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neo-nomatrix · 1 year ago

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EAT IT UP !

HOW THE JJK MEN EAT P*$$Y

Multiple x reader

-> GOJO, NANAMI, TOJI, GETO, SUKUNA, CHOSO

warnings ⚠️ smut… duh. pussy eating… duh. 69 in getos. talks of bondage. talks of choking (on dick) overalll smut idk

GOJO SATORU AKA “kid in a candy store”

On his tummy, feet in the air, humming. His legs are swaying back and forth but you’re way too busy to notice. He’s looking up at you with those unmistakable eyes watching you fall apart on his skilled tongue. His hand use your thighs as handles and makes out with your sloppy, cute cunt. He’s trying to tease you but the words come out as gurgled mumbles since his mouth is basically superglued to you.

You’re throbbing on his lips and he slurps it up like honey. Sometimes he dips his fingers in but usually sticks with his mouth. Fucks his tongue inside of you and he’ll probably start gagging because of how far he gets. He has to hug your thighs when you cum because of how squirmy you get. Nips at your clit when it’s all sensitive and giggles.

“You’re so fucking cute squirming”

“Oh wow… feels that good huh?”

“Is this how it feels when you gag on my cock?”

NANAMI KENTO AKA “use me like a chair”

Wants all your weight on his face or else he’s not happy. And no- it’s not an option. Maybe you’ll suffocate him, but who’s to say that’s not the goal? He cups his hands around your thighs and pulls you down on him, immediately getting to work. He’s so sensual and romantic about it. Slowly licking from your entrance to your clit. Definitely kisses your clit before starting anything.

Gathers a whole bunch of spit before and globs it onto you. There should literally be bubbles when you get off of him. Tries his best not to snake his hand down his pants so he can focus on you. As much as he loves you grinding down on his face he always stops you. This is for him to do all he work, he should be making you feel so good you don’t need to think about grinding down.

“Let me do all the work, just sit there.”

“I know i’m hard, sweetheart. I’ll get to that later.”

“Stop hovering, do i need to tie you up?”

TOJI FUSHIGURO AKA “this is for him”

Even though it’s an activity meant to pleasure you, it’s for him. For him to melt away his worries into your sweet cunt. He uses it as a stress reliever, massaging your ass like a stress ball. will literally ask you why you were squirming so much, it disturbed his peace.

Never stops after you come. More flavor for him. Has you on your tummy, he’s spreading you apart and eating it. His hands are never still. Always running up and down your back or playing with the skin of your ass. Moves up to grope your tits and play with your sweet nipples.

“Put your face into the pillow and bite if it’s to much”

“You take my cock every day but my mouth is too much?” oh wait, that’s also too much

“Maybe i should leave some marks on this ass too.”

GETO SUGURU AKA “34 + 35”

SixtyNine KING. Can’t decide between being on bottom or top. On bottom he can get the pleasure of you sitting on his face. The only downside is your squirming with so much pleasure that you forget to suck his cock. He doesn’t care that much, eating you out is plenty of pleasure, but it would be nice. But he does hate it when your strokes get sloppy and they become borderline teasing.

On top he gets the added bonus of fucking your face. Thrusting in and out of your moaning mouth as much as he pleases. He loves hearing you choke while slurping you up. He just doesn’t like the blood going to his head while eating you out. He’s pretty simple when it comes to pussy eating. Loves to suck on your clit and use his fingers. Definitely makes you lick your own cum from his fingers. Finger fucks you until his hands are pruned.

“C’mon baby, at least stroke me baby. Look how hard he is for you.”

“I know it’s so much, huh?

“That’s fine, i’ll just throat fuck you with my cum soaked fingers,”

RYOMEN SUKUNA AKA “stop running”

Eats you out until you’re rolling around on the floor. And still keeps going. He hates it when you squirm, but also doesn’t do anything to stop it. Locks his arms around your thighs and presses a hand against your tummy. Sloppily eats your cunt with no technique. Spits soo much on it. The noises that come from your cunt and his mouth are insane. Dips his tongue real deep into your mess to get every drop.

Has you on the verge of passing out when you cum. And you guessed it, still won’t stop. He definitely pushes your thighs to your chest and wraps his arms around your whole body to keep you still. Loves it when you push on his head in desperation. It makes him so much harder.

“You keep fucking running and I’ll go for longer.”

“You’re only making it worse for yourself by squirming.”

“Fucking take it or I’ll make you.” yeah he definitely makes you

CHOSO KAMO AKA “kitten licks”

He eats you out like he’s scared. He’s so fascinated by your slippery pussy that he unintentionally goes super slow. Giving soft kisses to your clit and licking at your entrance like a popsicle. You have to tell him to go a little harder so it feels better. and once he does, no going back.

Starts to eat it like a starved man. He gets so mad he’s never done this before because he’s in heaven. Ruts his cock into the sheets because it feels so amazing. Moaning like a slut into your pussy. So much spit and his tongue is going wild on your pussy. He’s definitely making this apart of your routine.

“Oh my god it’s so wet baby.”

“Faster? but when i go faster with my cock you cry…”

“It feels good right, baby? Am I doing good?”

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apatheticsunday · 2 months ago

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Adopt a Bat Dad

AKA "Danny becomes de-aged in Gotham and finds the only person he knows who can probably help. Bruce Wayne, the Batman. Except Bruce thinks Danny is a kid mistaking him for his dad??" prompt idea!!

HC that Bruce Wayne and Jack Fenton look super similar. Therefore, Danny and Bruce also look pretty similar!!

I love the idea that Danny already knows Bruce Wayne is Batman. Maybe it's his aura or because the amount of kids Bruce has directly correlates to the amount of bat-themed sidekicks there are. Who knows? Anyway, Danny comes into a small bit of trouble. He may or may not have insulted an immortal witch who cursed him because he's an "immature child, may as well look as young as you act!"

So. Now Danny looks a solid 2-3 years old. It's a good thing that Sam and Tucker briefed him on all he celebrity gossip before he came to Gotham, because he coincidentally knows where the Wayne Enterprise building is. He... can figure it out. Probably. It's actually alarming how many people watch what they think is an unaccompanied kid huff and puff his way in downtown Gotham. (Also, wow, Danny severely underestimated how difficult it is to run after being babified.) But he does make it to the general area of where WE is supposed to be!

His legs are practically shaking at this point, sweating through his toddler-sized NASA hoodie, and searching frantically for Bruce Wayne. Because he really didn't think of it before, but it's Friday afternoon. What if Mr. Batman isn't at WE today? What if Danny gets to WE after 5pm and he's gone until Monday? Would Danny even be able to find the Wayne Manor, much less get transportation there?

Except as Danny's becoming increasingly worried (don't cry, don't cry, don't cry), he spots... his dad?? in the coffee shop windows beside him. No, not his dad. Bruce fucking Wayne! Hell, yeah! Danny smacks open the doors of the coffee shop with single-minded toddler-clumsy determination. Makes a bee-line straight to the coffee pick-up. Bruce Wayne is standing off to the side, quietly speaking on his phone, as Danny practically slams face-first into his knees. Thankfully, it doesn't take either of them down, but it is particularly embarrassing.

Especially when Danny clutches to Batman's pant leg and confidently shouts, "Batman!" Except... he doesn't. A weird jumble of words come out of his mouth that sound more like baba! It's like the world screeches to a stop because, first of all, what the fuck. Second, that bitch witch! She must've made it so whatever he says comes out in toddler-speak despite the fact that he should be able to say somewhat comprehensible sentences.

That doesn't stop him from trying, though, so he ends up babbling baba, baba, baba in an increasingly frustrated tone.

And Bruce Wayne, who's become used to Damian calling him baba instead of Father, can only stare down at this child who could pass as his clone. The similarities are striking. Even if the toddler is huffing, red-cheeked and clearly on the verge of crying, he looks so much like Bruce that he wonders momentarily if it's another Damian situation.

Regardless, there's a kid crying in front of him, tugging on his pant leg and calling for his dad. And Bruce is nothing if not absolutely weak-hearted against stuff like this. So, he leans down and just... scoops the kid up. Murmurs, "Shh, it's okay, kiddo. You're okay." Pats the kid's back, sways. Completely forgets he's in a crowded coffee (this is definitely going on YouTube, posted under 'Wayne Adopts Another??') and that he's on a phone call with Dick. It's like his Dad Instincts kick in and he's completely focused on Danny.

Danny is... bewildered. Because why is the Batman coddling him?? Except he notices that others have noticed, and have their phones out recording, which is really Not Good. He's not super confident that his parents would be able to recognize him while he's de-aged, but the fact that they might? That's opening a can of worms he can't handle at the moment. So his little string bean arms loop around Bruce's neck and he shoves his face into the collar of the man's suit. Much to his irritation, he can hear several girls next to him coo and giggle about him being such a cute baby. Danny's really regretting not approaching Batman privately now.

And it doesn't end!!

Bruce calms the kid down and then immediately goes to the store manager, asking if any parents have lost their child. He doesn't trust that someone may claim Danny as theirs when that may not be the case. Then, he calls up Gordon, asks about any missing person reports on a child the ages of 2-4 with average height, medium build, and black hair. No hits. Eventually, Bruce makes up his mind and takes Danny home with him. Oracle will likely be able to pull more information than the GCPD anyways.

Meanwhile, Danny zonks out. Like full on, toddler-sprawl open-mouth drooling, because it's been a long day and he got Batman. He did it! And from the way Bruce is still carrying him, Danny will likely be with him for a little while. A little catnap will do him some good. Maybe when he wakes up, he'll magically have the ability to speak normally instead of hysterically babble.

(Four hours later, Danny wakes up on the couch at Wayne Manor, bundled up in super soft blankets with Bruce talking on the phone with some woman. Bruce smiles at the way Danny says baba again. Danny's ready to throw that witch into Bruce's well-maintained fireplace because screaming son of bitch isn't as satisfying when it sounds like sa-bA-BAH!!")

Cue Danny doing increasingly ridiculous things to make The "Greatest Detective" Batman realize he's not a literal baby and Bruce Wayne so enamored with this little kid that he does not realize.

#batdad #batfam #dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #the batman

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fushitoru · 4 months ago

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ranking types of hugs he'd be comfortable with another guy giving his gf! a nanami kento fic / drabble

cw: nanami kento x reader, a little suggestive maybe, established relationship, fluff, nanami is a green flag but he's just a man, light jealousy / posessiveness, crack, based off this (instagram link). gojo ver here

general masterlist

"Ranking types of hugs I'd be comfortable with another guy giving my girlfriend."

Kento’s not the type to aimlessly scroll on his phone --- he prefers to be in the present, not deplete “his reserves of dopamine” too quickly, but right now he’s bored. You’ve yet to come from work---you’d texted him you were running late, buying some groceries---so Kento’s laid on the couch looking at his phone. Even though he hates using social media and the rabbit holes that result from said use, he answers your reels and TikToks religiously. After all, he values everything you have to say, even though they are a bit silly.

But just before he could respond to the baby fever videos you sent him----he does have to admit, it’s a bit cute---his screen auto scrolls onto the next piece of 30-second content, and with that, he’s hooked, observing the slots of rankings the filter auto generates for the guy on his screen.

For a bit, he multitasks on looking at the video and reading the comments, then frowns at how possessive they seem.

catcher hug is 1000 bodies 😭😭

No one is hugging my girl

PUT EVERYTHING AT 11 CUH

a/n lmaoo these are real comments on the link above honestly i love when men are pathetic

Surely, it can’t be that bad … right?

Kento prides himself on being an emotionally mature and secure man. It’s not to say he doesn’t have his own flaws, but while it seems the rest of his gender has fallen to the gym bro gurus and alpha male podcast bros, he’s involved himself in constant communication with you and makes sure to educate himself.

And yet. He doesn’t know he’s going to almost be on the brink of tears as he opens the filter to try it out by himself.

The filter shuffles, presenting the first option: A back hug.

Kento exhales sharply through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly. He doesn’t immediately react, but there’s a flicker of something in his gaze. He ranks it a nine.

Then, the next: A slow dance hug.

His jaw tightens. The thought of you in someone else’s arms, swaying under dim lights, your cheek resting against another man’s chest—it’s enough to make something unpleasant curl in his stomach. Ten.

The filter shuffles again. One-armed hug. He sighs through his nose, rubbing his temple. Three. Acceptable. Barely.

e waits, trying to keep his thoughts level, but when the next option rolls in, his grip on his phone tightens. A slow catcher hug.

His face is blank. He blinks once. Twice.

Then, a deep, audible sigh fills the room as he drags a hand down his face, thumb and forefinger pressing against the bridge of his nose.

The image is unwelcome, vivid—someone else catching you, your legs wrapping around their waist, the ease, the familiarity.

His phone clatters onto his chest, and he stares at the ceiling. The muscles in his jaw are taut, his lips pressed in a firm line. A moment passes. Then another.

And that’s how you find him—lying on the couch, stiff as a board, staring blankly upwards like he’s contemplating the meaning of life itself.

“Sweetheart?” you call, stepping closer. You set down your groceries, taking in his unusually tense form. He doesn’t immediately acknowledge you, just continues his thousand-yard stare.

“What’s wrong?” you press, now more concerned. “Are you feeling sick?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, still staring at the ceiling. Then, in a voice that’s a little too measured, he finally speaks.

“If another man so much as thinks about catching you in his arms, I’ll break both of them.”

You freeze. Blink.

“… What?”

Finally, he turns his head to look at you, eyes dark and serious, but there’s something almost resigned in his expression—like he knows he’s being ridiculous but can’t bring himself to care. You’re surprised at the turn of events to---it’s unlike him to be so…possessive and droopy. It’s actually really cute---he reminds you uncharacteristically of a wet, droopy dog.

“I don’t like that filter.” His voice is calm, but his fingers twitch slightly where they rest on his stomach. “I don’t like thinking about other men touching you.”

It’s so unlike him—so openly possessive—that you’re momentarily stunned into silence. Then, amusement bubbles up in your chest.

“Did you just get jealous over a TikTok filter?” you tease, stepping closer.

He exhales, slow and long, closing his eyes briefly before muttering, “I was curious. I regret it.”

You bite back a smile, reaching down to brush your fingers against his jaw. He leans into the touch, almost instinctively, before sighing again.

“You’re the only one I want to touch me, Kento.” you reassure, and his lips finally quirk at the edges—barely, but it’s there.

“I know,” he says, voice softer now. “But if I ever see a man standing with his arms open around you…” He exhales one final time, shaking his head before murmuring, “… I can fight.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheek before moving to put away the groceries, leaving him lying there, still brooding.

As you walk away, you hear him mutter under his breath, just loud enough to catch:

“Slow catcher hug… ridiculous.”

general masterlist

a/n first time writing for nanami kinda nervous :') i have def areas to improve upon but for the meantime pls accept this <3 thank you for the req cutie !! @girlyuuta choso ver is going to come too :3

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yeyinde · 7 months ago

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extremely dubious consent. power/class imbalance. implied breeding. manipulation.

but regency era John Price paying off your chaperone to get you alone in a carriage for few hours and the whole time, your guardians think you're being properly supervised during this unorthodox courtship.

And sure, he's so much older than you, a widower with specks of grey along his temples and peppered in his beard, and more established in class and life compared to you, the poor thing that only just entered society and already got snatched up by the surly, gruff Duke. But it's John Price. Despite his temperament, he's such a respectable man, isn't he? They can trust him to protect you, of course.

And he does.

Your virtue, however? Not so much.

He does away with that little problem on the second outing he takes you on, smothering the protests that draw up, shaky and uncertain on your lips when the chaperone your guardians paid to watch over you walks away, swallowing it down with a searing kiss. Shushes you through it as he slips his thick fingers over the seam of you, arm buried beneath a dense layer of fabric, snuffing out those little gasps.

Don't worry about it, he rasps into the burning apple of your cheek. "s'how it's supposed to be, mm?" and when that doesn't quell the quiver in your brow, he adds:

"s'what I want, love. Jus' a little taste, mm?"

And the problem with gently reared girls is that they turn into such obliging women. Your eyes flicker downward—soft in your acquiescence even though your shoulders draw up cutely towards your ears. Pretty little thing. He couldn't possibly resist.

So he doesn't.

Taking such a lovely creature on the dirty floor of the carriage with your prim, proper skirts trussed up over your hips, shift in utter disarray from the scorching attention he lavished your breasts earlier is nothing short of euphoric. Aided by the adorable little whines you make when he finally notches his cock against your soft flesh. Worry flashing over your brow because he's just too big, too thick, for you to take, and maybe we shouldn't, Mr Price—

But you swallow him just as sweetly as he imagined you would when he pushes inside of you. Pussy fluttering around him in a panic at the blunt, thick intrusion, unused to such brutal treatment. And it's heaven, of course. Nirvana between the split of your pretty thighs. Pussy just made to take his cock. Loving it so tenderly like this

"Taking me so well, aren't you?"

Tears on your lashline. Nose scrunched up. He's sure it's a trial for you, but this is just a prelude. Ripping the bandaid off.

A necessary evil.

And if the altruistic facade falters under the blunt weight of his desire, his greed, then at least he has a failsafe to keep you in his pocket should your guardians decide he—in his age, his callousness—is not a good fit for their daughter. They are the doting type, after all. Romantics. Idealists.

(If they can't come to reason and see why he's a good match, then the swell of your belly in a few months time will surely sway them—)

The thought breaks across his spine, molten heat puddling in his loins. Fuck—

Despite the viciousness of thrusts at the idea, you take his desire so goddamn well.

It doesn't take him much at all to reach the apex of his pleasure, not when your hands press tight to chest as he bears his weight down, grinding his throbbing cock into the deepest part of you. Your moans, delicious little keens ringing so sweetly in his ears. Letting him ride you hard against the dirty floor, chasing his pleasure even as your knees dig into his sides, brows pinced but nodding along when he rasps in your ear about how good you feel and how it'll only get better, and next time—since you're bein' so bloody sweet f'im—he'll show you how to suck his cock between those damnably soft lips, keep his fingers buried inside of you while you fold yourself over the bench on your knees, mouth swallowing him down deep—

It sends him over the edge with a grunt. A belly deep groan. And just in time, too.

After he puts your clothes in order and slides you back into the seat, groaning when you squeeze your thighs tight together, keeping his cum from spilling out, your chaperone arrives with a nervous smile and a glint of guilt that's easily diminished with another slip of cash between palms. You stare, dazed and flushed, out the window, and barely even flinch when he lays his hand on your thigh, hold possessive. Proprietary.

"Time to go home, mm?"

And if he brings you back to your guardians flustered, limping, and a little dazed—well. The roads were just terrible, weren't they, sweetheart? Quite the rough ride, mm? He's sure next time will be better.

#i guess the era of older manipulative Price corrupting reluctant and bullied into liking it Reader has begun #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #pricedrabbles

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p1astr81 · 2 months ago

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baby fever - op81

synopsis: you’ve got baby fever. Oscar… well, doesn’t.

wc: 0.5k

warnings: mentions of infertility (r is not actually infertile), not proof read

A few days ago, while scrolling through social media, you came across a video of a little baby. Her giggles warmed your heart, and sent you down a long rabbit hole and into a spiral of lasting baby fever.

You sauntered into the kitchen where Oscar was cooking breakfast. Your hands wrapped around his torso, your head rested on his shoulder.

He smiled, a sight that brightened your day and definitely did not help with your daydreams about him as a father. “Good morning.” He greeted. The sleep hadn’t yet worn off, leaving his voice a little rough.

“Morning.” You sighed, snuggling your head into the curve of his neck.

“What’s up, baby?” He asked, a hand snaking it’s way down your arm before lacing his fingers with yours.

Humming, swaying, you were in your own world. In your mind, you imagined a mini version of the both of you sitting in a high chair not far from where you stood. “We should have a baby.”

It was a harsh bomb to drop so early in the morning. In your haze, you hadn’t realized that.

“What? No.” He laughed.

You frowned and pulled away from him.

He began to panic. “No, wait-“

“No. No it’s okay. Stupid idea anyway.” You mumbled, slow steps creating distance between the two of you. You retreated to the bedroom. He would’ve followed you if it weren’t for the food on the stove.

As soon as he finished up and plated the food, he rushed to the bedroom. He found you on the bed, under the sheets, curled in a ball.

He sat beside you, a comforting hand on your back. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” He apologized. You said nothing. “I’d love nothing more than to make a mini us and see it run around the house, but right now… it’s not a good time.” He shook his head, though you couldn’t see it.

“But he’d be so cute.” You blubbered.

Oscar paused. “Are you crying?” He hesitated to reach out.

You flipped around to face him. “Yes!” You sniffed. “Because- because- imagine it. He’d look just like you and I can dress him like you and take him to races—or her! And you’d look so cute holding a mini us.”

Hands found their way around your body and he pulled you into him. “I know, you’d be such a cute mom. Maybe later but I just don’t want to miss everything. We’re still young.” He ran a hand through your hair while you continued to cry, not liking his answer.

“You’ll be racing until you’re forty!” You sobbed. “And what if I’m not able to have kids by then! I could be fresh out of eggs!” You clutched onto his shirt.

“I don’t want to wait until we’re forty, either. Maybe just a couple more years.”

You sniffled. “I think I’m pmsing.” It would explain the emotional response, and the intense baby fever.

Oscar didn’t say anything, he only chuckled.

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #op81 #f1 x you #f1 angst #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

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i-like-loserz · 3 months ago

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apt for two

pairing: san x reader

cw: smut (18+), drunk!san with needy-desperate vibes (as always), afab!reader, friends-to-lovers, praise kink, mommy kink, handjob, nipple play (m!recieving), breeding kink, unprotected piv, eternal boner (you'll find out), mention of asian glow, san's fancam, not beta-read, etc.

wc: 4k (wow)

note: I WAS SUPPOSED TO FINISH LIKE THREE 1/4 DONE FICS BUT INSTEAD IM DOING THIS :) also i get asian glow too, so i love the representation i'm getting with drunk-teez!

1 shot

tonight was supposed to involve a pregame at your place before bar-hopping, but somebody decided to ditch you and turn in early (wooyoung). of course, it wasn't until 9:30 that you got the text.

you'd been waiting so patiently, only having one drink. you were saving the rest to share with your friends once he arrived. it was supposed to be the three of you, but now it's just--

2 shots

"maybe he's just tired because of work or something?"

san is sweet, trying to lighten your disappointment.

he just took his second shot, barely wincing as he swallows it quickly before gently setting the glass back on the counter -- you can tell he's trying to hide his distaste for the liquor.

"he's just hungover because he decided to go out without us last night, sannie..." you drone, "he's probably sleeping off the club."

"hm, you're probably right. but if he were here, it probably wouldn't be that fun if he's hungover."

"that's true..."

you pour another round of shots.

3 shots

"hey, let's play a game." san looks at you with bright eyes.

you can see it already -- the flush spreading across his cheeks. for such a big guy, he sure get tipsy easily.

"what kind of game? there's only the two of us."

"how about...apateu?"

"with two people?" he nods with a cute little smile. how could you deny him? "sure, if you want"

5 shots (for san)

you bite back an adoring smile as you watch san down a second shot. his expressions are a lot freer now, letting himself wince just from the smell of tequila, followed by a grossed-out groan after he takes it.

"okay, maybe we should stop. you've lost twice already." he's not very good at this game -- even when you let him pick the number for each turn.

"no, no, let's go again!" his eyes are glazed over, lids heavy from the liquor as he tries to convince you to continue.

you let a smile crack as you watch him sway prettily in front of you, "...you seem a lot more drunk than me though."

"hm?" he smiles back, "that's okay? right?"

you can't help but laugh at his adorableness. he picks up your shot glass and nudges it closer to you.

"just take one, so we're even."

it might just be the liquor, or that pretty blush on his face, but you're feeling bold.

"mm, but you had two, baby."

you say it so casually, yet he reacts to that word immediately. his expression is quickly replaced with something needy.

oh, so he liked that....

"t-then take two." he suggests with a stutter.

you pour yourself one more, right to the brim, and he watches on in awe. you drink it easily, enjoying the way san's eyes stare at your lips as you lick them clean.

"i don't think we're gonna make it to the bars tonight." you tease.

his small shy smile returns, "just stay here...with me, then."

5 shots + a glass of water (for san)

you guide san to the couch with a glass of water in your hand.

barely a few steps from the kitchen counter, he makes you stop for a moment so he can clumsily lace his fingers with yours.

"it's more secure" he murmurs shyly.

you don't say anything as you continue to lead him into the living room, but when you turn away you're biting your lip to stop yourself from pouncing on him.

you're afraid that your cuteness aggression will scare him away.

he immediately picks up a pillow to snuggle against his chest as he sits down. always needing something in his lap...

he looks up at you, all pink cheeks and smiles, as you set the glass of water down on the coffee table in front of him.

you sit down next to him and settle against the plush seat with a sigh.

"what now?" he asks eager and curious.

eager for what?

"well, first, drink some water," san obediently takes a few sips of water as you continue to speak, "do you want to watch a movie or something?"

you were planning on letting him crash on the couch, but how could you leave him when he's looking at you like that?

"hm..." he puts the glass down before looking back at you with a shy expression, "can we watch something else?"

"like what?"

"can i show you some of my fancams?"

"...fancams...?"

"yeah, i want to show you how i look in concert."

you almost giggle from how shy he's being. isn't tequila supposed to make you bolder?

"sannie, i've been to your concerts."

he pouts -- actually pouts, "but you haven't seen them like this!"

how could you deny him?

"ok, ok, let's have a look then."

you try to give him the remote to look it up, but he immediately struggles to type with it -- even turning off the tv at some point -- so you have to take over.

"so it's...'san fancam--'" you press in each letter individually.

"'--ice on my teeth 241115'" he finishes for you.

"...1...5..."

you finally type it all in and click on the video. you see woo (the ditcher of the night, you remind yourself) crouching in front of a sleekly dressed san, who looks very different from the soft and cuddly man next to you.

"how do you remember all of the numbers for the title?" you question as you finally relax back onto the couch.

he shrugs, "i dunno, i just do -- wait, start it over, we were talking during the start!"

"san, it's been like, two seconds."

"please??"

you start it over to placate him.

as you watch the video, you notice how quiet he is next to you.

he must be really into his own fancams...

you get it though. you've never watched his fancams before (you've only seen woo's because he forces you to binge them with him whenever you facetime), but he looks really good in that long coat, glasses, and with his hair slicked back like that, hitting every note with that stupidly handsome look on his face.

he looks so serious...so domineering. delectable.

so...not how you usually see him.

you turn to look at him, wondering if he's just as entranced by himself as you are -- but he's already looking at you.

you feel your cheeks heat up as you're caught ogling your friend, right in front of him.

"so...? do you like it?"

"yeah, it was a good performance, san."

"sannie." he corrects, "do you really like it, or are you just saying that?"

"no, i really like it--"

"which part? do you like the outfit? a lot of people say they like that outfit on me the most. but there's also one where i have on a see-through top..." he starts to ramble.

oh, now you know what he's looking for.

your voice is soft as you coo to him, "you looked great up there, sannie. so talented...and handsome." he smiles sheepishly as you compliment him, "did you show this to me because you wanted to show off? show me how good you are in front of a crowd?"

now he's shy.

"just wanted to know if you liked what you see."

you cradle his face with your hand, "you're so cute, baby," he melts against your touch, nuzzling his warm cheek against you, "just want some praise, hm?"

it's crazy that you have this man falling apart for you with a few words and a bare touch of your hand.

on stage, he looks so regal and put together.

right here? he looks undeniably soft and malleable.

"do you like me?"

"of course, i do." you caress his cheek with your thumb, enjoying the heat that radiates off his skin, "you're a sweetheart."

"no, like, do you like-like me?" his eyes meet yours, wide with hope and yearning.

"what, are we in middle school?" you tease.

he whines softly, "im serious"

you ignore his question and throw it back at him.

"do you like me?"

he's hesitant, timid, but eventually --

"mhm."

"oh really? since when?"

"since forever."

"why didn't you tell me?"

"because..." san briefly looks away, "because i don't know if you like me"

your hand drifts from his jaw to his chin. you can't help but admire his perfect features -- his fluffy hair, dark brows, intense eyes, cute nose, and...his lips.

you carefully glide your thumb over his pretty bottom lip, enamored by how pretty and pink it is.

he stutters out a breath.

"and if i do?"

"c-can you kiss me?" he sounds so sweet and timid when he asks. his eyes eagerly glance down at your lips as you drag his bottom lip down, revealing his pearly white teeth.

you're mesmerized by his mouth. you press against his perfect teeth and he opens up immediately, letting you drag your thumb against his soft tongue. he sucks it in, laving sweetly against the sensitive pad of your finger as he stares up at you, eager to please.

"such a good boy~"

he whines, brows furrowing in desperate need. what a sweet sound.

you move your hand from his mouth so you can get in a better position. you shift from the couch to his lap, wanting to feel his body against yours. his arms immediately loop around your body, finding your waist so he can press you closer.

you dip in, hand at the base of his neck to control him, and nudge your nose against his -- just to tease him. he tries to push up and press his lips to yours, but you stop him, hand firmly holding him back.

"what am i gonna do with you?" you shake your head, "silly boy..."

he looks confused, brows tighten together endearingly, an expression that's slightly embarrassed.

"i-i thought you wanted to kiss."

"did i say that?"

"n-no, but--"

"you think you're so pretty that anyone would let you hit?" your hand moves up to the center of his neck. you press gently on the sides of his throat, pulling a groan from his lips. "mm...maybe you are pretty..."

he shivers from the praise. you can tell he's trying to hold back, but he's still subtly trying to move his hips under you, desperate for any type of friction.

"please? just one kiss?"

"just one?" you ghost your lips on his.

he whimpers at the feeling. you guess his lips are especially sensitive.

"please"

you give in, leaning against his silky pink lips. you feel him melt against you, sighing into it like it's the sweet relief of water in a barren desert. he desperately attempts to pull you closer by your waist, but you're already firmly pressed against him.

he deepens the kiss, delicately licking against the seam of lips before diving in and dragging his tongue against yours. you taste the tequila and lust -- it makes you hungry for more. he moans prettily when you nip at his lips, sucking on the sweet, sensitive skin until it gets all puffy and plump.

when you break the kiss, he attempts to chase your lips for more, not ready to separate. you dodge his advances with an amused smile, loving how needy he is already.

"you said one kiss"

"mmm, i think i messed up on that one..." he swipes his tongue over his swollen lips as he stares hungrily at yours, eyelids heavy but gaze wanting, "can we try again?"

“maybe if you earn it again…”

he groans, “fuck,” he presses his hips against yours, making you feel how hard he is under his pants, “but i need you so bad, mommy.”

hearing that word slip from his beautiful lips almost makes you melt into a puddle, right on his lap. if it weren’t for the way you were straddling him, your thighs would’ve immediately pressed together from the amount of need you were feeling.

you press down on him just as eagerly, panting from the pressure of his hard cock against your aching clit.

"yeah? you gonna be a good boy and fill me up?"

"mhmm~" his deep voice drones, vibrating from his chest against yours, "please let me -- i need to be inside of you."

you roll your hips against him, coaxing cute whimpers from him with every press.

"think you deserve it?" you taunt. san can't even answer you, merely nodding with his eyes squeezed shut, reveling in the feeling of your body grinding against his.

your hands move down from his neck, over his chest and stomach before settling right against his covered cock. you can feel the way he twitches under his pants, desperately begging for attention.

he groans when you press against him, the minimal pressure is already too much for him to handle.

"you're already so hard for me." you stroke him over his pants, feeling the perfect contours of his erection even when separated by the fabric.

"m'always hard for you" he slurs, hips subtly flexed upwards in an attempt to feel more of you.

"let me see." you unbutton his pants with ease and use a bit of force to pull them off just far enough to reveal his pretty cock and the top of his legs. his blushing tip weeps delicately with beads of cum, already spilling against his shaft -- evidence of how close he already is to the edge.

when you wrap your hand around him, his body stiffens and his hands instantly grip over the top of your thighs to ground himself.

"w-wait...not yet--" he begs, head thrown back in ecstasy.

you haven't even done anything yet.

"sannie," you can feel him throbbing against your fingers, "baby, are you okay?"

"d-don't move." he shudders, "i m-might--"

you watch his facial expressions closely as you squeeze your fist around him, nearly drooling from the way his eyebrows scrunch together with intensity.

"oops..." you fail to hide your smile but it doesn't matter, he can't see it anyway. you swipe your thumb against the edge of his tip, massaging that sweet spot as his legs begin to shake.

you slip your other hand under his shirt, feeling up his muscled torso to his heaving chest. his skin is warm and smooth against your fingers and it makes you want to leave pretty marks all over him.

his back arches when you lazily drag your index finger against his nipple. you circle your finger around it experimentally and the needy bud hardens from your teasing touch.

"sensitive boy..." you hum.

he whimpers sweetly, "t-too much--"

you ignore his words and pinch his nipple. his mouth opens and he's barely able to take a handful of breaths before he's crying out in broken moans and thrusting against your hand. you work him through it with hushed praises, letting him fuck your fist until he's too weak to continue.

you take your other hand and run your fingers through his hair lovingly as his climax moves through him before caressing the back of his flushed neck. his overstimulated body shivers against your gentle touch, but he still leans into it.

he made a mess.

his cum spurted all over -- spilling over your hand and dripping on your lap -- so now, your pants (and his) are ruined. when san finally calms down a bit, he peeks down at the mess as well.

"i-i'm sorry, i tried to hold it in..." he stares at you with rounded eyes, sparkling with shame and embarrassment.

you tilt your head as you regard the flushed man before you, "if you're gonna be so messy, clean it up." he cowers slightly at your taunting words.

"h-how..."

you lift the hem of his shirt wordlessly and -- after a moment of confusion -- he obediently raises his arms to let you take it off. he watches on with a surprised expression as you bundle it up and use it to wipe your hands and lap.

"what? you thought i'd make you lick it up?" you tease, "didn't know you were that much of a pervert."

"i-no, i d-don't know." he stammers.

you accidentally brush against him as you're cleaning up and his body jolts harshly from the feeling. you gently move the shirt away and notice that he's still hard.

how the fuck--

he can feel your stare.

"u-um...it's..." he attempts to cover himself up with his hands, "this is normal." you throw his shirt to the side and take him by the wrists. you move his hands away and his cock twitches from your attention.

"is it?" when you look up at his face he's blushing, thoroughly embarrassed by his needy body.

"only...when i think of you." he says quietly, "y-you can just ignore it though." he stares at the way your smaller hands wrap around his wrists.

cute.

just to see what he'd do, you put his hands on your body, leading them up from your hips to your chest. he immediately gropes your tits in his large hands, letting out a pathetic noise.

"didn't know you were so insatiable..." you push him away and get off of his lap. he whines from the loss of contact but as soon as he sees you start to strip for him, he's silent, watching on in awe.

you pull off your shirt but leave your bra on -- just another way to tease and deprive him of what he wants. next, you shimmy off your pants before throwing them in his lap.

"look at the stains you left on them," you pout, "those were new." (no they weren't) "you're gonna have to buy me a new pair."

"yeah, o-ok, i'll buy you anything you want..." san ignores the pants and continues to stare at you with a cute spaced-out expression, refusing to miss even a second of you nearly naked in front of him.

he looks so good sitting there, waiting so patiently for you. his broad shoulders -- that stretch every shirt he owns -- lift every so often with the deep breaths he's taking.

his bare body is tan and fucking chiseled, you swear you could get off just grinding on his stupidly perfect abs. and the way he's keeping his hands to himself, despite how eager his cock stands for you.

when you start to approach him again, he shoves the stained clothing away to make room for you. you caress his face as you settle on top of him again.

"don't worry, baby, i'll help you."

"fuck, please."

back on top of him, you roll your hips so your covered cunt just barely grazes his hard cock. he lets out a helpless groan from the bare touch.

"oops, i forgot to take these off..." you snap the waistband of your panties against your hips, "is it okay if we just shove them to the side?" you ask, guiding his hand to feel the lace that decorates the edges.

he tugs at the fabric with thinly veiled frustration. you're surprised he hasn't lost it already. you loop your arms around his neck, letting him touch as much of you as he wants.

his hand travels under your thighs to press right over your clothed center.

"just don't mess these up too, okay?"

"i'll try my best" he presses the pads of his fingers against your cunt, feeling your wet slick soak through the thin fabric of your underwear. "f-fuck, you're already dripping."

"i'm all ready for you, sannie..." you press your hips against his hand, "you could probably just slip it right in" you whisper.

that's all the convincing it takes for him to push his hand under the fabric and run his finger against the soft lips of your cunt.

"feels good, baby~" you shove your face against the crook of his neck, mouthing and nipping against his skin. he hums gratefully at the praise -- it almost sounds like he's purring.

your slick coats his fingers as he rubs them against your sopping hole, gently pressing into you until you stretch around him. you bite your lip as he thrusts into you shallowly, barely able to finger-fuck you correctly because of how far his arm is stretched around your body.

you swear you're making a mess of his hand, dripping everywhere because of how much you want him inside of you. you pull your face away from his neck, eyes locking with his, "sannie, just fuck me."

you lift your hips up enough to press his weeping cock against you.

"b-but what about--"

you pull him in for a kiss and he immediately leans into it, melting against you once again. if you weren't so horny, you'd gush over how easy he is for you.

"don't worry, baby, i can take it."

san listens, pulling your panties to the side so he can position himself against you. he runs his cock against the seam of your cunt a few times to lubricate himself enough before slowly pushing against you. you press down at the same time, legs shaking slightly as your body stretches to accommodate his size.

"o-oh, fuck!" he chokes out, overwhelmed by the feeling of your soaking cunt sucking him in. you both moan when you sit all the way down, letting him fill you to the brim.

"mm...you fill me up so good, baby." you sigh, starting to roll your hips against him. he's so big that he presses against all the special spots inside of you with every move you make.

his hips involuntarily jerk upwards every time you lift your hips away from him, desperately needing to feel you all around him. he'd probably like cockwarming, you think -- or you would think if he wasn't fucking the thoughts from your mind.

"m-mommy, it's -- too much--" his hands wrap around your waist, squeezing faint bruises into your skin as he grapples with the feeling of your tightness fluttering around him.

your head tilts back as you speed up against him, "be good, sannie..." your breaths come out short and labored, "let mommy use your cock -- mm...fuck, yes." your mind is hazy as he hits all the right places inside of you.

he whines, pressing his face against your chest as you move against him, "i don't think i'm going to last." he twitches inside of you, already worked up to the edge.

"then go ahead," you breathe, "cum in me."

you feel the way his hips flex at the thought of filling you up, of making a mess out of you.

"i-i shouldn't..." he says -- but he's fucking up against you harder.

"why not, sannie?" you taunt, "don't want to get me pregnant?"

he lifts his head from your chest to look at you, "p-pregnant?"

"mhm," you smile down at him, "give me your babies so i can't go anywhere."

you're suddenly pressed against his hips, hard, his cock stretching you to your limit. you can feel him everywhere. you moan loudly, cunt fluttering uncontrollably from the intense pleasure he's pressing into you.

"you'd be mine?" he questions with an eager tone, almost innocently so. you can feel the way he throbs inside of you, just a touch away from tipping over the edge.

he refuses to move until you answer him.

so you try to. at least with the 1% of brain power he leaves you with.

"a-and you'd be mine." you can barely focus on the words you want to say.

san starts to shallowly thrust into you, "i'm already yours..."

"then i'm yours too."

his hands cradle your face as you continue to move against each other more desperately. he guides your face to his, pressing his lips against yours messily, teeth dragging and tongues mingling.

it's like he's only doing it to taste you. to feel you because he can't believe you're real. to claim your whole body because he can't take being away from you, even by a few centimeters.

you reach your highs together, moving perfectly in sync until you're both shaking in pleasure. you feel his hot cum fill you up, spurt after spurt -- so much in fact, you can feel it start to drip out of you, down his cock, and onto his lap.

"fuck, i might actually get pregnant from this." you say to yourself.

you feel him twitch inside of you again.

well, shit.

#san x reader #san ateez x reader #choi san x reader #san choi x reader #san smut #choi san smut #san choi smut #san ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez smut #sub!san #sub!san x reader

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fromdove · 18 days ago

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“i told you not to wait up,” jason says, voice low, rough, ruined from yelling or running or both. he's peeling his jacket off one shoulder, the kevlar sticking where the blood’s dried tacky and brown, and you’re already crossing the room to him with a frown and a half-empty bottle of peroxide.

“yeah?” you say. “and i told you not to get stabbed again. guess we’re both bad at listening.”

his mouth twitches like he wants to laugh. doesn’t. his whole body sways like the adrenaline’s leaking out of him, and now there’s nothing holding him upright but pure spite and habit.

you grab his wrist. gently. “sit down.”

“doll, i’m fine—”

“sit. down.”

he does. mostly because you said it like that. partly because he’s tired. mostly because you’re touching him again.

the cut on his side is shallow but ugly, right under the ribs, still leaking a little. the sight of it makes your stomach twist, like maybe if you’d called him one minute earlier, if you’d kept him talking, if you’d just begged a little harder— whatever. you’re not crying. you’re not.

“what happened?” you ask, even though you probably don’t want to know.

he shrugs, flinches. “guy had a knife. i had bad reflexes.”

“your reflexes are never bad.”

he looks at you. for a second. and then away.

you clean the cut. you don’t say anything about how he hisses through his teeth. or how his jaw tightens like he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t feel you, doesn’t care that you’re here, doesn’t want to grab you by the wrist and kiss you so hard he forgets how to breathe.

“you could’ve called for backup,” you say. softly. the gauze sticks a little. you don’t apologize.

“i didn’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“and you getting hurt is fine?”

“i’m used to it.”

that does something awful to your chest. you press harder than you mean to. he doesn’t say anything. just watches you with those stupid storm-cloud eyes like he’s sorry but also not sorry at all.

“idiot,” you mutter. not looking at him.

“you love it,” he says, smirking with blood on his teeth.

you glare. “you’re literally bleeding out and you still manage to flirt.”

“i’m multitasking.”

you hate him. you love him. you hate that you love him. you love that he’s here, still, bruised and reckless and real and breathing.

you lean in before you can stop yourself. just enough to rest your forehead against his. his skin is hot. he smells like smoke and metal and something that might be yours.

“please don’t die,” you whisper.

he doesn’t say anything.

but his hand finds yours. bruised knuckles and all. squeezes once.

“i wasn’t planning on it,” he says.

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moon-fics · 20 days ago

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Pool Day

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: The team decided to request a pool, not thinking it would be made. Now, they have a pool.

A/n: Ugh! I love a good beach/pool episode! But this time, the relationship is established.

When Valentina asked if there was anything the team wanted in the tower, she meant like a training simulator or a chef. So, when Yelena spoke up, saying she wanted a pool, everyone backed her up. No one expected Valentina to actually go through with it because she didn't like them.

So, when Valentine announced the pool was done, everyone was flabbergasted. They were most astonished by the fact that she built it outside where the sun could be enjoyed. However, she said that was the last unnecessary request she'd be entertaining.

Of course, when the first day of summer rolled around, the pool was not forgotten.

---

You sit at the edge of the pool with your legs under the water. You're thankful you had time to buy a new swimsuit. It wasn't the best one you could find, but it'll do.

Yelena has found interest in sleeping on one of the floats. She's knocked out as the float hits one of the walls of the pool. Meanwhile, John is in the shallow area drinking a fruity smoothie. For the most part, everyone is relaxing for the first time in a while.

You sense a presence behind you and immediately turn. You're far too late, as two pairs of hands shove you into the chilly water. Your entire body is submerged, and water enters your nose. You pop out of the water, coughing and wiping your nose.

When you finally look up, you see Alexei and Bob standing where you were sitting. Alexei is hands on knees laughing and pointing at you as if he's pulled off a master prank.

"Is the water nice?" Bob asks. He holds out his hand for you to take. Even after shoving you into the pool, he's still kind enough to pull you back out. You should just take his hand and be thankful for the refreshing dunk. You aren't that type of person.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" You grip his forearm and yank as hard as possible. He doesn't take a lot of effort to pull. The splash from his fall wakes up Yelena, who lifts her sunglasses as Bob pops up from the water.

"'Ey, I don't want any rough housing," She points at you and Bob with a raised eyebrow. "Don't wake me again," She warns and puts her sunglasses back on.

The moment Yelena is back to resting, Bob's arms wrap around your waist. His head rests on top of yours, and water drips from his chin to your nose. He creates a sort of shade over your face to block out the sun.

"I could get used to this," You keep your voice down. Bob hums in response. He sways both of you carefully while he enjoys the closeness. "Did you swim a lot in Florida?"

"Oh yeah, like, every day." He nods without hitting your head. He relinquishes his hold on you and spins you around to face him. "It was either the pool or the beach. I preferred the beach because when the wind is strong enough, the waves get super high."

"That sounds fun," You say. "We should have asked for a wave pool, too." You laugh. Maybe you can suggest it to Valentina as a way to train for water-based threats. Though you doubt she'd accept that answer.

"The last time I was in a wave pool, I got kicked in the head three times," Bob chuckles. His hands move to rest on your waist to keep you near him. "I'm pretty sure they should be banned for how dangerous they are." His face becomes serious as he thinks.

"Oh, you can't handle some waves?" You tease. You already have something in mind and begin floating away from him. His brows furrow, and he watches you get a few feet away. You wind up your arm and roughly glide it across the surface to create a small wave.

It drenches Bob once again, but once the splash clears, he's gone. Before you can react, his hands are on your legs. He efficiently drags you under, but cradles your head before it hits the floor.

You open your eyes, but the water makes everything blurry. All you can see is Bob's outline as it gets closer. His hands cup your face, and his lips press against yours as gently as possible. The kiss only lasts a few seconds due to a lack of air, but those seconds are like a treasure. His lips are all you can feel as your senses are blocked by the water.

When you emerge, you gasp for air, but he doesn't. You chalk it up to him having more experience in bodies of water than you.

Once you catch your breath, he calls your name. You look towards him only to be hit in the face by water. He forgets how strong he is and gets Yelena and John wet.

"Oh, come on!" John groans. He holds up his half drank smoothie that now has chlorine water in it.

"Ok, that's it! No more pool for you two!" Yelena shouts.

#bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds fanfic #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #bob thunderbolts #the thunderbolts*#thunderbolts*#lewis pullman

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taintandviolent · 29 days ago

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the flesh is weak ; Remmick x reader

summary: You had a happy, pretty life with your husband, living in your sweet lil' home in the Mississippi Delta. Everything was warm and sweet until it wasn't. Until your husband went missing. A few weeks later, a stranger appears at your door, claiming he knows an awful lot about your husband. And you. It's been so long since you've known the touch of a man...

word count & w a r n i n g s: 4.8K | female reader, smut, unprotected sex, brief religious themes, mentions of death/grief/mourning, mental/sexual coercion, manipulation (remmick preying on a mourning woman), monster fucking, vampires, vampire sex, vampire hive mind, shameless pussy eating (cos Remmick is a munch and we all know it), spit/salivia mention, spit kink, scent kink, biting, blood drinking, blood loss.

a/n: I'm not even going to try to explain myself, y'all know the drill by now. something something not immune to vampires something something obsessed with the vampire hive mind idea and Remmick eating pussy. not beta-read, we die like men. banner by @/saradika-graphics!

↓ fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

You'd been happy, the two of you. You really had.

It was springtime, nearing summer, where the days felt like they grew hotter and longer, when the nights wouldn't cool off either. You had met Wade at the market. You both reached for the same can of corn and touched fingertips, an electric current passing through you two. The way he looked at you, and the way that you shyly, through thick lashes, looked back at him. Neither of you said a word for a good moment, until Wade finally introduced himself. Everyone and their mother talks about love at first sight, but no one dares talk about the fiery connection when you touch your lover for the first time. A connection built on physical touch, on lust, on want.

It was a whirlwind romance after that, and before you knew it, you were married, joined under the good Lord, and he'd bought you a house with a porch and a dog. A shepherd.

Warm summer days were spent in the Mississippi Delta, in your quaint little home, set about twenty-five minutes outside town. He'd treated you better than you'd ever imagined a man could, made you feel like an angel on Earth. But the way he fucked you… was anything but holy.

Your nights were spent in passion, bodies entangled together like the branches of the trees outside your window, swaying back and forth like dancing lovers. You explored every inch of him, and he, every inch of you. There wasn't a freckle on either body that the other didn't know about, and you'd never experienced such happiness in your life.

Then… one night, after a particularly heated coupling, he'd just left. Kissed your forehead before lumbering out the front door to smoke a cigarette. The dog had followed him outside. And they never came back. Ever. It had been two weeks.

You assumed the worst — Wade didn't love you. He was just lookin' for an escape, for a clean way out. The marriage had been a mistake — too quick maybe — and he took the first opportunity to leave. He could've at least said goodbye, given you that last scrap of dignigty. Instead, he kissed your forehead and said, "I'll be right back, sweetheart."

You never thought for a minute that something bad had happened to him. He was a grown man, always took care of himself. Nothin' bad woulda' happened to that man.

So, here you sit, in your empty little house. It's not a home anymore, only the bones remain — tall and lanky and changing with the shadows that dance across the walls, moonlight filtering in through your lace curtains. You're nursing a cup of black coffee even though the sun's just gone down. It's as bitter as you are, drowning in your own sorrows and loneliness. The damn dog hadn't even stayed. Never liked you as much as he did Wade, really. You let out a plaintive sigh, bringing the cup to your mouth.

Outside, the wood of your porch creaks under some undisclosed weight. You set the cup down and abruptly scoot your chair back, standing upright. With your house being out of the way, visitors were rare, unless they were explicitly invited. Your attention's on the door, and though it's closed, you can feel the presence behind it, burning through the wood like an iron pressed against the grain.

You hesitate, staring at the door like you can see through it.

"Hello?" As though they can hear you.

Another creak.

You take careful steps forward until you're hesitating in front of the door. Your fingers wrap 'round the knob, twist it and pull it towards you with a sharp motion. The warm, humid night air rushes in, settling heavy on your exposed skin like a sheet that hasn't quite dried yet. The sounds of nighttime fill the space between you and the stranger, and your breath catches in your throat.

At first glance, there's nothing unusual about him; he's dressed like any other man. Light blue cotton shirt, suspenders, dark slacks. Put together. He's standing at the bottom of your porch, one foot perched awkwardly on the first step.

"Can I help ya'?" Your voice is laced with expectancy.

"Ah, I been walkin' an awful long time. Yer' the first one to answer."

You find that odd; you didn't answer anything. He didn't knock.

"Can ya' find it in yer' heart to let me in n' spare a glass of water, ma'am?"

He has a chain round his neck. Reminds you strongly of the one that Wade used to wear. The one that used to sway in front of your face as he fucked you, the one that you'd reach up and wrap your finger around, careful not to break it, but just tight enough to yank him closer.

You blink, coming back to reality just as the forest seems to loom forward around the stranger, but in an eeriely inviting sort of way, like a pair of giant hands beckoning you to just step into them. Something settles in your stomach and your eyes flit to Wade's shotgun leaning up against the door frame. The man notices this and shakes his head once.

"Now, don't go an' do that. Ain't necessary, ma'am." He whispers your name like a prayer, so quiet that you almost don't catch it. Almost.

"How you know my name? Huh?"

"I'm Remmick."

You furrow your brows. You hadn't asked his name, and you didn't want to know it. "I asked you a question. How d'you know my name?"

This must amuse him because a smile splits his face. He lifts his hands, feigning innnocence, and zeroes his gaze in on your features. He scans over them, one by one, and nods slowly.

"Well, ain't you every bit as pretty as he said you'd be…?"

The look on his face told you that he intended it to be a compliment, but something about it landed oddly. Made your skin crawl. "I beg your pardon?"

"Wade," he responds, defending himself. "I was just sayin' how he —"

"Wade?" You perk up like a dog. The name derails your intensity, and your gaze drops just slightly. Your question is breathless, desperate and mournful. "You talk to him?"

"Ohhh… Wade and I go way back," he says, sliding his finger underneath the suspender at his shoulder, pulling it forward. He pauses a minute and allows it to snap softly back into place. "Real shame he ain't with us no more."

No. God have mercy on his soul. That was the last thing you wanted to hear from a stranger's mouth. You're so grief-stricken that you don't even think to ask why Wade never mentioned this man.

"He… what happened to him?"

The man's brows pinch together as though he's filled with sorrow over what he's about to say. "Messed with the wrong sort of folks."

Your heart seizes in your chest, a desperate pump of blood to remind you of your husband and how much you missed him. The closure you didn't want, the closure you never expected. You dip your chin to your chest, trying to hide your disappointment, the feelings of grief. It takes a moment, but you harden. You force healin' over all those searin' open wounds and straighten up, setting your shoulders. If there was one thing Wade would've wanted…

"Well, you may've known my Wade, but I don't know you and —"

"Oh, but I know you," he says low. "I know everything about you, darlin'."

You furrow your brows in disbelief, taking a step back from the door. "No you don't."

"Sure… sure, I do. I know everything that Wade knew."

Not missing a beat, he takes a step forward, and something lurches in your stomach. Something that moves like fear, but tastes like longing.

Your grip on the doorknob loosens, and a shudder, a chill runs down your spine like cool water. Given the heat of the night, it ain't exactly unpleasant. Or unwelcomed.

"I know how you like to be kissed, from yer' neck to between that beautiful chest uh' yours… those soft n' tender kisses behind yer' ear, whisperin' about how bad yer' wanted. That spot behind your knee that makes you whine like a banshee. How you like it when you finally get to it. Rough."

His accent hangs heavy on that last word, the 'R' pronounced harder than usual.

You snap to attention, looking the man in the eye. They're dark, and seem to catch the moonlight in an odd way that chills your very bones. He wasn't wrong, and that was all well and good, but Wade would never tell anyone that. Wade would never divulge anything 'bout his personal life to anyone, no matter how convincing they were. Wade was a private person, and he stood by his secrets. Your facial expression doesn't deter the man at all. He continues, taking a step up onto your porch.

"…how you like to be eaten. How good you taste when you're screamin'. So, why don't you let me in and I'll see if he's good on his word?"

That chill returns, but you promptly feel a betraying heat pooling between your legs, soaking into the cotton fibers of your panties.

"You gotta' lot nerve, Remmick." His name falls off your lips like an expletive, a stark difference to the way he whispered your name.

He just smiles. Nods. Takes another step up onto the porch.

"Just let me in, and I'll show you what else I got."

You're suddenly lingering at the threshold, leaning forward as though you're prepped to wrap your arms around him and pull him in for a kiss like a lover who had just returned from a long day's work. There's a pulling in your feet, your limbs seem to float towards him, as if he's willing them to him. Maybe he is.

I'm nothing if not strong, you think.

"I'm not… I won't."

"Sure you will. You ain't gotta' be afraid. I can make all that hurt go away. All that pain in yer' soul…"

There was pain. Lots of it. Plenty of it. You were lonely. Hungry. Desperate. And stood in front of you was a man that could smell it, and according to him, ease it. Something deep in your soul, rooted down like an old Cypress tree, told you that this was the closest thing to Wade you'd ever get again.

Remmick holds your gaze tight, coiling around you like a serpent — tighter and tighter as the seconds drag on. Something feels wrong, but something else feels right enough to make you forget the wrong thing. Your momma' woulda' warned you about men like this, if she was still with you.

You hadn't gone to church since Wade left, so you weren't in good graces, you knew that. Still, you bite your lip, clasping your hands at your breast as a last shot attempt at redemption, at some sort of understanding or forgiveness for the sins that slither in your mind. You lift your head to the heavens, and even though your lids snap closed, tears welling at the corners, you speak to the dark skies above in a hushed tone, barely above a whisper. "Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

Remmick grins and takes yet another step, like a man who knows he's already won the game. He's standing at your doorway now, hands tucked in his pockets.

"Let me in, won'tcha'?"

You open your mouth to speak again, to protest with your new found courage from the heavens, but instead, all that comes out is a squeak of a breath.

"I'll beg if need be…" His tongue glides appentently across his bottom lip.

"Wade used to beg," you say, forlornly.

"I know it." Remmick says, nodding, his eyes sweeping over the curves of your body, memorizing them, tasting them with his gaze. "For a sweet thing like you? He had good reason, I reckon."

With that, he says your name over and over again, longing braided into his voice. "Please, baby… don't you tease me like this."

Just like Wade used to say. Just like Wade used to say when you'd playfully deny him what he wanted most; your sweet, glistening cunt. Just like Wade used to say when you'd swat him away and he'd fall to his knees, pressing his face in between yours. Nuzzling between your kneecaps, forcing them apart, the feeling of his stubble scratching at your soft, plush skin as he pushed his way towards his goal. You missed that. You missed the feeling of being wanted… needed.

"Gimmie' what I want, baby… c'mon."

Hot tears prick at your eyes and well up in the corners. "S-stop…"

"Sure sounds good, don't it?"

You inhale sharply at his question, and nod. You can't deny him that answer, even if your whole body is screaming at you to.

"When's the last time you had someone appreciate you, darlin'? Huh?"

Though it's unspoken, he knows the answer and so do you.

"Just—" he starts, hardly getting the word out before you're cutting him off.

"Come in."

The flesh is weak.

Your hands fall from your chest, shocked at your own feeble resolve. The failure stings like a mad hornet when Remmick closes in the distance between you two, leisurely. Like he's got all the time in the world. He wastes no time in getting close to you, though. Real close. Too close.

He smells like iron, dirt and lust — something cloyingly sweet that makes your knees buckle. You know damn well what you smell like; the impure fragrance of desire seeps from your pores with the sweat and that smell has his nostrils flaring as soon as he's next to you. You're like a ripe peach, hanging low in front of his mouth. He parts his lips, exhaling over them as he nears you, presses his body against your warm one. You can feel the planes of his body through his clothes, and you know he can feel your soft, supple body underneath your thin sundress.

He's taking you in lungfuls, savoring you like he knew he would. You didn't know it, but everything he'd gained from your now late husband drove him crazy. He'd become obsessed with you from memories alone, memories he longed to run his tongue over, slowly, ravenously. For two weeks, he'd craved you in ways he understood deeply. A craving that he had to sate.

Your wanton gaze falls to his lips and it's then that you notice he's drooling. Really drooling. Not just wet around the lips — a generous stream of thick saliva cascades steadily from the corner of his mouth. It frightens you, but not as much as the way you want to kiss him. That terrifies you. He sees you looking at the spit, but he doesn't bother to wipe it away. If he has his way, you'll be adding to it any second.

The feeling returns. The pulling feeling. It's deep, and tugs at your cunt in a pulsing grip. Remmick lifts his hand slowly, inching it towards you and you watch, wordlessly, as his fingertips near your feverish skin, tiny beads of sweat pooling up in the hollows of your collarbone. He runs those fingers delicately along your exposed skin, just underneath your neck. Your skin immediately flushes with heat in response, growing hot under his touch.

You shudder against the feeling of skin against skin. For someone who experienced the finer pleasures of the flesh on a daily basis, you were hungry, you'd been deprived for days and she longed to feel it again.

"He woulda' wanted you to be happy, y'know." As he speaks, his lips brush the delicately sensitive skin of your neck, trailing along it with chaste kisses. His tongue slips past his lips, dragging along the length of your neck.

The tiniest moan tumbles off your lips, hanging weighted in emptiness of your house. You feel her clench between your legs, leaking betrayal as your hand climbs to his shoulder, supporting some of the burdensome weight of your arousal.

He was so convincing when he spoke like that, playing to your worries and fears. Or maybe it was the way he was kissin' you. Maybe it didn't matter how he was talkin' or what he was sayin', maybe all that mattered was that he was touchin' you.

You tilt your head to the side, allowing him more room and his hands find your hips, taking fistfuls of your cotton dress in his hands. He starts kissing your neck in a way that almost overwhelms you; feverishly, hungrily, and quickly — kiss after kiss, smeared against the column of your neck. He continues his assault, but climbs towards your chin, then up to your mouth. He grips your jaw with his thumb and forefinger, pulling it down and opening your mouth. Without warning, he licks into your mouth and your lids flutter, tantalized by the sensation. His mouth is wet and inviting, and when he leans in, sealing his mouth with yours, you moan down his throat, making a fist in his shirt. You feel the sweat dripping down the length of your spine, feel the dampness of your dress as it absorbs it all.

Your tongue darts out to lap up the flow of saliva that coats his chin. A string of it stretches from your mouth to his as you pull back, just for a moment, just to breathe. There's something deeply sinister in his taste, something that you don't want to think too hard about. Something that leaves you breathless and wanting more. So you do. You lick at his bottom lip hungrily, and he catches your lip with his teeth, biting down just enough to cause pain. Any harder and he would've drawn blood.

Remmick's other hand winds around your back, holding you with a tight grip. It's the kind of grip that says you ain't gonna' make it to that front door. So you don't try. You aren't sure you even want to, because the way he's walking you backwards has your core muscles tightening in a way that you haven't felt in weeks. Anticipation.

"I wanna' taste that honey he talked so fondly of…"

You hit the wood of the table, and Remmick's urging you up onto it before you can protest. The half-empty coffee cup gets shoved off the edge and shatters, black liquid seeping into the floorboards like blood. Neither of you seem to notice.

Remmick continues talking, buttering you up and praising your body before he's even had the chance to taste it. It's working. You're slick and ready, wordlessly begging for him.

You prop yourself up on your elbows as you get comfortable, digging your heels into the surface of the table. The sound of your shallow, wanton breaths fills the small room, and Remmick presses his chest against your shins, reaching around your thighs to hitch your dress up around your hips. Greedy hands reach under the fabric, finding the hem of your underwear. With an esurient touch, he reaches between your legs and curls his fingers around the damp fabric, twisting it tight and tugging it down your legs. You hum at the quick brush of his knuckles against your swollen clit, bucking your hips forward. Remmick discards them, allowing them to fall lifelessly to the floor next to his feet.

His long, lithe fingers trail around your kneecap, and dip back, touching the sensitive flesh behind them. Your back arches, fingers clawing at the wood.

Without another thought, your legs drop open for him, revealing your aching, wet center. Having felt the movement, he raises a curious brow, looking between your bodies. "What's this now?"

He's looking at you, waiting. Waiting for you to explain yourself. Your chest heaves with breaths, but you don't answer; you ain't got nothing to say. You're done talking with your mouth. Your gaze bores into his, fiery and intense and filled with the desperation that your lips don't convey. His eyes widen, just for a moment, and you know he understands.

With one firm tug, he pulls you to the edge of the table — your back slides against the smoothed wood like butter. With his gaze locked on his target, Remmick lowers himself down between your legs one knee at a time, situating his face right in front of your cunt. The proximity has you reeling, writhing on the table like a cat in heat. You hear a low chuckle and feel the rush of his breath as he speaks, washing over your skin. "Well, ain't that just the prettiest thing I ever did see… you got yerself' worked up nice n' good."

It wasn't you. It was him.

You try to feel embarrassed, to feel shame, but the only thing that sizzles in your system is your pride. You're proud that he's about to do what he wants with you, proud that you're already wet for him.

You watch him between your legs as he looks at her, tilting his head to and fro, leaning in and inhaling your personal scent. He's clearly not keen on disguising his lust as his dark, glimmering eyes roll back in his head, jaw hanging slack. Another stream of drool. Fear bubbles up in your gut, but Remmick's fingers scratch it away as he grips the sides of your hips, kneading your flesh. Your head lolls back between your shoulders, heavy, as his tongue slips out to taste you, licking a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. Your essence coats his tongue, pulling a low, gratified growl from his throat. Wade used to growl, but not like that. You ain't never heard a man growl like that.

You lift your gaze and your chest fills with air as Remmick presses his mouth into your cunt, lapping at it. Your next exhale comes out as a moan, and he digs in deeper, tongue stroking your clit, making your hips writhe unconsciously.

"Ah-ah, where you goin' now?" He asks, pulling you right back to the edge of the table. He knows better know, knows he can't leave that body unattended, so his hands, his fingers grip your hips tight, pressing them down into the wood. The table creaks underneath you, moans low like you do every time Remmick's dirty, hungry mouth seals to your cunt. The tip of his tongue encircles your clit, teasing it with single-minded precision. Pleasure. White, hot pleasure. The coil in your stomach winds tighter around itself, aching to snap. A few more passes of his tongue, and you'll be done for.

The curtain patterned moonlight stretches across your body, casting lacy shadows across your bare thighs, illuminating Remmick's fingers as they crawl around your skin like serpents, hunting for some unsuspecting prey.

The other starved beast, his tongue, delves further down into your slickened entrance, scooping back some of the nectar that wells up to meet it. You hear him swallow wetly, and close your eyes, digging your head into the table.

"Oooh, yer' close, I can taste it," he says between swallows. His voice is lower now, lubricated with his own tangible desire. You really were everything Wade had given him. Every thought rang true. "Sweeter than a summer peach…"

You whimper loudly, fighting against his grip. "Don't stop…. don't you stop…"

Remmick lets out a surprised chuckle before pressing his mouth back to you, tongue first. He slips inside you, humming in pleasure as you clench around the welcome intrusion. His tongue thrusts a few times, fucking into you with an unbridled hunger, before he swallows again and returns his efforts to your clit.

And suddenly, you're lost in a tidal wave of pleasure. Waves of euphoria crashing over you, drowning you. Your toes curl, muscles seize up. There's nothing but the feeling of his tongue as it laps at your throbbing cunt. A ribbon of sweat descends from your hairline, winding down to the hollow of your shoulder.

Your chest heaves long, shallow breaths, but your eyes pierce his with a sluttish intensity. You never were satisfied with just one orgasm. You longed to feel the searing, shivering pain of overstimulation.

"Fuck me," you plead as you stretch the suspenders over the curves of his shoulders. "Fuck me hard."

Remmick's head cocks to the side, as if to ask for confirmation. When you don't reply, he hurriedly pulls his shirts from his trousers, exposing his pale, toned stomach. It heaves with laboured, hungry breaths as he reaches for his belt, the button of his slacks. Nimble fingers make quick work of them both, and before you can blink, he's pushed his trousers down. You blink a few times, focusing on his face and realize… he's changed. His mouth looks bigger somehow and it hangs open like a hungry beast's. Sharp, jagged fangs have replace his pearly whites, and when he reaches up to wipe your slick from his chin, his fingers are even longer than before, lengthed by sharp claws.

The man you let in wasn't a man at all, but it was too late for you to care. Your cunt was too wet for you to worry, to protest now. This is it, you think. This is how I die.

"I love me a woman with a healthy appetite," he snarls.

His body folds over yours. His leaking cockhead nudges your entrance, like it, too, needs permission to enter and who are you to deny it? His gaze searches yours, and though it's laden with desire, there's a longing, a question, underneath it all. His hips jerk, pressing the velvet hot tip harder against you and Remmick lets out a whine, something that sounds like pleading. You grip his shirt at the collar, pulling him closer to you. There's a comforting familiarity in your grip and for a moment, you're latched onto the collar of your lover. You sigh.

It's all he needs. In a single thrust, Remmick bottoms out, sinking himself deep into your hot, slick walls. His rhythm, when he finds it, has intention. The force of his thrusts shake your body, your breasts move against your ribs with every drive forward. The wooden table creaks in a singsong melody beneath you, a sinful hymn of your coupled desire.

Your hands grapple furiously for his shoulders, finding comfort in the toned muscles that meet your grip. You wrap both arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him, and Remmick nuzzles into your scent, breathing heavy.

Still sensitive from his tongue, it doesn't take long for you to climb and fall from a second orgasm, clenching tightly around his dick. Your cries fill the house, staining the walls and your legs shake in his grip when he doesn't relent. Remmick whines again and leans forward, whispering something in a language you don't understand. He leans over you, looming above you and deepends his thrusts, bullying your cervix with each one. The gold chain sways in front of your face, and your lids flutter close.

Thoughts of your husband feel far away, because as hungry as he was and as much as he claimed your body, he never fucked you like this. Above you, Remmick leans back, his hips continuing to snap hard against yours.

He calls you girl, calls you sweet and withdraws himself to the head. Gazes down at your swollen, used cunt. With a sharp breath, he plunges himself back in. His release is imminent, and with a few more thrusts, he finds it.

Remmick's hand lifts, clawed fingers curling around your soft jaw to pull it to the side. He leans forward again, presses his lips against the nape of your neck, smearing them against the sweaty skin. You can feel your pulse thudding, visible against the delicate flesh, and know he can too. You don't scream when his mouth opens against your skin, tongue lashing out to taste the succulent flesh one final time. A sickening, squelching sound of flesh tearing fills your ears, followed by a wet swallow. You wince hard as his fangs dig into your flesh, but ease into the sensation of Remmick's mouth as it suckles around the mangled, torn skin, drinking your blood down in gulps as your arteries pump it out. You feel the blood as it cascades down your back, warm. There's so much pain — white, hot fire — that your body begins to quiver. But just for a moment. A single moment.

Your head lolls first before the rest of your body goes slack. Fingers fall from his shoulder, twitching involtunarily. Remmick doesn't let you go, though, if anything — he holds you tighter. Closer. Sucking you down and draining you of your lifeblood.

As your lids flutter heavily, the last image burned into them is his monstrous visage, and the last sensation is the gentle feeling of clawed cupping your face, stroking your sweaty cheek with his thumb.

"That's it," he insists. "Rest a while, darlin'."

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