started moving yet.

when he finally picks up the pace, he ruts into you like a dog in heat, fingers digging into your waist as he chases after his high. he moans at the sinful squelch of your pussy with every thrust— and if he could eat you out and break you with his cock at the same time, he would.

bestfriend!suguru who says, “if I’d known you had a pussy this fuckin’ good, I would’ve made you mine ages ago.”

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screampied · 6 months ago

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‘ DICKMATIZED !? ★

☆ sum. dick • matized. [dehk-mah-tized] verb. when he’s rearranging your guts oh-so good that you’re just left utterly dumb ‘n stupid! toji, sukuna, gojo, geto, nanami, choso, ino.

wc. 5.8k

warnings. fem! reader, dick-drunk reader, balls… cum … balls, pwp, unprotected, dumbification, tf! sukuna, feral pússydrunk men, implied multiple rounds, backshots, mating press, cowgirl, nerd! nanami - college au, pússy talk, size kink, first time squīrt, mirror sēx, cervix mentions, spīt, tummy bulges, ‘till the bed breaks, breedīng kink, spanks, petnames.

an. elaborating more from this ask :p

✩ ˛˚ . SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

his dick? literally life-altering. life changing.

not only was sukuna ryomen the king of curses, but he was also the king of dumbing you down with just a few deep vulgar strokes. “attaaaa girl,” he’d grumble—one hand gripping your hip, another clawing near the top crown of your head. but as he’s raising your head, all you see is your dumb, drooling reflection through his stained century-old mirror.

through murky hazed peripherals, you spotted sukuna’s sly grin, with fangs poking through each lip… sinister red eyes zeroing down your body. he was mean but his hips were even meaner. as his hips relentlessly bucked into you, you let out a shrilling shriek once you feel his bulging tip swab its away around the insides of your slobbering cunt. he reached each ‘n every spot, pinpointing every slick dribbling orifice and you could barely even formulate words let alone proper sentences.

“that’s it, look at y’rself,” and a puddle of drool waters past the corners of your lips once sukuna grabs your chin. “hah- look at how dumb you get,” and you let off a moan once sukuna starts to thoroughly punctuate each individual thrust against your aching core. “allll. because. of. me.”

you glance at yourself in the mirror once more, peeking at the notoriously cursed silhouette that’s stood directly behind you. sukuna’s unapologetically ruthless, driving such sharp hips into you with little to no mercy and you only wanted more.

“suh- ooooh! sukuna,” you moan, getting whiplash from the vicious sharp pounds of slamming-ridden flesh. each pap stung against your skin and you’re just trying to keep up with his crazed pace. once his angered cockhead bullies its way near the fluttering opening of your cervix though, your eyes prettily roll. “o- oh my god, r- right th-”

“yeaaah, i know,” he replies gruffly, cutting off your tone by placing an enlarged palm over your wet-glossed lips. followed by a cute muffled, ‘mmmpf’ he scoffs in disgust once he feels you damping the center of his hand with treacly saliva. “keh. how repulsive,” and you whine once sukuna makes your back arch even more against his velveteen-made sheets. trailing a whetted claw gently down the slope of your back, he grunts. “wonder who’s nastier. you—” and he pauses, surprising your cunt with a brutal ricocheting thrust. “—or this sloppy worthless pussy. hnnnm.”

you’re tremoring underneath him, heedlessly trying to count each loud slap of clashing bodies in your head but you end up losing count anyway. his cock’s just as mean as he was, but his girth was far more rude. sukuna ploddingly runs his nails down your spine as he’s just impaling his weighty dick inside of your clamping, sopping walls. “mng- ‘s fuckin’ good. ‘kuna fuck me, fuck m—mmph,” and you moan against a palm that now smacks over your mouth again.

you could hear sukuna scoff behind you, feeling the wetness of your tongue slither its way around his bare hand. “y’er a nasty one,” he groans, glancing at your stupid reflection in the mirror. it was almost cute—how your eyes were all hooded, barely even open but visibly crossed. you’re seeing galaxies of stars as he pounds into your pussy, invading his way past the tight tight ring of your entrance. you’re so wet that your cunt sobs on his length, creating sticky globs of slick that glue against both fleshy mounds. “mhm. keep that pretty mouth shut. all i wanna hear is how fuckin’ messy you get under here,” and you let off another muffled whine once sukuna spreads your knobbly thighs further apart.

he’s so fast, his speed’s as quick as lightening—

and your hand cups over the one that’s currently placed over your mouth. sukuna feels your saliva starting to spill between your lips, wetting down his wrist and he titters. “spit’s supposed to stay in your mouth, dumb girl,” and you could feel yourself reaching closer and closer toward your blissful orgasmic edge. fuck- it was right there, literally arms-reach away and you were already starting to short-circuit. your thighs struggled to stay open and you were sure—just one more single hard thrust and you’d probably break. “aw, your legs are gettin’ weak. tappin’ out, princess?”

“ ‘kuna, ‘m cummin’,” you’d blurt once he removed his hand from your slick mouth. strings of glowy drool depart from your lips, sticking against his fingers before he thrashes the swollen pink head of his cock against your pussy.

repeatedly, it’s not just once or twice—hell, not even thrice!

it’s dozens of times. you let off a plethora of sweetened whines as his reddened tip scrapes its way through your gummy walls before you abruptly squall. “f- fuuuuck!”

a pretty, shiny geyser sprays out between your thighs, and your expression is priceless.

sukuna remained inside as he watched you whine out those needy raw sobs with his shaft still stuffed inside. you couldn’t think straight—you could only taste the treacly sweet tang of your release on your buds as your head flops onto the bed. “o- oh my god,” you’d puff, feeling your wobbly thighs soak with slimy molasses of your sweet. “again,” you moan out, looking up at the mirror to see sukuna staring straight at you.

he’s amused - and your eyes widen once he brings a hand underneath his heavy cock that was stacked with not only one but two..

he was only fucking you with one of his shafts—but now that you see his barred hand wrapping around both, you gulp once he nips his sharp fangs near his teeth. “fine,” he grumbles, and sukuna starts to align each between your sappy opening. sooo wet- it’s a pearly coat that runs down your cunt and he growls under his breath, bedaubing both creamy tips against your tender folds.

“but while we’re at it, little one. let’s see if you can squirt with two of me in you.”

✩ ˛˚ . INO TAKUMA.

first time inside and not only does he make you dumb but he ends up making himself dumb too.

“holy . . shit angel,” ino would lowly moan, reclining fully back against the couch. you’re gradually hovering over his lap while he’s got a clammy hand sneakily creeping at the left side of your waist. “g- god,” and darkened eyes lazer near your cunt. you were so slick. your entrance prettily sobbed with such dewdrops of sap that it had him whipped. ino wanted more, and the more he witnessed your pussy swallow his cock, the more his mouth grew drier than the sahara.

“relaaax, baby,” you invade the corner of his mouth with wet kisses. with how soft your voice was, the sound of your voice alone was enough to make ino’s dick throb — and it did.

his abs tense through his white tank as he feels one of your palms leisurely slide up his sculptured v-line. your touch - it was one of his many, many weaknesses. his first weakness being you . . second, your pretty dripping pussy. “ah, look at me. eyes up here, ino.”

“mhm-” ino grunts, nearly melting at the sickly sweet pounds of flesh clashing amongst each other. once your body started to move, it was game over. slosh after slosh and it only gets louder. ino’s nose cutely wrinkles the second he hears that squelching ‘pop!’

now, he’s bottomed out and it was just a few lengthy seconds after he’d eased himself all the way in. ino was snug - nicely snug and timid heart-filled irises meets yours right away. “you’re s…so gorgeous,” he’d slur, watching his chest deflate at each sloppy thrust of your unsteady hips. “m- might just cum from lookin’ at your face, angel.”

fuck- you rolled your hips in such a way that it had gears turning in his empty, hollow brain.

ino’s flushed, and eventually, two hands grip your waist tightly. he’s trying to reel you into him but you playfully give him a shove, staring as his back collapses back into the pillow. “ngh- ino, there baby. there,” you’d weep out in a sweet whimper. his dick greedily explored through your insides like a maze. almost like it was lost - desperately trying to find its way around before eventually smooching near your cervix. “a- ah!” you’d moan, feeling a vein that ran down his cock throb inside you merely milliseconds later.

the movements of your rutting hips hypnotize ino.

you’re tossing them around in a circle as your arms throw over his broad shoulders. the entire time, he’s getting lost in your eyes. his tip’s an angry red, blushing inside of your tight gripping walls as you sloppily bounce on his lap. perspiring hands squeeze against your waist before you watch as his dark mousy brows crease into a furrow. “baby-” he grunts hoarsely, tilting his head fully back.

it’s cute—and a bit attractive. you spot his neck muscles tense before you suddenly feel ino’s impatient fingers crawl at the pretty curvature of your ass. with a firm grip, he grabs a nice handful of your jerking flesh before hissing under his breath. “o- oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum. keep ridin’ me, ride me good—use me, fuh- fuck me,” and ino’s voice pitched whinier the more your wet cunt sucks him in - vacuuming each ‘n every inch.

the noises were just sloppy. each ‘plop!’ and ‘pap!’ that echo from both bodies sends a wave of chills down ino’s spine. it was a feeling he’s never experienced—and you might have just made him fall in love with not only you but your slickly, wet cunt.

“ ‘s okay, ino. you can c- cum inside,” you whisper breathlessly against the crook of his neck. ino wraps his arms around you, holding you close as your hips rut into him quicker. both bodies moved against each other rhythmically, dexterously twirling your ass back and forth against his lap. ino’s just as dumb as you were—and if you squinted, you could see heart eyes forming in his dilated pupils.

“god- ‘m cummin’ . . fuck- ‘m cumming,” he hiccups, and his entire body erupts.

ino grows limp the minute he feels his leaking tip spurting out rope after rope. it’s hot - you slow down as he’s finally pumping you full, spurting out such thin, miry amounts.

ribbons drizzle inside of you and ino gets quiet, burying his face into your shoulder. babbles of whine fall into the crack of your neck and you smile, skimming a finger down his undercut.

tender, fawn eyes lock onto yours before ino grabs your chin softly. with a pout, he bedaubs a thumb across your wetly parted lips before sighing. he’s in love. “s-soooo . . what are we?”

✩ ˛˚ . TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“awwwh, is the pretty girl gettin’ shy on me?” toji would gruffly croon, feeling your dripping cunt clench tightly around him.

you’re bent over and chewing on the bottom of your lip like candy whilst he’s going in and out of you. masses ‘n wads of milky knots ooze out of your pussy and he takes a moment to gawk at the mess he gifted you. “fuuuck- look at ‘er, ‘m floodin’ her up so good,” and toji grunts, his flushed tip smearing shapes around your runny entrance. “ya take it well every time too, baby.”

“hnng- toji,” you’d whimper, cutely trying to shimmy your hips against him. you always loathed how right after he’s dumping you with the nth load of the night, toji just has to tease you.

with a wide hand, he slaps his fat cockhead against your slobbering slit three times. in a dirty, carnal way though—it’s pretty.

with wrinkles creasing underneath his leafy eyes as he squints, toji drags a thumb down your swollen puffy folds. it’s a loud wet splat! that resounds through his perked ears and you could hear that smug snicker as clear as day. your tummy was already heaving - you wanted more, and toji hummed at the sight of you arching further for him. “don’t stop- f…finish fuckin’ me.”

“how cuuute,” he’d gruff, and you moan once he re-aligns his sweltering hot tip. it’s freshly coated with splotches of cum that was still gradually seeping from the center. messily, it leaks out, and you gasp once he starts to insert his way back in. it’s a sloppy pop! that sends you carnal chills and even a bit of throb. doing so makes you nip a few teeth near the inside of your cheek.

and oh- toji’s so thick.

he’s fat from the inside, along with his girth that delves deep inside of you - disappearing between your folds like an unrevealed magic trick.

every bulky inch that enters inside of your cunt makes your toes shrivel up into a cute, aching curl. every time, you’re left utterly speechless as you hear his husky rasps from behind you. toji runs a hand through his oily scalp before brusquely grunting. “hah- take it then, open nice ‘n wide for me, pretty. let’s see that biiiig stretch one more fuckin’ time,” and a cold sweat races down your back. one thrust! just one cruel, mouth-watering thrust, and you’re left stupid.

dewy remnants of cum streamed out the corners of your thighs and he was practically fucking his cum back into you. loads of it, creamy milky loads that pumped you full, keepin’ you warm—always.

the slanted hooking curve that his dick had swerved its way through your pussy, bruising your g-spot lovingly. but oh- toji doesn’t just fuck nasty, he fucks you stupid with a capital ‘S’.

“fuuuuck, right there, r- right hng- thereeee,” and the way you’d drag your words were so cute. toji’s hips were oh-so mean though, harshly snapping into you and each time the friction whams into you—you’re dumbfounded.

toji spots you trying to crawl away and he raises a brow, hooking a hand near your hip. “goin’ somewhere, girl?” and you moaned, feeling him drag you right back toward his cock. with your mouth idly hung open—you start to feel the slick muck of syrupy juices that globs down the flaps of your cunt. you’re soaked, and toji grunts the second you end up squeezing around his dick. measly thick fingers roam through his scalp as he watches your ass weakly buck back into him. “mhm- that’s it, park that pussy allll on me,” and he leans up close against your back.

you could feel his faded bushy happy trail tickle against your ass as he’s drilling into you deep, splaying your legs further apart with a single hand. toji wraps a hand around your throat, feeling every whiny syllable die out of your throat before he lifts your hips.

“such pretty hips. look at ‘em go,” and you moan, feeling his palm hit against your left ass cheek. it’s sharp, and the brief sting makes you get dumber whilst his mushroomy tip’s just tapping its way against your tender clit.

you’re at a loss for words—the lazy downward curve of toji’s cock runs all through you, and he feels your body underneath him cutely growing weak. he’s got the type of dick that makes you get a bit woozy, drooling for more and more inches until you’re stuffed to capacity. you were through, and toji’s just sternly slamming his hips into you so good that you don’t even hear the poor splitting wood of the headboard.

with a husky crack! it ends up splitting into two, falling right before your eyes and the boxspring ends up collapsing. toji doesn’t even flinch though, and his callused fingertips remain deep into the prints of your back. “heh. shit,” he mumbles, still buried inside of your puffed cunt.

you were still panting - heavily, but you crane your head around to a certain degree and glare at him.

“what? oh, don’t look at me like that, doll,” and you moan, facing back in front of you once he pulls out, smacking his cream-coated tip over your weeping sleek-covered cunt. “ ‘s her fault. isn’t that right, messy baby?” as you’re whimpering, toji grows mute at the sounds of your sloppy squelches.

his round tip smears itself in and out between your slobbering hole before he nods as if he actually understands what your pussy’s saying. “see. she even said sorry,” and toji leans down, spitting right on your cunt before giving it a praising pat.

“good giiiirl. seems like ya got more manners than y’r messy owner.”

✩ ˛˚ . SATORU GOJO.

“ahhh- don’t hide that gorgeous face, i wanna see ya,” satoru pouts, grabbing your hands.

you were utterly stupid, whimpering as you continued to mindlessly bounce on his lap. his shaft’s ridiculously thick, expanding throughout your walls like a domain whilst attacking your cervix with individual kisses.

it scratched an itch in your brain that makes you gasp—feeling his bare washboard abs rub against your back. satoru’s hot, but the sweltering pounds of flesh that smack and crash into his meaty thighs from your unpredictable movements were even hotter.

he leans right up against the left side of your cheek, pressing a wet chaste kiss near the corner of your twitching lip. “i wanna see my wifey get all dumb ‘n stupid while she’s ridin’ me, heh.”

“ngh- satoru,” you’d moan, feeling one of his hands sneak up your blouse. lanky fingers roam up your body as he’s mercilessly slamming you back down on his cock. satoru’s flushing capped tip swirls its way through your cunt, churning effortlessly rearranging your guts and your jaw dramatically drops.

it’s cute the way your mouth freely dangles, pink tongue lolling fully out as satoru presses a hand near your bare tummy. there, he could feel the ongoing stretch and so could you.

it’s a tiny bulge that wholly prints its way through you, and you could hear his breathy snicker air against your earlobe. “well look at that. such a pretty good girl takin’ allllll of me. look at that cute ‘lil tummy bulge,” and satoru runs a free hand through his hair. with tight clenched abs, his entire core was squeezing up—your moving hips had him gnawing the inside of his cheek.

but it’s a long deadly silence between the two of you that suddenly occurs. satoru’s icy bright eyes shine into yours as you cup his face, weakly trying to keep up your grinding.

timidly, satoru strokes your bottom lip gingerly. “keep starin’ at me like that ‘n i might get’cha pregnant, sweetheart.”

“do it.” you whine. “make me p… pregnant, ‘toru.”

famous last words,

because not only does he fuck you stupid until you’re chewing on your own sweet, pathetic whimpers—satoru ends up dumping load after load into you. buttery wads of cum tear their way out of your folds as he’s now got you folded in a nasty mating press.

satoru overflowed your cunt, panting heavily as he watches the hefty, velvety masses of cum ooze down between your stuffed entrance.

with a single hand, he spreads your legs wide to get a better view and he kisses his teeth. “fuck- what a mess,” he’d groan, and he’s still deeply inside of you. your brain was empty — and all you could even register let alone think about, was the ropes of hot cum that flooded deep into your womb.

you’re still moaning, feeling satoru’s hungry gaze peer into your soul before he snickers. “would be a shame if this all hah- went to waste.”

and as he’s still trying to catch shallow breaths, satoru leisurely wipes a thumb down your leaking pussy. immediately, his digit gets coated with milky remnants of cum. “s- satoru,” you’d whimper, watching as he pressed a soft kiss to your ankle. you remained in the same position—

he had your legs spread wide into an eagle ‘v’ shape before bringing his finger up to his naturally glossed lips. satoru laps up his own mess right off his thumb whilst his cock’s plugging you utmost full. “you’re s- so nasty.”

“not nastier than this sweet girl,” satoru whispers in a raspy tone, taking out his dick before watching as his cum freely pours between your folds. velvety loads and loads sob between your folds and he hums, leaning in for a quick kiss.

satoru rocks his toned body against you, pinning both arms above your head before a hand placed on your tummy. you moan into his lips—wrapping a feeble leg around his slim waist before his free hand grabs at your neglected tits.

“mmp-” he muffled between kisses, feeling your hand trail a path down his sculptured abs. satoru presses his forehead against yours—devastatingly pulling away before whispering against your lips.

“got a feelin’ it’s gonna . . be a girl.”

✩ ˛˚ . NANAMI KENTO.

“fun fact sweets,” nanami grunts as a bare palm wraps around your throat. his grip was soft - the mere opposite of his accurately shaped thrusts.

your moans harmonically sing and bounce through the thin walls of his office as labored breaths continue to snatch out from the pits of your lungs. he’s big, easily allowing the bulbous head of his cock to run through every part of your gummy walls. he nudges through every corner, pounding into your core so good that it makes you choke on inaudible sentences. “we’re burnin’ about probably hundreds of calories right now. hah- all from me bending you over my desk like . . . this.”

you let off a sweet whine, gasping as he’s just leisurely reaming your insides. nanami’s dick dragged its way through each slickly wet nook perfectly, studying every orifice like an equation before solving it with a single thrust. “f- fuck, ‘ken,” you’d mewl out a sweetened sob, the scent of freshly printed review papers filling up your nostrils. never in a million years would you have expected the campus nerd to fuck so nasty.

he’s rigorous - just drilling his honed hips into you until you’re entirely stupid with that pretty pink tongue of yours fully lolled out of your mouth.

his dick was insanely long too, and he grunts at the feeling of his plump tip rudely thwacking against the opening of your cervix. “such a pretty thing. even prettier inside, ‘s like she’s trying to answer for you,” and the wooden worn-down desk continued to rumble from the rickety pounds of weight. the stability of your hips was far too weak.. and nanami brings a hand toward your waist. his touch was soft, and you moaned at the feeling of his stubby fingers dancing up and down your skin before a single strenuous thrust reels you back into reality. “hah- tell me, pretty,” he moans between thrusts, the slickness of your cunt glossing down near the lower base of his full shaft. “why is a woman orgasm important, hm?”

“u- um,” you moan, your brain completely fried. his hits were so good - too good, and you’re just dumbly wordless.

nanami’s hips went askew as he made you arch further into his desk, deepening his angle. your face is lightly planted against the papers and you could hear him sneer from behind you.

one second turned into two . . then three . . then seven . .

a weeping whine rips out of your throat once he pivots even deeper, guiding a big hand between your legs. a thumb swirls around your sopping stuffed cunt and he leans in to kiss near your shoulder. “ ‘um’ isn’t a valid answer, dummy,” and your eyes were already mindlessly rolling to the backs of your empty skull.

but oh- the stretch.

he’s jabbing his hips quicker ‘n quicker as greedy hands grab at your bare skin. “c’mooon, use that pretty brain. my smart girl’s gotta be in there somewhere,” and nanami playfully knocks at the top of your head. “at least i hope she is.”

“t- the woman orgasm’s important because it helps out with the uh- pelvic floor muscles and activity.”

“and.”

“and . . it helps boosts fertility.”

“aaand?”

“a- and ‘m cumming!”

“wha- oh,” nanami lowly chuckles, feeling your cunt tighten around him. the clingy wet claps of skin grew louder - violently ricocheting against both pounds of flesh as he scoots your ass up further.

he’s deep, jackhammering his thick cock into you while occasionally fixing his glasses. every few seconds, they’d slide down the bridge of his nose. it irritates him, and you’d hear him scoff under his breath while he’s still ramming into you senseless. “c’mooon then, show me how orgasms help strengthen pelvic floor muscles, sweetheart.”

as you’re just being fucked stupid into the countless marked sheets of your papers, you gasp. stuffed at the very hilt - at least. a single tap of his cockhead against your cervix and that’s a wrap for you. within a blink of an eye—you’re shamelessly creaming down his cock with a wide shaped mouth.

he’s still thickly stretching through your walls, kneading at every compressing wet corner as you’re releasing and you start to whine. “fuck- fuuuck,” you’d whimper, feeling his jagged hips abruptly halt against you. the cold metal buckle of nanami’s belt rubs against your skin as you moan, seeing nothing but mere stars. competing to catch your breath, you huff out a sweet genuine, “did . . did i pass?”

“hmm,” he kisses near your shoulder blade, readjusting his glasses. glancing down, nanami looks at your panties that were lazily pulled to the side and he makes you arch further.

as you’re still panting, nanami clicks his tongue. “ ‘m afraid not. i think we need to learn more about the clitoris,” and nanami takes off his glasses, bringing them towards your slick opening, witnessing it fog from your dripping mess.

with a low titter, he brings them back up to his curved lips before licking the wet lenses, giving your pretty pussy a ‘lecturing’ spank. “specifically yours.”

✩ ˛˚ . SUGURU GETO.

if it’s anything nastier than suguru geto’s tongue, it’s his thick fat cock.

it’s the epitome of sloppy, especially with how it rummages through your insides, roughly circling his tip around the opening of your slick cunt. prone bone would almost always be his favorite too. it was just the way his crushing body weight would hover over yours—nearly suffocating your backside with just a bit of pressure. “sugu- ngh. suguruuu,” you’d croak out, each stinging slap of skin sending swarms of butterflies inside the inner pits of your tummy.

“quiet, doll,” he’d groan, curling a few fingers around your neck. geto’s thumb traces down your exposed nape before he licks at your ear. “fuck- what did i tell you about speakin’ out of turn?” and as your eyes start to wander to the dark abyss depths of your cranium, you whine. he’s in so deep, massaging every sloppy orifice as his fat tip drags its way through your spongey insides. “you speak after she gets a word in,” and you let off a needy sob once geto gently lift your leg. he’s still pressed into you as you’re being rammed into from behind, and that’s when he slides a hand between your legs. gurgling sloshes leave your pussy once he starts to maneuver circles around your entrance and you whine. “uh huuuh. listen to that pretty back talk with me. i know- i know.”

geto’s palm instantly got moist from your dewy juices spurting on his hand—not that he even minded anyway. you were just perfect like this, and each snap of his hips made you lose your mind ten times quicker. you’re already drooling from the mouth too, lazily sticking out your tongue as your arms start to grow feeble. “f- fuck, suguru. spank it. hng- spank it.”

“myyy, isn’t my girl bein’ extra dirty today, hm?” geto huskily purrs against the lobe of your ear. his rhythm was purely ruthless. your eyes were bulging, akin to the size of pinballs once your mouth started to pry open wider once the stretch continued..

his dick’s so fat - from all curving angles, stuffing you entirely with all nth inches of cock. geto could hear your airy pants grow more breathy and he gutturally sighs, smearing faster shapes against your dripping cunt. “ohhh- don’t shy away now,” he snickers, making you raise your head from the pillow you rested on. “not when you’re so fuckin’ wet. repeat what you want me to do, sweetheart.”

he’s a mere tease. you weren’t even facing him directly, but you could tell from just his smug tone alone that he was cockily grinning ear to ear. with a belting whine departing from your lips, you moan out a needy, “s- spank it suguru.”

“pretty please.”

“p… pretty please.”

geto brashly hums, running his free hand down your spine that glosses with sleek sheets of glistening sweet. his cock’s got you arching perfectly, and every inch pumps its way inside of you with occasional wet ‘pops!’ squelching from both sloppy mounds.

“good girl,” he gruffly whispers against your neck, feeling your hectic hips sensually rock back into him. “yeah- like that, princess. throw that cute ass against m . . me, fuck-” and seconds later, you feel the sharp brief sting of a slap against your teary folds. you’re so wet, wetting up his palm as your moans fill the entire room.

one slap turns into two, then three, then four.

you lost count—it was probably around that number, but you were far too dumb from his dick that’s currently got you in such a trance.

“ ‘m gonna..” you gasp out, the bucking of his hips getting more and more nasty. geto’s body rubs off against you and you then feel his palm swat against your ass. smack! and you hear him groan from behind. your cunt’s sucking him in and spitting him out — and the view was godly. all he saw was a pretty, slick mess as you start to dribble clear syrupy sap between your thighs. “cum- gonna cum suguru.”

“you remember how?” geto teases and your chest heaves once he gives your wet pussy a squeeze. not a single thought was in your mind, just how he was destroying your insides inch after fuckin’ inch. .

the flat of your tongue starts to salivate and you whine, nodding cutely before feeling geto’s thrusts deepen. “silly girl. bet you forgot how- should see your face right now,” he huffs, covering your spit-glossed mouth with his wide palm. you end up drooling on his hand and he tchs, smudging your saliva all over your mouth with his palm.

“c’mon then, gimme a show,” he grouses, slowing his hips down for you. geto does this purposely so you could physically feel how much of a stretch he’s barreling inside of your cunt. it’s huge - and you don’t even realize that after you finally came, you were even stupider.

cottony fuzz coils at both of your ears from the inside as your mouth remains open. you’re just whining, babbling out sweet ‘thank you's’ — even though you don’t even know exactly why you’re thanking him.

“hah- you’re welcome.” geto cunningly coos against your neck, planting a thumb on your throbbing clit. you’re so tender, shaking underneath him as you’re still seeing splotches of utter white. his dick had you unable to create coherent words, and geto brings his thumb up to your mouth before dragging it across your lips. “mmh. messy girl. still gotta work on that mouth.”

✩ ˛˚ . CHOSO KAMO.

“o- oh fuuuck,” he’d swallow, peering his eyes down toward your wet cunt.

it’s pretty - drippin’ with masses of slippery slick that soaks the entirety of his cock.

sucking in a sharp gasping breath, choso grabs onto your hips before flashing a sheepish grin. he wasn’t in fully in and choso’s already a mess. lazily leaning back against the futon—warm, drowsy eyes meet yours with darkened bags hanging underneath his pretty eyelids. choso can’t keep his eyes off you. his eyes flicker from up to your face, then back between your thighs. “mngh- you’re squeezin’ down on me, baby. don’t think ‘m gonna last.”

“you can last, ‘cho,” you whisper, letting off a sweet moan yourself once his cock smugly barrels itself between your puffed folds. you leave a lustrous shine that glimmers over his aching shaft. with achingly slow hips, you start to jerk forward and you can already see choso’s adam’s apple bobbing. “mmh- that’s it, hold me. touch me choso, ‘s okay.”

with choso though—he didn’t realize just how big he was. his dick stood tall, and its height expanded throughout your gummy walls entirely.

piercing the honed edges of your nails into his shoulders, you whine out a breathy gasp. his cock’s rude, sloppily towering inside of your pussy before starting to puncture a few delicious hits into your slick-flooded core. you’re rocking back ‘n forth, staring into his half-open eyes before burying your face into his neck. “nono-don’t do thaaat. wanna see you,” he’d pout, lifting your face.

choso’s already sweating — dewy droplets face down each side of his forehead before he feels the elastic stretch. he could almost taste it, the sugary sweet stretch. the way choso’s mushroomy tip drags its way up down and round your cunt leaves a tender feeling arising in your tummy. precisely, he marks an ‘x’ through your goopy insides with the crown of his dick like it was some kind of sacred treasure. a far more lewd kind though.

and not only did your hips make him stupid, but your pussy did too. “c- chosoooo,” you’d belt out a three-second whimper, sliding a few fingers down his bare chest. he’s hot, and the more your touch ghosts down his skin, the higher his body temperature rises. “right there- ooh! k- keep fuckin’ me there, baby.”

“god- when you whine my name, ‘s so hot,” he’d sheepishly admit, clawing a hand through his black loose strands. choso’s entire abdomen tightens at the sudden quickening speed of your hips. you’re frantic, slamming your ass up and down on his veiny cock while swerving your hips in a plethora of addicting swerving circles.

a beefy arm of his reaches for the headboard and he grabs onto it tight. you moan, staring as the veins and muscles flex through choso’s bicep. you’re riding him so good that he’s literally got to hold onto the bed for support. “ ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum. s- shit, your pussy’s gonna…..fuck.”

the loud paps of jerking skin only increase, and once you lean in to kiss choso—he submissively leans into your touch.

right away, teeth violently clash together as tongues hungrily delve into each mouth, competitively fighting for their fair shares of dominance. choso moans, sliding a palm toward the edge of your jolting ass. you’re riding him to straight oblivion, and he’s already rolling his eyes back. “mmpf-” he’d let off a gargled moan, bringing a swatting smack towards your rear. “fuckmefuckfuckmeee,” he’d whine into your ear, and now he’s got both hands clinging onto your ass. choso’s dragging you firmly back against his pelvis, making sure you feel him deep inside of your compressing walls.

oh- he was entirely pussy drunk, with you being dick drunk.

choso could see the sleazy smile forming against your lips as your back started to arch. he’s damn big, and you moan the second his fat tip keenly thrashes its way against your pulsating g-spot. that was all it took for you to squeal out a needy ‘ah!’ before your legs ended up locking around his waist.

languidly, he’s digging his fingers into your hips before you end up nibbling on his bottom lip. “ ‘m cummin’ baby. hah- cum with me, be my messy girl. c’mon,” and as he’s rambling, choso wraps his strong arms around you. he’s giving you a gentle bear hug, cutely whining into your chest as his head buries itself in between your soft tits. “mmmph.”

as your hips continued to roll, you eventually ended up finishing - hard. your orgasm had you sobbing out wantons of whimpers as his dick’s plugged you very, very full. glittery ribbons spray into you at the same time, and it’s fiery hot.

choso’s shivering underneath you, still having his arms wrapped around you—never wanting to let go. “f- fuck, choso,” you’d breathe out, hearing his tremoring sighs aerate between your tits. choso rolls out his tongue, licking a stripe down the valley of his chest as he’s still pumping you with miles ‘n miles of sultry hot seed. you hum, coddling his head with one arm as your ass slowly comes to a stop.

a clammy hand of yours grabs at your ass as you turn around, glancing at the ivory oozing clods of cum that dribbles down your pudgy opening. “not . . done,” choso heavily huffs, and you moan once he pushes you to lie on your back. with a soft thud! you land against the cushioned furniture before looking up at him.

choso looks hungrier than ever, and before you knew it — he’s slowly sliding your knees up toward your chest. “f- fuck,” he whines, taking a peak at the strings of cum that continue to race down your lustrous-coated slick.

so pretty,

but in choso’s mind, it could be even prettier.

choso leans in, pressing a kiss between your breasts before sliding a thumb down your cunt. a wet psh! shrieks out of your pussy and he lets off a quivering breath. “you can be a little messier, baby,” he’d whisper, and his tone’s a bit more hoarse now. choso hears you gulp, and once he starts to shove your knees up to your chest, he re-aligns his leaky cream-glossed tip. “ ‘m gonna stuff you fuller,” he pressed his final wet kiss against your lips.

“maybe even give you a baby . . or two . . six, h- heh.”

19K notes · View notes

tonycries · 8 months ago

Text

PONY

Synopsis. Ride it, his pony!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, ríding JJK men, creampíes, bondáge, GOJO’S POWERS, true form!Sukuna, dp, spítting, bréeding, pússydrúnk men, exhibitíonism (Toji and Geto), overstím, spánking, mentions of kids (Nanami), cócky Gojo, making Sukuna whíne, overspíll, heínous things, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Hehehe have a lovely week with no leaks <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Do it, then.

Toji felt so dizzy right now, so full of nothing but sheer want and those raspy, stuttering grunts ripping from his chest. With a low keen, he’s sliding one of his rough hands down your bowed spine, mouth watering at that delicious curve all for him. “Arch jus’ a hah- bit more f’me, pretty doll. Lemme see.”

“I-I already am, Toji-” And despite all your huffing and puffing, he purposely takes his sweet, sloppy time tearing his darkened eyes away from how well you were milking him to meet your pouty glare. “Can’t hngh- anymore-”

Smack!

All five of his thick fingers leave a swift spank on your ass, “Now now, sayin’ ya can’t when you were sooo smug about ridin’ me, princess?” He’s rolling his eyes, and you simply get a quick, jagged buck of his hips. Toji’s holding back a high-pitched gasp, as if he didn’t even realize what he was doing. “Better listen or m’ah- never cumming before Sh-Shiu gets here. Unless…” His hot breath puffs against your ear, and his even hotter, fat tip glides just across your g-spot. “-you want him to see?”

This earns him the cutest, drawn-out mewl from your glossed lips, your head throwing back for him to latch on from behind.

“Oh, ya jus’ got wetter-” he breathes, and from where you were riding him in reverse cowgirl, you could practically hear the awe in his words. Feel that sultry shiver wracking down his muscled body. Toji’s ravenous hands dip down from your hips, two pads of his fingers spreading your puffy pussy lips wide open for him. “So drenched. Ya really like that, h-huh?”

And oh how much you did - your greedy pussy was practically slobbering down his swollen length. Coating him in a glistening coat of all your sweet sweet juices until it gleamed in the dim-lighting. Bulging with all of his long inches, he was so fucking massive that every thorough ram of your hips downwards made this thick base just thwack against your cunt.

Fuck, this was Toji’s favorite position for a reason - he could count every dredge and bead of slick running down his thumping veins with each of your harsh gyrations. And he did.

“M’m- doin’ what you asked.” you’re whining, batting away the big, fat tears in your lashes. “But you’re not- ngh- h-helping!”

Toji thinks he could laugh right now, he thinks he could tease your needy self until you begged him to fuck you properly. But maybe it was the fact that he had to leave for a job soon, or maybe it was the way you looked so pretty on top of him - he’s feeling just a bit merciful right now. Just a bit.

“Awww, you poor thing–” he’s drawling out with a husky drone. Smiling slyly at the irritated furrow in your brows, the way you mewl when his large hand wraps around your throat. “My needy baby needs help?”

You can only nod half-deliriously, and he places a drippingly wet peck on your lips. Tasting that sinful scar and the syrupy sweet taste of his tongue. Dragging hotly across your lower lip, “Need s-so badly to have me cum in this oh- cute cunt?”

“Y-yes.” you mumble, your gasps turning into heaves when his rock-hard cock only expands inside you. Pumping upwards to grow even girthier, it’s like he wasn’t even trying when the curved divot on his weepy head kisses your sensitive spots. When he’s drawing sodden glides across your gummy walls, stuffing you split open until you were just molded to his very shape. “Yes yes please- jus’ wanna- hngh-” Reaching to tug on his dark black tresses, making him hiss. “-jus’ wanna have you c-cum in me before you leave ah-”

Smack!

But this time, Toji doesn’t soothe over the sting - he doesn’t whisper pretty praises in your ear. Only planting rude spank after spank on your jiggling ass, adding to the bruising way his sharp hip bones rutted against your tender flesh.

“Well I didn’t say slow down, did I?” you feel him purr dangerously against your ear. All the warning you get before the hand around your neck just tightens, all big beefy muscles on his arm flexing. “Wha’s the problem- said you were g-gonna oh what was it-” And Toji’s craning his head easily to smirk at you, nipping at your lower lip. “-’ride me until I lose my mind?’”

It’s said in such a mockingly higher pitch than Toji’s usual baritone, making your velvety walls just squeeze. Jostling his fat cock inside you until your toes curled, legs weakening.

Smack! “Faster.”

Your ever-faltering hips have absolutely no choice but to speed up and you moan at the slap! of skin-on-skin. Leaning backwards into his hunched-over figure, his tongue was so smooth. Licking and biting down gently all over your skin when you fucked your hips back just a bit too hard. Just a bit too cockdrunk. Babbling out a drooling ah! ah! ah! as you roll your cunt, trying to suck out something delicious from the ends of his leaky cock.

“Do it, then. Do it f’me.” he shudders out, and for all the biting tone in Toji’s words he sounded so utterly ruined. Like he was holding back the hitch in his chest, the way his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Fighting for the life of him to not push you down onto all fours and pound you into these silken sheets right now. “Ride me until I lose my ahh– fuckin’ mind, doll.”

You can’t answer - can’t do anything else but ache for more more more. And his every ridge and bump down his reddened shaft swiveled around you sweetly.

“Oh.” Soon enough, you hear him titter out a laugh of disbelief, heavy, cum-filled balls tightening. “N’ you better hah- hurry up-” Smack! The possessive hand curling around your throat just drags your bleary gaze to yours and Toji’s bedroom door. Slightly ajar. Moving. “-unless yer beggin’ for double the amount of work.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - DESTRESSER

“Shh shhh…” Nanami’s quieting down your tiny whimpers with a slow, sultry glide of his fat tip down your sopping wet slit. Back and forth. Voice so hoarse and strained when he whispers little praises in your ear, “You got this- hah- you got it, my love. Ride me.”

Shit, those words are hitting straight to your cunt, clenching and sinking down, down, down his swollen cock. Your husband was so big, reaching so deeply inside sweetened spots you didn’t even realize existed.

“Does it f-feel good, Ken?” you’re mewling. Wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, careful to not tip over his chair, “S’it relaxing?”

This was always Nanami’s favorite little remedy - whenever you waltzed into his office room with that too-short skirt and that too-tight silken top that drove him wild. Rambling about how he was being too overworked lately - how you have a solution.

Dragging his soft palm down your spine, Nanami grits back his teeth when you’re moving your hips in slow, shallow little grinds and gyrations. His thick head swirling slowly around your g-spot, thick base spreading your swollen folds gapingly open.

Ah, this was heaven.

And he says so - a little over a million times into the crook of your neck. Throat shot already, “So pretty- so perfect, my wife-” he’s sighing out. Wrenching away to fixate his eyes on your sweat-sheened figure, the beginnings of that fucked-out expression of yours already on your features. “Y’know…seeing you like this- always makes me wonder what a great mama you’ll be.”

It’s so sudden that your hips are faltering, stuttering down sloppily to thwack! against Nanami’s tight balls. They’re almost bruising against the curve of your ass, and you’re whining into his mouth.

“S’true.” One of Nanami’s hands drapes down to your hips roughly, all five fingers splayed-out and just emblazoning itself when he’s guiding you through each slippery squelch. The other - his right - cradles one of your tits. “I see these- oh-” You watch as he’s attaching his lips around one hardened nipple, so hot. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, ”N’ I wonder how- ngh- s-sweet you’d taste when I fuck a kid into ya, darling.”

“And here-” His tongue skims past with a final kiss on both your tantalizing tits, moving down to where Nanami knew his cock was indenting into the very bottom of your pretty pussy. Where he knew that little nudge-

“Ah!” Your entire body just jolts when he presses one greedy hand down on exactly where he was hitting at your cervix with almost-scary accuracy, teasing out your cutest keens. “K-Ken not there-”

“Yes there.” he’s cutting you off. “Here is where m’gonna fill ya ahh- all up-”

Just the very thought has his stern cheekbones coloring with red, and you’re so hypnotized by the sight that your hips are accelerating mindlessly. Legs burning, hips aching - but you’re still leaning forward to grind repetitive circular turns, rocking him inside in a way that made sure every inch of your melty walls were being massaged.

Were being fucked.

“Mhm- f-fuck-” he’s groaning, head throwing back to nip your lips, until it was all just smeared with Nanami’s saliva. “Ya like that, dontcha? Wan’ me to ohh– give my pretty wife a kid?” Words slurring together with each babbling second, he’s gently taking a hand to your scalp. Massaging your roots while you ride him to fucking insanity, “Answer me, my love.”

“Yes!” you spread your legs even further, knees clacking against the hard plastic of his chair. Blinking away the bleary, cockdrunken tears welled up in your eyes. “Wan’ it- want hngh! Wan’ you to breed me, Ken.”

He can’t stop himself from grazing a sweet, sweet kiss right on your moaning lips - followed very shortly by a mean smack! on your clit. Your shuddering cunt glossing the very tips of his fingers down to his wristwatch in a dripping, hot coat of your honeyed juices.

And more.

So much more.

“Wait- Ken that’s gonna- oh-”

Maybe it was the way that cool wedding band on his left hand burned so starkly against your steamingly hot cunt, maybe it was that forceful push of the very curve of his raw cock into your g-spot - or maybe it was how Nanami just looked at you. Hazel eyes half-lidded, pupils blown, mouth slacking ever-so-slightly agape with your sloshing swivels. Because your orgasm slams into you immediately after, knocking every breath and sentence out of your delirious mouth.

And he crashes his lips into yours, chuckling at the messy way your pussy was gushing all around him. You feel him drool with every sodden splatter of your juices, squirting until you saw stars.

When you’re finally pulling away - delicate strings of spit snapping, Nanami chasing hazily after your mouth - all you can peer down is at the way his strict uniform was so soaked now.

Neat slacks about ten shades darker than usual, and your cunt still wasn’t done - drooling all across in a lewd pool underneath, spreading every time you fucked your self down on his weepy cock. Hell, if you were in a better state of mind you’d have noticed that some of it got on his button-up, too.

“Squirtin’ all over me, how cute-” Nanami simpers, low and slow. His mouth greedily salivates at the sight, “Can’t believe this-” You’re gifted with another sudden spank on your clit, and he lazily soothes over with a roll of his thumb. “-cute cunt s’gonna have me conceiving our f-first kid in the hngh- office.”

You pant hopefully, still being wrung through the peaks of your high. “Y-you were serious about that–?”

“I’ve never been more serious about a damn thing, my wife.” And he loved how the words tasted on his tongue - almost as much as he loved the taste of his fingers in his mouth, savoring you. Sucking. Eyes twinkling, “So ya better get ready. S’gonna get real relaxing soon.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - “So gorgeous…”

It’s just about all that Geto can breathe out right now, all that he can think. Dark eyes half-lidded and boring right into yours, smug mouth sagging open, falling to let out such a loud moan.

“Ohh-” his brows scrunch together. Jostling around your ravenous body where you were sitting so prettily on his lap, he’s leaning backwards greedily taking in every single inch of you he could see. Purring, “Ya look so fuckin’ pretty like th-this, dontcha?”

All you can do is keen in response, your trembly fingers taking a hold of the back of Geto’s chair to just slam your stinging hips downwards.

“Feels too- ngh- good Sugu- Could do this forever.” you’re mewling, and he feels you weigh your entire body on top of him. Resting atop those tediously sculpted muscles of his to angle your hips just the way you liked.

He felt so used right now, and shit - he’s never been harder about it.

You could feel the way each stuttering ram down Geto’s reddened length left him growing even girthier, stretching out your snug channel even more impossibly open. His rock-hard cock was reaching deeply, kissing sweet, lingering kisses pointedly on the bullseye of your g-spot. Again. And again. And again and again-

“Heh-” his snicker ruffles your hair, dancing two large hands down to your waist. Spreading open those jittering globes of your ass until your ravaged pussy lips were spread so shamefully. And fuck, that heavenly sight was enough to make him gulp. To have his voice pitching a few octaves higher than usual when he hums, “Am I the one g-gettin’ fucked or hngh-” Leaving a trail of syrupy-sweet kisses down your tear-stricken face, “-are you?”

“S-so mean…” you’re jutting your lower lip out in a pout. The very action makes him lick his lips dangerously. “I should j-jus’ hngh- leave you here- to handle the meeting all alone-”

Truly, it’s become something of a little tradition - Geto loved to call it his “good luck charm” - how you milked the fucking soul out of him before every single cult meeting he led. And shit, has it been good luck alright.

“Awww, but you won’t will, ya honey?” His chest rumbles with vibrations, one hand jerking your face upwards to tug on your spit-glossed lips. He’s nodding along to your drunken babbles, drifting your hasty bounces further and further into lazy grinds with his words. “Because you’re my gorgeous lil’ cockslut, aren’t ya?” His words ring headily across your head - across the meeting hall.

Gasping when Geto suddenly shifts his body so that your ass smacked against his muscular thighs with each saturated drag, bruising against his milky muscles.

“N’ you-” he whispers lowly against your ear, suckling softly on the sensitive spots at your throat. And you feel like such a fucking ragdoll when he abruptly bounces his thigh upwards - and you right along with it. “-are the only fuckin’ reason I stay sane during these f-fucking meetings.”

It’s a hoarse, breathed-out little admission that you barely even hear over those drippingly wet squelches from down below. Geto was fucking up into you unapologetically, eyes revered downwards at how cockdrunken you were moving right now. Sloppy. Depraved.

Burbling out, “Th-then you should really be- hngh!” You swivel your bratty hips down harshly against his heavy, cum-filled balls. They twitch and squeeze with each movement, yearning to just fill you up already. “-nicer to- me-”

Your words are so rudely interrupted by one of Geto’s impatient ruts, which he barely even acknowledges before you tug on his inky hair.

“Ahh fucking fine.” he’s hissing out, leaky tip just as needy as he was becoming right now. Shit, Geto knew that he was losing control. Becoming irregular. Hasty. “Fine- fine fuck!”

His long, slender fingers wrap delicately around your throat, nudging your lips in a wet, coquettish graze against his snarl. “Tell me what you want, then.”

Geto feels the way your gummy walls clench around him delightedly, how heated your pussy becomes as you get even more sluttily drenched. Just by this? Shit, he might have to play nice with you more often. And that smile on your face - oh, how gorgeous it was. Making him ram his thighs once more in a powerfully pressurized thrust. “I wan’ a kiss, Sugu.”

“A kiss?” he chokes back a gasp, eyes growing wider. The way you only nod has his high cheekbones flushing pink, humming, “I’ll do you one better.”

It takes only a few more swashing crashes of his weepy tip against your sweet spots before he’s pursing his lips - ready. Only to spit out a thick wad of saliva right onto the middle of your lolling tastebuds. So much - because Geto’s mouth was already watering at each one of your cute whines before this.

And then it’s not long before you cum. Fuck, honestly you think you’re cumming as soon as that hot stream hit your tongue.

Toes curling, languid hips stuttering, you could only let out moan after moan of Geto’s name. You felt like you were in heaven, his thick cock sinking in and out of you to drag out every bit of your high. Squeezing him so tight-

“Fuck…fuck-” he’s grunting, each one ragged and rough like they were being ripped from his throat. “M’gonna-”

And then you’re feeling so fucking full, whatever snug space your cunt was being stretched out into was all of a sudden being filled out by thick ropes of Geto’s hot, potent cum. It was swelteringly hot filling you up, and trickling in a velvety sheen down the innards of your thighs.

With a loud groan, Geto fucks it back up until his seed was knocking at your very womb. “Now we can start the meeting.” Mouth attacking yours into a sopping mess of a kiss, barely-open eyes flitting to the bowed group of cult members that sat silently behind you. Waiting. “Dontcha think, everyone?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - One more

“Baby- oh p-please.” You were his girl, his pretty baby - and ah were you driving him crazy right about now. The slow, sultry swirl of your hips around his sensitive cock making stars burst behind Choso’s teary eyes, every languid drag of your cunt down his shaft making it only sob sweltering hot streams of precum. “One more- just one more–”

It was his first time finally having you ride him - or, well, it was a few hours ago. The one thing you hadn’t anticipated was just how heavily addicted your pretty boyfriend would get on it.

“Are you sure, Cho?” you’re humming, but your hips show absolutely zero sights of stopping. And it wrenches out the most broken of whines from him. “If you wanna stop we can-”

“No!” And Choso’s body is moving before his mind, those rosy pink lips of his babbling pussydrunkenly a mile a minute. The soft pads of his fingers dig into the curve of your ass, leaving neat little crescent patterns for him to admire later.

“No no no no no-” he’s panting, snarling into a messy kiss against your lips. Teeth clacking, drool trailing. Nodding as he just slams your slobbering pussy down his hefty cock. Recklessly. “-need it. Need it so badly, my p-pretty girl– don’t think I ah- got ‘nough yet.”

Yeah, addicted.

And it’s like he’s just raring to go all over again no matter what his poor, overused cock says. Angrily reddish tip thumping in a low throb! throb! throb! against your spongy cervix, glossing all over your snug channel in milky streams. Spreading in a silken puddle underneath the two of you, it was so wet.

All it took was the tiniest inch of your cunt swallowing his greedy inches, and that was more than enough to make his twitchy balls just ache to cum all over again.

Your fingers tangle in his sweat-damped hair, scratching lightly against Choso’s scalp in a way that makes him purr. His sculpted abs ripple when his spine curves deliciously upwards.

“Are you sure?” you tease, with a light giggle. “Sure you can hngh- c-cum f’me again?”

His mouth waters, dewy eyes flitting down towards the widely-stretched entrance of your cunt. Grazing his fingers lightly across your glistening folds, toying a thick thumb over your neglected clit. He grits out in a raspy, breathy tone, “P-promise- Promise I’ll fill ya up- hngh- I promise, baby just please-” Boring right into your eyes, “-ride me.”

And he was so perfectly fucked when your hips start gyrating back and forth in determined grinds, head thrown with each hug of your melty walls around him. So tight. So harsh that you occasionally revel in the lazy drag of your pulsing clit against those tufts of black at his toned pelvis.

Your jittery legs tighten around his slender waist, and he’s whining contentedly when you tug and haul his hair as leverage to maneuver your bounces. Using him.

“Y-yeah-” he’s rambling onwards, thumb slicking with a wet sheen of your slick when his fingers draw lewd, unsteady patterns on your clit. “J-jus’ like that. Fuck- m’gonna cum so early- ah think I might jus’ c-cum dry f’you, baby–”

Another sudden clench of pussy makes him smile - it’s humorless, drunken. And you feel it grow even wider when Choso’s craning his head to kiss at the corner of your mouth.

“Mhm, wan’ you to ngh- cum f’me, please-” Even your moans are dipping into broken territory at this point. The sheer stretch of Choso’s heavy cock making your head spin, your hips stutter, feeling every and any nook and cranny stretched out when he drills his large, rotund head up into you. “Wan’ you t-to cum in me ah- again.”

Choso’s biting down on his lower lip hard enough that you’re almost concerned it might get bloodied. One of his hands reaching up to curl deftly around the headboard, trying for the life of him to not cum already. The other growing feverish on your clit, stroking calculatedly in slow circles that have you gasping.

“Sh-shit-” you’re leaning downwards so that he can bury his face in the crook of your neck. “Hngh- oh, k-keep up like that, baby, n’ m’g-gonna-”

“Please.” he’s begging out in wet gurgles, tears now streaming down his innocently blushed cheeks. Still so painfully overstimulated from not too long ago, but so hypnotized. Addicted. Mumbling cutely into your ear, “Cum all over my cock.”

And he felt it - fuck, he couldn’t feel anything but it.

The way your gooey walls hugged around him so tightly - it almost made it difficult for you to slam your hips downwards. But what sort of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t help, right?

So he’s grabbing roughly onto a handful of your ass, just rutting mindlessly upwards like he was out of control. Every surge of Choso’s dick sent white-hot waves of pleasure up your spine, and you could feel the way he throbbed at each smashing nudge into your g-spot. Over and over and-

“Choso–” The way his name sounded on your lips made him just whimper, eyes scrunching shut he grinds his teeth when he bounces his thighs upwards. You cup your hands around his face, forcing him to sneak his eyes open at you. Smiling, “You’re cumming, baby.”

And that makes him gasp, droopingly half-lidded eyes immediately snapping downwards at those milky swashes of seed. The ribbons upon ribbons of cum that overspilled from each sides of your sopping slit. Painting your insides in a sticky white that creams at the thick base of his dick

Just oozing outwards, and Choso thinks he’s cumming blanks at this point. Angry cock streaming out thick loads of nothing, balls clenching so painfully.

The thought alone makes his jaw sag open, tears staining his taste buds. He’s bawling out, “Fuck- oh fuck, please-” Gulping heavy, heaving exhales, Choso murmurs against your lips. “One more.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Pretty pink ribbons

“You are s-so–” Ryomen Sukuna manages to grit out through his clenched canines, snapping them at you ferally when you only smirk. And he only scoffs, “-gettin’ it.”

You have to bite your lip to hold back that little giggle you knew would only make the king of curses more infuriated - because he looked so unfairly sexy like this. All splayed out on the velvety royal sheets, abs rippling and twitching with each of your tiniest movements, all four hands pinned to the towering bedposts by those pretty pink ribbons he’d bought for you just today.

So many thick, massive inches of his matchingly swollen cocks sunken into your sodden cunt - barely even. And no matter how many times you took him, no matter the fact that you were riding him, he was always too large.

Too stuffed snugly into your tight cunt, until your puffed-up pussy lips were just bulging around his shafts. Drooling a translucent ring down his hardened dicks with each short grind of pressure.

“Getting what, Kuna?” you moan, with a slight hint of smugness in your honeyed tone. The sultry swivels of your hips slowing down ever-so-slightly until you could feel his needy throbs. The way his weepy heads coated your insides in swelteringly hot precum in angry response.

And fuck did he love the way our hands slid down his hulking body, hands kneading at his plush pecs. You hear the way that Sukuna hisses under his rasping breath when your nails dig in to his muscles.

“You fuckin’ know it.” he snarls up at you, biting down on one of your nipples jiggling tantalizingly in his face. He sucks and glides his tongue in lazy sucks, eyes drooping up at you. “Tyin’ up the king of curses. I should have ya e-executed for this shit, brat.”

He wasn’t the least bit convincing and both of you knew it.

Grumbling, he’s leaning backwards, cheeks still hollowed out on your perky tits. Using all those long, long years of battle to just fuck up into your drippingly wet cunt.

Oh, he could get off to just the squelch that follows, the royal chamber just echoing with that sticky staccato of skin-on-skin. Sukuna breathes out a hot puff of air through his nose, teeth pricking at your tender skin. “F-fuck yeah, yer really payin’ for it when I ngh- g-get out of this.”

That maddening jostle of his achy cocks inside you made your head spin. You moan when they bump into one another, thumping veins grazing and massaging against your stretched-out walls. It’s like he was molding you into the very shape of his cocks - one leaky head swiping at your g-spot, the other pressed up so stubbornly into your springy cervix with Sukuna’s change in angle.

It takes you a few sloppy seconds to catch your heaving breath enough to whine out, “Th-that’s if you ngh! get out.”

And he grins - oh, Sukuna grins that very same grin you’ve seen him bare at those lowly curses he vaporizes in a second - chuckling darkly, “Silly girl.” And then the very bottom of your poor pussy is stamped with a hard push of his hips, branding that circular divot of one of his fat cocks. Then the other. “You think this- ohh fuck- this is enough to restrain me? How cute–”

Then your musing pace is being met with a few of his powerful, pressurized ruts upwards. Obscenely using that stacked position of his erections to drag your puffy clit along his pelvis. Leaving a glistening trail down, down, down to where your cunt was being stuffed gapingly full, stuttering your bounces through.

“Oh fuck-” you’re mewling, tears springing to your eyes at the twin stimulation. Fingers tangling in his innocently pink locks, “Right there, Kuna.”

“Shit- easy on the hair, woman.” he’s rolling his eyes. “N’ didn’t you say you had it a-all under hngh- control? Even fuckin’-” You feel that angry clench of his heavily smacking balls against your ass, the way the headboard ricketed when he tugs on those ribbons once more. “-tied me up for it.”

Only after a few sudden snaps! of Sukuna’s hips do you manage to finally babble out the words, “M’sorry didn’t- hngh-” Your hips are getting so messy now, strained so tightly that you feel like you’ll implode. You’re leaning down to rest your head in the crook of his neck, and he kisses away wetly at your cheek. Huffing out a slight snicker when you reach your hand towards his tied wrists. “I-I’ll untie-”

“No.” he’s cutting you off. “Leave them, I have a ah- another way you can make it up t’me.”

Even though he trails off, your cockdrunken mind can already piece together what your dear king wants. Sucking in deep inhales when he forces his hips painfully still, forcing you to grind down on him with a disappointed whine. Sultry, slow turns of your hips that have him coated in all your gooey wetness, swirling around those ever-thickening shafts inside until they were kissing your sweetest spots. It makes him tease, breath hot against your ear lobe, “Cum f’me.”

It’s almost embarrassing how on cue you are - stars sparking behind your eyes when you finally cum all over Sukuna’s cock. Your mewls turning into moans, grinds turning into urgent bounces of your drooling pussy down his length. Clenching. Milking him. Over and over through your high - using him.

Suddenly, two rough hands clasp around your waist, another rolling his thumb ruthlessly to fuck you through your orgasm, and the last just hauling your lips onto Sukuna’s.

Rosy lips sucking on your tongue is what it takes for you to snap your eyes open and realize - those pink ribbons on the floor, Sukuna’s pink hair tickling against yours, his pink tip poking just enough out of your gummy cunt. As dangerously needy as his smile, words a whimper. “Now, what were ya sayin’ about m-making it up t’me?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Shut up!

Gojo Satoru knew he was cocky, he knew that no one - no one - stood a chance against the strongest. He knew that he was decidedly not about to break just as soon as you pinned him down to his navy blue sheets, drawing a dripping drag of your drooling cunt on his throbbing cock.

And he knew that last bit was a fucking lie.

“Heh, y-you think this will be enough to ah- what was that-” he’s rolling his pretty cerulean eyes, fighting for the life of him to keep them agonizingly open when your hot cunt glissades across his rock-hard shaft in a slow, saturated slide. “-‘absolutely ruined’? Well, love to see the confidence, sweetheart, but-”

His leaky head is peaking just through your glistening pussy lips, barely even an inch being milked up into your plushy walls.

But then oh, Gojo’s eyes are rolling back to the very depths of his head, breath hitching in an embarrassingly high pitch in his throat. Losing any and all control when his greedy hands drop in a split-second to your waist, helping you ram your taunting hips to sheath his swelteringly hot cock.

“That-” he’s gasping, eyes narrowing down at your smug smirk. “That was fuckin’ cheating, girl n’ you ah- k-know that.”

“If you say so.” you hum, with a pointed roll of your eyes.

Gojo feels you gyrate your hips in such a hypnotizing way, a lazy circular roll that has his toned body arching upwards into a perfect bow. All ten fingernails digging into the curve of your hips when you rock against him harder. Rougher. Using him.

He was so big that even the tiniest of grinds had the rounded end of Gojo’s thickened head crashing into the very bottom of your pussy. Smearing a steamingly hot ribbon of precum across your spongy cervix, he just smiles at the bit of recoil it has.

So pretty.

“F-fuck–” Gojo’s hiccuping out, pearly white teeth sinking down onto his bottom lip to stop those whimpers from falling out. “S’that all you ah- g-got? Need help?” Chortling out the most cockiest of laughs that only deepen that cute furrow in your brow, Gojo makes a smug display of strength matching your own cadence. Barely breaking a sweat to rut up into you. “Honestly, pretty, you’ve got to-”

Then you clench - you squeeze.

Your gummy walls hugging him so tightly - difficult, considering Gojo’s jaw-dropping girth. And after that every bounce of your hips downwards felt like you were sucking the fucking soul out of him. Stretching out the very deepest of your insides to make him pathetically speechless.

Gojo lets out a husky fuck! fuck! fuck! with each of your calculated movements, and it just leaves his dick aching. Groaning, “You’ve g-got to- hah-” It was too much - he was at the end of his fucking rope - and it’s all that Gojo can do to wrangle your hips into his rough grasp, pinning down your ravenous pace until you slow down your riding ever-so-slightly. “You’ve got to stop- hngh- c-cutting me off sweetheart!” he’s bawling out.

Big, twinkling tears clinging onto his lashes, they flutter with each of your merciless swivels. The curve of your ass massaging his achy balls, your clit leaving his white tufts of hair drenched in syrupy sweet slick.

It makes you grin. “Well who told you to get ngh- c-cut off, Toru?”

Oh, in that moment Gojo is shoving every long inch of his slender fingers into your mouth, bullying between your bruised lips to swirl around your mean tongue.

“Sh-shut up- Maybe you should take fuck! notes–” He clenches his teeth in a feral smile, and he’s never felt fucking weaker. Not even with a desperate grip on your hips, not even with jujutsu thrumming at his fingertips, at his eyes. Overspilling with each leaky bead of precum being thrusted into your gooey depths. “Sweetheart–”

“Toru-”

At this moment, you’re sure that Gojo’s taking advantage of his inhuman reflexes - because in mere seconds, he pounds his cock upwards with a pained grunt. Fully overtaking your own rhythm to fuck up into you again. And again. And again and again and-

Shit, he could stop. He didn’t want to stop.

The only thing crackling through his mind being the slight spark of jujutsu drawn out with his poor, overworked cock, and the feeling of you. How badly he wanted more more more-

“Cum f’me-” Gojo’s words come out in an almost-unintelligible puff of feverish breath. Drool dripping from the side of his rosy red lips as you only rode him harder, “Cum while you ride me- please- fuck fuck fuck- I surrender I tell you- hngh! Please c-cum f’me.”

Except he’s the one cumming first, spurting out thick, ribbony ropes of seed - there was so much. And Gojo throws his head back with a dragged-out yelp, choking out broken pants of your name while he cums and cums so hard he thinks he can’t fucking feel his cock.

Can’t tell when the lights burst out, when the tiny tingles from his hands send bolts of electricity down your body - making you crash headfirst into your orgasm, as well.

That’s when your hips get sloppy, letting Gojo’s seed dribble down in milky swashes. So thick, that you almost think you could count every dredge, sticking your sopping wet slit to the thick base of his cock with each stutter up and down up and down up and down-

You moan around Gojo’s slender fingers - flashes of pleasure making your head spin - and that’s what finally snaps him out of his pussydrunk reverie.

Blinking his eyes back open, it takes him a few seconds to adjust to the new darkness in the heady room. And only a few more to start up another slight movement of his hips - slow, sensitive - hissing at the burn. Lips wobbling, voice teary when he continues, “Best out of three- or eight?”

“...”

“Five?”

A/N. No, Gojo, not five, you can have me five BILLION times actually. More, even, if society allows me.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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thbbie · 1 month ago

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༄ trueform sukuna x f!reader

this is humiliating

you're spread so wide on his lap, one pair of his enormous hands holding your thighs apart; your soft chest flush against his own, firm one. sukunas expensive silken robes rest loosely on his hulking frame, opened generously to reveal his inked skin and the stomach mouth that makes out with your poor drippy cunt.

the second pair of hands holds you close, keeping you where you are, holding you by the back of your neck to kiss you.

he's making out with both your lips simultaneously.

it's humiliating and so overwhelming.

you could barely breathe, wholly unable to deal with the beast before you—completely dwarfed by him, you have no escape. your body instead takes to twisting and turning in his hold; being consumed by the pleasure you receive as you recite his name over and over like the desperate plea of the endlessly devoted worshiper.

sukuna sukuna sukuna sukuna.

your mind fills of him, the large mouth at his stomach unrelenting and without mercy licking and sucking away at your soft quivering flesh like he was digging for treasure (as of the bountifulness of the wealth already in his possession was not enough)

(and to him it wasn't. hardly treasures to him at all. the true prize, he believed was hidden somewhere between the sobbing folds of your fluttering pussy and the desperate cries from your bitten lips.)

it gets to much so fast. just when you feel that you cannot feel anymore he manages to prove you wrong. you throw your head back (as best you can given his hold on you) desperate sounds leave you, feral and overstimulated and so so satisfied as you reach your high for the nth time. he watches you, all four crimson eyes trained on your delicate blissed features,

you're so pretty for something so weak.

aftercare

#ᬊ᭄.. bun #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna x reader #true form sukuna #sukuna ryoumen x you #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryoumen smut #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk ryomen #jjk fanfic

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shegetsburned · 9 months ago

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obsessed with sukuna who’s inexplicably fascinated by the way you sleep. <𝟑

he does watch you from time to time but you never realize it. not in a creepy way, but more in a curious one. he mostly wonders why you seem to feel so relaxed in his presence, considering he strikes fear into the soul of anyone he comes upon— but not you. there’s something about you. something deeply annoying.

you’re cutely tucked between his sheets, a little drool dripping from your lips to the pillow. you’re completely relaxed, one naked leg sticks out of the covers while the sound of gentle little snores grace sukuna’s ears. defenseless and completely at his mercy but he finds nothing better to do than to stare.

he hasn’t touched you nor does he wish to disturb your sleep. it’s almost a whine of disgust that escapes his lips when you turn in your sleep and snuggle the pillow which smells just like him. you’re so insufferably adorable. sukuna’s fascinated by the way your rested cheek against the pillow makes your lips puffier and the way your breath follows a particularly peaceful rhythm in unison with the movement of your chest.

little did you know, he’s been staring for hours. watching you unintentionally scratch your hair or tighten your grip around the pillow you’ve been hugging tightly against your chest. your hair’s a mess but it flows beautifully with the messy covers of sukuna’s bed and your mouth opens when you’ve finally reached a deeper state of sleep. he has watched every single one of your movements carefully and still cannot pinpoint the reason why he cannot stop staring.

maybe it’s the fact that you’ve confidently assured him hours prior that you’d never sleep in the company of someone like him. failing miserably when the softness of the sheets overcame your stubbornness. or maybe it’s the way you’ve tried reaching for him even through the night. he had every intention not to allow you to touch him, but the time finally came when he was asleep and your hand found its place on his chest, following the breathing of his burning heart.

remembering how careless you both were disgust him. allowing you to touch him is one thing— because, yes, he allowed you, but to occupy his every thought every since you met him is infuriating. he couldn't even catch a break when you were sleeping. there’s a reason why he felt the need to stay and, of course, he’d refuse to ever admit that he had gone soft on you.

no.

he wants you to be terrified of him. he wants you to fear his name and worship the ground he walks on. he wants to feed on your tears and delight himself on your cries.

does he, though?

"’kuna.."

here it is again. you’re mumbling his name in your sleep and it takes every fibre of his being not to shut you up. an irritation. an itch in his plan. that’s what you were. a nuisance he needed to take care of. his hand moves on its own towards your neck, pointy nails ready to tear your skin apart but seems to stop just over your jaw. an hesitant groan almost wakes you up before you’re lulled back to sleep with long digits simply grazing your cheek.

"shut it, woman."

and before you know it, he’s caging you in his arms, breathing pattern slowly synching with yours while his other hands cover both of your bodies under the warm blankets of his comfortable bed. he won’t let you go until he’s rested and the king of curses does need a exaggerated amount of sleep with you snuggled against his chest.

#—﹙🎐﹚𑣲 by yours truly﹒#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #fluff

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cumironi · 1 month ago

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BOTTOMS OUT, BRAT TAX jjk men

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

summary. what’s the price that comes from being a brat? stay on the corner? orrrrrrr... getting fuc$ by your boyfriend hard, mean? probably the second that’s why being a brat is your that time of the year.

warning. non-sorcerer! jjk men, 23 you & 31 them, age-gap, brat tamer, mean, overstimulated, cock-drūnk, dirty talk, hair pulling, titie$/pu$$y slap(s), $pitting / $pit(s) in mouth, chocking, degrading, daddy-kink, very rough, mean praise, matīng presses, MARATHONS, brēeding mention, dūmbifícation, fíngering, cūmplay, swēaring. it might be too rough or disturbing for some people, read on your own awareness.

GOJO SATORU

the first thing he did when he walked in the door wasn’t kiss you. wasn’t hug you. wasn’t talk.

he unbuttoned his sleeves, rolled them up past his forearms, hung his jacket on the rack, and stared at you.

you on the bed. knees tucked under you, hair a mess, some dumb little tank that didn’t even cover your tits right, nipples hard and begging. phone still in hand. watching him like you didn’t already know what you’d done.

“how was work, baby?” you chirped. smug. god, smug.

his jaw ticked. he didn’t answer. just walked forward, slowly, fingers unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. all that pale, lean muscle. eyes like glass, but fire underneath.

you bit your lip. he noticed. always noticed.

“you think you’re cute,” he muttered, pulling the phone from your hand and tossing it somewhere. “think you can spend the whole goddamn week being a brat and i’ll just kiss your forehead and call you princess?”

you tilted your head. innocent. false.

“aren’t i your princess?”

he laughed. once. bitter and dark and mean.

“no, sweetheart. tonight, you’re my fucking problem.”

he grabbed you by the back of the neck and shoved you down on the bed, chest to mattress, ass up. panties soaked. you hadn’t even pretended not to touch yourself waiting for him. he could see it. smell it. the heat pulsing from your cunt was obscene.

“been teasing me for days,” he murmured. voice low. affectionate. like it was all just a joke between lovers. but his hands said otherwise. they yanked your panties down, spread your legs, palmed your ass like he owned it. “flaunting this little hole, moaning when i’m on the phone, fuckin’ grinding on me during movie night—”

a pause. breath tickled your ear.

“you been begging for this, baby.”

you shivered. “i missed you…”

his hand cracked against your ass. smack. you jolted.

“no, you didn’t. you missed my cock.”

he bent down, kissed the welt he left.

“but i missed you, too. fuckin’ brat and all.”

he reached between your legs, dragged two fingers through your folds. wet. soaked, needy, messy. you cried out, hips jerking, but he pinned you down easily.

“so pretty like this,” he whispered, voice soft like silk wrapped around steel. “so dumb for me. already wet and you haven’t even felt the stretch.”

you moaned when he shoved both fingers in. schlick. curling them up, slow, slow, mean.

“you know how many times i thought about this pussy this week? sittin’ in my office, watching your texts pop up—‘miss you daddy,’ ‘thinking about your dick,’—you really thought i wasn’t gonna make you pay?”

you whimpered into the sheets. “i wanna pay… please make me.”

his voice broke, almost tender. “fucking hell, baby. you were made to be ruined.”

he took his cock out, dragged it up your slit, wetting the head with your slick. you gasped when he pushed in—not fast. no mercy, but no rush either. like he wanted you to feel it.

“so tight. always so fucking tight. greedy little hole doesn’t wanna let me go.”

you moaned loud, hands fisting the sheets, body arching, already clenching.

“shh, baby,” he cooed, fucking you slow, mean, deep. every stroke brushing your walls perfectly. “let daddy do the talking now.”

you nodded, face buried in the blankets. eyes wide, leaking. he leaned down, pressed his chest to your back, mouth by your ear.

“gonna fill you up,” he whispered. “make you forget your own name. you’ll be just my sweet little fuckdoll, stuffed full of cum, dripping all over the sheets like a good girl.”

you sobbed. “please… harder…”

he obliged. slap of hips to ass. pace brutal now. no buildup. just hard, filthy fucking, his hand curled around your throat from behind, keeping your head tilted just so he could speak into your ear.

“look at you,” he breathed. “so easy for me. so soft. bet you’d let me do anything. bet i could turn you over, fuck your throat till you choke, and you’d still thank me.”

you nodded, gasping, tears leaking freely now. you loved this. loved it.

“you’re mine,” he said, filthy and reverent. “mine to fuck. mine to break. mine to put back together.”

his hand slipped to your clit, rubbed fast and hard and perfect.

“cum for me, baby,” he whispered. “show me how much this little cunt needs me.”

you screamed.

orgasm ripped through you like lightning, thighs shaking, body convulsing, drool on the pillow, eyes rolled back. you clenched around him so hard he groaned, hands gripping your hips like he’d die if he let go.

“fuck—fuck, gonna fill you—gonna make you my little cumdump—take it—”

and he did. thick ropes of hot cum spilling deep inside you, cock throbbing, buried to the hilt. he stayed there. didn’t move. just pressed his body to yours, forehead on your shoulder, heart racing.

he kissed your neck.

“you’re such a little problem,” he whispered.

then softer

“but you’re my favorite problem in the whole fucking world.”

GETO SUGURU

you were on your knees when he came in.

good girl posture. hands resting on your thighs. no panties. tank top soaked from your own nipples. mouth open, eyes wide, trying your best to look obedient.

geto saw right through it.

he didn’t speak at first. just stared. heavy boots thunking across the floor with slow purpose, like every step was judgment. thirty-one years old, still in black slacks from his shift, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back neat—clean.

too clean for the way he looked at you. like he was about to do something filthy. sacred.

“how many days you think you’ve gotten away with this?”

his voice dropped like honey into a coffin.

“with what?” your lips curled. “being good?”

he knelt, big hands sliding into your hair, curling tight.

“no. playing sweet, sitting here like you’re waiting for a blessing when all week you’ve been acting like the devil’s little cumslut.”

your mouth dropped. thighs clenched.

“don’t play innocent,” he hissed, breath hot against your cheek. “skipping class, mouthing off, posting thirst traps while i’m at work—you wanna humiliate me, baby? want everyone seeing what’s mine?”

“i wanted your attention,” you whispered.

“you got it now.”

he dragged you by the hair, tossed you on the bed like a ragdoll.

“face down.”

you didn’t even blink. flipped, legs trembling, soaked already, thighs sticking together.

he tore the shirt. clean. one motion. your tits bounced out and he didn’t waste time. slapped one, hard, made you yelp.

“no bra? of course not. why would a whore need one?”

you whined. “suguru…”

“don’t say my name like that unless you want me to spit in your fucking mouth.”

you turned your head, open. waiting.

he grinned. “good little slut.”

ptui— his spit landed on your tongue. you swallowed without blinking.

he shoved your legs open. two fingers slid between your folds. he paused.

“…this wet already?”

your moan was so soft it barely counted. “for you. only ever for you.”

his fingers moved slow. filthy. obscene. gathering slick just to smear it around, tease your clit, then slap it. smack. your hips jumped.

“you’re not sorry.”

“no.”

“you want me to hurt you.”

“…yes.”

he bent down, kissed your spine. so gentle it made you ache.

“then i’ll make you scream, pretty girl. and you’re gonna thank me.”

he undid his belt. the sound alone made your breath hitch.

when he dragged his cock through your folds, you shook.

“look at you,” he murmured. “so needy. creaming on my cock before i even fuck you.”

you turned your face, whimpering, “please, i need it—”

he pushed in. all the way.

no warm-up. no slow thrust. just one thick, brutal drive of his hips that made your mouth open in a silent scream.

“fucking tight. trying to squeeze the cum out of me already? greedy fucking pussy.”

his pace was cruel. loud. thwack, thwack, thwack—his hips slamming your ass, hands gripping your waist like he was holding onto something holy.

“keep it open for me,” he growled, voice ragged. “don’t run. you begged for this, now you take it.”

your moans went high-pitched. broken. drool soaked the sheets.

he leaned over your back, one hand slipping under to grope your tits, the other gripping your jaw, turning your head to him.

“you know what you are?”

“what?”

“my sweet little altar. made to kneel. to take my cock like worship.”

you clenched. hard. he groaned.

“oh, fuck—yeah. you love that, don’t you? being used. being my soft, pretty thing to ruin.”

you cried out, “yes! fuck, i love it—please, harder—”

he grabbed your throat from behind, pulled you up, your back against his chest, still fucking deep, brutal, fast. your body jolted with every stroke.

“then take every inch. show me you mean it.”

he grabbed your jaw, forced your mouth open, spit into it again. “swallow.”

you obeyed. always.

“that’s it. my dirty girl. my pretty.”

his pace faltered—then slammed in harder. faster. pounding. like he wanted to break something.

“gonna fill you,” he gasped. “fuck you till it leaks down your thighs. i’ll knot you if i have to. keep you plugged all fucking week.”

your second orgasm hit so hard your legs collapsed. you shrieked—“SUGURU—”—body shaking, pussy clenching, squirting mess over his cock and thighs.

“fuckfuck— ohhh my girl—take it—take it all—”

he shoved in, one final time, and came. deep. thick. endless. flooding your cunt until it was dripping, running down your thighs.

he stayed buried. chest to your back. lips to your ear.

“my perfect little thing,” he whispered. “my brat. my problem. my heaven.”

you sobbed. smiling.

he kissed your temple.

“…round two’s in the shower. don’t you dare rinse me out.”

NANAMI KENTO

you knew what time he got off work.

you knew he’d take the train.

you knew how long the walk from the station to your shared apartment took.

and still, you were spread on the couch with your ass in the air and your vibrator buzzing so loud it was practically greeting him when the door opened.

“welcome home, daddy,” you purred, glancing over your shoulder, thighs slick and shining. “miss me?”

he didn’t speak. didn’t breathe.

nanami kento closed the door with the click of finality, set his briefcase down gently, and rolled his sleeves with the precision of a man preparing to kill. slow. methodical. focused.

you didn’t even blink. just arched your back more.

“you couldn’t wait,” he said, voice like death in a silk tie. “again.”

“i needed to come.”

“and not a single fucking thought for who you belong to.”

you moaned at the tone. his belt was already off, folded in his hand.

you whimpered, “make me remember.”

he did.

three cracks across your ass with the leather before you even finished exhaling. you yelped, jerked forward, vibrator falling out of your cunt—he kicked it across the room like trash.

“don’t you ever take what’s mine without asking.”

you turned your head, breathing fast, face flushed. “i’m yours.”

his voice dropped lower. colder.

“then act like it.”

he yanked you off the couch by your hair, not cruel, just firm, dominating, until you were on your knees before him.

“open your mouth.”

you obeyed.

his cock was hard already, heavy and thick, flushed red at the tip. he didn’t stroke it. didn’t tease. just shoved it past your lips and down your throat in one smooth, brutal thrust.

glrk—glgk—mmph!

“quiet,” he muttered. “you gag, you make a mess, i’ll make you clean the floor with your tongue.”

his hand in your hair. his cock down your throat. his voice in your head.

“disobedient little holes like yours need reminders. rough ones. you think acting like a filthy little brat will earn you soft touches?”

your throat fluttered around him. tears spilled from your eyes.

he pulled out. you gasped—air, finally—only to be slapped across the face with his cock. once. twice. precum smeared your cheek.

“no. you get discipline. and when you take it well, then—maybe—you get to hear me say how much i love you.”

you whimpered. “please, daddy—i love you—”

he bent down, grabbed your jaw, squeezed until your lips parted wide.

“and i love you,” he whispered, cruel and tender. “which is why i won’t stop until this body forgets how to lie.”

he flipped you over the couch, pushed your head down into the cushions, shoved two fingers into your dripping cunt, slow and punishing.

“look at this mess,” he hissed. “you soaked my furniture. like some heat-addled bitch waiting to be bred.”

you keened, trying to fuck back on his hand. he pulled away.

“don’t move.”

he lined up behind you. one hand on your hip, the other fisting your hair. then he fucked into you.

slap—slap—slap—

no warning. no easing. just cock, thick and deep, pounding your pussy open like it owed him something. your cries echoed in the room, each one sharper than the last.

“say it,” he snarled, fucking into you harder. “say what you are.”

“your slut—daddy—i’m your hole—fuck—i’m yours—”

“louder.”

“I’M YOURS—”

he yanked your hair, bit your shoulder, hand sliding around to rub your clit in tight cruel circles.

“you come without permission, i start over.”

you sobbed, trembling, pussy spasming around him.

“please—please please let me—”

he licked your ear. breath hot.

“beg prettier.”

your voice cracked. “daddy, please let me cum—i need it—been so bad, need your punishment—need your cum in me—please mark me—please—”

he groaned, deep and low. “fuck.”

his pace stuttered. faster now. rougher.

“cum for me, baby,” he hissed. “make a mess. cry for me. scream.”

you shattered.

your orgasm slammed through you like a train, thighs trembling, gush of slick coating his cock, your whole body collapsing forward into the couch cushions. sobbing. raw. ruined.

but he wasn’t done.

“stay there.”

he pulled out. flipped you over. shoved his cock between your tits and started fucking them while you whimpered, barely conscious, still twitching.

“look at me while i do it,” he ordered. “eyes on mine.”

you blinked, tears spilling, lips parted. he jerked himself with one hand, using your tits for friction with the other, voice shaking.

“i love you so fucking much,” he muttered. “you drive me insane. make me mean. make me need to ruin you.”

he came all over your chest and neck, thick spurts painting your skin like ownership.

he collapsed forward, kissed your mouth so softly it made you ache.

“you’re my everything,” he whispered. “my brat. my problem. my love.”

you nodded, dizzy. “i know.”

he cupped your cheek.

“and next time,” he said, already smiling, “if i catch you touching yourself again…”

he kissed your temple.

“…i’ll tie you up for three days and make you watch me cum on other things.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

you slammed the door.

he kicked it open.

you were already halfway to your bedroom, huffing, rolling your eyes, making that smug little face that said “what are you gonna do about it?”

toji didn’t say a word.

he didn’t have to.

his heavy boots hit the floor like thunder. you didn’t even get a chance to shut your bedroom door before he was there—six foot something, broad, scarred, tired of your mouth and twice as tired of not fucking it shut.

he caught your wrist, yanked you back, threw you face-first onto the mattress.

“oh, we’re doin’ this again?” he muttered, pulling your shorts down without an ounce of gentleness, thong snapping against your thigh as he ripped it clean off. “you really don’t know when to quit, huh?”

you were soaking. dripping down your thighs. and he hadn’t even touched your cunt yet.

“fuck you,” you spat.

he laughed. loud. mean. dragged a hand through your hair, grabbed a fistful and yanked your head back.

“no, sweetheart. not tonight. i fuck you.”

he shoved two fingers into your mouth, watched your eyes widen as he fucked them in deep, slow, choking you just enough to blur your vision.

“this is what you’re good for. being used. being bent over and stuffed full ‘til you’re cryin’ and leaking. that what you wanted, princess?”

you moaned around his fingers, drooling down your chin.

he spat on your ass. spanked it with his free hand, making you jerk.

“talk back to me again this week and i’m fucking your ass next.”

you whimpered. clenched. because yeah, you wanted that too.

he yanked his belt off, undid his pants with one hand, shoved them down, cock already rock-fucking-hard, vein thick down the shaft, leaking.

“been walkin’ around like a tease all week. no bra, no manners, no fuckin’ sense,” he grunted, dragging his tip down your slit. “you want me to be mean to you.”

you nodded, barely able to breathe.

“yeah? you like when i fuck the brat outta you?”

you didn’t even answer. your eyes were already fluttering.

he shoved in with a grunt. balls-deep.

no warning. no mercy.

“FUCK—!”

your scream echoed off the walls as he filled you to the goddamn brim, hips flush, his palm between your shoulder blades pinning you down like he was staking a claim.

“tight little cunt,” he growled. “so fucking wet for me. already stretchin’ like a good girl.”

he pulled back and slammed in. again. again. faster now, fucking you like it was his full-time job.

you sobbed, hands clawing at the sheets, body jolting with each brutal thrust.

“what happened to all that attitude?” he taunted, leaning over you, chest to your back, lips on your ear. “gone all quiet now that you’ve got cock where your mouth used to be?”

you cried out, “toji—ohmygod—!”

he bit your neck. hard. left a mark.

“you’re mine. say it.”

“yours—fuck—i’m yours—!”

he laughed again, rough and satisfied.

“yeah, that’s what i thought. all that mouth and now you can’t even breathe without my dick stuffed inside you.”

his hand reached under, fingers to your clit—he didn’t stroke. he rubbed. hard, cruel circles, timed to each thrust. you were soaking him, wet squelches with every pump, your whole body on fire.

“cum like my fucktoy, baby,” he hissed. “i wanna feel you milkin’ my cock. wanna see you ruin these fuckin’ sheets.”

you screamed when it hit—legs shaking, vision blurring, whole cunt clenching tight around him in messy, gushing waves. you collapsed. sobbing. drooling. wrecked.

but he wasn’t done.

“nah, sweetheart. you don’t get to finish before i do.”

he grabbed your hips, pulled you back onto his cock, used your spent, twitching body like a toy. loud, brutal slaps of skin. balls slamming into your soaked cunt. groaning like he was at war with himself.

“fuck—gonna fill you—make you walk around leaking all night—fuckin’ dripping down your thighs like a good little cumdump—ugh—take it—take it, take it—”

he came inside you so hard you felt it. thick spurts, hot as sin, flooding your walls until it dripped down your ass.

he pulled out slow. stared at the mess. smirked.

“that’s what you get for runnin’ your mouth.”

you turned your head, dazed, voice hoarse.

“i hate you.”

he leaned down, kissed your forehead soft as anything, voice like syrup over gravel:

“love you too, babydoll.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

he didn’t knock.

he didn’t text.

he kicked the fucking door in like he owned the place—and you.

and he did.

you didn’t even flinch from the bed, lounging like you hadn’t been a little menace all week. phone in hand. pussy bare. your cunt glistened under the city lights pouring through the window. thighs spread. one finger buried inside you.

he saw red.

“you’ve got a lot of nerve,” he growled, voice thick with something ancient, brutal, blood-soaked. “you touch what belongs to me and don’t even ask?”

you slid your finger out, sucked it slow, gaze steady.

“you weren’t here.”

he crossed the room in two strides, hand around your throat before the second breath left your lungs. pinned you to the mattress, his claws—yes, claws—digging just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“and that gave you the right?”

you gasped, breath caught between fear and heat.

“no,” you whispered. “i needed you.”

“that’s better.” he released your throat only to slap your cheek with the same hand. not hard. just sharp. humiliating.

“you need me. like a filthy mortal needs breath. like a cunt needs cock. like a god needs worship.”

his other hand dragged down your stomach, slow, possessive. past your navel, between your thighs. he spit on your pussy. watched it drip down.

“look at that. already wet. already messy. pathetic little shrine all ready for my cock.”

you whimpered. hips lifted. he slapped your pussy. smack.

“not yet.”

he stood at the edge of the bed, peeled off that black robe he always wore like he was royalty—chest marked in thick black lines, tattoos like scripture, four arms rippling with power. his cock hung heavy, long, thick enough to hurt. twitching already.

“on your knees.”

you scrambled. didn’t dare disobey.

he gripped your hair with one hand, used the other to stroke his cock, and before moving to hold your chin still.

“mouth open. tongue out. beg for it.”

you moaned. “please, daddy. i need it. need to choke on you.”

“then take it.”

he shoved into your throat, all at once. no easing. no mercy. just a brutal, choking thrust that had your lips spread wide, nose buried in his pelvis, drool leaking instantly.

glk—glrk—hhhk—!

“such a tight little throat,” he snarled, hips rolling into your face. “feels like you were made just for me. every hole on you’s mine.”

he fucked your mouth like it was a hole in the wall. used. owned. you gagged. he laughed. sweet, cruel, delighted.

“look at you. tears running, drool soaking your tits. and you’re moaning around it. you like being treated like a toy.”

you nodded, eyes glassy.

he pulled out with a pop. your spit hung in strands from his cock to your lips.

“on the bed. ass up.”

you obeyed, body shaking. he grabbed your hips, yanked you back to the edge, slapped your ass until it was glowing.

“i should tear this pussy open,” he hissed. “should split you on my cock ‘til you scream. but you’d like that too much, wouldn’t you?”

“please,” you whimpered. “please hurt me. i want it.”

he growled. bent down. bit your shoulder—hard.

“you’re fucking sick.”

he lined up. shoved in.

balls-deep. in one thrust.

your scream split the air. your hands clawed at the sheets. he was so fucking big. so full. you could feel him in your guts.

“there it is,” he moaned, hips jerking. “tight little cunt squeezing me like it’s trying to keep me.”

his pace was savage. slap, slap, slap—his hips brutal, body hard against yours, hands gripping your arms, claws biting into your skin.

“you thought you were in charge,” he snarled. “thought you could make me come crawling back by acting like a brat.”

“yes—yes—fuck—”

he leaned over, mouth at your ear.

“you belong to me, whore.”

you sobbed, clenching around him.

“my hole. my cumdump. my little fuckthing. say it.”

“yours—! please, kuna—i’m yours—i’m your little toy—”

he grabbed your throat from behind, dragged your back against his chest, never breaking rhythm, fucking you upright while you trembled and cried.

“gonna fill you up. fuckin’ ruin this cunt. make you drip my seed down your legs all week.”

“yes! please! i want it—want your cum—”

“good fucking girl.”

he slammed in deep. held. came. groaning. loud. thick. endless. his cock pulsed and pumped you full, hot liquid spilling out around the base.

he bit your neck again. sucked a mark. kissed the bruise he left.

“…you ever touch yourself again without permission,” he growled, low and sweet, “i’ll tie you up and make you watch me fuck someone else.” he would never, but still.

you whimpered, ruined.

he laughed.

“but don’t worry. you’re still my favorite. always have been.”

his hand cupped your cunt. felt the cum leaking out.

“let’s do it again.”

SHIU KONG

you’d done it again.

talked back. wore that skirt with no panties. flirted with some other guy at the bar just to see if he’d look.

you didn’t make it past the hallway.

shiu slammed you up against the wall so hard the picture frame fell off its hook. his breath hit your neck like smoke before fire, hands already pulling your shirt over your head, teeth scraping your jaw.

“think i didn’t see you?” he growled, mouth against your ear, voice dark and deadly. “batting your lashes, giggling like some fuckin’ club bunny? touching his chest?”

you gasped, but you were smiling.

“you jealous?”

his hand wrapped around your throat. tight.

“no. i’m furious.”

he grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the apartment like a criminal to sentence. your knees smacked the floor when he shoved you down in front of the couch. you didn't even protest. you wanted it. you lived for it.

his belt hit the ground. next were his pants. his cock was already hard, thick, twitching.

“open.”

you licked your lips. “yes, sir.”

“say it louder.”

“yes, sir.”

he slapped your cheek. not with his hand—with the head of his cock. smack smack smack. precum smeared your lips. your thighs clenched.

“good little bitch. show me who owns this pretty fuckin’ mouth.”

you opened wide. tongue out. obedient.

he shoved in deep. you gagged. glk—glrk—guhk— he didn’t stop. one hand held your hair, the other cupped your jaw, forcing you to take every inch until tears blurred your vision and spit dripped down your chin.

“that’s it. choke on it, princess. this what you wanted, right? some attention from your daddy?”

you whimpered around his cock. he laughed.

“you don’t even need to answer. your cunt’s been dripping since the bar.”

he pulled out with a wet pop, gripped your hair, yanked you to your feet and threw you on the couch. not placed. not guided. threw. you bounced on impact, legs splayed, skirt riding up to show everything.

“no panties,” he muttered, kneeling between your legs. “you wanted me to snap.”

you nodded, panting.

“say it.”

“i wanted you to lose it. i wanted to be punished.”

he grabbed your thighs and spread them wide. stared at your soaked cunt like it insulted him.

“fucking slut. god, you’re perfect. look at this pussy—so soft, so wet, and all of it mine.”

he didn’t even finger you. just leaned in and bit your inner thigh. hard.

“you wanna play games, sweetheart? fine. but i don’t play fair.”

he stood. lined up.

you whispered, “please be rough.”

his voice dropped to something cruel and sweet.

“oh baby. you don’t have to ask.”

and he slammed into you.

your scream lit up the room. no warning. no prep. just raw stretch and heat and cock, thick and punishing, shoved into your tight little hole like he was trying to fuck his name into your guts.

“there you go,” he hissed, holding your hips down when you tried to run. “now you’re quiet. now you’re mine again.”

his pace was vicious. brutal. thwack—thwack—thwack. the couch shook. your body rocked. tears streamed. and he didn’t stop. his hands roamed your body like they were memorizing every bruise he left.

“so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he growled. “cryin’, wrecked, full of cock. you make me crazy, you know that? i see you flirtin’, smilin’, and all i can think about is how you beg for my cum when you’re stuffed full.”

“shiu—shiu—please—”

“please what?” he slapped your clit. you squealed. “please more? please harder? please daddy use me like the cumdump i am?”

“yes—” you sobbed. “please ruin me—!”

he fucked harder. faster. one hand grabbed your throat again, squeezing. the other rubbing your clit mean and fast.

“then take it. take every fucking inch. milk me for it, baby.”

your orgasm ripped through you. back arched, vision gone white, mouth open in a silent scream, cunt clenching tight.

“that’s it,” he panted. “cum like a good little bitch.”

he didn’t pull out. couldn’t. he was already snarling, pounding into your spasming pussy like he was trying to breed you.

“gonna fill you up,” he moaned, voice ragged. “gonna leave you dripping for days—fuck—gonna make your body remember who owns it—”

and he came. hard. deep. thick.

cum painted your walls, leaking instantly around his cock. he held you there, pulsing inside, trembling.

and then—he kissed you.

soft. messy. possessive.

“you fuckin’ drive me insane,” he whispered. “but i love you so much i’ll keep breaking you every time you forget.”

you smiled through the tears, body ruined.

“…then i guess i’ll keep forgetting.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

he didn’t even loosen his tie.

you watched him walk in—black coat soaked from the rain, briefcase in one hand, that cold stillness around his shoulders like he just left the courtroom but brought the executioner’s gavel home.

you were already waiting on the couch. bare. innocent. dangerous.

legs crossed. vibrator buzzing in one hand. nothing else on but gloss and guilt.

he saw the shine on your thighs. the fake innocence in your eyes.

and he smiled.

a soft thing. terrifying. like a man about to pass sentence.

“you’ve been playing again,” he said, setting the briefcase down.

“mm,” you hummed, slowly parting your legs, giving him the full view. “not guilty.”

his eyes dragged over your cunt, soaked and glistening.

“you sure?”

“you want to cross-examine?”

his coat dropped to the floor. no hanger. no pause. just unbuckled belt, tie yanked loose with one motion, shirt still tucked as he stalked toward you.

“stand up.”

you did.

“hands behind your back.”

you obeyed.

he circled you once like a predator and pressed his palm to your ass, dragging it down between your cheeks, feeling your heat. your slick.

he leaned in.

“verdict’s in,” he murmured, voice warm like whiskey and holy sin. “guilty. of seduction, disobedience, and fucking filth.”

your moan was a whisper.

he turned you, bent you over the couch, and cuffed your wrists behind your back with actual cuffs—black steel, no fluff, no play. courtroom restraints.

you gasped. breath hitched. he kissed the back of your neck.

“you don’t get to come tonight unless you confess.”

you turned your head, panting, “confess to what?”

he slapped your cunt. hard. you cried out.

“don’t play dumb. you get off on this. teasing me. touching yourself when i’m gone. soaking the sheets in that sweet little pussy like a bitch in heat.”

his cock was out now—long, flushed, angry. the head leaking precum, thick vein down the side pulsing. you whimpered at the sight.

“you been thinking about this cock all day?” he asked, dragging the tip through your folds.

“yes—yes, your honor—”

he slapped your ass.

“try again.”

“…yes, daddy.”

his laugh was low, dangerous.

“better.”

he shoved in with a groan.

deep. slow. endless.

“fuck—tight. still fits like it was made for me.”

he didn’t move yet. just stayed there, cock buried in your soaked heat, stretching you open while his hands gripped your waist like a ruling passed down from the gods.

you moaned, trembling.

“what’s the sentence, daddy?”

“remand.” he pulled out, slammed back in. thwack. “no parole. full use. no safeword.”

you cried out, back arching, eyes rolling back.

his pace was slow and mean.

every thrust perfect. deep. angled to punish.

“look at you. taking it. soaking me. drooling. just a needy little slut waiting for her judge to ruin her in the courtroom and the bedroom.”

you whined, broken, body jolting with every thrust.

“beg me,” he ordered, voice warm and calm and cruel.

“please—please don’t stop—please keep fucking me—”

he leaned down, mouth to your ear, voice pure velvet:

“you want the whole courtroom to hear how loud this sloppy cunt gets? want the bailiff, the stenographer, every poor bastard sitting in the gallery hearing you scream daddy while i fill you up?”

you moaned so loud you swore it echoed.

his hand wrapped around your throat. the other on your hip, holding you still while he started to destroy you.

“i love you, you know,” he whispered, fucking faster now. “but you’re such a goddamn problem. smart mouth. bratty ass. needy little whore. you need this. you need to be put in your place.”

your climax hit without warning—violent, soaking, screaming.

he didn’t stop. not for a second.

“that’s one,” he muttered. “we’re not done. you don’t get a reduced sentence for good behavior. you think i give out mercy? i’m the fucking law, baby.”

you sobbed, body twitching, begging.

he flipped you over, still cuffed, shoved your legs open and fucked into you again—face to face now. slower. deeper. crueler.

his eyes locked on yours. serious. sweet.

“you’re mine,” he whispered, stroking your cheek. “no jury. no appeal.”

you nodded, tears slipping.

“yours. forever.”

he kissed you. sweet. filthy.

and came inside you with a groan like confession. thick, hot, endless.

still buried, still pulsing. still in control.

“court adjourned,” he said.

but his eyes?

still hungry.

4K notes · View notes

spikedfearn · 1 month ago

Text

Upon the Scarlet Altar

one-shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: On a night when the moon hangs low and your body bleeds for him, he worships you the only way he knows how: on his knees, mouth between your thighs, feasting like you’re the last taste of warmth in a world gone dark. But in his arms—cold as the grave—you find a different kind of fire. One that never dies.

wc: 4.1k

a/n: AHHH you guys—I’m seriously losing my mind right now. Mercy Made Flesh hit 1.7K notes in 72 hours and I’m just sitting here clutching my pearls and screaming into the void like !!! thank you SO much for all the love, thirst, and pure unhinged energy you’ve poured into my fic!! this fic is lovingly (and hornily) dedicated to @oc3anbxbyxoxo who requested remmick eating reader out while on her period!! and, as always, thanks to my number #1 pookie Nat @kayharrisons for beta reading!!

warnings: vampirism, bloodplay, oral sex (f!receiving), period sex, vampire x human, worship kink, possessive undead love interest, overstimulation, blood drinking, body worship, monsterfucking (soft), southern gothic setting, mild dubcon tones (power imbalance), religious/sacrilegious language, explicit sexual content, knife-edge tenderness, unholy devotion, mutual obsession, sex as ritual, canon-typical vampire violence (implied)

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!! please enjoy!!

The moonlight spills across the cold stone floor like spilled cream, pale and thick, stretching all the way to the foot of Remmick’s bed. You don’t knock when you enter. You never have to.

He already knows.

He’s there, seated at the edge of the mattress like he’s been waiting all night—shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his hair a soft tangle from too much pacing. There’s a gleam to his eye that hadn’t been there yesterday. Something feral. Something starved.

His nose twitches before his lips curl.

“You’re bleedin’,” he drawls, voice like bourbon left too long in the sun. “C’mere, sugar.”

You close the door behind you. You should be embarrassed. You’re not wearing anything underneath the long black slip you call a nightgown. Not tonight. The silk clings to your thighs, sticking just slightly with each step.

He’s watching. Always watching. Like he’ll die if he blinks.

By the time you reach him, he’s already reached for your hips, already dragging you between his legs. His hands are cold. They always are. But they warm quickly when they cup the back of your thighs and pull you forward until you’re straddling his lap.

“Could smell you from the hallway,” he murmurs against your mouth. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

“Then show me,” you whisper.

His eyes flick up. Crimson. Blazing.

Ravenous.

And then he lays you back.

The mattress dips under your weight, the room heavy with the scent of old wood, candle smoke, and something darker now—something copper-sweet. His breathing doesn’t hitch, doesn’t falter. But it deepens. Slows. Like he’s savoring every second before he lets the hunger off its leash.

Remmick’s palms press to the inside of your thighs, spreading you open like a prayer. His voice, low and reverent, ghosts over your skin.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, thumbing the edge of your nightgown up, baring the soft heat of your core. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world tastes as good as you do when you bleed.”

The shame you thought you might feel never comes. There’s only heat, only want, only the obscene pulse in your stomach as he lowers his mouth with something like worship painted across his face.

“Y’ain’t scared, are you?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the crease of your inner thigh. “’Cause I’m real hungry, darlin’. Real fuckin’ hungry.”

You shake your head, your voice a whisper. “No.”

His grin is all teeth.

“That’s my girl.”

And then his tongue slides over you—slow, deliberate, impossibly soft. He groans like he’s been starving, the sound deep in his throat, his arms locking around your hips to hold you still as he buries his face between your legs.

You cry out.

The first lick is hot and sinful, laced with something carnal and wrong, the wet glide of his tongue tasting the blood he craves, the slick that coats you. He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t build slow. He devours—growling against your cunt like it’s the only meal he’s ever needed.

“Christ,” he moans against you, lips already wet with it, tongue circling your clit with obscene precision. “You’re sweeter’n sin like this.”

Your fingers fist in his hair. You’re trembling. The sheets are damp beneath you from your own sweat, from the way your body shudders every time he moans into you like he lives for this.

And maybe he does.

Because Remmick doesn’t stop.

Not when your legs shake. Not when your thighs try to close. Not even when you gasp his name like it’s a lifeline. He keeps going, mouth locked to your cunt, tongue sliding deeper as he feeds and worships all at once.

“Gon’ give you everythin’,” he mumbles, voice thick and slurred with lust, lips slick. “Gon’ make you cum so hard you forget your damn name.”

You already have.

Your back arches, spine bowing off the bed as the wave crests—hot, thick, electric. His name spills out of your mouth in pieces, broken syllables caught between breathless moans, and he drinks it in like it’s part of the offering.

Remmick doesn’t let up.

Even as your hips buck, even as your thighs tremble violently around his head, he holds you down, strong hands keeping you spread and helpless beneath him. His tongue flicks against your clit with punishing precision now, coaxing you past the edge and straight into ruin.

Your vision whites out.

Pleasure burns—too much, too good, a drag across nerve endings that should’ve long gone numb but haven’t, not under him. Not under the mouth of a man who’s been alive for centuries and still claims you as the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

He groans again, loud this time, the sound vibrating through your cunt like a sin. You don’t realize you’re crying until he pulls back slightly, lips flushed red and glossy with blood and slick. The sight should be terrifying.

It’s fucking gorgeous.

“Look at you,” he rasps, dragging his mouth up your body, a smear of crimson trailing from your inner thigh to your hip. “So damn pretty fallin’ apart like that.”

He licks his lips, slow. Lingering.

“Could stay between these thighs all night, baby. Might just do that.”

Your breath stutters when he leans in, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. His voice is thick with lust, but there’s something else now—something dark. Territorial.

“Ain’t gon’ want nobody else’s blood, y’hear me?” he whispers, one hand cupping your throat, thumb brushing your pulse. “Ain’t nothin’ sweeter than you when you bleed for me.”

You whimper, your body still trembling beneath him.

And Remmick smiles.

Because you're not scared.

You're in love. In lust. In ruin.

The room is quiet now, save for the rasp of your breath and the low hum of Remmick’s satisfaction as he lays against you, one arm heavy across your waist, his nose nuzzled into your neck like he can’t bear to be even an inch away from your pulse.

You’re boneless, ruined—your legs still trembling slightly as the aftermath rolls through you in warm, dizzy waves.

But he’s calm. Too calm.

Like a beast that’s fed and now lies curled around its prey, not because it’s lost interest—but because it’s claimed you.

His fingers trace idle circles over your belly, smearing faint streaks of blood he hasn't bothered to wipe away. He hums low in his chest, then murmurs against your throat:

“Y’don’t know what you’ve done to me, do ya?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mouth’s parted, your tongue dry, your body still fluttering in the places he touched and tasted.

He presses a kiss just beneath your jaw, then another, lower—his lips dragging slow.

“You come to me bleedin’ like that,” he drawls, voice syrupy and warm, “an’ expect me to behave?”

You feel his smirk as he speaks against your skin.

“Darlin’, you ain’t just mine. You’re marked. Body knows it. Blood knows it. Every time you ache, every time you get that little twitch in your thighs thinkin’ ‘bout me…that’s me callin’ to you.”

You swallow hard.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, those crimson eyes soft now, almost tender—but still burning. Still dangerous.

“I ever catch somebody else smellin’ you like this…” he shakes his head slowly, almost pitying. “They won’t get the chance to learn from their mistake.”

He says it like a promise.

And then softer, almost lovingly:

“Gon’ take real good care of you. Keep you right here where it’s safe. Keep that sweet little body fed, fucked, and mine.”

You blink up at him, dazed and flushed.

He brushes a knuckle down your cheek, then presses his lips to your temple like you’re something precious. Holy, even.

“Rest now, sugar,” he murmurs, voice velvet-dark. “We got all night.”

Steam curls like spirits from the clawfoot tub as the water runs, hot and fragrant with crushed rose petals and herbs from the garden out back. The scent is earthy, grounding—lavender, rosemary, and something darker beneath it. Something that smells like Remmick.

He’s at your side, one hand steady on the small of your back as he helps you into the water like you’re made of spun glass.

“You’re shakin’,” he murmurs, voice quiet now. Slower. “Let me fix that.”

The warmth envelopes you, and you sink into it with a sigh, limbs limp, head tipping back as your body adjusts. The blood between your thighs has already begun to dilute in the bathwater, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. If anything, his gaze softens.

Remmick kneels behind the tub and rolls his sleeves higher. He dips a cloth into the water and begins to wash you gently, reverently, careful around your thighs, your breasts, your throat.

Like he’s memorizing every inch of you again.

“Still can’t believe you walked into that church that night,” he says, the hint of a smile in his voice, low and fond. “All that fire in you, all that fury. Lord, you had no idea what you were walkin’ into.”

You remember.

You’d been eighteen. Hungry. Lost. Sleeping in the loft of the abandoned chapel on the edge of the forest because the shelter was full and the weather had turned. You hadn’t known the stories were true—not until you’d come face-to-face with the man who didn’t cast a shadow, who stood at the altar after midnight like he’d been waiting for you.

Remmick had looked at you the way God might’ve looked at Eve: not with shame, but with curiosity.

And then with hunger.

“I should’ve run,” you whisper.

He hums. “You did. I let you.”

You’d run through the woods, blood pumping so loud in your ears you could hear your own pulse. He hadn’t chased you—not right away. He’d let the fear bloom, let it take root, let you come back on your own.

You hadn’t been able to stay away.

Maybe it was the way he spoke. Or the way he looked at you. Or maybe it was the way the nights weren’t so cold when he was near.

“I didn’t want you to be afraid,” he says now, dipping the cloth to run it between your legs, slow and careful, like he’s cleaning a wound.

“I was,” you say. “But not of you.”

Remmick nods. He knows.

You’d been afraid of needing him.

And now look at you—body bare and pliant in his bath, flushed from orgasm and bleeding in his water, letting him touch you with those old, cold hands like they’ve got the right.

Because they do.

“You were too damn young,” he murmurs after a beat, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “But you looked me in the eye like you’d seen a thousand winters. Said you weren’t afraid of no man, no monster. Only the ones who pretend they ain’t.”

You smile faintly. “And you never pretended.”

His eyes darken.

“I told you what I was. What I needed. And you still chose to stay.”

You open your eyes, tilting your chin toward him.

“I still do.”

He leans in and kisses you then—not hungrily, not with possession, but reverence. Like you’re sacred. Like he’s praying with his mouth.

And in a way, he is.

Because Remmick never asked for salvation.

He found it anyway.

In you.

The water laps gently around you, soft and warm as skin, swirling faint pink around your hips. His kiss is slow—an ache, a promise, a tether. When he finally pulls back, your lips are damp, parted, breathless, and Remmick is just watching you.

Like he always does.

There’s something about the way he looks at you. Not just hunger. Not just obsession. It’s deeper than that—like he’s memorizing you, like the sight of you is the only thing anchoring him to this wretched earth. Like if he stopped looking, the centuries would catch up to him and pull him down to hell where he knows he belongs.

But not yet.

Not while you’re here. Not while your blood is still warm and your body still pliant and your soul still just out of reach.

He brushes the edge of the cloth over your collarbone next, then your shoulder, dragging it across your chest with trembling restraint. There’s a smear of blood on the side of your breast—his doing—and he wipes it away with the gentleness of a man afraid to break the thing he worships.

“You’re somethin’ holy to me,” he murmurs, low enough it sounds like it’s more for him than you. “Somethin’ sacred.”

You swallow, your throat tight, heart tripping over itself in your chest.

“No I’m not.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe not to the world. But to me? You’re a goddamn miracle.”

You can’t speak. Can’t move. All you can do is feel as he pours warm water over your shoulders, cupping the back of your head like he’s baptizing you in blood and roses.

“First time I saw you,” he says, “I thought I’d finally gone mad. Thought I was seein’ a ghost. You walked right through that broken door, moonlight at your back, lookin’ like vengeance and salvation in one breath.”

He sets the cloth aside.

“You didn’t flinch when you saw my teeth. Didn’t cry when I told you what I was. You just looked at me with those big, tired eyes and asked if I was gonna kill you.”

You remember that night. You remember the way your voice hadn’t shaken, even though your knees did. The way his eyes had gone wide—startled, not by your fear, but by your lack of it.

He laughs softly now. “And I told you, didn’t I? Told you I don’t kill what I’m fixin’ to keep.”

Your breath catches.

“Remmick…”

“I meant it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to your temple, to the crown of your head. “Meant it then. Mean it now. You’re mine. And I ain’t ever lettin’ you go.”

Your fingers curl in the water. His arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you gently against his chest, the sound of his dead heart silent beneath your ear.

But it feels like it’s beating.

Only for you.

Only here.

The water’s gone tepid by the time he speaks again.

“Time to get you outta there, sugar,” he drawls, voice velvet-thick. “Before I end up joinin’ you.”

He stands, boots echoing soft on the old tiles, and leans over the tub to scoop you into his arms. It’s effortless—like you weigh nothing at all. Your wet skin presses to his chest, and the chill of him—cold, corpse-cold—sinks straight into your bones.

But you don’t flinch.

You never do.

Because even if he doesn’t have blood that pumps or a heart that beats, there’s warmth in him still. In the way his arms hold you like you’re breakable. In the way his mouth brushes your temple like a promise. In the way he carries you through this crumbling house like you’re something he’d go to war for.

You cling to him out of instinct, arms curling around his neck as your cheek rests against the hollow of his throat. It’s icy. Still. But it’s home.

“I got you,” he murmurs, “Always do.”

He steps out of the bathroom and into the dark hallway of the house you’ve come to know like a second skin—your house now, though no one but the ghosts know it. The floorboards creak beneath his slow steps, the wallpaper is peeling, the chandeliers are draped in cobwebs like mourning veils. The wind outside presses against the windows like a lonely thing begging to be let in.

But here, in his arms, even cold, you feel untouchable.

You bleed against his skin.

It’s not until you reach the bedroom—your shared bedroom, with the worn four-poster bed and the rotting wainscoting and the lace curtains yellowed with time—that he speaks on it.

You feel the pause in his chest before the low, filthy rasp leaves his lips.

“Leakin’ all over me, sweet thing,” he mutters with a smirk, voice dipped in reverence and filth. “Leavin’ a trail like you want the whole damn forest to follow your scent home.”

You suck in a breath. The heat in your belly curls tight again.

He sets you down on the edge of the bed, your thighs parting on instinct, your slick skin sticking to his shirt, to the old quilt beneath you. The blood between your legs is thicker now, heavy. He watches it, eyes dark as pitch.

“Lord have mercy,” he whispers, dragging the back of his hand up your inner thigh just enough to catch the wet. His fingers are cool—unnaturally so—but they don’t make you recoil. They make you burn.

“You’re drippin’ for me. Bleedin’ like you want me to taste you again.”

He leans in, teeth grazing your ear.

“You know what that does to a man like me? That warm, dark sweetness runnin’ down your thighs? Ain’t nothin’ on God’s green earth tastes more like heaven than that.”

You shiver.

Not from fear.

From need.

He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, then another to your shoulder.

“Don’t you worry, baby,” he murmurs, voice so low it sinks into your skin like wine. “I’ll get you cleaned up again. Real slow. Real good. Might just make you bleed a little more while I’m at it.”

You tremble under his touch.

And Remmick smiles.

Because he knows you’re already his.

He kneels.

Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t need to. You can feel it—what’s coming. The weight of his stare between your legs, the way his cold hands slip beneath your thighs and spread them wider, wider, until you’re completely exposed to him in the dim, flickering candlelight.

His fingers drag slow along the inner swell of your thighs, smearing blood and slick across skin like paint. His mouth parts.

“Christ almighty,” he breathes, voice reverent, his accent rougher now, more ragged. “Look at this mess. Look what you do to me, girl.”

He kisses the inside of one thigh—cold lips on burning skin—then the other. He doesn’t go for your pussy yet. He lingers. Worships. Drags his tongue along the seam of your thigh where the blood’s heaviest, groaning low and obscene as he tastes it.

He licks it up like it’s the finest thing he’s ever touched.

“Could spend hours down here,” he rasps, voice already wrecked. “Feastin’ like you’re my last goddamn meal.”

You whimper, hips twitching, your legs threatening to close—but he doesn’t let you.

“Uh-uh,” he warns, using his strength with ease to keep you open. “Don’t hide from me now. Not when you’re bleedin’ for me like this.”

His mouth finally descends on your cunt.

And this time, he takes his time.

The first pass of his tongue is so slow, so deep, it makes your eyes roll back. He licks a long, deliberate stripe from your soaked entrance to your clit, tasting everything—blood, arousal, need—and moaning like it’s divine.

His tongue flicks against your clit, again and again, featherlight but maddening. Then he shifts—mouth flattening, sucking, lapping at you with wide strokes of his tongue like he’s trying to ruin you.

And god, he is.

You fist the sheets, back arching, mouth open in a silent cry as he moans against your cunt, the vibrations shooting straight through your core. Your blood coats his mouth, his chin, his lips—but he doesn’t care. He relishes it. His hands grip your thighs tighter as he buries himself deeper, tongue fucking into you like he’s trying to crawl up inside and live there.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans between strokes, pulling back just long enough to pant against your slit. “You taste like heaven and sin all at once. Never gonna get tired of this. Never gonna stop wantin’ it.”

He slides a cold finger inside you—then another. Your body clenches hard, the contrast of his freezing hand and warm tongue almost too much to bear. But he knows your body now. Knows exactly how to curl his fingers, how to suck your clit while his tongue and hand move in tandem.

You start to shake.

Your vision blurs.

You cry out, your orgasm building harder than the last, pressure curling, snapping, about to break—

And he doesn’t stop.

Not when you start to sob his name.

Not when your thighs tremble and spasm against his shoulders.

Not even when you cum, shattering hard enough to see white behind your eyelids, your body jerking beneath his mouth like you’re being ripped open.

He keeps going.

Sucks your clit through it. Licks up every drop of blood and slick. Fingers you slower now, more gently, like he’s helping you ride it out instead of trying to end it.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your swollen cunt. “Gave it all to me, just like you’re meant to.”

You’re ruined.

Your chest is heaving, your limbs loose, soaked through and aching, and he’s still between your thighs, still worshiping, still tasting like he’ll never get enough.

And maybe he won’t.

Because you’re bleeding.

And he’s starving.

Your breath hitches—caught somewhere between a sob and a moan—as your legs twitch from the aftershocks, thighs sticky with blood and saliva. But Remmick’s still there.

Still devouring.

Still worshipping.

His tongue moves with aching tenderness now, lazy, slow—almost teasing if it weren’t so reverent. He licks through the mess he’s made, lips parting to mouth at your folds like he’s kissing your mouth, not your cunt. Like every inch of you is sacred.

And even as your hips jerk, trying to pull away—too much, too sensitive—he doesn’t let you go.

“No,” he murmurs, voice low, steady, commanding. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart.”

He pins your hips with those cold, strong hands, mouth descending again.

You cry out, thighs shaking violently, the sensitivity blooming into a new kind of agony—pleasure twisted at the edges, electric and sharp, making your toes curl and your spine bow. The room is spinning. Your pulse thunders in your ears.

But he’s soothing you as he ruins you.

“Shhh,” he breathes against you. “I got you. Just take it. Lemme taste every last drop you’re willin’ to give me.”

You feel your body trembling apart for him again, your stomach clenching, heat pooling low and impossibly fast.

Remmick’s voice is almost gentle now, slurred with arousal and reverence as his tongue drags across your clit.

“Don’t you go hidin’ from me, baby. You know I’ll chase you down.”

He kisses your cunt again, tongue flattening and lapping, nosing against your entrance where your blood is still fresh, still dripping slow. He moans deep in his throat like it’s a vintage he’s been saving for decades, like this moment—this mess between your thighs—is a gift he doesn’t deserve.

And god, the way he sounds when he speaks between strokes—

“Your blood’s hotter’n the devil’s breath tonight.”

Another lick.

“Tastes like lust. Like pain. Like home.”

Another.

“You were made for me, girl. Built to bleed for me.”

Your body coils tighter and tighter, the pleasure sharper now, no longer soft or slow—it’s demanding, relentless, fire at the base of your spine.

And he feels it.

He moans against you as you cum again—louder this time, messier, your entire body going rigid under him as you fall apart a second time, writhing as he holds you open and takes it all.

You’re crying now, softly, not from pain but from being so thoroughly undone.

From how deeply he sees you.

How completely he wants you.

When he finally pulls back, he’s soaked. Lips red, chin slick, eyes glowing like coals. He kisses your inner thigh, then your knee, then the scar on your ankle he once asked about and never brought up again.

You’re limp beneath him, panting, ruined.

And he looks so fucking proud.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, crawling up your body. “My perfect, filthy little thing.”

He settles beside you on the bed, pulling you into his arms, curling your spent body against his cold one—and somehow, you feel warmer for it.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your hairline, then your shoulder.

“Sleep now,” he breathes. “Ain’t no one ever gon’ touch you but me.”

And as your eyelids flutter closed, muscles aching, pulse slow and full, you realize this is what he’s given you—what no one else ever could.

Not warmth.

But safety.

Not love.

But devotion.

And in a house filled with ghosts, buried in a forest that forgot its name, you fall asleep knowing you’ll never be alone again.

Not as long as Remmick walks the earth.

Not as long as he’s hungry—and you’re his.

#period blood is free real estate for vampires #reader said “I'm on my period” and remmick said “delicious”#jesus didn't die for this but remmick would #sinners 2025 #sinners au #sinners fic #remmick #remmick x reader #sinners remmick #jack o'connell

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