#And it did get dark for a bit which was cool

[lilirae00]

The Lilac Effect

Summary: One-shot: Paige really loves when Azzi’s toenails are painted.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: light sexual content and slight foot fetish, but nothing crazy. Paige just really loves every part of Azzi. 

a/n: Ok this one was a request and it really challenged me bc I didn't like what I came up with. I wrote and rewrote so many parts of this until finally being satisfied. I hope this isn't too crazy! Let me know your thoughts.

Masterlist

—

It was the second full day of their summer cruise, somewhere off the Florida coast. The sun was relentless, baking the ship’s top deck into a shimmering oven, but Paige and Azzi had staked out a quiet corner by the pool, towels laid out on adjoining loungers. 

Paige had one arm propped behind her head, sunglasses low on her nose, pretending to read one of Azzi’s many books she brought on the trip. But she wasn’t really reading.

She was watching Azzi.

Azzi was on her stomach, bikini strings tied in a neat bow behind her neck, her skin gleaming with sunscreen. Her legs were bent at the knees, feet in the air, ankles crossed lazily. 

Paige’s gaze should have stayed higher—Azzi’s back was gorgeous, all sculpted lines and golden brown skin. But her eyes kept drifting down.

To her feet.

Azzi’s toenails were painted this deep, glossy purple. It was almost black in the shade but glowed like amethyst where the sun hit. 

Paige licked her lips unconsciously. She didn’t know why it did something to her—just Azzi’s feet, specifically. She wasn’t into feet in general. Hell, if anyone else had their crusty toes out she’d look away. But Azzi’s?

Azzi’s were perfect.

Paige’s face got hot even thinking it.

Azzi glanced over her shoulder, sensing the stare. She grinned, eyebrows lifting playfully over her big sunglasses. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Paige cleared her throat, snapping the book closed a little too hard. “Nothing.”

Azzi hummed knowingly, turning fully onto her side so they faced each other. Her feet swung over, toes brushing Paige’s shin deliberately. “Paige.”

Paige’s gaze flickered down again. She watched the dark purple catch the light. Her stomach flipped stupidly. She forced herself to look back up at Azzi’s face but she knew she was blushing.

Azzi’s grin widened. “What?”

Paige huffed and muttered, “Your toenails look cute, okay?”

Azzi blinked. Then her whole face softened. She reached out, tracing a teasing fingertip along Paige’s jaw. “Thanks, baby.”

Paige swallowed hard, pressing her cheek into Azzi’s fingers like a cat. She couldn’t even play it cool. “Yeah.”

Azzi giggled, leaning over to kiss her. It was slow, sweet, the kind of kiss you had on vacation when time didn’t exist. Paige’s hand came up automatically to cup Azzi’s neck, thumb brushing over the damp hairs at her nape.

They pulled apart just enough to catch their breath, foreheads pressed together, sunglasses bumping.

Azzi bit her lip, still smiling. “You’re weird.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Azzi’s foot flexed, nudging Paige’s calf. “You sure you don’t want me to paint them another color? Just for you?”

Paige sputtered, scandalized. “Azzi.”

Azzi cackled, settling back onto her lounger, clearly delighted. “Just say the word.”

Paige tried to go back to her book, but she was grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. She stole glances all afternoon, her heart thudding every time Azzi’s toes wiggled in the sun, purple and perfect.

And she thought, God help me, I’m so screwed.

—

Summer didn’t last forever—even for them. A week after the cruise ended, they were back home in Storrs for summer classes and workouts.

They didn’t get many nights off during summer training, so when they did, they made the most of it. 

Dinner plans with friends meant getting ready together—which, for them, usually meant showering together in the cramped apartment bathroom, pretending they were helping each other save time.

Steam clung to every surface. Water roared from the too-small showerhead, hitting Azzi’s shoulders and rolling down her back. Paige’s chest was pressed to her, arms draped over her waist, lazy and heavy in that way she got when she was content.

Azzi tipped her head back under the spray, closing her eyes, soap suds sliding down smooth skin. Paige watched her like she was studying for a test.

She tried not to stare too obviously when Azzi shifted her weight, one foot sliding forward on the slick tile. That perfect line of her calf, ankle, and—

—those bright pink toes.

Paige’s mouth went dry. She swallowed, eyes dropping before she could stop herself.

Azzi cracked one eye open. “Mmm? What are you looking at down there?”

Paige jerked her gaze back up, face heating instantly. “Nothing. Just…like the color. That’s all.”

Azzi’s lips curved slow and knowing, even as the water poured over her. She turned in Paige’s arms, chest to chest, grabbing her jaw and tilting it up so they were nose to nose.

“That all you love right now?” she murmured, voice husky.

Paige swallowed hard, fingers flexing on Azzi’s hips. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Azzi’s grin turned devilish. She kissed Paige hard, pressing her back against the slick tile, hands braced on either side of her head. Water sprayed over their shoulders, plastering hair to their skin. Paige whimpered against her mouth, melting immediately, pulling Azzi flush against her.

They kissed like they were starving, like weeks of being around each other constantly had somehow made them needier, not satisfied. Always touching, always close—and somehow it was never enough.

When Azzi finally pulled back, they were both panting, water still pouring down on them.

Paige’s eyes were blown wide. Her voice was wrecked when she finally managed, “We’re gonna be late.”

Azzi only grinned, brushing her nose over Paige’s. “We’ll blame it on the hot water running out.”

Paige snorted, but it was breathless. She let her hands slide lower over Azzi’s back, pressing a final quick kiss to her lips before pushing her gently under the spray.

“Wash up, superstar,” Paige ordered, trying to sound firm but her voice cracked anyway.

Azzi hummed, satisfied, turning away with a flick of her wet hair. “Yes, Captain.”

Paige closed her eyes for a second, trying to get her heart rate under control—though her gaze dropped again, just once, to those bright pink toes.

And she bit back a groan.

—

A few days later, Paige’s apartment was a mess of people and leftover takeout boxes, shoes kicked into piles by the door. 

The team had streamed in after practice, sweaty and exhausted but happy to have nowhere else to be. Paige’s couch and floor were crowded with teammates sprawled out, a Netflix movie playing with the volume low.

Paige was slumped in one corner of the couch, legs spread comfortably. Azzi sat sideways between them, knees bent, feet tucked against Paige’s thigh. Paige’s hand rested idly on Azzi’s shin, fingers tapping to the credits music, pretending she was watching the screen but really she was just tracing the smooth line of Azzi’s leg.

Azzi’s toenails were freshly painted a glossy coral, catching the glow of the string lights Paige had looped around the TV. Paige’s gaze kept dropping, her mouth going dry every time Azzi flexed her foot or wiggled her toes absently.

The conversation buzzed around them, soft and easy. Caroline sat cross-legged on the floor, tossing popcorn into Nika’s open mouth. She paused mid-throw to glance at Azzi’s feet.

“Oh my god, Az, what color is that? It’s so pretty. Can I borrow it?”

Azzi blinked and laughed. “Yeah, it’s in my bag. Help yourself.”

But Paige’s fingers had gone rigid on her leg. Azzi felt the change immediately, glancing down at Paige’s hand gripping just a little too tightly. She cocked an eyebrow, smirking as she twisted to face her.

“Paige?” she murmured quietly, voice low enough no one else could hear. “What’s wrong?”

Paige’s jaw worked. “Nothing.”

Azzi tilted her head knowingly, letting a slow, mischievous smile bloom. She ran her thumb along Paige’s knuckles until the grip loosened, teasing. “You sure?”

Paige shot her a look that was half embarrassed, half exasperated.

“Positive.”

Azzi’s grin softened, a tiny huff of a laugh escaping. She pressed her nose against Paige’s cheek, whispering warmly. “Mhm. Okay.”

On the floor, Caroline squinted at them. “Jesus. Can you two stop communicating telepathically? It’s gross.”

Nika snorted. “Please, let them be in love. It’s the only entertainment this movie’s giving me.”

Paige made a face, throwing a throw pillow at them without ever letting go of Azzi. Azzi giggled, burying her face in Paige’s shoulder, her warm breath hot on Paige’s neck. Paige felt her cheeks flush but didn’t move her hand from Azzi’s leg.

The team laughed and settled back into the movie, but Azzi kept stealing tiny glances at Paige, eyes full of quiet amusement. She didn’t push. She just stayed close, foot tapping lightly against Paige’s thigh every so often.

And after the movie’s ending credits rolled, the room had gone softer and sleepier, teammates drifting off or scrolling their phones. Azzi leaned in close to Paige’s ear, voice teasing and sweet as she traced slow circles on Paige’s wrist with her thumb.

“Caroline can borrow the polish,” she murmured, so low only Paige could hear. “But not my feet. Those are yours.”

Paige swallowed hard, her eyes flicking down once more before meeting Azzi’s, heat and affection warring in her flushed expression. She didn’t say anything, but she squeezed Azzi’s leg, thumb brushing over bone and tendon and smooth, warm skin like she’d never want to stop.

—

The next time Paige really noticed Azzi’s toes was a couple of weeks later. It wasn’t some big planned moment or special occasion—just them, alone in Paige’s tiny bedroom, kissing like they were making up for every second they’d ever spent apart.

Azzi giggled against Paige’s mouth as they stumbled backward onto Paige’s bed, half-naked, shirts tossed somewhere near the door. The blinds were half-drawn but neither of them cared. 

It was the same bed they’d snuck into since the beginning of their time at UConn, the same creaky mattress that everyone in the apartment pretended not to hear.

Paige’s fingers hooked in the waistband of Azzi’s underwear, tugging them slow. She kissed her way down Azzi’s belly, pressing her open-mouthed and messy against warm skin. Azzi’s hands threaded through her hair, tugging with a whine.

“Paige,” she breathed. Just her name, but it was enough to make Paige shiver.

When she got the underwear to Azzi’s ankles, she paused. Her breath hitched. Azzi’s toenails were painted a new color. A creamy, deep red that stood out bright against her brown skin, glossy under the cheap dorm light.

Paige stared. For a half-second too long.

Azzi huffed, cheeks pink but eyes glittering with mischief. “Paige. Madison. Bueckers,” she drawled, voice low and teasing.

Paige jerked her eyes up, red creeping into her neck. “Shut up.”

Azzi smirked, flexing her toes on purpose. “Since when do you have a foot fetish?”

Paige groaned, burying her face in Azzi’s thigh. “I don’t!” The words were muffled, desperate. “It’s not—It’s not a thing, okay? I just think they’re really fucking cute. You’re really fucking cute.”

Azzi barked a delighted laugh, her fingers tugging Paige’s hair to make her look up. “You’re ridiculous.”

Paige scowled, but it was hopeless with her face bright red. “Shut up,” she mumbled again, before pressing a kiss to the inside of Azzi’s knee.

Azzi’s voice went low, playful but warm. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

Paige swallowed hard, eyes dropping again. “It’s because they’re yours. It’s stupid, but…even the smallest parts of you make me lose it.”

Azzi’s heart skipped. Her fingers relaxed in Paige’s hair.

She tugged gently, pulling Paige back up on top of her. Their lips met, slower this time, but with no less heat. Azzi’s thighs parted, welcoming Paige’s weight.

She brushed her thumb over Paige’s cheek. “Even if it is a thing for you…that’s okay. I want you to have every part of me. I’m all yours.”

Paige let out a broken sound, relief mixing with need. She kissed Azzi deeper, their mouths sliding wet and slow.

Azzi made a satisfied noise when Paige’s fingers pressed between them. Her breath came faster, eyes locked on Paige’s with hungry focus.

“Yeah,” she breathed, voice low and wrecked. “Just like that. Touch me like you mean it.”

Paige huffed a laugh against her mouth, but her hands didn’t waver. “God, you’re impossible.”

Azzi grinned, her hips rolling into Paige’s palm, the teasing in her voice falling away to raw need. “And you can’t get enough.”

Paige didn’t even try to argue.

She just showed her.

—

The next day was slow and warm, the kind of lazy summer afternoon where campus was half-empty and quiet except for the buzz of athletes sauntering around. 

Paige was sprawled on her stomach across her bed, propped on her elbows, textbook open in front of her but only half the words sinking in. She was idly chewing her pen cap, brow furrowed in pretend concentration, when her room door swung open without a knock.

Azzi stepped inside like she owned the place. Her hair was up in a hasty bun, sunglasses perched on her head, and she was holding a little paper bag, fingers twisting it like she was trying to hide how excited she was.

Paige didn’t even glance up at first, muttering around her pen, “Hey baby.” She turned her head just enough for Azzi to lean down and steal a soft, slow kiss that made Paige’s eyes flutter shut.

When they parted, Paige noticed the bag dangling from Azzi’s hand. She raised an eyebrow, curiosity overtaking homework instantly. “Whatcha got there?”

Azzi tried to look nonchalant, but her grin gave her away. She climbed onto the bed beside Paige, dropping the bag onto the comforter between them. “Something for you.”

Paige tossed her pen aside like it was on fire, rolling onto her side to face Azzi fully. “For me?” Her voice went soft, teasing. “God, you’re cute. What is it?”

Azzi bit her lip, then tipped the bag over so its contents spilled onto the bedspread in a clatter of tiny glass bottles. Nail polishes in every shade—creamy lilacs, bright corals, shy pinks, even deep ocean blues.

Paige blinked, mouth opening a little. “Az…”

Azzi smirked but there was a shy blush at the tops of her ears. “Pick a color. And help me paint them.”

Paige’s heart thumped painfully in her chest, heat flooding her cheeks. “You’re serious?”

Azzi shrugged like it was nothing, but her eyes were soft and bright. “You love them, right? You can have ‘em. Every weird little part of me. If you want to touch them or stare at them or paint them or whatever—go for it.”

Paige swallowed, overwhelmed by the sweetness of it. She reached out and tugged Azzi closer by the wrist, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re gonna kill me. You know that?”

Azzi’s answering smile was lazy, smug. “Pick a color, Bueckers.”

Paige sighed dramatically but started rummaging through the pile, pretending to be picky even though her fingers kept hovering over one bottle in particular. She finally held up the lilac purple, eyes shining.

Azzi rolled her eyes fondly. “Of course you picked that.”

Paige’s voice dropped, softer. “It’s my favorite.”

Azzi leaned back, slipping off her slides and wiggling her bare feet at Paige in invitation. Paige caught her breath, fingers trembling slightly as she took the bottle and twisted it open.

Azzi watched her carefully, something fond and heated in her gaze. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Paige exhaled slow, a grin spreading across her face. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

And she started to paint them, careful, reverent, like she was learning Azzi all over again.

—

The polish on Azzi’s toes had long since dried by the time they ended up in bed. Now the little bottles were scattered and forgotten on the desk, and Paige and Azzi were doing what they always did best.

They lay tangled together in Paige’s bed, the thin sheet barely covering them. Both were mostly naked beneath it—just warm skin and heat-slick limbs in the dusky glow of the lamp on the nightstand.

Azzi was half-asleep against Paige’s shoulder, one leg draped over her hip. Paige hadn’t said anything in a while, her fingers just moving lazily over Azzi’s side, tracing the curve of her ribs.

Then Paige’s hand stilled. She swallowed.

“Can I…see them?” Her voice was low, hesitant, almost shy.

Azzi blinked awake fully, blinking at her. “My toes?”

Paige’s face was already red, but she nodded.

Azzi smirked a little but didn’t tease her—this time. She shifted, slowly pushing the sheet down her body, exposing her bare legs and the freshly painted lilac polish Paige had so carefully applied earlier. 

She wiggled her toes just slightly, like she was presenting them.

“Go on,” she said softly. “They’re all yours.”

Paige exhaled shakily, eyes going dark and hungry at once. She sat up slightly, one hand sliding reverently over Azzi’s shin, thumb brushing the arch of her foot before settling on her ankle.

Azzi felt the goosebumps rise on her own skin at how careful Paige was being. How her eyes went glassy and her breathing sped up, chest rising and falling in ragged pulls.

“You’re really…fuck,” Paige mumbled under her breath, cheeks flushed hot. She dragged her thumb over Azzi’s ankle bone, lingering.

Azzi’s grin softened, melting into something fond and warm. “God, look at you,” she whispered, voice gone husky. “You really like them, huh?”

Paige didn’t answer at first. She bent down and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of Azzi’s foot. Azzi felt it all the way in her chest. Paige kissed each toe carefully, her fingers tightening on Azzi’s ankle.

Azzi watched her closely, seeing how Paige’s skin flushed pink all the way to her ears, how her pupils were blown wide, how her breathing got so shallow it stuttered.

“Oh,” Azzi breathed, genuine surprise breaking through her teasing. “Baby…you’re really gone, huh?”

Paige’s only answer was another shaky kiss to her arch before she dragged her mouth up Azzi’s shin, leaving a trail of heat behind. Her hands traveled up the backs of Azzi’s thighs, pulling her closer, sheet crumpling beneath them.

Azzi let out a shuddering laugh that dissolved into a gasp when Paige’s lips found her hip, then her stomach. She squirmed, fingers threading in Paige’s hair.

“Told you,” Azzi managed when Paige finally came back up to kiss her properly, mouths sliding together in something messy and wanting. “Whatever you want. Always.”

Paige laughed wetly against her lips, eyes shining. “Love you.”

Azzi kissed her nose, then pressed their foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut. “Love you too. Freak.”

Paige snorted, rolling them gently so Azzi was pinned beneath her, both of them grinning breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Paige whispered, voice low and wrecked. “Yours.”

Azzi hummed, her fingers digging into Paige’s back, pulling her impossibly closer. “Damn right.”

And they stayed that way for a long time, trading slow, heated kisses, the world outside the tiny room disappearing entirely. Just them. Always them.

[circle--of--confusion]

Atlanta Skeletour notes:

👻🦇🎸🎶

*shakes fist* Atlanta traffic!!!!!

(The rest under the cut)

The ticket process was fairly smooth and efficient. They were very good at dealing with the Yondr pouches

Wear a watch! Its very useful!

I had a few people ask me for the time and my sister had a couple too

HOLY MERCH LINE, BATMAN

I had to get in a massive line but it moved very fast all things considered

Started right at 8

PEACEFIELD omg what a delight. The drop of the curtain was amazing live

Lacryma, Spirit, and Faith were excellent!!! I was so happy to hear Faith live (its my favorite)

They did Call Me Little Sunshine instead of Majesty!!!!! It was amazing seeing the trippy mirror effect on the screen

Phantom did a crowd conducting bit to stall for time. He would gesture to one side to cheer and then quiet them to then call for the other side to do it. Sorta like that one Papa 3 clip of him raising his fist for the fans to cheer?

It was rainy today and Perpetua came out going "we try to appease the gods" and then mentioned something about how the future is always uncertain even if you plan (queue The Future is a Foreign Land!)

My notes specifically say: red light grucifix = really cool

No wings for Cirice. (I wonder if they're broken)

He still had his arms around himself as if he was still wearing the bat wings

OMG HE SPARKLES hes so pretty and shiny in the sparkly mask for Cirice

My notes say: new guy 👍

My notes say: P looks pretty and shiny

Im not sure if everyone does it BUT I saw the new ghoul and a ghoulette on the left (dont know who it was) doing the snaps into the mic for Darkness at the Heart of my Love, which was cool

Perpetua pointed at Dew when he played a super long note and gestured for the audience to clap (he did that a lot during the show when there was a guitar solo

THE SHATTERING GLASS AFTER YEAR ZERO IS SO COOL omg. And then when it looks firey on stage? Hell yeah

He Is was cool. I loved the animated background

I think there was a flub at one point? It sounded like they were queuing up for Umbra (I heard the synth and saw some purple lighting) and then there was a hard cut and then Satanized started (but it was also the zoom out music at the end of the music video so IDK i was just thrown off)

Yelling "Blasphemy! Heresy! Saaaaaave meeeeee!!" Was so cathartic

He did the cowery thing at the mic during the chant parts

Rats. Need i say more? It was fucking awesome

KISS THE GO-GOAT! I love that it was a show song and not an encore song

Mumny Dust my beloved. I wasn't able to get any after the show and to be honest? I didn't see a lot shoot out of the canon anyway. There was a ton of confetti, though.

When he was talking before Mummy Dust, he was saying something like "its very hot outside and then a cold fucker like me comes along." [...] "my nipples are stiff right now."

And then he asked the audience about their nipples

What a scamp

Edit: oh! And when he did the joint roll thing and it landed near a security guy, Perpetua said "these guys aren't here to protect me from you. They're to protect you from me." And then he smiled and laughed

MONSTRANCE CLOCK omg that was great live

My sister about the song: you know, I do get culty vibes from it

The encore was great.

Mary on a Cross, Dance Macabre, Square Hammer

Before he started, he said "well, we've played all the good ones already. But do you want to hear an older song?" And said something about it being his daddy's song

Dance Macabre my beloved. That was my first Ghost song and it was such a phenomenal feeling seeing it live

Square Hammer. 'Nuff said

It was actually super cool seeing the audience on screen during the song? Idk it was super cute actually.

There were times someone would be vibing and then notice they were on screen and go "oh shit!"

I saw a sign that said "tickle my birthday taint." Never change, Ghost fans.

All in all, I loved it. I cant believe I was in the same room! Its a bit surreal!

And now, my 3 gripes:

The instruments were almost too overpowering at times. I could barely hear the singing at times

Being 5'5" on the floor sucks. At a certain points I just stopped trying to pay attention to the stage and just vibed to the music (but thats a personal gripe)

The bass was WAY too high at the start. Like, I could feel my chest rumbling. I think they fixed it after the first few songs, though. It didn't feel so intense afterwards

Goodies!

I wasn't able to get mummy bucks (so if anyone has spare bills............dm me👀)

I got a pick!!! I went to the pit to try and find some bills but it was pretty much wiped out but a super kind lady saw me and said "here, have this!" And it was a pic she believes Dew threw out

And I got a tour shirt

As far as first rituals go, id say it was a success. There are probably parts i'm missing. He said something during Faith but im not sure. Maybe it was "Faith! Is! Mine! Assholes [?]" Im not sure

Edit: oh! I also walked past a ghoulbangers interview so i'm definitely gonna be looking for me when that video comes out

[savvyscribbleswriting]

Pairing: Johnny Storm (as portrayed by Joseph Quinn) x fem!Reader

Summary: You listen in on Johnny singing your baby daughter to sleep.

Format: Drabble

Word Count: ~600

Genre: Fluff; Songfic

Additional Tags/Warnings: I’m going in blind with this one; nothing is set in stone with regards to plot/setting/characters/other; no use of (Y/N); it’s just you, Johnny, and your little baby girl; said baby girl has a name; possible incorrect quotation of song lyrics (apologies)

Author’s Note: This story can either be read by itself or as a little extension to “A Fantastic Addition to the Family,” which you can read here.

P.S. Reader and Johnny’s baby is named after a girl I knew in high school that was in my theatre class.

P.P.S. I DO NOT OWN THE FANTASTIC FOUR OR ANYTHING ELSE MARVEL-RELATED, NOR DO I OWN THE SONG “MR. SANDMAN”!!!

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

Your brain decided to end whatever dream you were having and urge you to wake up. You figured that your body had finally developed an inner alarm clock that was set to go off whenever your baby girl did. As part of the routine, you spread your arm out to your husband’s side of the bed, knowing that just your touch would be enough to keep him from waking up from his own slumber. Unfortunately, all you felt was the coolness of the bedsheets. You slowly opened your eyes. Sure enough, he wasn’t there.

You lifted yourself up and adjusted to the darkness of the room. From underneath the door, you swore you could see a small sliver of light. Mind fully alert and curiosity piqued, you got out of bed and followed it. It turned out to be coming from a crack in your daughter’s bedroom door. You quietly opened it to peek inside.

There he stood - the one and only Johnny Storm. The love of your life and father of your child. He was currently cradling said child in his arms and singing her to sleep.

It had been six wonderful months since Clara Jean Storm was born. You and Johnny enjoyed spending time with her and making sure she was healthy and happy. While you kept an eye out for any potential superpowers she might develop (‘She might inherit more than your fiery temper, Mr. Storm,’ you joked one time), you two basked in all that she did and was, no matter how mundane.

Most nights, you were responsible for getting up to take care of anything your daughter cried out for. Tonight, though, Johnny decided to give you a break. He tiptoed out of bed and into Clara’s room, where he promptly scooped her up and started singing a song that he knew you loved to sing to Clara whenever she was fussy.

“Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

Make her the cutest that I’ve ever seen

Give her two lips like roses and clover

Then tell her that her lonesome nights are over…”

You leaned against the doorway and stared in awe at the sweetness in front of you. It was enough to bring a tear to your eye… until Johnny began messing up the lyrics.

“Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

Give her some eyeballs with a come here wink wink

Give her a lovely heart like Pongo Artie

And lots of baby hair like Liber-archie…”

Johnny knew those weren’t the right words but they were close enough, and it’s not like Clara would be able to tell the difference.

Suddenly, he heard a snort and turned around. You were trying not to burst out laughing and wake up the entire floor. Johnny smiled before making a face in an effort to break you. You proved to be stronger, however, and calmed down enough to enter the room. You slid next to Johnny and gently patted Clara’s head. She was back to being in a deep sleep.

“You did a good job with her,” you whispered to Johnny, moving on to pat his shoulder. “Besides, you know, messing up the lyrics.”

“I know. I know,” Johnny said, making his way back to the crib and placing Clara inside. She wriggled just a bit to get in a comfortable position. She soon settled down as Johnny asked, “Can you help me with the final part?”

You nodded and counted the two of you into the last few lines.

“Mr. Sandman, someone to hold

Would be so peachy before we get old

So please turn on your magic beam

Mr. Sandman, bring us, please, please, please

Mr. Sandman, bring us a dream.”

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

Author’s Note 2: Electric Boogaloo: Thank you so much for making it to the end! I ask that you NOT post this story as your own, please. Instead, give it a like/review/bookmark/reblog/all of the above wherever you read it.

Archive of Our Own

[ghoulangerlee]

have a lil list of stuff from last night's show at the state farm arena here in Atlanta!! Disjointed and stuff bc I am bad at remembering but oh my god!!!

New guy hugging Phantom during the bows!!! V cute v cute! It was a big hug too like, really tight and close squeeze sorta hug. Cozy.

VOCALS

NO ONE WOULD SING THE CHORUS OF SATAN PRAYER OR MONSTRANCE CLOCK I was all the way at the back of the floor but I was YELLING the chorus to Satan Prayer and the only other people around me that were were Kel and our friend 😭

CMLS instead of Majesty

None of the ghouls would acknowledge V during Year Zero

MOUNTAIN ON THE BIG SCREEN SO MUCH, esp when he was banging on the drums!!! During the intro to Satan Prayer???? He was A STAR.

Spirit into Per Aspera (NEW GUYS VOICE WAS GOOD IN THIS !!!!)

V's nipples were hard—he got chilly apparently lmao

The future is a foreign land!!!!!! Best time of my life!!! Singing that when the world's going to shit feels so cathartic honestly 😭😭😭

Darkeness at the Heart is so good I eat my hat okay I was WRONG about it being boring live!!!????

Papa talked about the weather which was ironically funny, yes it did storm on us right before we got let into the venue. What do you MEAN you almost cancelled it. Was that a joke (refeencing Simpsonville and the two Florida shows bc baby I don't think the hurt has lessened enough to joke about that yet) or were you serious? EXPLAIN.

WOW MUMMY DUST!!!! It sounds so good in person???? I was NOT Expecting the thrusts on the big screen but....they were!!! Also! I dunno I think there's less of a backing track and more Him on the vocals now but I could be wrong.

Aurora or Tempest (not sure who's on the platform by the new guy) got down and danced with Phantom

COWBELL.

CIRRUS IS SO BADASS

GIRL SHES GONNA CRUSH DEW

SHE'S SO UNIMPRESSED BY HIM DURING UMBRA

MY LOVE

The mask in Cirice is so fucking sparkly it was reflecting light so much 😭

GHOULS!!!! The Rats outro oh my god oh my god oh my god.

Phantom is so sassy!!

Man wasn't even talking to us during one of the bits when he was hyping the crowd but you could feel his disappointment when we didn't cheer loud enough hahaha

The ghoul fits look so good on stage like??? I wasn't 100% sold on them but they're such good looks!!

I do like that Dew and Phantom are the only ones wearing hats tho. I don't know how to describe it, I don't think it's a gender thing for me but it's a neat thing to see!!!

Rain was so sassy and cool, what a guy. What a GUY.

Rain = bully to V and only V. He probably gets a power trip off of it or something 😂 Year Zero antics my beloved.

Peacefield live was holy shit amazing???? Yelling the chorus to that was FANTASTIC. 10/10 would do again.

And, as loathe as I hate to admit it, He Is was So Good live. Like, just a sea of people swaying along, the visuals in the backdrop of the stage were gorgeous and it was such a magical moment.

Non Ritual happenings:

Guy dressed as Jesus was there and ppl kept cheering for him (and cheering everytime it thundered when we were all in line outside)

Tobias's family walked right by us at the end of the show during the encore lmao absolute jumpscare bc I didn't expect them to be on the floor like that 😂

We were ALMOST interviewed by Vanessa and her crew but the State Farm Arena people kicked us off the floor :( she was turning around to talk to us (one of the assistants with her had asked us if we wanted to be interviewed) and then we got yelled at so they had to leave. God Vanessa is so pretty irl 😭 I literally used to watch Headbangers Ball all the time so seeing her in person was like WOW!!!!

Beyonce concert was also happening at the same time, at the Mercedes Benz Stadium so tons of ppl were getting off Marta and would just see All Of Us dressed in our best Ghost fits. At one point we were just cheering on giant groups of Beyonce fans 😂 music truly brings everyone together.

And now for a silly thing: please accept the chart of my heart rate during the concert last night (started at 8pm)

At 8pm when the show started my heart rate was reading at 107, but when the curtain dropped during Peacefield, it shot up to 125 😂 it was such a euphoric experience.

Also 💚

What a joyous time we live in 💚

[gl00mt0mb]

Peter Parker head-cannon that I believe whole heartedly without doubt

After the events of Spider-Man homecoming Peter starts to stray away from superhero’s like the avengers and more towards local vigilantes

It’s not purposefully they just understand how he operates and have mutual respect for him as a fellow vigilante. He finds it easier to work with them with the lack of power dynamics compared to the Avenger missions or orders from SHEILD.

He still sends his regular voice messages to Happy more out of habit then anything thinking no one actually listened to them

—Except for the fact that after the vulture incident his messages are no longer going to his point guy but rather Tony Stark himself.

He never really specifics what’s going on other then a name drop or two, mostly for story telling purposes.

This result in Tony sitting in his workshop at various points trying to decipher the foreboding messages he keeps getting at random hours of the night from this high-school superhero. Stark is convinced that these are kids at school Peter knows because he simply can’t imagine Spider-Man knowing other hero’s that aren’t avengers approved.

(Little snippets of the priorly mentioned voicemails that totally happened because I said they did)

• “Eddie has a giant sweet tooth, one time we were at this restaurant and they ran out of dessert and goes feral! Like they jumped in the fish tank and bit a lobsters head clean off! They might be diabetic or something but it’s rude to ask,”

• “Oh yeah and then Matt and me like made a run for it but it was kinda hard since everyone was shooting at us and Matt’s like blind right? Well not really, but everyone thinks he is so we have to keep it on the down low, especially since the police were walking towards us. So we steal this cat off the side of the road and it’s dark so I just make it a little red webbing vest and pretended its his service animal-“

• “I met Jesse a while back and she’s really cool, anyway we were stalking this one guy a friend of hers knew, and get this! He was totally cheating on his girl with the barista. —Also he ran an illegal gambling room— but the cheating part was insane!”

• “Like sure —Frank scares the shit out of me— but this dog he rescued from a fight club thing is sooooo adorable, I’d kill a man for her. I think Frank already has?”

• “Imagine my surprise when Marc ends up actually being Steven! Steven’s a really good guy it’s a shame he’s British…but he helped me study for my anthropology class so I’ll let it slide,”

• “I wanted to watch Carmen Santiago with her but, Felicia is such a kleptomaniac, I swear I can’t take her anywhere without her trying to pocket my life’s savings in stolen merchandise-“

• “I mean, I don’t have any siblings? but Luke has this weird soap opera style drama with his brother and they had a huge fight! He threw Luke off the side of the bridge because of this argument about who was the favorite as a kid? I don’t really know the whole story but regardless I don’t mind being an only child-“

• “So I call Johnny to ask which flavor he wants but he won’t answer the phone because the giant loser is probably setting himself on fire for attention again-“

• “Kate’s mom kinda sucks, she got arrested for like I don’t know embezzlement and attempted murder or whatever rich people do when they get taxed, But her almost dad lets me use his swords so it’s not all bad.”

• “No and then me and Danny were supposed to get on this flight together but we kinda started freaking out because we were both orphaned due to a plane accident so we just had to catch an uber instead which made us mega late.”

• “And the whole trip was super fun until Wade got us stopped at the security gate because he wouldn’t leave his illegal shit at home. That led to the guard lady realizing the passport you got me was fake, so now I’m sitting in the middle of an interrogation room, and I’m scared they’re gonna deport me. I’m not sure where because I was born in Queens but it’s a real concern-“

• “I meet the strangest guys in the sewers tonight? They were in a fight club and the amount of pizza they ate was obscene, it might’ve…been a gang actually since they had a lot do weapons but I’m willing to look past it since they obviously had some more pressing issues to deal with. Like whatever skin condition they have that made them turn green.”

• “Ughhh— I told Stephen that I needed to borrow one of his books but the guy won’t budge! His library is humongous and I can’t check out one little journal for my Greek mythology unit?”

[flock-of-cassowaries]

@darthtveitor ‘s tags on this post got me thinking about Will Graham’s relationship with violence.

I don’t think Will ever did actually strike Hannibal, which is probably part of why he’s such a fascinating fanfiction blorbo to me.

Will is often deeply angry, and he has a lot of violent ideation; but he never actually dares to act on it - or even to begin to express it - except in very specific circumstances:

1. When he’s been clearly invited to (i.e. “Tell me Will, how would you do it?”)

2. In extremely clear-cut kill-or-be-killed -type situations. (Randall Tier, Francis Dolarhyde in the finale.)

I would argue that Will is generally exceptionally non-violent, especially compared to a lot of the men I’ve encountered in my travels through life.

Will is pretty much always pissed off, but doesn’t do the violent / menacing things men generally get away with - doesn’t punch walls, or raise his voice, or turn towards anyone with his hand half-raised in a plausibly-deniable quasi-threat. He doesn’t break things.

He just snarks.

This was the exception.

(He really thought he was cooking with this one, I’m sure, but… even if it’s clever, it’s still a death threat, Temporary-Badge Holding Teacher Graham. )

But like… overall, Will feels unusual to me in terms of how controlled he is about allowing himself go express any of the anger he’s feeling.

And I think that makes him really relatable to me, as someone who, as an AFAB person, has really never had the kind of social permission to do that.

I also think that the way Will doesn’t allow himself to actually act on his angriest impulses is illustrated in the contrast between how Will acts in his fantasies of killing Hannibal, vs. how he acts in the moments before he drags Hannibal off the cliff.

In his fantasies (especially the one with the stag, the tree, and the rope), Will really revels in the opportunity for cruelty, and in the emotional release of revenge.

But when that same scenario happens in reality, Will goes out of his way to give Hannibal (a man he loves, but who also, in many ways, ruined Will’s life) a moment of sublime kindness and intimacy just before he dies.

🎶Maybe that dude, he just needed a hug…🎶. NOPE. Incorrect.

….but if you’re going to extra-judicially execute someone, giving them a moment of kindness before they go is definitely a humane thing to do.

This may say more about me than it does the about text (honestly, that should probably be my tumblr bio, at this point), but I think that disparity between imagination and action says less about how Will’s feelings for Hannibal have evolved, or even about how Will’s understanding of those feelings has changed.

Rather, I think it says a lot about who Will is.

I know most people (including Hannibal, and probably the writers) interpret Will as this fundamentally dark character who’s just repressing his true nature. And like, okay. Valid interpretation.

But I think it’s also very possible (and more interesting) to read Will as a person who is able to appreciate the sensuality of simulated and/or consensual violence, but who does so without ever losing perspective as to the horror of real, non-consensual violence.

To expand on that, I think it’s fair to say that recreational sadism holds some allure for Will.

Like, there’s the way he acts in his fantasies of killing Hannibal…

Having nice time, bud?

…and the cool pleasure he takes in watching Hannibal’s (probably played-up) suffering during that scene in TWOTL.

Delicious.

I would argue that it even seeps, intrusive-thought-style, into his mind-palace murder recreations, which… that’s unfortunate.

Sir, you are at work. Get it together.

The notable exception to my hypothesis is the bit where Will makes the Unnamed Chiyoh Prisoner into a moth, but like… that episode is so bonkers to me that I just kind of refuse to acknowledge it.

(Which. I know. Not very intellectually rigorous of me. But, in my defence, I am showing exactly as much respect for Bryan Fuller’s cannon as he does for Thomas Harris’, so… 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Honestly, though, I don’t even think Hugh Dancy knows what the fuck his character motivation supposed to be here.

But yeah - I headcannon Will as a dude who is definitely repressing something, but it’s not an interest in committing actual violence.

Rather, it’s that he is:

1- gay,

2- kinky AF, and

3- specifically, a little bit into consensual sadism (and masochism also; but I think the sadism causes a special kind of hangup that’s relevant to this discussion).

Hannibal sees Will as a kindred-spirit murder companion, but I think that’s more him seeing something he (very desperately) wants to see. Because despite the sycophantic acquaintances buzzing around him, the man is very deeply lonely.

I think it’s very similar to the way Hanners sees Abigail as a potential protégé / apprentice, and tries to force her into that role - even though her general reaction to murder seems to be best expressed as 🙀

Poor girl. She deserved so much better than to be caught in the middle of those two gay idiots dysfunctional situationship psychodrama.

But, getting back to Will:

As I see it, because he is:

1. Weird and off-putting to a lot of people,

Cannot imagine why.

…and:

2. He probably has some unacknowledged moral OCD going on, (I see you, neurotic king)

…he’s is very susceptible to the whole “Shit, maybe I am actually a very evil person” rabbithole.

And that’s just made worse when Will is pushed into a position where:

- he does have to use deadly force against Hobbs Sr. (Arguably, he could’ve shot fewer than ten times, but as much as I hate and am skeptical towards law enforcement… I’m willing to cut Non-Officer Graham some slack here. That situation was terrifying, emergent, and he was very ill-prepared. Shooting at least once was the right choice, and when you’re an awful shot with no backup and two bleeding victims… I can see how you might go overboard.)

- his new boss and coworkers are kind of judgemental assholes towards him;

- his new psychiatrist is very actively playing into that exact “Am I a horrible monster?” fear

And like, I’ve never had that exact experience, thank god.

But I have definitely visited the. “Do my sexual proclivities mean I’m a literal monster? (Even though I’m terrified to indulge even with very eager partners, because I’m afraid I’ll mess it up and actually cause them panic or emotional hurt?)” rabbithole, so… that’s an absolutely fascinating topic to explore for me.

[zwlemon]

So The Eclipse was completely covered by clouds where I was at. On the bright side, I don't live in the Berserk fictional universe. No matter what your view of the Eclipse was like, we can all be thankful we don't live in The Berserk fictional universe.

[baekuras]

i now get half days off from thinking about Asmodean by thinking about my oroboros ocs instead so that's smth

but at some point i need to analyze why he lives in my head THIS rent free

[butchlifeguard]

primrose's ch3 is GOOD btw

[hatethysinner]

if you take little prompts, could i propose a jealous remmick drabble with a breeding kink? 👀

"I’m gonna fill you up, make sure you carry somethin of me forever"

ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ

ᴡᴄ: 6.9k (i giggled too)

ᴀ/ɴ: the title choice... if you know you know. anyways, i needed to get my freak on and god damn did i do just that. i adore fluff but sometimes i just can't say no to my pussy. please don't talk to me about the mental state i was in while writing this. i simply have no excuses, take me to horny jail. though i will say i feel WAY more confident about writing smut now. i think i should do these more often because it's kind of an outstanding way for me to stretch my legs if you will. THAT SOUNDS SO CRAZY LAMFJDJHVHBJDV but i even got over my fear of em dashes just a tiny bit. also, this was a combination of like 3 asks in 1 and you'll definitely SEE which ones i'm talking about when you check the warnings. anons, you know who you are!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MDNI (!!!), filthy disgusting shameless smut, minimal plot all porn, exes, stalking, very rough sex, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, spit kink, degradation kink, breeding kink, dumbification, sadism, masochism, choking, spanking, biting, dacryphilia, overstimulation, eye contact, drooling, cuckolding, infidelity, bloodplay, threats of violence, fantasizing about violence, graphic violence, murder, dark!dom!remmick, sub!fem!reader, reader is just as freaky, vague setting, excessive use of pet names, excessive use of italicization, read at your own discretion

The night was quiet. Too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that came with peace. Not the softness of contentment or rest. This was the kind of silence that felt like it was waiting. Like something pressed against the windows, unseen, watching the curve of your back as you moved through the hallway in your robe, your bare feet barely whispering against the floor.

You should’ve been asleep. But the bed felt too big tonight.

Your husband was out, running one of his rare late-night errands. Something about a friend’s stalled car, a favor owed. He’d apologized for leaving, pressed a kiss to your forehead, a hand brushing the side of your face like he always did. “Won’t be long,” he promised. “I hate sleeping without you.”

And he meant it. He always did. He was that kind of man.

You loved him. You did. He was good. Honest. Steady. The kind of man who brought home your favorite pastries without being asked, who offered to do the dishes before you even touched your plate. You didn’t marry him expecting fireworks. You married him because you were tired of chasing smoke.

But some nights, like tonight, you still missed the fire.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping lukewarm tea you’d already forgotten to drink, robe slipping off one shoulder. The tile was cool beneath your feet. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space like static, soft and constant.

And then, like it always did when you let your mind wander too far, the memory of him crept in.

Remmick.

A name you hadn’t spoken in years. A man you hadn’t touched in longer.

You cut him off like you were supposed to. You did it for your own good. Your sanity. Your future. But Lord, if there wasn’t something in the way he ruined you that no one else had been able to match since.

He didn’t beg. He didn’t need to. Just looked at you in that way that made your stomach knot and your thighs press together. He touched you like he was claiming something. Deep, slow, maddeningly precise. He didn’t fuck fast. He fucked full. He filled you, stretched you, split you open in ways that made you forget your own name. And when he looked at you—

God, when he looked at you.

It was like you were his favorite meal. His last drink. His only prayer.

Your husband never looked at you like that. He looked at you with kindness, sure. But never hunger. Never need. Never like you were something to be devoured.

You closed your eyes, set your mug down. The ache between your legs pulsed, low and steady, like a bruise remembered. You shouldn’t miss him. You shouldn’t want him.

But you did.

You always had.

And it had been so long since someone made you come the way Remmick used to. Effortlessly, endlessly, like he knew every part of you before you even touched yourself for the first time.

You shivered.

Outside, thunder rumbled low in the distance.

Somewhere, not nearly far enough, Remmick was still out there.

Waiting.

And, of course, it had to be tonight when he came.

The knock was sharp. Not loud. But sure. Like whoever stood behind that door knew you were already halfway toward it, breath stuck somewhere between your ribs. You froze in the hallway, mug still warm in your palm, heart already catching on a beat you hadn’t felt in years.

Three more taps followed. Firm. Even. Familiar.

You didn’t need to check the window. Didn’t need to ask who it was.

Your feet moved on their own.

When you opened the door, there he stood.

Remmick.

Older, sharper, polished like glass but dangerous like a blade. He leaned against the frame like he owned it, like he’d been here before and would be again. That light blue shirt was pressed clean, top buttons undone just enough to show a sliver of white undershirt and the chain you remembered. Gold, delicate, glinting faint in the porch light. Black slacks. A belt with a gold buckle. Suspenders hanging easy off his shoulders.

His hair was slicked back, still dark, still wild in places where the waves refused to be tamed. But it was his eyes, those deep sea-blue eyes, the unmistakable red glow, that made you forget how to breathe. That looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel.

He didn’t just see you.

He devoured you.

“Well, hey there, darlin’,” he said, low and slow and unmistakably him. He didn’t bother hiding the curve of his grin. Fangs bared. Sharp. Bright. Gorgeous.

Your pulse tripped over itself.

“What…” You swallowed. “What are you doin’ here?”

That smile stretched wider, lazier. He stepped forward just enough for the porch light to catch the edges of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat.

“Y’know damn well why I’m here.”

There wasn’t an ounce of shame in his voice. Not one drop of hesitation. Just velvet certainty, dragging you backward into something you’d spent years clawing your way out of. Something you never stopped missing.

You blinked at him, trying to level your tone. “My husband—”

“Ain’t here,” Remmick said quick and flat, like it was obvious. He glanced down the street. “Car’s gone. Bedroom light’s off. Not a single trace of that man in this house ‘cept that little ring you’re tryin’ to hide behind your fingers.”

You dropped your hand before you could stop yourself.

He tilted his head. “Still nervous, huh?”

“Remmick—”

“You alone?”

Your lips parted, but the truth had already settled between you like smoke. You knew the question was redundant. That he was simply trying to drive home the point.

“…Yeah.”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not exactly. Something darker. Warmer. Hungrier.

“Knew it,” he murmured. “Knew he didn’t know what to do with ya.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned forward, just a few inches, but it knocked the air right out of your lungs. The air between you changed. Heavy. Hot. Close. The kind of air that pulled your thighs tight and made your stomach knot with something sharp and sweet and old.

“Ya look beautiful,” he said, his eyes raking over you. “But y’knew that already.”

You should’ve closed the door. Should’ve told him to leave.

But you didn’t.

Remmick’s voice lowered, slow and syrup-thick. “Let me in.”

It wasn’t a question.

The muscles in your arms tensed, fingers still on the knob like you weren’t sure who you were anymore. Every part of you said no. But your body, your breath, your blood? All of it whispered yes.

He waited.

And waited.

His eyes burned into you, red flickering hotter now. Not loud, not angry. Just patient. Starved.

“I ain’t gonna ask again,” he said, voice soft, almost sweet. “Don’t make me beg, baby.”

Your throat went dry.

You didn’t shut the door.

You didn’t step back.

You didn’t even breathe.

“…Come in,” you said. Quiet. But clear.

And he did.

The moment he stepped inside, the door shut with a thud behind him.

Remmick laughed.

Not a sound you’d heard from him before. It wasn’t warm or familiar. It wasn’t charming or even cruel. It was cold. Final. Like something had been waiting, watching, for the moment you said Come in, and now that you had, it didn’t have to pretend anymore.

“You’re just as desperate as I remember,” he said, still smiling as his boots landed slow and heavy on the floor. “Knew y’would be.”

Before you could even blink, he had you. A searing kiss, full and crushing and greedy. No warning. No space to breathe. His hands gripped your jaw, thumbs pressing your cheeks, mouth sealing over yours like he’d gone too long without it.

You should’ve pulled away.

You should’ve shoved him off, reminded yourself of the ring still sitting on your finger.

But your lips parted.

Your breath caught.

And when his body pressed against yours—hard chest, long arms, belt buckle cold against your stomach—you melted into it with a sound that betrayed every shred of shame you still had left.

You hated how much you missed this.

How much you’d been starving, too.

Remmick’s hand slid down the front of your robe. He didn’t waste time. Not even a little. Fingers traced the curve of your stomach, the ridge of your hip, and then dipped between your thighs like he already knew what he’d find there.

When he felt how wet you were, he growled.

Actually growled.

“Slut,” he muttered, dragging his mouth along your cheek, jaw, ear. “My married girl, touchin’ herself to the thought of me. Makin’ them soft sounds every time y’say my name.”

You trembled.

“I heard ya,” he whispered, voice all breath and bite. “Every damn night. Ya don’t know how many times I nearly came through that window just to shut ya up the way ya wanted.”

His fingers were still there, not moving much, just resting. A threat. A promise.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, in your fingertips, in your thighs. Your robe slipped further open, the air cool against your chest where the silk parted.

“I didn’t—” you tried, but the words caught somewhere deep. You couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not with your legs shaking and your lips kiss-bruised and your entire body leaning into him like it had never wanted anyone else.

He chuckled again, quieter this time. Darker.

“Ya did,” he said, kissing the side of your neck, lips soft now. Tender, even. “And I ain’t mad, darlin’. Y’think I don’t dream ‘bout this too?”

His other hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing beneath your eye like he hadn’t just dragged twenty years of buried longing to the surface in a single kiss.

“I just didn’t think,” he murmured, eyes glowing as they flicked to yours, “ya’d open the door so easy.”

And then his hand moved.

Two fingers, thick and slow, slipped inside you with a precision that made your knees lock and your breath shudder out in a gasp you didn’t mean to make. No warning. No teasing. Just in, to the knuckle, deep and deliberate, like he’d never forgotten the exact shape of you.

You jolted forward against his chest, hips stuttering, thighs pressing shut on instinct. But his arm wrapped firm around your waist, locking you there, helpless and pinned against him as he crooked his fingers just right and pulled another sound from your throat you didn’t recognize.

He groaned low. “Still so fuckin’ soft. Still open for me like I never left.”

Your hand slapped the doorframe for balance, fingers scrabbling, mouth half-open, trying to find air. But Remmick wasn’t giving you space. Not anymore.

His mouth brushed your ear. “He ever touch ya like this?”

You didn’t answer.

His fingers stopped.

Completely.

The stillness was brutal.

Your body rocked against him, desperate, aching, but he didn’t move. Not even a twitch.

“Answer me,” he said. Calm. Almost bored. “Your good man. Your sweet husband. He ever make ya feel like this?”

“…No,” you whispered, too soft.

Remmick clicked his tongue.

“I said speak up, baby. Y’know better.”

You swallowed hard, voice shaking. “No. He—he doesn’t.”

A satisfied hum rumbled from his chest. “Didn’t think so.”

He thrust his fingers deeper, slow and grinding, pressing against that spot that made your spine curve and your mouth fall open.

“Ever make you soak through your sheets just from thinkin’ ‘bout a look?” he asked. “Ever make your legs shake ‘cause you wanted it so bad you thought you’d die from it?”

You whined. Tried to shake your head. But again, he stopped.

Not a flex. Not a curl. Nothing.

“Remmick—please—”

“Answer me.”

Your voice broke. “No. Never. Not once.”

His mouth split into a grin so wicked it made your whole body clench around him. “Didn’t think so.”

He fucked you slow, fingers curling in a rhythm that felt like a secret being pulled from your bones. His hand on your waist held you still, anchored you to him as he worked you open with ease, with arrogance, with that goddamn patience that made him feel like punishment and prayer in equal measure.

“Y’ever beg for him?” Remmick murmured. “Cry for it? Lose your fuckin’ mind just ‘cause he looked at you the right way?”

You didn’t want to answer.

You didn’t want to admit any of this.

But the pause was longer this time. The stillness unbearable. Your body was screaming for it.

“No,” you gasped. “Only you.”

“That’s right.” His smile pressed into your neck. “My good little wife, moanin’ for the wrong man.”

His thumb found your clit and circled it once, just once, enough to make your legs buckle.

“Ya feel how wet you are?” he whispered, nose brushing your cheek. “This for him?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He paused.

You whimpered.

He pulled back just slightly. Not out. Just enough to make you feel the empty stretch behind it.

“For who?”

Your voice cracked. “You.”

“Say my name.”

“Remmick.”

He groaned against your throat, fingers thrusting again with filthy, exquisite control.

“Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He didn’t just touch you, he worked you. Drew out every forgotten ache, every unsaid word, every damn piece of yourself you’d buried under decency and dishes and folded laundry.

“Ya ever fake it?” he asked, lips at your jaw. “For him?”

You nodded.

He stilled again.

You whimpered, panicked. “Yes! Yes, I—God, I have, I did—”

Remmick chuckled darkly, fingers starting to move again, slick and obscene.

“Course ya did. Poor thing. Never stood a chance.”

You clenched around him, helpless against it. Your head dropped back, vision fogging.

“That’s it,” he cooed. “Y’remember how this ends, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He already knew.

And so did your body—traitorous, needy, too honest for its own good.

You were close.

You were so fucking close.

And just for a moment, you let yourself believe he’d let you finish.

Just as your stomach curled, breath catching, thighs beginning to tighten—he pulled out. Abrupt. Cruel.

Your whole body jerked like he’d ripped something vital out of you. A desperate, broken whimper escaped your throat before you could bite it back.

And Remmick laughed.

“Oh, baby,” he said, voice thick with mock-sympathy, “that little sound right there?”

He licked the tips of his fingers slow, eyes never leaving yours.

“That’s the sound of a girl who forgot who she was dealin’ with.”

You hated the way your body trembled. Hated that your pulse was still stuttering out of control. Hated that he was right. That your cunt was still clenching around nothing, already grieving the loss of him like he’d been inside you for years instead of seconds.

Before you could think to curse him, slap him, beg him, he moved.

Remmick grabbed you by the hips and lifted.

Effortless. Like you weighed nothing. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d thrown you around.

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. Old muscle memory. Dangerous muscle memory.

Your arms clung to his shoulders as he walked, carrying you like a man on a mission.

And you knew.

You knew where you were headed.

The moment you saw the edge of the dining table come into view—solid oak, the one your husband insisted was “too nice to actually use”—your breath hitched, legs squeezing tighter around his hips.

“Still remember, huh?” Remmick muttered against your jaw, setting you down with zero gentleness. Your back hit the wood hard enough to knock a gasp out of you, the cool polish biting into your skin through the robe’s thin silk. “Told ya once I’d take you on every fuckin’ surface of that house. Never broke that promise.”

You barely had time to adjust before he gripped the hem of your robe—what little of it still covered you—and ripped.

The bottom half tore clean off, jagged and loud, silk whining in protest before it fluttered to the floor.

You were bare beneath it.

You always had been.

Remmick groaned like he was seeing it for the first time. “Goddamn, darlin’.”

Then he dropped to his knees.

Didn’t say another word. Didn’t tease. Didn’t breathe.

His mouth found you like it belonged there.

Hot tongue, open mouth, greedy hunger.

No hesitation. No warm-up. He dove in like he was starved, like he’d been dreaming of this every goddamn night since the last time he tasted you. His hands gripped your thighs, spread them wide, fingers digging in like bruises he meant to leave.

And his mouth—

You screamed.

Low and sharp, head tossed back as he licked through your folds with the kind of practiced ruthlessness that made your vision blur.

He devoured you.

Sloppy. Loud. Wet.

His tongue flicked against your clit with obscene precision, slow and steady until your hips bucked. Then he sucked it between his lips and groaned like it was his favorite flavor.

You clutched the edge of the table with both hands, knuckles white, legs already shaking against his shoulders.

“Oh my God—Remmick—”

He didn’t slow.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look up.

You felt him groan into you, like your taste alone was something holy. One hand slipped down to grip your ass, yanking you closer to the edge, forcing you to take it, to feel every roll of his tongue like a punishment you’d begged for.

You wanted to run.

You wanted to cry.

You wanted to come.

You could feel it, spine curling, fingers digging into the table hard enough to leave crescents. Your breath came fast and ragged, hips rolling helplessly against his mouth as he sucked and licked and fucked you with his tongue like he meant to ruin you.

And he did.

Because he always did.

The orgasm hit you like nothing else ever had. No slow climb, no gentle crest. Just an eruption, pure and bright and violent, ripping through your entire body like lightning set to music. You screamed. You sobbed. You shook, thighs squeezing around his head as your back arched clean off the table.

You came so hard you forgot your name.

And still, Remmick didn’t stop.

His hands held you open, mouth insatiable, tongue dragging through the aftermath like he was trying to clean you out, like he couldn’t stand to waste a drop. You cried out again, voice cracking, body too raw and too sensitive, but he kept going, sucking and lapping and groaning like he’d never get enough.

You tasted yourself on the air. Felt the heat dripping down your thighs. Felt your soul start to float.

Until finally—

“Please,” you gasped, sobbing now, voice broken. “Please, Remmick—s-stop—‘s too much—please—”

You were crying.

Tears streaked your cheeks, your chest heaving as your hands tried and failed to push his head away.

And that’s when he looked up.

Face soaked.

Neck wet.

Shirt clinging to his chest, sheer with your slick.

But it wasn’t just you.

There was drool.

An obscene amount.

Slipping from the corners of his mouth, glistening down his chin in thick, silvery ropes. So much spit you couldn’t even understand how it kept coming, gluing him to you, shining like filth made holy.

He stared at you.

Eyes glowing—red, hungry, starved.

And then he smiled. Real slow. Real soft.

“Ya always look the prettiest when ya cry.”

That broke you.

Something in you cracked wide open. You whimpered, too weak to fight, too full of him to think.

And then he moved.

He stood in one smooth motion, grabbing you by the waist, and lifted you off the table like you weighed nothing. Again. And you went, limp and ruined, legs instinctively wrapping around him, arms slung over his shoulders.

This time, his tongue shoved its way into your mouth the second he caught your lips.

And you drowned.

In yourself. In him.

The taste was unbearable. Your come and his spit, mingled and messy, wet and wild. It filled your mouth, coated your tongue, slid down your throat as he kissed you with open-mouthed desperation, feeding it to you like it was a gift.

You choked on it.

You loved it.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, still damp with what you’d given him, and he kissed you harder, tongue claiming you like he needed it to live.

Then, he turned.

He walked.

Straight down the hall, not even breaking the kiss.

And you knew where he was taking you.

The bedroom.

Your bedroom.

Where you and your husband lay in false comfort night after night.

Where your hand slipped between your thighs in silence after the lights went out, tracing your own skin as you bit your tongue to keep from whispering the name of the man you really wanted.

Remmick didn’t speak as he pushed the door open with his shoulder.

Didn’t look around.

Didn’t hesitate.

He set you down hard on the edge of the bed, the marital bed, the sacred shrine of everything you pretended was enough, and looked down at you like he was ready to burn it to the ground.

You were on him the second your back hit the bed.

Fingers trembling but fast, grabbing for his belt buckle like it was the only thing tethering you to sanity. You needed him out of it. Needed him inside you, now, needed to feel every inch of him stretch you open until you forgot the name of the man who actually slept in this room.

The metal clinked once before you got it undone, hands sliding down to shove the leather free.

Remmick chuckled.

Not the amused kind.

The mean kind.

“Christ, slow the fuck down,” he snapped, voice a blade slicing through the haze. “Ya always were a needy little thing. Sloppy hands, pantin’ like a bitch in heat.”

The words should’ve shamed you.

They didn’t.

They burned.

Hot. Dirty. True.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. But you heard the rustle of his slacks hitting the floor, his boxers following quick after. He didn’t bother with his shirt. Didn’t even unroll his sleeves. He climbed on top of you half-dressed, his chain swinging low and his breath heavy as his body pressed yours into the mattress like he was settling back into something he’d missed.

He didn’t have to try. Didn’t need force.

His weight alone pinned you down.

One arm slid beneath your back, the other caught your wrists, locking them overhead with no more effort than it took to breathe. You couldn’t move. Could barely think.

And God, it was familiar.

The ache of it.

The sheer rightness.

The feeling of his body covering yours, his mouth close enough to taste your thoughts, his cock heavy against your thigh as he lined himself up with no warning, no softness, no pause.

This was love, wasn’t it?

Not the gentle, tepid kind your husband gave you—bedtime kisses and surprise bouquets.

This was Remmick love.

Cruel. Honest. Brutal.

“I shouldn’t let you fuckin’ have it,” he muttered, eyes burning into yours, “after the way ya ran. The way ya begged me to stay, then slammed the door like ya meant it.”

You squirmed beneath him, already gasping at the feel of his tip pressing just there, your cunt still soaked, still trembling, still too raw from what he did to you on the dining table.

“But y’want it so fuckin’ bad, don’t you?”

He didn’t wait for your answer.

He slammed into you.

One sharp, vicious thrust.

You cried out, body arching up as your walls struggled to take him, stretch for him, remember him. You weren’t ready. You couldn’t be. Not after what he’d already done to you. But that didn’t stop him. Didn’t even slow him.

“Fuck,” Remmick growled, hips pulling back only to rut forward again, deeper this time, harder. “Still tight. Still fuckin’ perfect. Like this pussy never forgot me.”

Your eyes rolled back.

Your hands clawed uselessly at the sheets, wrists still pinned tight in his grip. His other hand caught your jaw, forcing your face toward his, making sure you didn’t dare look away.

“Ya let him fuck you in here?” he hissed, voice venom. “In this bed? These sheets?”

You whimpered.

Remmick’s thrusts got rougher. Barbarous. He was fucking you like he owned you. Like he was carving himself back into the spaces time tried to seal shut.

“Answer me.”

Your voice came out a rasp. “Y-yes.”

He spat, not even trying to hide his disgust. “Bet he couldn’t even make ya come.”

You shook your head, biting back a sob.

“And now look at ya,” he snarled, dragging his hips slow this time, a deliberate grind that made your body sing. “Lettin’ me fuck the truth outta ya like always. Like nothin’s changed.”

Tears welled again.

Because nothing had.

Because it had always been like this with Remmick. Not gentle. Not sweet.

But real.

He fucked you like he was never going to stop.

Eyes locked on yours.

Not blinking. Not flinching.

Just watching as your mouth parted, as your body opened for him, as the ruin of you spilled across the sheets that had never seen this kind of worship.

And still, Remmick didn't slow.

Not even close.

Not when your eyes rolled back. Not when your body clenched tight around him like you’d never learned how to let go. Not when the air left your lungs in staggered, helpless sobs.

Remmick fucked you like he hated you.

Like he’d missed hating you.

And then—

His hand let go of your wrists.

Only to move to your throat.

Fingers curling slow around your neck, the pads of them warm, calloused, unforgiving.

Your body froze beneath him.

Not in fear. Not exactly.

Something darker. Deeper.

You looked up into his eyes.

And he looked back like he wasn’t really there anymore.

“Y’know,” he said, voice calm, like he was talking about the weather, “there were so many nights I thought about killin’ ya.”

Your breath caught.

His grip tightened.

“After ya left,” he murmured, hips still driving into you like punctuation, “after y’said all that pretty shit and slammed the door—when you thought ya’d won—I used to lay awake, hand on my dick, thinkin’ about wringin’ your pretty little neck.”

You whimpered, legs trembling around his hips.

He leaned closer, chest flush to yours, breath hot against your lips.

“Not just ya,” he added, almost like an afterthought. “That man of yours, too.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I thought about what his blood would look like on your white fuckin’ comforter. What your scream would sound like. If ya’d still cry my name with his body lyin’ cold at the end of the bed.”

His fingers pressed harder. Just enough to make your vision shimmer.

“Y’don’t believe me,” he whispered. “But I still think about it.”

Your heart stuttered.

“And right now?” he said, grinning. “Right now, I could do it. So easy. You’re lettin’ me fuck you raw in your husband’s bed, cryin’ beneath me, beggin’ for it. What’s one more sin, huh?”

His grip cinched tight.

Your breath stopped.

The room swam.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Just held you there, trembling beneath him, his cock still buried deep inside you as the world slipped sideways.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Your fingers spasmed.

And just before the edges went black—

Smack.

A vicious slap to your thigh, loud and hot, snapped the air back into your lungs. Then another, this time across your ass, hard enough to sting. Your throat opened on a strangled gasp, your back arching as your body reeled from the sudden shock.

“There she is,” Remmick said, laughing low. “Didn’t want ya driftin’ off just yet, darlin’. We’re just gettin’ to the good part.”

You choked on your own breath, eyes wet, chest heaving.

He let go of your throat, dragging both hands down your ribs like he hadn’t just threatened to kill you. Like the idea still wasn’t sitting there behind his eyes, twitching like a secret.

You were dizzy. Raw. Split open and trembling and soaked.

And Remmick looked like he'd never been more in love.

Which is exactly when the front door opened.

Just a quiet creak. A shift of hinges.

But it shattered the world.

You went still.

So did Remmick.

The sound of keys hitting the bowl by the entryway echoed like a gunshot through the hallway. A low thud as shoes hit the mat. A familiar voice, soft and unsuspecting, humming the tail end of some commercial jingle. Your husband.

Your husband was home.

And your heart plummeted.

The blood in your veins iced over. Your breath caught. Every nerve ending snapped taut, your body trembling beneath Remmick in frozen disbelief. You were still spread beneath him, raw and soaked and filthy, your thighs trembling and your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

Remmick blinked.

Once.

Then again.

Then he looked at the door.

Then at you.

Back to the door.

Then you again.

And then that grin split his face.

Wide. Sharp. Wrong.

It wasn’t the cocky, teasing smile he wore when he knew you’d already given in.

This was different.

This was a grin that made something ancient and terrified curl up inside you and scream.

“Y’ain’t tell me he was gonna be early,” he whispered, voice light, sing-song. “How rude.”

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

But Remmick moved with purpose now—sat up, still inside you, dragging your body with him. He flipped you like he owned you, like you were just a doll to be repositioned. Hands grabbed your hips, yanked them up beneath him, forced your knees into the sheets until your back arched and your cheek was pressed flat against the mattress.

Doggy style.

Exposed. Helpless.

His cock dragged out slow before slamming back in with a wet, brutal sound.

You gasped, eyes squeezing shut.

“No no no,” Remmick said, voice a low hum as he gripped your face, twisting it until your eyes were pointed toward the bedroom door. “Keep ‘em open. He deserves to see it.”

Your name echoed from down the hall.

“Honey?” your husband called, so painfully unaware. “You home?”

Another thrust.

Louder this time.

Obscene.

The slap of his hips hitting your ass echoed off the walls like thunder.

You whimpered. You couldn’t help it.

“Sweetheart?” the voice came again, closer now. Footsteps.

Remmick picked up his pace.

Flesh on flesh. Sharp. Wet. Merciless.

You heard a pause outside the door.

Then the knob turned.

Then the door opened.

Your husband stepped into the room.

And froze.

His eyes landed on yours first—your face, contorted in shock, shame, raw pleasure.

Then his gaze moved.

To where Remmick’s hands were fisted in your hips.

To the way your body shook with every loud, violent thrust.

To the way your mouth hung open in a sob you hadn’t let fall yet.

The look on his face could’ve killed you.

Confusion.

Betrayal.

Then—horror.

Like something inside him snapped.

And still, Remmick didn’t stop.

He slammed into you again, harder than before, dragging your face further toward the edge of the bed, forcing you to watch.

“Smile for him,” he said, voice thick with a darkness that made your stomach turn. “Show him how happy ya look when you’re finally bein’ fucked right.”

You looked into your husband’s eyes.

Wrecked.

That was the only word for it. Wrecked in a way you’d never seen before—like someone had cracked open his ribcage and yanked his heart out with their bare hands. He looked lost. Pale. Mouth parted. Staring at you like he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.

And for a second—for one brief, trembling second—you wanted to believe in him.

Wanted to believe he’d fight.

That he’d do something.

That he’d cross the room, fists swinging, screaming, snarling, crying, clawing Remmick off of you like the man he was supposed to be. Like the husband he was supposed to be. That he’d fight for his wife, no matter how futile, no matter how ugly, no matter how late.

You wanted to believe he’d choose you.

But instead—

He covered his face with both hands.

And sat.

In the chair at the corner of the room, opposite the bed.

Chest heaving.

Shoulders shaking.

Not saying a word.

Not making a move.

And just like that—

Every drop of love you had left for him died.

Turned to ash in your mouth.

It wasn’t just disappointment. It wasn’t just betrayal.

It was hatred.

Hot. Immediate. Unforgiving.

And Remmick saw it happen.

Felt it bloom in your body beneath him.

He laughed.

Not playfully.

Not even cruelly.

It was disgusted.

A laugh like spitting. Like rot.

“That’s the man ya chose over me?” he said, thrusts still pounding into your cunt, hands bruising your hips as he snapped his hips against you with brutal rhythm. “That little fuckin’ coward?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

The silence screamed.

“Jesus Christ,” Remmick muttered, breathless and gleeful, “he can’t even pretend to care. Ya ruined him, darlin’. Just like I knew y’would.”

He pulled out of you without warning, grabbing you by the waist and flipping you again, dragging you half off the bed until your head dangled over the edge, hair brushing the floor, throat exposed, everything upside-down.

And there he was.

Remmick, towering above you, cock flushed and leaking, sliding back into your wrecked cunt with a force that rattled your teeth. The angle sent lightning up your spine, your toes curling, vision swimming. He gripped your thighs and pushed them wide apart, spreading you open, fucking you down against the edge of the bed like you were just a hole to conquer.

But your eyes?

They were locked on him.

Your husband.

Still sitting there.

Hands still over his face.

Until they weren’t.

You saw the moment shame turned to something else.

Curiosity.

Then heat.

One hand dropped to his lap.

You didn’t want to believe it.

Didn’t want to see it.

But you couldn’t look away.

The outline of his cock, straining against his jeans. The way his chest rose and fell faster. The way his fingers hesitated—then unzipped.

Remmick saw it, too.

“Oh fuck me,” he laughed, cruel and delighted. “You’re hard, aren’t ya?”

Your husband flinched.

Remmick leaned over you, one hand grabbing your jaw, tilting your face so you couldn’t look away, even though he knew you weren’t.

“He’s hard, baby,” he sneered. “Your good little husband, sittin’ there watchin’ another man ruin his wife and he’s got his fuckin’ cock out.”

You whimpered.

Remmick thrust harder.

“Go on,” he said over your shoulder, loud enough to sting. “You’re already sittin’ there. Might as well enjoy the show, huh?”

And then, your stomach dropped.

Because your husband did it.

He pulled his cock free.

Hard. Strained. Already wet at the tip.

And he started stroking himself.

Right there.

Right fucking there, watching you be destroyed.

Something inside you shattered.

But Remmick’s grip only tightened.

“See?” he breathed, voice low in your ear, hips pistoning into you like he wanted to leave dents. “Told ya no one would ever love ya the way I do.”

And as your tears slipped backward into your hair, as your cunt pulsed around Remmick’s cock and your husband’s soft, broken moans filled the room—

You realized something sickening:

You believed him.

And the second you did, everything shifted.

Remmick’s voice fell away.

Replaced by sound.

Raw, filthy, feral sound.

The slap of skin against skin. The wet pulse of your cunt around him. His groans—deep, guttural, half-choked—as he rutted into you with a new kind of desperation. Like something had cracked inside him too. Like he was breaking right alongside you.

His hips lost rhythm.

Gained need.

The drag of his cock turned erratic, heavy, slick. His breath stuttered against your neck, hot and shallow, teeth grazing skin in the warning way. And you felt it—his weight pressing down, arms sliding beneath your back, legs shifting to cage you in, his entire body wrapping around you until there was no air between you, no space left untouched.

He was everywhere.

Crushing.

Consuming.

Yours.

“Gonna fill ya up,” he slurred, voice strained, drunk on you, on this, on everything he hadn’t let himself say until now. “Gonna—fuck—gonna put a baby in ya, darlin’.”

You gasped, eyes wide, your arms sliding up around his back without thinking.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t care.

“Make ya a momma,” he panted, forehead pressed hard against yours, sweat dripping from his brow to yours. “My fuckin’ housewife. Keep ya barefoot and full for the rest of your goddamn life.”

Your thighs clenched around him.

Your fingers dug into his back.

“Just how y’should be,” he growled, pace stuttering. “No more runnin’. No more pretendin’. Just me with ya and a whole house full’a kids with my fuckin’ eyes.”

You cried out, your body already tightening again, trembling.

And then, one last thrust.

Devastating. Bone-deep. Final.

He came with a groan that barely sounded human, hips locked in place, cock pulsing inside you, spilling heat deep into your cunt like it was a claim. Endless. Relentless. It spilled out around him, a mess between your thighs, and still he didn’t stop.

And with it—

His fangs sank deep into your neck.

No warning.

No care.

Just sharp, precise, possessive puncture.

You screamed—and came. Hard. Wrung-out, shattered, blinding.

The orgasm ripped through you like it had teeth. Your walls fluttered around him, milking every last drop. Your back arched, pinned and blood-warm, as his mouth sealed over your skin and drank. Long, greedy pulls. Like he needed it more than breath.

Your heart stuttered. Your eyes rolled back.

And in the haze of it, another sound.

A choked gasp. The sharp, wet rhythm of a fist meeting skin. Then a broken, pathetic groan as your husband came too. Facing you both, cock in his hand, shame on his face, guilt dripping down his knuckles.

Remmick pulled back from your neck, blood staining his lips, breath heaving.

Then he angled to look.

Smirked.

Spat.

“This the first time y’ever came with her, huh?”

He thrust once more into your ruined cunt, slow and deep, just to emphasize it.

“Had to watch me do it for ya. Pathetic.”

And you?

You didn’t even blink.

Didn’t even look at the man you once thought would love you right.

Because Remmick was right about that too.

This was where you belonged.

He stayed inside you for a moment longer, just long enough for you to pretend it would never end. Your walls still fluttered around him in soft aftershocks, your body unwilling to believe it was over even as your mind tried to catch up.

Then—

He pulled out.

Slow. Measured. Intentional.

A sound escaped your throat—broken, needy, trembling. Not quite a sob, not quite a plea.

Your hands caught his hips weakly, as if you could keep him, tether him, keep that full warmth inside for just a moment longer. "Please…"

“Shhh,” Remmick cooed, brushing a thumb beneath your eye where your tears had dried and cracked. “It’s alright, baby. You’ll get it again.”

The emptiness hit harder than anything else had.

A cavernous ache. Raw. Desperate. A void nothing else could fill.

You didn’t realize you were crying again until your vision blurred.

You watched as he stood.

Watched as he moved across the room toward the man still sitting dumb and wide-eyed in the chair.

Your husband.

Your witness.

There was a single second.

A flash of recognition.

His eyes met Remmick’s.

And that was all.

The claws flashed.

Once.

Ripped.

There was no scream. No fight. No time for last words.

Just a sound, wet and ugly, as his throat was torn open. Gutted clean from beneath the jawline, near-severed, a geyser of arterial red splattering across the walls, the chair, the floor.

And still, for one sickening second, his body twitched.

You screamed.

You screamed with everything you had left, dragged yourself backward across the soaked sheets until your spine hit the bedframe, until your limbs locked up with exhaustion and fear and your own slick still coating your thighs.

Remmick turned to face you.

Blood painted his chest, his jaw, his hands, dripping from his fingers like it had always belonged there. His eyes were gleaming, that familiar, terrifying red turned brighter now, like it fed off what he’d just done.

And then he crawled.

Across the bed.

Staining the sheets with long streaks of crimson, smearing every part of the room you once thought of as yours. As his.

Now defiled.

Claimed.

Ruined.

His hands—slick, sticky—cupped your face with impossible tenderness.

And then he kissed you.

Slow.

Deep.

Unforgiving.

Spit. Blood. The coppery tang of death. And beneath it all, still the faint, almost-sweet taste of you on his tongue.

It coated your teeth. Filled your lungs.

You let him.

You kissed him back.

When he pulled away, his voice dropped low, affectionate, almost reverent.

“Guess it’s just us now, darlin’,” he whispered. “Us. And our little thing growin’ inside ya.”

Your mouth parted, but no sound came.

He leaned in again, brushing his blood-wet cheek against yours, dragging his tongue slow along the edge of your jaw.

“Gonna make sure y’never forget who you belong to.”

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

There were no words left.

Just slick cooling on your thighs.

Just sheets ruined for good.

Just the memory of your husband's eyes, wide and broken, moments before he died doing nothing.

And a part of you—that sick, lost, unredeemable part—knew:

That was exactly how you wanted it to be.

Forever.

[pearlymel]

Frail state of mind

Sum. What happens when you give caleb aphrodisiac candy instead of normal ones on his birthday? Find out in the next episode...

Warnings. fem reader, mdni, use of aphrodisiacs, unprotected, 2.2k words. Also, happy one year to me writing on this account whaaat. Ily.

Caleb feels weird.

Or to be exact, his body feels weird, like he's on fire. Oh no, did he develop a fever? Right when you both were going to celebrate his birthday?

His breathing becomes slightly heavier as he looks around, from the ceiling, to the candy drops, to you, then back to the candy drops.

“how did you like the candy? Sour?”

His eyes narrow, and he presses his lips together repeatedly to catch the after taste of the candy.

It was sour, with a slight sweet aftertaste.

He felt like he couldn't even focus properly with how fast his heart was beating. You definitely noticed the way his cheeks have turned from their usual pale shade into a dusty light pink.

For a long, long moment he just stared at you, dumbfounded and unable to do anything else.

"Yeah, right," he finally said, his voice a bit higher than usual. "Is this your idea of a prank?”

So he did caught on, although slower than he usually would.

“Happy birthday?” you smile innocently.

I'm gonna die, is what goes through his head.

"Yeah, some birthday it is," he muttered, letting out a stifled breath as the heat began to pool in his lower abdomen. "And the side effects?"

He was trying his best to keep a cool head, but it was getting increasingly difficult when all he wanted to do was to grab you by the arm and force you to kneel in front of him and—

"Whaaaat?" you purposely avoid his eyes while slowly taking your seat next to him, "what side affects? They're just normal candies, do you not like them?"

Caleb grumbled under his breath, shifting on the couch in an attempt to relieve the growing ache in his pants. You didn't need to be that close to him

With his cheeks flushed and his dark eyes glued to you, he clenched his fist and tried his best to keep his thoughts in check. "You don't understand," he muttered, his voice dropping a bit lower. "It's not regular candy, I can.." Feel something.

You raise an eyebrow, then your eyes catch the real problem, the obvious erection which looked almost painful.

“you think i gave you some sort of aphrodisiac?” you gasp dramatically, but really, you're trying not to laugh. The effects worked almost instantly. “baby, i would never. On your birthday? No way…”

"Uh-huh," he hummed with an arched eyebrow, now having a hard time focusing on something other than you. He was getting hotter and hotter, and you were still so close to him. So close, within reach.

He tried to subtly move back, but the way his shirt was sticking to his skin only made him more irritated. "Then why does it feel like I'm on fire, huh?”

You place your hand on his knee, “maybe i look too hot for you?”

"You're not wrong," he replied between gritted teeth, biting back a moan when you put a hand on his knee.

"...." you stare at him closely, you're not exactly sure how long the side effects were supposed to last. But you were a bit... Worried.

"are you okay?" you finally break the teasing act to feel his neck using the back of your hand, and Caleb groans at the touch, his body automatically leaning into your hand to seek more of the cool comfort it provided.

With a shaky sigh, he managed a soft, "Yeah... 'm alright."

Truth was, he was far from alright. His skin felt like it was on fire, and every little contact sent a jolt of electric heat straight into his cock. He was straining to keep up his self-control, but it was getting harder by the second.

“something else doesn't look alright..” you voice your concern quietly when you eye the erection he's been sporting for a while..

He spreads his legs slightly wider before his gaze follows yours, and he could feel his face turn even hotter as he realized what you were looking at.

He hastily tried to adjust his pants to hide the obvious tent that had formed, but there was no use. (it's not like he wants to hide it. He wants to show you how much he wants you by teasing you more if he could.)

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tried to find his voice. "It's... it's nothing," he lied weakly.

You shook your head, thinking to get him some water without feeling too flustered about the situation, “that won't do, I'll get you some water.”

Water…?

Caleb fidgeted with the hem of his dress shirt, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping the fabric. "No. I just… need you, please..." he murmured, the word turning into a pleading whine.

"oh," you blink twice, feeling almost stupid that you were actually supposed to help.

He practically whimpered as you just stood there, and he couldn't take it anymore, it was too much.

He reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling you closer until you were sitting in his lap. He then wrapped an arm around your waist, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"Please," he repeated, his voice shaky and desperate. "Touch me. Anywhere. Just... please.”

"easy, big guy." you grin, moving the strands away from his forehead to kiss the empty spot.

Caleb groaned as your lips touched his skin, your lips moves from his forehead, to his nose, then his cheeks.

He tilted his head back, a needy sound escaping his throat as you continued to pepper his face with kisses. He was desperate for more, his body arching upwards in an attempt to get closer to you, while his hands ran over your body, skimming over your dress, desperate for skin-on-skin contact.

Caleb feels his mind going blank when you dart your tongue out to wet his dry lips before taking his mouth into yours messily.

His every thought focused solely on you and the way your body was moving against his. The friction was both a relief and a tease, causing him to moan again, the sound muffled by your mouth on his.

You pull away first, “be a good boy for me, yeah?” you whisper before pressing another peck to his lips.

If caleb wasn't fully hard earlier, then he is now.

You tugged at his belt, taking it off to help him slide his pants off, along with his almost ruined (Calvin Klein) boxers.

Caleb immediately moans shamelessly with his head falling back the minute your thumb rubbed over the sensitive dark red head of his cock. The slow, sensual rubs makes his whole body shiver, and his hips jerks upwards involuntarily.

“a-ah, fuck,” the words slip out in an almost whiny tone, he could almost, almost cum like this. But he wouldn't, not until you cum first, because that would be selfish of him, no?

Plus he liked seeing you come undone first anyway.

Lost in the distraction of teasing him, you don't even notice his shaky hands parting your thighs, it's only when you suddenly feel fingers skimming over your inner thighs until they found the damp fabrics of your panties, is when you shudder in place.

Without any warning, he rubbed two fingers over your clothed clit, his touch firm yet slow, just like how you've been touching him.

“Caleb,” you try closing your thighs together, but to no avail, as his free hand is keeping one of your thighs firmly in place. his eyes are focused down while his thumb hikes up your dress further to reveal his fingers that's been teasing you.

He rubbed over your clothed slit again, “looks like someone is excit—” Caleb's words were cut off by a gasp when your thumb circled around the weeping tip of his cock, smearing the bead of precum around the swollen head.

You could feel your heart beat right in your ears, the touches is not enough, you need him. As much as he needs you.

You finally pull his wrist away, and at first he's confused, but his eyes widen when you slip your panties off, and biting the hem of your dress to reveal more of your pussy and stomach.

Caleb could faint at the absolute goddess in front of him (you), he should be shot right om the spot for even trying something like this with y—

“honey, hurry, I'll make you feel allll better.”

He done. He can already imagine the wedding bells, house, and kids.

Caleb presses the swollen tip of his cock against your slick entrance. His lips are parted shakily as he rubs it along your slit, coating himself in your arousal, marking his cock with your scent.

When he reached the top of your slit, he circled your clit with the tip, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves until you were a squirming mess in his lap.

“y-you—! fuck, feels good—” you pant, your eyes almost half lidded as his hips roll to bump against your clit with each rotation.

While keeping his eyes locked on your face, he slowly pushed forward, sinking his thick cock into your tight, dripping cunt.

"Ohh, fuck yeah..." Caleb moaned long and low as he felt your walls stretch around him, inch by inch, he slid deeper, until he was buried to the hilt.

Caleb's grip tightened on your hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard as he matched your rhythm, slamming up into you that sent your back arching into him, his free hands are clutching your dress to keep him in check, also sliding up to give your breasts gentle squeezes.

The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your shared moans and panting breaths.

"Shit, baby, you feel... ungh... fucking incredible," he grunted, his hips snapping up to meet each downward bounce of your hips, and he could feel your walls fluttering and clenching around him, sucking him in deeper.

"Wanna... want you to come on my cock, pips," Caleb demanded, his voice a desperate, needy whine. His thumb found your clit, rubbing hard and fast circles over the sensitive nub. The other hand slid around to grip the globes of your ass, squeezing and kneading the firm flesh.

Caleb’s head falls back when he feels your cunt clamp down around him like a vice, squeezing and milking his throbbing cock. "j-just like that, honey," he whispered, his eyes rolling back from the feeling of you coming undone around him.

With a final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside your spasming cunt, and then he was coming, coming harder than he ever had in his life.

"you’re gonna take it all, yeah, pips? k-keep it in there for Caleb, shit—" Caleb snarled, his hips jerking and stuttering as he emptied himself inside you. His balls pulsed and throbbed as they pumped out spurt after spurt of his spent, filling you to the brim until it leaked out around his pistoning cock.

caleb’s head falls back on your chest as he takes big breaths, his thumbs rubbing circles on your sides. and your arms encircles around his shoulders as you rest your face on top of his head.

“… happy birthday, hope you enjoyed your lil gift… heh,”

“i’m giving the candies to gideon.”

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

sweet nothings

summary: you own a bakery down the street from PTMH, and Dr. Robby is one of your favorite customers. The night of The Pitt Fest shooting, you stress bake and deliver the results to the park near the hospital when you have a gut feeling everyone could use something to lift their spirits wc:  1.8 k+ a/n: this is my first time writing for The Pitt but I really enjoyed it, looking forward to more!! Please feel free to send any requests my way! Yes I stole the title from the Taylor Swift song, some things never change. warnings: two idiots who haven't gotten their shit together and admitted their feelings, general fluff

You’d been elbow deep in flour and cocoa powder the moment that you saw the first message concerning the shooting at Pitt Fest. You whisked and folded, hoping that the familiar movements would quiet the nausea churning in your stomach. You knew that it was going to be a long night for your chosen family, which meant that it was going to be a long night for you. Three batches of brownies, a few dozen cookies and a special batch of gluten free hand pies for Princess later, and you could catch your breath. By the time that you had them all packed up and loaded into your travel tote, the tightness in your stomach had subsided. 

It was a cool night, a gentle breeze blowing the loose strands of hair around your face and tickling your cheek as you walked the familiar path to the park in front of the hospital. You’d forgone packing things into your car, unsure if the traffic would still be busy near the hospital. You hadn’t texted ahead, deviating from your typical routine. You knew that they were likely too busy to check their phones, if service was even working again after the barrage of worried calls and texts had tanked it earlier in the evening. 

The benches were empty, but it hardly phased you, you’d beaten them there plenty of times. And worse case scenario, most of the security knew you well enough to let you sneak into the Pitt through the back and dump your offerings in the break room before trucking home. You unpacked your bag, setting out the tupperware along with some small plates and napkins. You’d left drinks behind, knowing that someone was likely already making a run for a pack of beers. You tucked the strands of hair behind your ear, settling in for a bit. 

It didn’t take long, fifteen minutes or so before Donnie and Princess arrived, rolling the cooler behind them. They waved in greeting, planting themselves on the bench across from you and digging out two beers. You smiled softly, before grabbing a brownie and one of the pies and walking them over. 

“You sure you’re not an angel?” Donnie asked, grinning. 

“Laying it on thick today?” you laughed. 

“It’s the only way I know how,” he hit you with a charming smile that lacked any real commitment. You held back your instinct to ask after his wellbeing, knowing full well that he is not doing well after the day you imagined he had. 

You and Princess gossiped about the latest episode of the reality show you were both shamelessly addicted to, and you did your best not to dodge their compliments on the baked goods, knowing they would report back to Michael. Or rather, Dr. Robby. 

You’d met him only once before getting properly acquainted after an accident at the bakery had required you to hurry to the nearest hospital. But, he’d given you his first name when placing the order for his latte, so Michael he remained. 

You did you best not to ask about the shift knowing that it had to have been a nightmare. Instead, you contented yourself to sitting and listening to them chatter, the time passing surprisingly quickly. 

Just as you were starting to feel silly, playing with the edge of the wax paper lining the tupperware with the brownies and chastising yourself for getting your hopes up, a set of footsteps broke through the mess of worry in your brain. Michael had clearly had a hard shift, his shoulders dropping, head hung low and his eyes were dark. You’d been right to come. Jack seemed to be in somewhat better spirits beside him, but he was battle weary even to your untrained eyes. 

Michael’s eyes bet yours, his eyebrows creeping up towards his hairline, head tilting in question. “I saw…” you hesitated, unsure of how much to say. “What happened today. Figured you could use a pick me up.” You’d already added a few of the brown butter chocolate chip cookies to a plate, handing them to Michael wordlessly. He took a seat on your side unlittered with tupperware, and you did your best to control your rapidly beating heart. “Jack?” you questioned, motioning to the assorted baked goods on your left. 

“Well if you insist,” he laughed, working his pant leg up to free himself of his prosthetic. “Can’t turn you down.” You smiled, adding a bit of everything to a little plate and walking it over to him. 

You sat back down next to Michael, insisting to yourself that the heat radiating off his arm stretched across the back of the bench was in no way related to the flip in your stomach. The others chatted amongst themselves, making light of the day. You chanced a glance his way, holding in a giggle when you noticed the couple of crumbs clinging to the side of his mouth. Your fingers twitched to brush them away, but he managed to beat you to it. “Tough day?” he asked, surveying the plethora of baked goods taking up the rest of the bench. 

“Just worried.” you shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Hate feeling like I can’t do anything worthwhile to help.” The ‘not like you can’ was unspoken. 

Michael cast his glance across the clearing, where his coworkers were smiling and making a considerable dent in your sweets. He didn’t argue with you, knowing that it wouldn’t make a difference, especially on a day like today. “You had one of these yet?” he asked, holding up one of the cookies. You shook your head. “You should, they’re working miracles.” 

You blinked at him, your heart picking up speed. You searched his eyes, trying to figure out if he did that on purpose, when a few more people joined your circle. “Samira!” you jumped up, reaching for her. She gripped you tight, sinking against you for the duration of the hug. Samira stopped by the bakery frequently on her way to work, taking advantage of the early hours you kept with the morning shift at the hospital in mind. “If I’d known you were going to be here, I would have made a couple batches of those muffins you like.”

She laughed, head tilted back and eyes light in a way you wouldn’t have imagined was possible after the shift she just finished. “You didn’t have to bring anything, I’m glad you’re here.” she paused for a moment, her gaze shifting behind you for a moment. You craned your neck to find Michael watching the two of your carefully, something different in his expression. “This is Victoria, today was her first day,” Samira gestured behind her to the girl who was standing with her hands clasped in front of her, looking shy. 

“Oh! It’s so nice to meet you!” You gave her a warm smile, squeezing her arm gently before turning and placing a few things on a plate for her and another for Matteo. “Here, to soothe your soul.” She took the plate gratefully, Matteo as well. 

“Thank you that’s really-” she was cut off by loud, full laughter from behind. Your head whipped around, finding Michael with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said through his laughter. “I just realized this was your first day.” Everyone quickly burst into various degrees of laughter. Victoria met your eyes, assessing your reaction. You did your best to shrug in a way that said ‘I’m used to this by now’ and you realized that was the truth. You had known Michael for a little over a year, and had slowly integrated into the culture of the ED. You weren’t one of them, but you belonged. These were your people. 

“That’s trial by fire, baby” Jack said, raising his can in Victoria’s direction. 

“I can almost guarantee the next one will be easier.” Michael said, and you were reminded that he was not just a kind man who stopped in on his way to work most days. He was a mentor, a teacher and someone that changed lives. 

“I really fucking hope so.” Victoria looked weary, but not defeated. You felt she would be back. 

Donnie was saying something to her, but you didn’t hear. “It’s late.” Michael said, leaning close enough for his shoulder to bump yours. You nod, leaning in as well. “You ready to go?” you nodded again, fighting back a yawn that was bubbling to the surface. He nodded, shouldering his backpack and standing up. 

“Last call!” You announced, grabbing a couple of containers and offering second helpings around. A smile took over when everyone accepted the extras. You deposited the container of pies in Princess’s lap, laughing when she promised she would get the container back to you. “You don’t have to lie to me of all people, you know.” 

“I don’t even know why I try.” she laughed, squeezing your hand. 

“It’s nice that you do,” you insisted. You packed as many empty containers as you could into your tote, and Michael grabbed the few remaining. You gave everyone a gentle wave before turning on your heel and starting towards the bakery. You could hear Michael saying his goodbyes but you continued on, confident that he would fall into step beside you. 

After a few moment, you felt him reach for the tote bag you had slung over your shoulder. “Keep dreaming, Robinavitch. I don’t let you carry my stuff on a good day.” 

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” 

“You underestimate me,” you say, assessing him now that you’re alone. He is still clearly exhausted, weighed down by the reality of his day. But he looks okay. Definitely better than when he’d trudged into the park across from the hospital. 

“Never.” and you knew he was right. You looped your arm through his, pulling him tight against your side. The two of you made your way back to the bakery in relative silence, taking comfort in the fact that the other is okay. He waited for you to unlock to door before pulling it open for you. You slipped inside, Michael following you to the kitchen. You moved in sync, putting things into the dishwasher, the few bits of leftover brownies into one of the fridges. 

Once things were put away, you leaned against the counter, giving him a once over. “You’re not subtle.” he mutters.

You laugh, folding in half with the force. “I don’t know what you mean.” But you do know what he means. You were worried, you showed up with baked goods to mask the fact you were checking on him. it wasn't the first time and it won't be the last.

“I’m okay. Today was rough, but I’m…” he paused, taking a shaky breath. “I’m better now. Jack helped, you helped.” 

You took a step towards him, hesitating, waiting for him to turn away or cross his arms or any other sign that he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want you. It doesn’t come. Another step, another pause. And then you can’t take it anymore and you are pressed against him, his hands tight around your back. 

Your breaths even out, sync up and the rest of the day feels distant. You’re safe, he’s safe and the rest can wait until tomorrow.

[inmaki]

number one sorcerer (and virgin) .

synopsis: req! in which your boyfriend — notorious for boasting about how good he is in bed — turns out to be all bark and no bite (until you give him some guidance, at least).

pairing: virgin!switch!gojo x f!reader

wc: est. 6k?

incl: unprotected sex, pull-out method, lots of dirty talk, a bit of teaching gojo, petnames, manhandling, size kink, clit play, praise kink, edging (himself), teasing, mocking, fingering, oral (f + slight m), cum swallowing

a/n: ty for awakening smtn in me anon it was nice to be writing a full fic again!! hope im not too rusty,, this is straight up filth tho so mdni

back when satoru and you were just friends, he liked to make it very clear to your circle of peers that he wasn’t just good at sex.

no, according to himself, he was some kind of sex god — to match his power level in sorcery, of course.

and obviously, who was anyone to think otherwise? the great gojo satoru; such a cocky and confident demeanour paired with angelic white hair, piercing blue eyes, and a tall sculpted body that other guys at the gym double-take at. him..? a virgin? hah! good one.

satoru believes that he’s done a rather spectacular job at keeping his reputation sky-high.

the only problem was.. now he had a girlfriend with high expectations to please.

since the day you’d gotten together — going multiple months strong — satoru was starting to sweat more and more knowing that his rather crucial fabrication was bound to be brought up sooner or later. you had your needs just like him, and satoru wouldn’t blame you if you were a bit worried about why he hasn’t initiated anything; y’know, since he was supposedly eros in human form and all that.

little did you know your boyfriend felt equally frustrated. for slightly different reasons.

“bro, it’d be hot if she was a virgin, but me?!” flopping back against the armrest, gojo lets out a theatrical groan while his best friend — the only other person to know of his dark secret — snickers against the cushions nearby.

“everything’d be fine if you didn’t pretend to be some incubus that makes girls cum with a snap of his finger,” geto quips unhelpfully.

satoru lifts his head, sneering when he realizes that the raven-haired man was much too busy scrolling on his phone to notice how he’s resting a pair of dirty shoes on his white couch. “that would be pretty cool..” when he only receives a disgusted glance, he huffs, suddenly feeling a bit vulnerable as his thoughts wander further. “how’m i even gonna tell her? what if she doesn’t trust me anymore?”

at last, suguru looks up with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “you know y/n isn’t like that. just.. wait for her to initiate something and go with the flow,” he advises, lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“you find a way to be good at everything, anyway, toru. she’ll be begging for you in no time.”

as usual, geto knows him too well, because those last few words have gojo shooting up from the sofa with a grin. “ya think so?”

“hell yeah, man.” the two idiots end the discussion by dapping each other up, a confident gleam in both of their eyes.

only a couple days later, satoru discovers that going with the flow isn’t as easy as suguru advised. with your plush lips sucking his bottom one through occasional moans, along with a delicate pair of nails scratching perfectly at his undercut, he already felt himself getting breathless and aroused like a teenager.

perhaps you’ve put him under a spell; how is it that he lasts through prolonged battles while barely breaking a sweat, but having your cute hand move to rub up on his abs and pecs send his nerves into overdrive? it wasn’t like making out wasn’t uncommon for the two of you, this time it just felt so passionate with the way your hips moved to straddle his, tongue practically begging for entrance while the movie on screen was left long forgotten.

gojo can’t help but groan as your muscle explores his mouth, core ever so smoothly grinding on his bulge and igniting heat through his entire body. even as you pull away to take a breath, his grip on your waist remains stable as if you’d disappear at any moment— growing even tighter with the way you bore into his eyes hungrily. “satoru..”

your unusually seductive voice makes him audibly gulp. “y— yeah?” he whispers, glancing to the hand thats now moving down over his grey sweats. shit, this was too much, was he dreaming? he should do something, pinch himself before—

“touch me, please?” as you voice your request, you squeeze his dick so nicely that satoru swears he nearly explodes in his boxers.

he swallows, words getting lost in his throat. “i— i uh...”

for the first time in history, satoru has been rendered speechless, and you visibly panic at this realization. yet when you try to carefully maneuver off his lap and give him space, the clutch on your waist intensifies. “what— are you okay? what’s wrong?” you murmur, brows creasing with concern.

though you never brought it up, satoru’s worry about your confusion was correct; you’d been expecting him to jump your bones a week into your relationship, but seeing how he never forced anything and remained respectful was cute.. at first. after a month of rejection and being pushed away whenever things got too heated, insecurities were bound to start brewing inside you.

he better have a damn good explanation.

“i’m fine,” he reassures, “it’s just— i should probably tell you something..” refusing to meet your eyes, the sorcerer resorts to drawing shapes against the skin under your t-shirt. in other situations, this would feel soothing, relaxing even — but currently, his lacking and lingering touch made you want to rip the hairs off your head.

all you wanted was to finally get a taste of your steaming hot boyfriend. what could he possibly need to say right now? you ponder, hasn’t he been dying to finally show off how amazing he is in bed?

“yes..?”

“it’s actually a funny story, ahaha..” he stalls, chuckling nervously as you turn his jaw to make eye contact. a feeling of impatience and neediness pulls through you, but you contain yourself with a deep breath.

“spit it out, satoru.”

there was no going back now, right? “so.. i’ve uh— i’ve never actually done this before.”

you blink.

“you’re a virgin?”

it was difficult to believe your own words; it sounded wrong no matter how hard you tried to wrap your head around it. satoru being inexperienced? the satoru with a rock hard 6 pack? the satoru with biceps that bulge out of his shirts and a face sharp enough to be sculpted by aphrodite herself? your satoru?

it sounded ridiculous, but the ugly pout rising across his lips tells you that it wasn’t a prank after all. “hey, don’t call me that, now it sounds way worse!”

a sigh escapes your lips, arms folded across your chest. “so all those never have i ever games and stories you told about one night stands were— mph!" before you know it, a large hand is covering your mouth.

“listen, how about we talk about this after having some fun?” a surprisingly determined gleam shines in your boyfriend’s icy blue eyes, making your thighs clench together in excitement.

who were you to say no to that?

—

next thing you know, pillows support your back as a shirtless satoru lies directly in front of your clothed crotch, hot breath making you wiggle around impatiently.

“jus— just take it off me, toru. so damn slow—“

“baby,” he scolds, looking genuinely upset, “this is my first time seeing a pussy in real life and you’re ruining it with your lack of patience.”

you can only roll your eyes and groan, head flopping back against the cushions in boredom. there was no way to predict how satoru’s first time would go, but you never expected it’d be this agonizing on your end — nor that he’d be so bossy.

though luckily, after another deep breath, your panties are gently tugged down your legs, and satoru can only inhale as he watches your poor hole clench around nothing. it only made sense that after all that dry humping and making out that your neediness increased, and it didn’t help that you could clearly see the way satoru was not only rock hard, but much bigger than average through his grey sweats.

“ooh.. oh shit..” like the invasive pervert he is, satoru moves even closer to the point where your thighs rest on his muscular shoulders before taking two fingers to spread your lips apart. this way, he has a clear view of the place that needs him most, and it makes a furious blush blossom on your cheeks.

“s— satoru.. what are you doing?” now you felt like the virgin, desperately attempting to shut your legs with no avail. damn this big idiot and his strength.

suddenly, his piercing eyes snap up to you, a feral look in his gaze. “shit, how’m i gonna fit in this little hole?”

you can’t deny the way his dirty words does something to you — not that you’d ever admit it. “that’s why you gotta prep me, toru. y’know..” you gulp, “fingering, or like.. eating me out.”

in response, you get a cheshire grin. “sounds fun. show me how you do it, sweets.”

“w-what?”

satoru leans back, attemping to hold in a mischievous smile. “how else am i gonna learn?”

even masturbating alone makes you flush in slight embarassment, so doing it in front of someone else — your cheeky, shamleess boyfriend no less — had you drowning in nerves. the bigger problem was that his words held a strong point; you’re supposed to be teaching him for his first time and ensuring it’s as enjoyable as possible.

these reminders make you mumble out a gentle fine, breath stuttering as you spread your legs further for the man in front of you.

satoru is now resting his weight on the palms of his hands, looking laid back and relaxed, but evidently still focused at the way your fingers move to unclasp your bra with skill. “damn..” as your tits are freed, he finds himself needing to adjust his sweatpants and nearly letting out a pathetic noise you would definitely tease him for.

you gulp, trying to ignore his blatant gawking. “it’s good to.. y’know, tease a bit before getting straight to it. makes it feel better — for me, at least,” you explain while massaging your chest, hiding surprise at the way he sternly nods in understanding.

now that you think about it, something tells you this is the most focused satoru has ever been in a learning environment.

after a bit more pinching and fondling, your hands slide down to your stomach and thighs, trying to get your breathing to relax. having gojo watch you do something so private was.. surreal, but you know for a fact you’ve never been this wet before, if that meant anything.

once you finally move down to your most intimate part, satoru takes a deep breath. he watches as you use your fingers to reveal a small bundle of nerves, pulsing and desperate for attention. “this is the clit, toru. s’very important.”

his eyes light up. “oh, i know that one!” he announces proudly, “i remember suguru saying i have to.. uh, worship it or something.”

you snicker at the thought of geto giving out sex pointers. “mhm, sometimes penetration isn’t enough, so you need to give it attention or i can’t really finish.”

gently, you start massaging the bud in circles, humming at the feeling of finally getting some type of relief. you move down to your hole to collect some of your wetness before bringing it back up, letting out a moan in satisfaction.

the way satoru licks his lips as you finally plunge a finger into your wetness has you shivering, but you remind yourself that for now, this was simply a demonstration and that you’d get a taste of him later.

after adding another, you attempt to reach your sweet spot by curling upwards, but it seems that even your hopelessly inexperienced boyfriend could tell that it was getting nowhere.

“aw,” he pouts teasingly, “lil’ fingers can’t reach anything, huh?”

“shut— shut up, satoru.”

before you know it, he’s moved onto his stomach again, face to face with your pussy and gripping your now soaked fingers. “you use these pathetic things when y’masturbate, huh? imagining my dick while having such tiny fingers up your cunt? kinda offended, babe..”

you feel your tummy flip, where did he learn to talk like that?

“do you have to be so vulg—“ you’re cut off by a choking gasp as a warm, wet muscle licks a stripe from your hole all the way to your clit.

“thanks for the lesson. ‘think i got it from here,” is all satoru says before he’s diving in, slurping up as much of your essence as possible before latching his plush lips right onto your poor little clit.

you can’t help but wiggle around at the jump in stimulation, but that only lasts about five seconds before a muscular arm presses you firmly against the mattress, rendering you trapped and unable to escape to his ministrations.

“hey, slow down!” your words are coincidentally yelped out right as he wiggles a much bigger finger into you. it explores your insides eagerly, caressing and feeling up what satoru believes will be his new favourite place.

“wow..” sluuurp, “so warm n’ soft in here..” he happily mumbles against your pussy. the vibrations of his now deeper voice shoot through you like electricity, eliciting another choked whine from your throat.

it felt like he was just toying with you; looking way too content drinking up everything you offered, fluid rushing down his chin and nose pushed firmly against your pelvis to inhale your scent.

suddenly, he’s jabbing his fingertip right into that pocket of sunshine that makes your eyes roll back, a loud whimper leaving your throat before you could stop it. “satoru, right there!” he swiftly seperates from your clit just to mumble out a here? in confirmation, prodding your sweet spot over and over in record breaking speed.

when you nod, he grins smugly, now adding another finger to stretch you further. “mmmph, this is pretty fun. could lie here all night.”

luckily, you barely process his words, much too busy enjoying the best finger-fuck of your life — and this was only his first time, you remember, what will the bastard do to you once he’s got some practice in?

a shaking hand tumbles into his snowy locks, attempting to pull him back weakly. “wait, m’gonna cum, toru—“

gojo growls almost animalistically, tugging your hand back onto the sheets. “then fuckin’ do it,” he demands. “c’mon, i’ve earned it, right?” then, he sucks even harder, fingers slamming and curling and making the loudest squelch you’ve ever heard.

“see?” he continues, “lil’ cunt wants to cum so bad for me. knows who 'er owner is already.” his filthy words definitely take part in the way your orgasm hits like a train, body shaking and toes curling as you let the feeling of bliss take over you. you flinch at how swiftly his tongue licks up everything you give him, the fingers in his hair tugging harder in overstimulation.

“toruuuuu..”

he simpers, tasting his cum-covered lips. “yeeees?”

“this— this is your first time, i should be making you feel good.”

slowly but surely, your eyes reopen, meeting your boyfriend’s relaxed gaze as he rubs your thigh affectionately. “dunno what you’re talking about, i felt pretty good just now.” when you only pout further, he snickers, pushing some of his bangs back smoothly. “c’mon, there’s lots of time for you to get me off later. m’ too excited for the main event..”

at last, he reaches for his sweatpants, more than excited to tug them down and finally give his aching cock some freedom. satoru doesn’t think he’s ever had a more painful boner in his life, but it was all worth seeing you release all over his tongue and fingers.

right as he finishes untying the knot, pale fingers drifting up to the waistband, you’re smacking him away to make room for your own hands. he watches with an open mouth as you pull his boxers down along with his pants, leaky, hard cock springing free and nearly hitting you in the face.

shit, of course his dick is perfect too. with a bit of white hair at the base, bulging veins adorned the entirety of his massive length, and the tip — shit, the tip was even bigger than the rest, mushroom shaped and angry red. his balls looked equally agitated and full — the epitome of breeder balls, and you gulped at the thought of him filling you up with everything they had.

now his question from earlier made sense, and he seems to be enjoying the realization on your face from his spot kneeling on the bed. “like what’cha see?” he coos, one big hand lowering to relieve the aching in his balls.

“toru, i don’t know if you’ll even fit. why— why do you have to be so big?” it’s annoying, you want to say — but the white-haired man has already laid back and manhandled you onto his chiseled stomach, a yelp escaping you at his suddenness.

he’s smiling so hard at your little dilemma that it’s almost sick, hands resting behind his head cockily. “tell me more while you ride me, baby.”

after processing that all you’ve been doing is feeding his size kink and inflating his already massive ego, you frown. “i’m serious, toru!”

“what!? i’m serious too!” the man defends with fake innocence, blue eyes shining in glee. “you’re the expert here, remember? ‘supposed to be teaching me how it’s done.”

all you do is grumble whilst moving down to sit between the sorcerer’s thighs, lightly prepping him with your fist and a dribble of spit from your mouth that has the white-haired male biting his lip. “fuck..” satoru can’t recall how many times he’s masturbated to the mental image of this exact moment, but now that it was finally happening, he promised himself to savor it as much as possible.

when you move to finally straddle him, hole hovering just above his length, he begins bucking his hips up desperately. “hurryyy…”

“are you in heat or something?” you snort, giving him a dirty glare as if you weren’t about to let him inside you.

“for you? yeah.” satoru offers you a cheesy wink and grin that dissipates the second your warmth encloses his aching tip. his hands slowly move up to grip your waist, jaw clenching in an attempt to not slam you down to his balls right then.

“ngh… fuuuck, baby,” he groans as you ever so carefully move down another inch. “jesus.. you’re sooo damn tight. dunno’ how you’re even taking me..”

you squeeze your eyes shut in attempt to bare the discomfort for him, a slight crease growing between your brows. “satoru, fuck— hurts..” he immediately reopens his eyes in worry, searching for a way to take your pain away.

yes, he could already tell that he enjoyed being meaner with you in bed — but it’s never fun if you don’t feel good as well. though he luckily recalls your lesson from earlier, moving a soft thumb down to massage your clit in tight circles.

when you jolt and nearly faceplant into his neck, he only grins proudly, now using one veiny hand to help push you further onto him. “theeere we go.. aw, feel better?”

“mhm, feels full..” you mumble back, looking down to see that you — unbelievably — still had a couple inches to go.

satoru feels like he’s about to burst on the other hand, thriving in pure ecstasy at the feeling of your walls massaging him just perfectly. he can’t help but thrust up and force his last inches inside you, an echoing smack! of skin against skin singing through the room and eliciting a startled yelp from your throat.

“toru!” despite your scolding, you can’t deny the perfection in which his tip kissed your g-spot effortlessly. his hands felt ever so soothing, comfortingly running up and down as you sat impaled on his cock, wiggling around to get comfortable and ruining him in the process.

just as you start to adjust, you feel yourself being lifted up. “m’ sorry sweets..” gojo suddenly voices, “i can’t..”

“huh? what do you m—ah!” you’re flipped onto your back before you know it, knees resting on the shoulders of your boyfriend who has a gleam in his pupils that you’ve quite frankly never seen before; he looked feral.

satoru carefully pulls out until only his tip is encased in your warmth, and everything is calm for a moment. you both take a deep breath, and he smiles down at your already fucked-out face with pride. “satoru—“

then he’s pushing back in with all the strength his massive hips can produce, and you think if it weren’t for his hands wrapped around your thighs, you would’ve got pushed off the bed entirely. you unintentionally let out the loudest sound of the night, and this sets him off.

now he was getting brutal, bullying your cunt with hit after hit against the spot that has drool dripping down your cheek and eyes crossing. you can’t even stop the pathetic noises and symphonies of right there! that leave your lips, no matter how hot your cheeks flush in embarrassment. it felt as though every time his dick jabbed back in he was right up in your tummy, veins pulsing and ensuring your pussy is molded to the perfect sleeve for him.

“toru, shit— nghh, faster, please! feels s’good!”

“nghh, toru, faster! ahaha..” he mocks you — of course he does, but picks up the pace nonetheless — now holding your lower body up so that your knees dangle higher over his shoulders and each stroke is angled exactly where you want him. “so cute when you’re gettin’ stuffed full, baby.”

he leers as you send him the harshest expression you can manage, reaching down for your clit and giggling as you start squirming in an attempt to escape the overwhelming pleasure. this bastard is having way too much fun, you realize, moans being forced out of you almost tauntingly.

tonight you discover that satoru’s way of fucking is rather animalistic, frantic, thrilling, and with the sole purpose of making you both feel as good as possible. if you want him to go slow or make love to you, you’d probably have to ask beforehand — or perhaps tie him up so you could have your fun in peace.

if your insides weren’t being rearranged, you’d grin at the thought of your boyfriend restrained and at your mercy. another night, you promise yourself.

“tightest pussy ever f’my first time baby.. haah.. can’t believe i’ve been missin’ out on this.” for once, something praising comes out of his big mouth, breathes getting cut short every time you involuntarily squeeze him harder. he swears there’s no better feeling then what you were giving him right now, not even singlehandedly resurrecting himself using the reversed curse technique.

and while no injuries have ever left a scar on gojo satoru, he decides that the claw marks you’re ruthlessly digging into his back will stay as long as his body allows — why should he hide how good he’s made you feel despite being a virgin an hour prior?

maybe if he’s in the mood to brag, he’ll show them to suguru later.

“feels good toru, fuckin’ me so good,” you feel the way his whole body reacts to your praises, a deep growl melting from his lips as the sounds of skin slapping increasingly grows in volume.

“babyyy,” he pants, legs being held higher while he digs deeper into your guts, “m’gonna cum.. need you to cum with me.“ the twitching of his length inside you gave away the fact that gojo has practically been on the edge ever since he pushed into you — and while he knows it’s completely normal to cum prematurely on your first time, when has he ever not gone above expectations?

in a split second you’re flipped onto your hands and knees, veiny hands pushing you into a deep arch while your boyfriend gives his body a moment to relax, pinching his base (a rather perverted method he’s learned by edging himself while masturbating) between his thumb and pointer.

when you needily wiggle your hips in an attempt to find his cock again, he grins boyishly. “lookin’ for this?” he sings the words right before plunging his entire length back into you, abusing your g-spot while a lanky finger impressively finds the bud between your legs right away (a skill that most ‘experienced’ men you’ve previously been with fail to achieve), circling and pinching in a frantic attempt to make your orgasms arrive in sync.

“fucking hell.." you whine, the new angle making his tip bump against spots that have never been rubbed before. “can feel you so deep..”

“oh yeah?” his bicep pulls you up so your head rests on his broad shoulder, now victim to the filth being whispered directly into your ear. “m’ i doing good? fuckin’ this lil’ pussy nice and deep like she needs?”

when you nod, he beams like a maniac, seemingly encouraged to pound you even harder as his hips pick up the pace. “damn, ‘think i’m already a pro at this, huh?”

for the sake of your sanity, you ignore his bragging. “toru, don’t stop. i’m— i’m gonna..”

“you’re gonnaaa?” he derides, kissing the corner of your lip sweetly. “tell me, baby.”

“gonna cum for you, please.” satoru almost decides to fill you up at those words, but his self control is just a bit stronger. he feels the way your cunt is pulsing, body practically shaking as you get closer and closer to release, and he’s determined to help you reach it.

his thrusts get a bit sloppier, and you’re too busy basking in your own pleasure to see the eye-candy that is gojo biting his swollen lips, sweat dripping down his temples all the way to his solid abs, snowy bangs a tad bit moist against his forehead. he looked like the definition of temptation; straight out of a wet dream with stamina that seemingly never declined.

“me too, baby. c’mon, cum on this dick. s’all yours to ruin.”

you moan as you allow yourself to let go, toes curling and nails digging into his toned forearms ecstatically. “thaaat’s it, good girl.. ahah.. such a good girl f’me.” he talks you through it as if he’s done so a million times, both of you looking down to watch your release coat his dick and the crumpled sheets below.

at his praise, you squeeze him just a bit tighter, making his lips curl up in interest. “my girl likes being praised, huh? yeah.. doing so good makin’ a mess on me..”

he pulls out, carefully lowering you to the mattress before tugging on his dick in hopes of reaching his own peak. satoru forces himself to open his eyes just enough to admire the view of you fucked out below him, body shaking slightly as you recover from the intense waves of your orgasm.

“y/n,” he abruptly whines, patting your shoulder with a subtle urgency in his voice.

“..mhmm?”

“where can i cum? quick baby— please, i’ve been holding this for way too long—“ this has your body moving, eyes popping open as you swiftly bend down so your mouth hovers directly in front of him.

you replace his fist with yours as soft lips move to suckle harsly on his leaking tip, and now it’s gojo who has his eyes rolling back; whimpers flying out of his throat every time your tongue massages the delicate underside, sending visible shocks through his body. “fuck!” he can only curse and run his fingers through your hair for support while you pump him dry. “just like that, good.. haah.. good fuckin’ girl, shiiit.”

you’ve never seen your boyfriend — the strongest — look so pathetic and desperate, but it only spurs you on further, enjoying the way he continues to blabber about how pretty you are and how he’s gonna fill your mouth like he would your pussy. in response, you greedily hum around him, licking through his slit as if you were pleading the little hole to give you what you deserved.

and only moments later, satoru’s words become reality; though he attempts to keep revelling in the feeling of your warm lips and hands, his body stills in place instinctively, one last warning tumbling out of his throat as your mouth is flooded with rope after rope of bitterly sweet fluid.

it seems like your accusations about his breeder balls were correct, because once it starts it seemingly never ends; cum now overflowing from the corners of your lips as you struggle to swallow frequently enough to not choke on how much he deposits.

meanwhile, gojo feels like he is quite literally ascending, everything becoming unimportant next to you and the feeling of pleasure being forced through him like an overwhelming earthquake, pulse after pulse as you suck him for all he’s worth.

“thas’ right.. take every damn drop, baby.” when satoru looks down and earns a glimpse of the white fluid trickling down your chin, his dick twitches in your mouth. “god, you’re so sexy..”

once he was done, you both flop onto the bed in exhaustion, and while the vulnerable moment has utmost potential to become something cute and memorable, a certain blue-eyed bastard decides to open his mouth once again.

“what’re you huffin’ and puffin’ for?” he sasses, shamelessly eyeing the way your tits rose and fell with every breath you took. “all you did was lie there while i had a full body workout!”

you take a very deep breath. “i just let you put your dick inside me. shut the fuck up.”

at your reminder of what’d just occurred, he grins like an idiot. “you’re right, thank you.” they’re soft, but he ensures his words are as audible and genuine as he can make them.

satoru isn’t exactly the best with words, but he knows damn well that — despite all the bullshit he'd spouted at those parties — you’re the only person he wanted to have his first time with, and the fact that you allowed his wish to become reality is something he’ll forever be grateful for.

“i love you..” you soften. “even if you’re a pillow princess.” you stiffen again.

nothing could stay lovey-dovey with him for too long.

a fake cry is pulled from his lips as you rudely smack his shoulder. “i tried to ride you but you flipped me over after ten seconds!”

“it’s not my fault you're as slow as a fuckin' snail!”

somehow, you both make it to the washroom despite all the banter. just as you bend over in hopes of starting the shower up, a mean spank is delivered to your ass.

when you turn to meet the culprit, he only narrows his eyes at you playfully. “round two, m’lady?” it’s almost like his voice lowers on purpose, dirty words rumbling in his throat, knowing what it did to your body.

you do your best to send him a disappointed glance anyway. “day one of not being a virgin and you’re already the horniest man i know.”

after following you inside, his fluffy hair flattens from the steamy water before nudging you back, encasing you between him and the solid wall.

“i might be willing to overlook the fact that you know other horny men if you agree to some very loving, extremely intimate making out,” he requests with a smirk, sleek nose poking yours in a much gentler way than expected.

you still send him a distrusting raise of your brow. “only making out, huh?”

the dirty smirk he sends you is all you need to know, along with his hardened dick pressing against your thigh as he moves in to kiss you.

what have you gotten yourself into?

mlist! gojo showing off his back scratches! <- if you enjoy silly virgin gojo pls lmk in the reblogs, comments, or asks <3

© inmaki on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

tags: @gojoallmine @allofffmypeaches @haitaniholic @pandoraium

[moondirti]

soap goes to the gym in nothing but a muscle tank and a pair of old, worn shorts. it’s the same articles of clothing every time, too. like he has nothing better to wear than the ratty combo, and nothing better to do than taunt you with just how exposed it leaves him.

maybe a case could be made for the shirt. the armholes have gotten stretched with time, you see, and he says that’s good for mobility — even if it does give you an eyeful of side-pec the second he raises his arms. which is fine, you suppose. there’s nothing new about a thick chest carpeted in coarse, curly hair. or about muscled lines that cut down to a man’s armpits, his biceps the size of your head, or the vulgar breadth of his neck when he tenses on the pulley machine. even if it does leave you a little bit dizzy. it certainly isn’t the worst thing in the world.

definitely not the worst thing about his whole getup.

because the shorts are loose too. made of a sweat-wicking material and fitted for aerobic sports. you don’t think he knows that, and if he did, you don’t think he’d care. he prefers the airflow, or so he says. likes the way it keeps him cool while he works up a sweat. you’d be inclined to let it pass, if it weren’t for the fact that he forgoes boxers, too.

and it’s no secret. it must be thick, you think, fat and heavy if it makes such a prominent silhouette even while soft. you catch flashes of it through his leg holes sometimes. from a few feet away, on a water break while he straddles and lays back down on a bench. dark and folded against a burly thigh, trapped between fabric and muscle like it’s straining to escape. or when he’s on the leg press, and deigns to tuck it up behind his loose waistband to get it out of the way; you’ll get a glimpse of the flushed tip of it, always glistening, like he’s perpetually primed for something. perhaps it’s the endorphins that get him so worked up. he fits the mould of one of those freaks.

still. it’s… harder to ignore.

and when you’d once waited to get home before taking your showers, his terrible propensity for exhibitionism almost always ends up with you in the gym’s communal ones, working up a new kind of sweat. cold water beating down your back, hair matted to your forehead, hand shamefully tucked between your legs. biting your lip hard enough to taste blood. you never draw it out, and always cum in a guilty finish, like the world might catch on to your gross, voyeuristic habit.

it’s on one of those days that you walk out of the shower to find johnny — grinning, sweaty, waiting — and realise that it wasn’t the world you should’ve been worried about listening in, but him.

[tryingtofindava]

OMG , OMG, Are you an expert in creepypasta, I want to give you my request If you don't mind ... May i've a request for Jeff the killer,ticcy toby , Laughing Jack ( if you write for him ) and eyeless Jack please?!

With sweet fem s/o who don't know they are serial killers and only give them affection (like kisses every day) NSFW

Preatty please, love you baby

── 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 & 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭! 𝐒/𝐎

: ̗̀➛Back to Source

INCLUDES: Jeff the Killer, Ticci Toby, and Eyeless Jack.

srry pookie bear not touching the nsfw today :c might come back to this idea later with just NSFW tho >:)

╰┈➤ 𝐉𝐞𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

You definitely caught his eyes when he first saw you, immediately taking in your sweet bubbly aura. (You were definitely on his bucket list of victims after he stalked you for a bit)

But one day, he got a little too cocky and you caught him. And to his surprise you didn’t seem to mind at all when you found this questionable looking stranger stalking around outside your bedroom window.

You’re guys difference in aesthetic in personality is what made you guys hit it off. YOU GUYS ARE THE DEFINITION OF SUNSHINE X MOON.

He thinks you’re too sweet to actually be sweet tbh, but you never fail to prove him wrong.

He’s cocky and arrogant, and the god complex on this man is UNBELIEVABLE… The only reason you’re alive in his head is because he was gracious enough to let you continue with your life. Not that he’d tell you that ofc!!

“Do you think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course, you’re so handsome!!”

He likes that you agree he’s beautiful for sure. (He fishes for compliments all the time, anything to stroke his ego.)

He’s possessive, and borderline obsessive. You’re his. And that’s that.

He takes you where he wants, when he wants. The woods? Yep. The shitty convenience store toilets? Double yep yep. Anywhere you guys could get caught in general? YUP.

Double life points because you don’t even know he’s a literal serial killer, like, even though all the signs and red flags are there.

When you guys started to date, he did soften up a bit, not as cruel and mean. But only a little bit. He LIVES for the surprise kisses.

Typa guy who’d ask ‘where’s my hug at?’

╰┈➤𝐓𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐲

This boy THRIVES off how sweet you are, it all works in his favour really. Your house is like his hide out spot, away from his… ‘work’ and honestly just everything.

You’re his safe space. His home.

He does think you’re a bitty dull though, and he often wonders how long his ‘I’m a hunter’ excuse will work.

He’d try his very hardest to keep you a secret from the others, but his Tourette’s to make him tic and stutter out your name and nicknames. Which definitely raises some questions on who this ‘Y/n’ and ‘Schatz’ is.

“A-a-and then he- Y/n- fuh-fuck…”

Please, please, please help him through his episodes and tic attacks. He’ll cherish you forever and ever. (He already did but it’s set in stone now.)

He likes that you’re nice to him, he feels so super duper special that he’s getting love and affection, him! Of all ppl!! (poor boy just needs some loving yall)

He’s ECSTATIC when you guys start to date, he’s not very experienced since he’s only dated Clockwork (my beloved) BUT HE’S A FAST LEARNER AND PICKS UP ON EVERYTHING QUICKLY!! ^^

He was so super shocked when you started giving him little kisses here and there, and it soon becomes a game of who can get the most surprise kisses in a day. (He’s proper pouncing on you to get to ur neck)

╰┈➤ 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤

When you guys first met, it was around 9pm. It was dark outside, the street lamps Turing on one by one. We’re carrying home some grocery bags, and when you bumped into a tall, dark and mysterious man with an eerie mask… you immediately compliment his cosplay.

“Ohhh, cool cosplay!!”

“What…?”

Okiii, so anyways you guys are dating now<3

He’s a sneaky one for sure, out of him, Toby and Jeff, he’s the best at keeping what he does a secret. Not that’d you’d notice either way but… yh.

He’s a possessive bastard like Jeff though, he worries about how sweet you are to everyone, he’d hate if someone were to upset you or even worse, hurt you… (And if they do he’d take care of them for you)

He likes that you don’t question his grey skin, empty eye sockets, the sharp teeth, 3 tongues, and ESPECIALLY the tar dripping from where his eyes should be. Less work for him to make up excuses.

But, that doesn’t stop you from questioning his eating habits…

Always questioning him and lecturing him of he shouldn’t feast on raw ‘animals’. Yeah… you bet your ass he’s not telling you about the cannibal or demon thing. And it’s gonna stay like that.

You’re too sweet and pure to him to be revealed to the horrors that is himself. How he longs to be in a universe with you were he can be normal so you guys could live the white picket fence life style.

But, he doesn’t get that. But at least he gets you all to himself, demon or not.

He’s more stunned by your surprise kisses against his mask, but he does find it adorable, how couldn’t he? The way you lean up on your tippy toes with puckered lips. He can’t help himself but slide his mask up and take you right then and there.

wowee was this long, can u tell I had to get this out of my system:3

PSST!! Yeah, you!!! Do you like my interpretation of the Creepypastas? Try out these bots!!

[snowluvvie]

₊˚⊹ ♡ . MOUNTAIN DEW ATOMIC BLUE.

RODRICK HEFFLEY X SCENE!READER

MDNI 18+ | warnings — marijuana, protected p in v (for once, yippee)

"They think it's cool when you do it." Rodrick sulked, and you shoved his shoulder playfully when you said, "c'mon, don't be a baby."

It was true, though—the shit you wore was even weirder than he did, you were covered in way more studs and much heavier eyeliner, and you were way more off-putting than he was. He was the one playing the drums at his band's shows downtown, but you were the one who actually enjoyed the music enough to show up every time—and still, he was the one who got made fun of. It was just cause you were hot enough to get away with it, you both knew that.

Rodrick had been positively shocked when you wanted to go out with him. He had been such a show off and a loud mouth when he was staring you down at parties and smirking and going out of his way to make sure you saw him when his band was playing. You'd watch him muttering with his friends all night, all leading up to him awkwardly half-yelling at you, "cool hair!" or something like that. You'd smile and say thank you, but he always walked away too fast to even hear it. Skittish, like a stray cat.

When he'd clumsily approached you one of those nights and stuttered through some rendition of "my friend has, like, a joint that he—y'know, rolled, that we were gonna like, smoke outside or something—just if you, like, wanted some or something." It felt like it took him a year to get through the sentence, which was starkly contrasted by the two seconds it took you to shrug and say, "sure." His jaw literally dropped.

His bandmates were just as lame as him, and you stifled a laugh as you smoked with them around the corner outside and watched Rodrick try to sneakily gesture for his friends to go inside and leave you two alone. The funny thing was that his friends didn't notice, only you did, and it didn't help that they were all gawking at you too, like they were shocked to have a girl in their midst—you were the only one there, so they definitely were. They regarded you like a damn zoo animal.

After they finally trickled off one by one after the joint was finished, it was just you and Rodrick leaning against the brick wall—you staring at him with that fuzzy, half-lidded look that was making his face bright red, and you swore you saw a halfie underneath those shredded-up jeans, but it was too dim for you to tell.

It turned out you were right, when you felt it pressed against your leg as the two of you made out clumsily. Rodrick clearly didn't know where to put his hands, he wanted to touch you everywhere all at once and couldn't decide, so they raked up the sides of your body and dug into your back and waist, your arms wrapped around his neck and holding him flush against you. When you slid your tongue against his, he let out a breathy moan into your mouth, and his eyes flew open with embarrassment. You just giggled a little bit and reattached your mouth to his. He ground his hips against yours, and your back scratched against the bricks as he shoved you up against the wall harder than he meant to.

The only time you broke the kiss was to hazily ask him where the keys to the van were. His eyebrows furrowed over barely-focused eyes when he said with near-pathetic but admirable confusion "you can't drive... you just smoked." Your face dropped into his shoulder as you giggled for a little too long at that, and your lips brushed against the shell of his ear when you whispered, "not to drive. So we can get in the back." And you felt the shiver that wracked his whole body.

In the cluttered heat of the back of his band's van, your eyes had adjusted to the darkness just in time to see the slack-jawed, wide-eyed shock on Rodrick's face when you slid the condom over his dick, and the way his head fell back immediately, groaning pathetically at your touch. From the way he tensed up and his eyes squeezed shut, you suspected he could've busted that second if he hadn't fought to keep it together.

When you were riding him relentlessly, jumping up and down on his cock like you were made for it, his head lolled back at the pleasure and he dug his chipped-black painted fingernails into the flesh of your ass. He always snapped his head back up to watch you with blown out pupils, wanting to make sure he got his fill of what you looked like. Visibly shocked, he couldn't believe you were doing this—neither could you, to be honest. You wanted him, obviously, practically drooled over his band tees and eyeliner, but you were never this forward. Must've been something in the air.

He apologized profusely when he came with a long, drawn-out moan before you'd had a chance to finish, his face bright red again and ashamed. You'd only leaned down to kiss him, catching him off-guard.

Your hand fumbled around as you searched for his phone so you could finally type your number into it, but before you could, a BANG BANG BANG rang out as someone slammed their fist against the side of the van—one of his bandmates. Your eyes flicked to Rodrick and down at the compromising position, him still buried inside of you and his jeans bunched around his knees, your skirt hiked up, and you both stifled laughter as you scrambled to get your clothes back in order.

You swore you heard him mumble between the clinking of his studded belt and your bracelets "no one's gonna believe me," and you snorted.