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rapturously · 22 days ago

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𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟, 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞.

┊ count orlok x fem!reader.

✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: after uncovering an heirloom thought to be long-buried and forgotten to time, your flesh is joined as one with the enigmatic count.

read part one here.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.0K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: heavy smut, willing consent, vampire antics (bloodplay, blood drinking, scent kink), extreme possessive & obsessive behavior, biting, scratching, making out, tearing clothing, unprotected p in v sex, loss of virginity, sex with a rotting vampire, cunnilingus, cockwarming, multiple orgasms, title kink (use of my lord), dracula references, a relationship based on lust/obsession/possession and not love.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: writing this has given me joy about writing again & it’s a fantastic feeling! loved working on this fic! thank you to everyone who has shown such love and support for my work, this is why I write and it means a lot to me! I hope you guys enjoy!

𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 ��𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞.

Each night since he had first fed from you followed a similar pattern, lulled into a sensual subservience by his shadow, soothed by the allure of his voice. There was an innate lack of physicality that perplexed you, as if he were waiting for something else.

This enforced isolation by daylight allowed you to traverse the castle grounds, to explore the hallowed halls of this macabre mausoleum — you never felt truly alone. His presence stayed with you, a shadow haunting your steps.

Beneath the crunch of frozen undergrowth, you wandered. Within the shroud of the Carpathian Mountains, the fortress had seemed monumental, but in the flesh, it was smaller, a labyrinth of stone. It gave you ample time to admire the architecture and study his home.

The village became a mere afterthought, abandoned to the recesses of your mind, buried away, never to be uncovered. Your Lord was not physically present, more often than not, and you began to burn for his touch.

Phantom caresses and arduous visions could only sustain your craving for him for so long. He was not unkind, simply aloof and enigmatic, a being that seemed to give you everything you wanted, and nothing at all.

He had swathed you in clothing finer than you could ever imagine, fit for a noblewoman, lavished you in fine trappings and allowed you your own chambers. Even then, you wanted more — you wanted to be with him, beseech him to stay.

Wisps of warmth emerged from your lips as you stepped beneath an archway, the stone older than your predecessors. The grounds, still and eerie, retained a wealth of history, his ancestors still buried somewhere within the catacombs.

Orlok, you’d learned, was his ancestral surname, passed down through a noble lineage of a royal bloodline that far exceeded that of your own. He spoke nothing of his own beginnings, preferring to keep it all concealed within the dark.

For most of your life, you’d been taught to fear strigoi, tales of bloodsucking predators looming in the night, coming to snatch the innocent from their beds. You still felt some unusual uneasiness with your Lord, but it was humans you feared more than anything, those that tried to kill you.

Timeworn rags of your old life were left behind, scattered to the wind like a shattered memory. Whatever void was left within you, he filled — like a goblet overflowing with wine, leaving you satiated.

Within dust-laden corridors, you managed to find your way from the castle’s exterior grounds to a spacious hall, one that you had not yet seen. A singular door, tall and scaling, sat before you, the doorknob possessing the head of a gargoyle.

It was untoward for you to go prowling around within the Conta’s private dwellings, and yet, curiosity seemed to get the better of you.

Left unlatched, you gently pushed against the wrought-iron surface, chest lurching with a flurry of anxiousness as it groaned in protest. Sluggingly, it began to fall open, revealing a private study, wreathed in still-burning candlelight.

It was dark, lacking any windows or inklings of natural light. Scaling stone walls were lined in archaic paintings, several massive portraits gilded in frames of tarnished gold. Shadows danced along the bannister, uncertainty swelling within your stomach.

Each painting must’ve been familial, finely-crafted imagery of his ancestors. There was only one that seemed torn to shreds, almost nonexistent as you approached. The name was worn by time, difficult to read, Dacian muddied with the rotten gold of the frame.

The study seemed to have little use, chaotic and visually disorganized, with books and parchment strewn about, the fixtures dilapidated and old. An oaken desk remained scattered with various documents, but it was one item that had ensnared your attention.

A locket, the silver having faded to an ugly, distorted brown, all color and liveliness stripped away. It was inappropriate of you to pry like this, but some unforeseen force compelled you to take it, to open it and peer inside.

Trembling digits slipped around the ornate chain, finding the hinge of the trinket as you opened it. To your surprise, there was a small, painted portrait of a young woman — beautiful, in your eyes. Her attire was ripped from that of royalty, with delicate features and a regal, dignified posture.

Upon closer inspection, she resembled you to an uncanny degree, eyes beset by kindness.

A soft exhale of surprise tore past your lips, thumb tracing over the curve of the locket, brows furrowing together. This stranger’s likeness seemed to replicate yours, almost supernatural, and yet, you couldn’t be farther apart, separated by class and the insurmountable reach of time.

It hadn’t been disturbed for many ages, but the peculiarity of it did not seem to leave you, even as you placed it back down. Perhaps, he’d known of your presence all along, but it did not seem to fit the mystique of it all.

Departing from his study, you closed the door, greeted by the vibrant rays of sunset.

It became a tedious game of awaiting dusk’s arrival, watching as the sun began to slip beneath the mountains, orange rays turning to violet. With twilight encroaching, you knew he would soon awake, emerging from the shadows.

A sliver of your being felt compelled to ask about the locket, but you did not want to invoke his ire, if he were anguished over it. He had left it behind for a reason, buried beneath mountains of parchment, and there must’ve been a reason for it.

The forlorn dinner hall remained empty, save for the roaring hearth, brought to life by your Lord. As you entered through the massive set of wrought-iron doors, you caught a glimpse of his form, sitting closer to the fire.

Even from afar, your gaze was ensnared by the bundle of white, gossamer cloth he carried, the fabric reminiscent of your nightgown. Claws pinched at the material, twisting it between his fingertips as he brought it closer to his visage.

A strange spark stirred within your stomach, a familiar heat that seemed to ignite some crackling tension, allowing it to permeate the air. A hitch formed within your throat as you closed the door, the thump of it reverberating throughout the stone ceilings.

A hoarse rasp emerged from Orlok, an unsteady inhale as he absorbed the scent of your garments. In the time between, when he slumbered within his tomb, it was your smell he longed for, akin to that of some mortal addiction.

As you entered the hall, he withdrew your gown from his countenance, able to sense your beating heart, growing erratic in his presence. Black hues craned to peer over his shoulder, masked by the thick fur of his overcoat.

The bane of his being, his obsession, his lifeblood — during his days of arduous slumber, his thoughts crawled with you, of your amorous cries and keening body. There was a newfound ecstasy in the coming of dusk, when he could see you again — no vision placed within his mind’s eye.

He was not an oblivious creature, not impervious to your misadventures within his castle. Your scent lingered, permeating each corridor with a peculiar bouquet of warmth, one that only you possessed.

Your living presence breathed a certain exuberance into the veil of his shadow, where life was little more than a meaningless sentiment. His decay only seemed stilled by your heart, a precious thing, something that he deeply coveted.

It was in his nature to possess, to consume — he welcomed you into his tangled shroud, a dark haze that often invoked such fright. Your terror had subsided into carnality, a frenzied passion that he shared in, but had not yet acted upon.

Peering into your heart, the Count saw your wandering about within his study, mesmerized by paintings of his predecessors — and then, cradling a tarnished locket. A growl of agitation rippled through him, coupled with a rousing anger.

“Thou has traversed to places of grave importance,” The gravelly, thunderous lull of his cadence sent shivers of dread down your spine, born out of a gnawing anxiousness. He knew that you’d gone into his study, a place he considered to be private. “Why?��

A stab of lurching dread lunged for your stomach, sending a shiver throughout your body. It was foolish of you to believe that he wouldn’t suspect your prying, hands idly clutching at the fringe of your dress, an attempt at relieving tension.

Slick perspiration licked along the back of your neck as you faced his sharp accusation with a shrewd countenance. “I am sorry, my Lord, I did not intend to disturb your study.” It was a feeble attempt at mending the friction between the both of you.

“But you did,” A living reminder of terror — of his true nature, that of undeath and obliteration. Despite his innate obsession with you, he was still capable of wielding an icy wrath that made you tremble with trepidation. “I command thee to speak.”

A guttural growl erupts from his rotten diaphragm, a snarl that causes you to straighten, gooseflesh raking along your spine. He beseeches you to tell the truth of what you saw, something that your eyes were never intended to see.

“The locket,” A wisp of a murmur slips between your lips, tone softening in a valiant attempt to uncover the mystery of your ancient doppelgänger. “Who was she?” It was an innocuous inquiry, born from a naive heart.

Centuries without a thought of the past, only centered around you — you had brought an onslaught of lamenting with you. The Count did not answer, neglecting to shed any clarity on the woman who bore your own visage.

It was his own hubris that brought about his use of necromancy, thinking he could resurrect one that had long been dormant to the world. For such an action, his flesh was cursed in undeath, roaming the nocturnal world as a harbinger of pestilence, of one’s darkest desires.

“Of little importance.”

There was a fracture within you, a war that waged as you stood with bated breath, pondering his statement with perplexity. You did not believe him when he said this, digits curling into the rough embroidery of your gown.

“I do not believe you.” Lacking an ounce of defiance, your tone screamed of someone who yearned to know more of this shadow that haunted your every step. The Count’s displeasure was visible, countenance twisted into something of sheer anguish.

Within the space of a singular breath, he manifested before you, firelight draining from your surroundings until all that was left was pitch and silver. He was intimidating like this, leering over you like a dark statue, black hues swirling with an unbridled fury.

He was often indiscernible, a presence without any sentiment, and only you could taste them upon your tongue. Now, he seemed to bristle with an unsteady rage, cold breath fanning across your face, his scent one of the yawning grave and frostbitten flesh.

“You do not know what you speak,” His voice was like a poisonous thorn, a clap of thunder that rattled the castle’s foundations. The Count still cradled your nightgown in one hand, twisted in a fist between his claws. “It is a lament, nothing more.”

Clinging to a misbegotten past — within your marrow, you knew that it was a shadow of someone he once coveted, just as he possessed you now. Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, your gaze flickered to the bundle of pale fabric bunched within his grasp.

A flutter stirred within your heart, a skipped beat that elicited a soft gasp from your lips. His shadow blanketed you in his carnality, his obsession, his veneration — it sparked a fire within your belly, one that nearly seared your bones into ash.

Words died upon your tongue, stuck within the depths of your throat as you searched for a proper retort, and nothing emerged. A void of silence seemed to stop you in your tracks, allowing for a tumultuous tension to brew instead.

The Count lingered, hovering in above you, the tip of his nose brushing across your scalp. A gust of your scent invaded his senses, euphoric and overwhelming, a most wicked affliction.

“This lament shares my face,” Threads of a darker temptation began to pull at you, his allure unmistakable, like that of the great unknown. Your utterance gave him pause, body sharing in your space. “Why?”

He would have you in every lifetime, in every century — he would devour time if it meant that he could possess you. It was an ugly obsession, a vexation that you did not fully understand, this hunger that only you could satisfy.

A singular claw languidly danced across the exposed flesh of your neck, pulse pounding away beneath your jaw. It was a sensual touch, one reserved for lovers, a caress that seemed to make your knees tremble.

“𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.”

There was a weight to his confession that stole every shred of air from your lungs until you were left with nothing but a burning. An audible hitch formed within your chest, nerves set ablaze. A fire smoldered within your belly, one that demanded to be extinguished.

Crimson strings of fate, tethering you to him — perhaps, you were intended to be here all along.

Through black forests and silver blades, through snow-laden woodlands and the maddening cries of your once-kin, you had found him. His salvation was not in the form of some fantasy or fairytale, but through him alone, this carnivorous darkness — you were made for him.

With an unsteady exhale, you happened to feel your back lean against that of the hall’s grand door, the steely bite of icy iron sinking through your dress. It wasn’t the uncertain gait of fear, but of bewilderment — exhilaration.

To be coveted in a way that transcended the bonds of humanity, to anchor yourself to this being of carnage and lust — it was a sensation unlike any other. Your tongue felt like lead, heavy within your mouth as you attempted to conjure the right words, anything to convey your devotion.

It was unspoken, your need for him — he could smell it, oozing from your pores like sap from a tree, wafting from your being, the sweetest of scents. He cornered you, his impenetrable darkness corralling you against the door, and yet, you felt not an ounce of dread.

“This flesh is bound to thee, the object of all that I desire,” He rumbled, the lull of his cadence nearly bringing you to your knees, and the flame only grew tenfold. You had not known such reverence in your lifetime — and you knew that you never would again. “You are mine.”

Through bated breath, your heart heaved with ardor, body crawling with the lap of a lascivious heat that refused to cease. “I am yours.” It was a promise, made in the throes of your Lord’s possession, vocalized.

Without coherence, your hand blindly clamored forth, reaching for him in a way that you hadn’t before. Warm, silky digits found his chest, which expanded with each hoarse rasp, a low growl escaping him.

Your embrace evoked a dark, ravenous famine within him, one that threatened to devour you whole. He watched with a thinly-veiled rapture as you sank forth, hands finding his haggard form, clinging to him like a drowning woman.

Rough-hewn furs drifted beneath your fingertips, and at last, you felt him — as real as the dust-laden stone beneath your feet, no longer feeling like some ghostly omnipresence. Claws languidly dragged themselves against your crown, perusing through your tresses in one drawn-out caress.

The soft, pliant curve of your mouth enticed him so, the very essence of temptation, like the lull of a siren’s song from oceanic depths. He wanted you to invite him in, as one would invite a godly presence, let you crawl to him.

Black hues bored into you, indiscernible with an amalgamation of emotions, some hidden to you. A sharp exhale split through your ribs, one that shook with an encroaching exhilaration. Your gaze did not tear away out of fear, transfixed upon him.

“Kiss me,” It emerged as a whimper, a plea of such intense desperation. He had only ever appeared to you as a veiled shadow, never to feel the lively flush of your skin, or the pulsating of your heart within your throat. “Please.”

It was as if his breathing became unnaturally laborious, more than it had before, threaded with a desirous exhale. This act of physicality would inevitably lead to a point of no return, flesh bound as one in some grim eternity.

Your mind had never wavered — not once did you show an ounce of spite or a will to depart from his side, digits beginning to curl into his tunic. You hoped that your touch would beseech him to act, and yet, he remained eerily still.

“You know not what you desire.”

He wanted to hear your devotion firsthand, spilled from your throat, laid bare like a sinner’s shameful confession. A twinge of pathetic frustration began to burn your features, body pressing closer until your chest had brushed against him.

“I do, my Lord, I do — I beg of you,” Breathy, wanton pleas left you in myriads, gaze glistening with an unrestrained ardor. Whatever he wanted from you, he would have it — you belonged to him. At last, his rotting lips ghosted above yours. “Take me — all of me.”

Control seemed fleeting, and you danced along the knife’s edge of desire, hoping to let it plunge into you like a mortal wound. Those elongated claws brushed across your cheek, coming to cradle your jaw in a way that only a lover could.

A throaty sound erupted from your chest, wisps of air ripped from your diaphragm when his lips collided with yours. You had not tasted anything like him before — a decay sweeter than demise. Passion took root, followed by lust.

The prickled coarseness of his mustache scratched against your mouth, and yet it hadn’t felt so heavenly before. Elation rushed through you like the swell of a tempestuous tide, prompting you to mold yourself to his own frame.

A growl stirred within him, one that evoked his possession over you, his domineering will. He tasted life within your lips, the warmth of fire, burning away the forlorn chill of the grave.

It was as if your surroundings had melted away, reduced to an endless sea of darkness, with only him as your guide. A ravenous pull laced itself into his kiss as he pressed you further, a sharp nail tracing across your jugular.

“To your chambers.”

The sharp, gravelly rumble of his cadence tore at your thoughts, ensnaring your attention as you straightened. Pitch-colored hues glowered upon you as you peeled yourself from him, obeying his command as you returned to your quarters.

He had not followed, manifesting beside the window as you shut the door, wrought-iron groaning in protest, echoing throughout the halls. The penumbra of his oppressive shadow fell across you, tangling you within the visceral gnarl of his obsessive desire.

Moonlight pooled through the singular window of your room, liquid silver casting a ghostly light upon his towering physique. No longer aghast by his haggard features, a man reanimated, you inched closer, seeking him once more.

You yearned for his mouth, for his all-consuming kiss, stepping forward until you were merely breaths away, lacking any shred of nervousness. Had you not been fantasizing of this for some time, you might’ve been terrified — instead, you felt excitement.

“Reveal thine flesh, for it belongs to me.” He rasped, desiring to see you closely this time, unable to flee from his gaze. With each visit of his shadow upon you, left him unable to truly revel in your eternal beauty.

Gooseflesh raked across your spine, accompanied by an arousing flame that ignited within your belly, burning so intensely that it threatened to scorch you, too.

You had not experienced an exhilaration quite like this — as longed-for like dusk that yearned for the moon’s enchanting silver.

Trembling digits found the front ties of your dress, untangling them with insistent tugs before you turned, back facing him. A gathering of silken ties and string pieced it all together, and your hands attempted to make swift work of their hindrance.

The feather-light embrace of claws raked across your bare shoulder, roughened pads of his spindly digits absorbing the heat of your skin. A wisp of icy breath rasped from him, hoarse and labored along the nape of your neck.

A shiver of elation rolled across your spine, lips parted with bated breath as he loomed ever closer, towering over you. God, did you want him, needed him — needed him like air, a strangled gasp of desperation.

Gnarled talons bunched themselves within loosened threads, and with an inhuman display of strength, he ripped your dress. Dark hues seemed to flicker, swirling with such lust — he wanted to bite into your passion, let it consume him.

“My Lord.” A wanton mewl slipped past your lips, listening to the shred and rending of fabric as the Count tore it from your body. Tugging your arms from the puffy sleeves, your breasts were exposed to the chill of your chambers.

His dismembering of your garments continued, elongated fingers and talons prying it all away, unraveling you, revealing you to him. Those large, gnarled hands smoothed over the curve of your hips, pushing the dress down, down.

A guttural growl unfurled from within his chest, a sharp noise that rattled your bones with a needy thrill. His initial tenderness was entirely unexpected, silently admiring the unblemished plane of your flesh.

The sharp bridge of his nose slipped against your throat, lips pressing a vigorous kiss there, roughened tongue lapping over your saccharine skin. With a keening moan, you sank into his hold, bristling at the sensation of a hand encircling your breast.

Teeth grazed across the hollow between your throat and shoulder, temptation oozing from your pores before he bit. A ripple of pain spread from his bite, enough to taste the coppery pool of your blood.

It was not a harsh bite, not intended to feed — that would come last. His penchant for your cruor called to him like a hymnal, rough tongue dragging over the wound he’d made. Talons caressed your breast, kneading at the pliant mound.

One palm closed around your neck, caging you in against his frame as he greedily lapped at oozing droplets of crimson. You felt euphoric, eyes pleasantly half-lidded as you stepped from your dress, bare-skinned and willing.

His touch evoked an enraptured ardor from you, a need so overwhelming that it seemed to wash over your core. Arousal hung heavy within the pit of your stomach, molten heat that oozed like honey between your thighs, scent ambrosial to Orlok.

The cool metal of his signet pressed against your jugular, nails cupping your chin. As he withdrew his lips from the hollow, stained in a sheen of crimson, he continued his trail of kisses along the nape of your neck, rumbling with a low rasp.

Each ragged, raucous breath he drew was accompanied by an invasive gust of your musk, vetch and bellflower, native wildflowers found within the Carpathian Alps. It was intoxicating, and he inhaled once more, lips sealed to your shoulder.

At last, he permitted you to look upon him once more, noticing the doe-like sheen to your gaze, the unusual fondness you held for him. Your desire mirrored his own, softer in-nature, but just as vivacious.

Without hesitation, your hands silently clamored toward his gaunt visage, a mask of ghastly appeal, features sharp and haggard. You wondered what he might’ve looked like in life — comely and regal, handsome; a true pylon of nobility.

Warm palms cradled his face, pads of your fingertips wandering across his cheekbones, over patches of decay and rot, over tangles of scars that would never fade. He seemed enamored — obsessed in an unholy sense, drawing to you like a shadow to a pious moon.

“Without thee, this hunger remains eternal — without thee, I cannot be sated.” The thunderous purr of his raspy cadence sent shivers down your spine, body calling out to him. This lust he filled you with was one of sheer ecstasy.

A simpering gasp ripped through your diaphragm, bringing with it a wave of want. It was as if your entire being was tethered to him in some supernatural manner — two souls, once adrift — now, two bodies joined as one.

Words turned to ash upon your tongue, and yet you conveyed your sentiments through your lips, coaxing him in for another kiss. This entanglement was of a primal sort — impassioned mouths, teeth, a moan emerging from your throat.

His hand held your throat, claws sweeping beneath your chin, along your jaw as he reciprocated with his own famine. He was ravenous, kissing you with a yearning fervor that made your flesh scream with a pleasurable fire.

“I burn for you,” It was a mewl, a wanton utterance that made his bones sing. Orlok snarled, a possessive sound, one that seemed to savor your vocalized lust. “Please, do not stop.” You pleaded, seeking his rotten lips once more.

There was a crawl to your kisses, but a necessary one. He withdrew, enough to shed his overcoat, a mountain of fur and fine fabric, now discarded alongside your dress. A hitch formed within your throat, longing to see his flesh.

A nail traced across your lower lip, holding your face with a smoldering possessiveness. Your gaze did not falter from the Count’s, whose pitch-dark hues burned with lust. Tenderly, you kissed the pad of his thumb, able to hear the hitched rasp of his breath.

With a longing embrace, your digits fluttered to the front of his fur-lined tunic, weathered and worn by time, finding the column of embroidered buttons. He did not recoil or foil your movements, pressing slow, hungry kisses to your jaw.

As you sluggishly began the process of disrobing him, you caught glimpses of rotting flesh, grey and ashen, preserved in his current state. To lay with a strigoi often meant that you would be forever tainted by darkness — tainted, you would be.

In life, ages ago, the Count was imposing and well-muscled, much of it still preserved, beginning to succumb to the slow gnarl of decay. Each warm stroke of your fingertips brought him to heel, craving you in a most abhorrent manner.

The silken-and-cord wrap that held the elongated tunic together came next, working in gentle silence as you untethered it from his person. Talons continued to grope at your body, leaving behind faint scratches, some deeper than others.

No longer burdened by the weight of sin, you felt weightless — able to drown yourself within his veneration, his obsession. It was a dark and twisted thing, an ungodly sentiment, and you remained unfettered.

It was your mouth that beseeched him for another kiss, mouths entangling, rough and hungry. The stiff, coarse bristles of his mustache scratched against your silky skin with each kiss, a low moan stirring within your throat.

He tastes dreadful — of ash and brimstone, like damp earth pulled from a tomb, and yet, your lips urge him to continue. Crimson stains sharp indents of teeth in the hollow of your shoulder from where he bit, now bruised.

Pushing his tunic aside, you were exposed to taut, haggard arms, his complexion grave-like, rotting — his perfection was unparalleled, in your eyes. Your palms spread wide against his bare chest, as cold as ice-laden snow, able to feel each heave of his hoarse breath.

The warmth he draws from you is akin to bloodletting, sucking the rot from a festering wound. He savors it, a kiss of light that he shall never taste, your passion blanketing him like sun warmed rays.

Wordlessly, you pull away, bare feet dancing across the deteriorating rug covering cold, stone floors. You move onto the bed, gossamer sheets ruffled from use, the curtains seeming to flutter of their own accord.

Sinking into the feathered duvet, you await his presence with bated breath, and he moves like a liquid shadow. You do not recall seeing him shift onto the bed to join you, clothing entirely absent. His physicality is pointed, spindly, gaunt — your breath hitches with excitement.

Patches of sinewy rot blanket his flesh like blotches of colour upon a canvas — time was not a generous creature. A lonesome beast, awakened by the grace of the maiden, you. He crawled over you like a shadow, a growl reverberating within his throat.

Drawing your legs apart, his tall, taut frame slithers between your thighs, each ragged breath one of obsession. His putrid musculature covers you, hand coming to cup your chin, elongated digits extending toward your crown.

Talons brush through your tresses, downy and soft, a stark juxtaposition to his wretched state. His gaze meets yours, evoking a subtle gasp from your mouth as you reach for him, palms finding their purchase at the nape of his neck.

The protrusions of bone are felt beneath your fingertips, the icy temperature of his flesh. Exhilaration stings your lungs, liquid heat becoming a swirling tempest within the pit of your stomach. One palm cradles the back of his skull, inviting him in for a kiss.

A moan sears your throat, bubbling forth before his mouth devours yours — frighteningly hungry, hips beginning to still against yours. You feel the swell of his member press into your core, setting your nerves ablaze.

Teeth scrape across your lower lip, dangerously sharp, like the serrated edge of a blade. His kiss is like that of a tempestuous storm — dark, foreboding, consuming — you wade into his waters with a girlish giddiness.

Reciprocating his kiss, you feel his claws begin to dig, raking against your scalp as his obsessive nature rages like a gust of furious wind. Whatever fleeting prick of pain you feel, it pales in comparison to twined mouths and the lap of his tongue.

A leathery palm encircles your breast, covetously kneading at the pliant flesh, nail flicking over the sensitive peak of your nipple. A gasp tore from your chest, lips colliding with his with such desperation, reveling in his caress.

Before him, before pledging yourself to him, you had never been touched — any kisses you received were fleeting and lifeless, momentarily bliss that lacked want. It was obsession you craved, the repressed desire to be coveted.

Lips moved in an ecstatic dance, a fervent union of flesh and lust, a twisted reverence. Carnality bled into your ministrations, your mouth paling in comparison to the domineering force of his kiss.

In one swift breath, his lips peeled themselves from yours, only to greedily smooth over the column of your throat. He worshiped your flesh, listening to the erratic pounding of your heart, hastily galloping with encroaching excitement, a sensual thrill.

Down, down — in a sluggish descent, Orlok continued his wet string of kisses, a low rumble coagulating within his chest. Like coarse bristles of a comb, his mustache tickled your flesh, mouth finding the pliant curve of your breast.

A myriad of whimpers escaped you, hands continuing to cradle his head, thumbs caressing along the nape of his neck. His noises were sounds of satisfaction, savoring the lively smolder of your skin as you stroked him.

Vigorous kisses planted themselves across your breasts, your sternum, above your heart — he did not bite, not yet. He was agonizingly slow, drawing out your pleasurable torment, causing you to writhe beneath him.

“My Lord,” You mewled, palms drifting towards your sides, fisting at the sheets as he slithered downward. A violent warmth stirred between your thighs, now slick with arousal. “Please, please …” Delicate pleas tapered off into whispers.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

It was his voice, so crystalline within the recesses of your mind — your body trembled, awaiting the inevitable wave of bliss. He offered his lust freely, like that of a shadowed plague that swept across you, gnawing away at your bones.

He inhaled — a hoarse, horrible sound that expanded throughout his diaphragm. The feminine scent that had mounted between your legs was nearly as tempting as that of blood, saliva beginning to pool within his maw.

With a lingering kiss pressed to the angular curves of your hipbone, the Count growled, mouth dipping further, until he reached the heat of your core. Claws raked across your thigh, pressing down into your supple flesh, leaving behind the marks of his possessiveness.

His tongue raked hot embers over your cunt, wet and ravenous as he began to lap at your core. Your noises emerged, unrestrained moans that tapered off into wanton whimpers. It was unexpected, his actions, yet not unwelcome.

Talons searched for your hand, dainty and delicate within his massive palm, fingers intertwining with your own. You used this as an anchor, heels digging into the bed beneath you as he greedily lapped at your aching slit.

Legs twitched and quivered from exhilaration, gooseflesh taking up residence along your spine. A wash of icy air fluttered across your stomach, over your breasts, nipples beginning to pebble with the sudden draft.

Sloppy, damp sounds resonate from below, the noises of a greedy, covetous creature whose hunger knows no bounds. His tongue possesses a mind of its own, dragging over your cunt in desirous strokes that leave you wanting more.

Fire unfurls from within you, a lustful burn that seeks to sear the both of you. It only grows in intensity with each flick of his tongue, snaking across your cunt as he savors your taste.

Joined hands rest atop your hip, his digits splayed over your lower stomach, claws occasionally piercing your flesh. No longer a stranger to the blissful pain he brings you, a moan leaves you, one that vocalizes the depths of your enjoyment.

“More,” You croak, back arching from the feathery surface beneath you, as if pulled into his darkness by some invisible force. He can taste your want upon your flesh, yearning oozing from your pores like sap from ancient bark. “More.”

The soft, desperate crooning lulls the Count into sating you, mouth greedily exploring your cunt, dipping into each crevice. It is then that his tongue laps over the pearl of your slit, causing a spasmodic tremor to pulse through your body.

A raspy, guttural growl shakes his throat, seeking the pearl of your cunt once more, dragging his tongue over it. You squirm, prompting him to continue, delivering long, wet strokes of his tongue to that sensitive clutch of nerves.

A crescendo of moans escape you in droves, your ecstasy vocalized to the black nothingness of your chambers. The curtains flutter, with bluish moonlight pooling in, its silvery glow tarnished by wisps of dark cloud, dancing across your body.

The Count continues to devour your cunt with his greedy laps and light graze of his teeth, hand snaking down to hold your thigh aloft. A tendril of drool drips from his lower lip, slavering as a wild animal would over their prey.

His tongue leaves you, shaking and forlornly, head angled towards the supple, velvety flesh of your inner thigh. With a sickening, wet sound, he bites into the skin, breaking it with ease as his mouth is filled with your tantalizing cruor.

A hapless mewl leaves you then, and from his wound, you feel a startling wave of ecstasy. Pain becomes pleasure, bliss — your hands are left to claw at the sheets, bringing the fabric into the confines of your tightly-wound fists.

Dexterous fingers seek to stimulate you even still, circling around your clit with a peculiar expertise. The muscle in your forearm flexes from use, tugging at the sheets with desperation. As he laps at your blood, your hips jolt into his palm.

He sups of your blood, tonguing over the freshly-made indent, still oozing with crimson. With a lap of his mouth, he moves to the pearl of your cunt once more, thin maw wrapping around it, stimulating you with his suckling.

Slurred cries of ecstasy slip past your lips, back arched, keening into any sliver of friction he offers. The air is stale, the scent of copper and decay fresh upon the wind, invading your senses like some noxious plague.

There is a primal messiness to his devourance, chin steeped in your blood, mouth latched to your cunt as he evokes bliss from you. A rush of white-hot delight sears your bones, blanketing you in a wave of pleasure, stomach swirling with a violent heat.

He brings you to your peak, claws digging into your hips, caging you in against his mouth. It is his unorthodox appetite that entices you so, an amalgamation of crimson ichor and your arousal, tongue sluggishly raking over your core once more.

Pitch-dark hues rove across your body, drinking you in, bewitched by your devotion. With a sluggish crawl, he begins to make his way along your form, mouth scraping across your flesh as he ascends, seeking to join you together.

The aftermath of your release lingers heavily between your legs, matted with your nectar and remnants of blood. A low snarl erupts from his throat, welcomed by the sensation of your silken digits cradling him once more.

It is he who kisses you — rough, unyielding, the piquancy of darkness. He ensures that you savor it all, the concoction of blood, your nectar, his unwavering veneration stinging your mouth.

Instead of repulsion, you were elated, clamoring to reciprocate his devouring kiss with one of your own. Your hand cups the back of his rotting skull, the other caressing around the nape of his neck. A wheezing inhale leaves him, as if he is attempting to swallow down your beguiling scent.

The incessant swell of his member nudges against your core, causing a shiver to roll down your spine. Talons rake along your flesh, scratching you like a hot-iron brand, his mark emblazoned upon your soul. He gropes at your breast, nails beneath your chin.

Each heated, consuming kiss leaves you struggling for air, each gasp one of desperation as you draw him closer. The closeness between you is one of a strange intimacy, his garish form bared to only you, a creature of gaunt bone and grey flesh.

Take me, take me, take me — your voice screams within your mind, like some incantation that you become transfixed by. Your Lord hears your cries, teeth drawing forth a drop of blood from your lower lip, skin breaking apart to reveal a pearl of crimson.

Without hesitation, his tongue drags across your mouth, taking with it your blood, setting fire to his lust. His spindly frame is enough to keep your legs apart, hips urging themselves against your own as his cock pushes into you.

The sudden intrusion makes you moan, foreign and unfamiliar, yet terrifyingly wonderful. His ragged breathing seems to hitch, his member taking root within your cunt as he sluggishly rolls against you. The pace he sets is somewhat erratic and rough, made to rut.

It had been many torturous centuries since he had last lain with a woman, the one who bore your countenance. The Count did not think of her now, focused upon you, this enchantress.

Some omnipresent force bids you to search for his gaze, black hues ensnaring you, visceral pits of carnality as his hips cascade into yours. Your body is flush against him, breasts heaving with delighted cries as you cling onto him like a drowning woman.

Friction dances between conjoined bodies, igniting your flesh with a feverish pitch as you feel his mouth clamor for yours once more. Unabashedly, you kiss him, tongue reaching into the cavern of his mouth, able to hear the soft wheeze from his throat.

Each prolonged snap of his hips send you reeling, cunt clenching around his cock, as if you are coaxing him deeper inside of you. He is sheathed like a blade within a scabbard, claws groping, scratching, reaching within you.

A brief ripple of pain wafts from your kiss-swollen lips, puffy from the bite he delivered. As tongues perform a desperate ballet, you hear him growl, a half-groan that coagulates within his maw, expressing his satisfaction.

Miraculously, your body bears the oppressive weight of his obsession with ease, blood slowly oozing from bites pressed into your hollow and thigh, marked by garish talons. Some have broken the skin, and yet your ardor for him remains entirely unvanquished.

The needy rut of his hips brush against your pelvis, cunt stretched around the swell of his cock. With another drag of thrusts, his possessive kisses come to a crawl, filling you with a twinge of disappointment. You miss the gravely chill of his mouth as he makes his descent.

He seeks your chest, a surge of sanguine ichor pumping throughout your veins, beside your breast. The Count does not intend to drain you, merely keeping himself satiated until the next dusk.

The rough pad of his tongue smooths over your jaw, planting a string of covetous kisses along your neck. Spindly, narrow digits press beneath your chin, holding your throat with a light pressure, claws extending toward your splayed tresses.

The notched bridge of his nose brushes along your jugular, teeth lingering beside your delicate flesh. You remind him of fine velvet, perfection beneath his hold, a plane of softness, all belonging to him. Invidious is he, seething with a yearning that only you can satisfy.

Still, he continues, his path of darkness one that leaves you wrought with exhilaration, continuing to rut your hips into his. The vigorous ministrations of his thrusts seem to momentarily pause, cock still inside of you, filling you in a way that only he can.

A pleading moan flutters from your lips, palms rooted to his ashen flesh, pillowing his rotting skull as he kisses along your body. Your back begins to arch, an incessant release mounting within you, arousal warm and slick between your thighs.

Honed, wet fangs seek the warm cavern between your breasts, sternum rising and falling with excitable sighs. A low, wanting snarl reaches your ears as Orlok bites into your chest, beside your left breast.

The damp crunch of teeth rending through flesh echoes throughout your chambers, accompanied by greedy, putrid gulps as he sups your blood. Pain blossoms throughout your breast, unfurling like the petals of a wilting flower.

There is an understanding of his appetite — you know that he would not bring about your demise, even if he willed it to be. The sudden swirling of your cruor within his maw seems to invigorate him, hips urging to life as his cock drives deep within you.

A whimpered gasp rips through your diaphragm, body reacting viscerally to the sudden drive of his being. Again, his pace is erratic, driven by lust and primal instinct above all else.

Wandering digits caress the nape of his neck, fingertips nearing the base of his skull, your other palm splayed out between his shoulders. You cradle him against you, feeling the arch of his physique as he ruts into you, pounding away at your cunt.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 — 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.

The hoarse baritone of his thunderous cadence invades your mind, making your thighs twitch, legs involuntarily squeezing near his pointed waist. Your cunt clenches once more, evoking a growl from within his chest as he drinks.

His head lifts, chin stained with crimson, teeth hidden behind his mustache. Pitch-dark hues rove across your pleasured countenance, finding you to be enchanting, beauteous.

Warm palms dance along his frame, causing him to hiss, a low, delighted sound that instills him with desire. The bite embedded within your chest oozes with crimson, crescent teeth indents likely to scar. He laps at your blood, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Nearing your peak, you writhe, clutching onto him, begging for more through strained whimpers. The Count does not cease, sluggish thrusts of his hips forcing his cock deeper, deeper — until there is nowhere else to go.

Reaching for one of your hands, he pins it out to your side, claws dragging across the feeble flesh of your wrist, coming to interlock your fingers together. It is a gesture that makes your bones burn, flesh searing with such fervent desire.

His hands dwarf yours in size, locking your arm into place, your other palm left to cradle his head. Warm, vermillion ichor oozes onto your chest, rivulets of blood trickling over your breasts.

Without hesitation, he openly rakes his tongue over the trails of crimson, seeking your sanguine cruor, cock urging into you with a sense of finality. It is then that his attention is drawn to your lips, swollen and agape, deliciously tantalizing.

Mouths join together through the ecstasy of your shared release, hips beginning to stutter as you rocked against him. His cock drove deeper still, driving into your cunt as you reached your climax. It was relief he felt, the sensation of fullness.

Upon his lips, you taste the coppery sting of your own blood, accompanied with his own stale breath, the coarse prickling of his mustache. You cry out into him, feeling him swallow your moans, eating your pleasured sounds.

Squeezing at his hand, he seems unfettered by your grasp, nails digging into his ashen flesh, body rolling into him once more before you begin to settle. The aftermath of your release is a dizzying one, white-hot haze blurring your senses.

A low purr reverberates from his diaphragm — a drawn-out sound that blankets you in a strange sense of comfort. He stills, mouth receding from your own, ogling the remnants of cruor left behind from your heated kiss.

“You are mine.”

Dacian is known to you, a captivating language that only sounds mysterious and dark from his tongue. You sink into the mattress, able to feel his cock inside of you, ministrations having ceased, and yet he remains.

You welcome it, digits stroking from the base of his skull to his sharp, defined features, like warm kisses peppering his icy flesh. Exhaustion floods through you like the crash of an ocean wave upon the rock, and you recline completely.

He does not move from you, blanketed across your body in a possessive way, head coming to rest entirely against your collarbone. It is your saccharine breath he feels wafting across his visage, like the first inkling of springtime.

Joined hands rest beside your head, and you feel elated — a joy not felt before in your melancholy lifetime. His monstrous frame does not detract, and in the silvery pools of moonlight, he seems more picturesque than ghastly.

“I am yours,” Through a tender whisper, your eyelids grow heavy with encroaching sleep, tired from what proved to be a lengthy entanglement. He had supped enough of your blood this night. “Forever yours, I will remain.”

As you drift away into a blissful slumber, your paramour remains, claws perusing through your tresses, allowing such twisted obsession to eat him alive. You sate him in a way that no other has done before — whole, fulfilled.

By the time the first light of dawn creeps over the line of the Carpathian Mountains, he is gone — but the stains of his teeth are not.

With contentment, you know that dusk shall come again, and you will be sated once more.

#slasher x reader #count orlok x reader #count orlok x you #nosferatu #nosferatu 2024 #nosferatu x reader #vampire x reader #vampire x human #human x monster #monster fucker #vampire #count orlok

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 10 months ago

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

From the request HERE

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Only a few more days are left of his short leave and Simon is determined to make every last second count with you. What better way to start the day than buried in between your thighs, helping you wake up by the feeling of his tongue alone and then overstimming you.

Word Count: 4.6 k

Warnings:

The sun has just started to peek itself through the small gap in the blinds covering the window, illuminating the bedroom in enough light that it causes Simon to stir awake with the first signs of life as those brown eyes flutter a few times from the brightness until he comes back into consciousness. Rubbing his bare chest and scratching at the patch of hair on his lower abdomen as he rolls over onto his side to face the other body lying peacefully asleep, his breath hitches at the sight that he’s greeted with.

Your long eyelashes rest delicately against your cheek, your chest slowly rising and falling with your deep, calm inhales and exhales as you still drift mindlessly through your dreams. The covers that are pulled up to your breasts conceal your naked form lying just underneath and the way they cling to your form allows him to follow the contours of your body through the fabric. You are a fucking picture of peaceful beauty.

Damn, you are so perfect he cannot look away and suddenly there is a tenting forming beneath the covers still wrapped around his lower half. It’s not his fault; how is he supposed to keep himself restrained when this is what he gets to wake up to? An ache situates itself in his chest, a gnawing blooming in his stomach to caress all that flawlessness. It is a hunger that only grows stronger the more he gazes until he is compelled to get up.

There are only so many days left in the short bit of leave he has and he wants to make every single second count. That’s why you both find yourselves naked even as you sleep; he needs his body to memorize the way yours feels against his and he needs to fuck you whenever the moment strikes, so there is no sense in wasting any amount of time with superfluous things when you both are about to go months without seeing one another. And right now that is working to his benefit as he wants to shower you with some extra attention to start the day.

Just a taste won’t hurt, he thinks, knowing full well that once he starts there is no stopping. Just till she wakes up.

He moves out from the warmth at your side as carefully as he can to ensure that his movements don’t wake you, not yet. The blanket slips from his unclothed hips as he shifts up onto his knees and positions himself over you, his hands atop the mattress on either side of your body so that he can push himself down your sleeping form while his lips take advantage of all that uncovered skin. Feathery light kisses trail down across the supple flesh of your breasts and over your soft torso as his hot mouth presses delicately into you in adoration for all this beauty that he gets to have all to himself.

All these curves, all this smooth, voluptuous skin always ready for him to caress, it is enough to drive him insane.

Muscles ripple through his bare back as he continues down the line of your body, inching slowly so as not to miss any patch of flesh. He is careful not to drag his face too harshly as he goes along so that the stubble on his jaw won’t prick your skin, opting instead to pick his head up off you as he moves only to lower it back down at the next spot ready to receive his attention. Your skin is heated from being snuggled down in the bed and it invites him to nuzzle his nose into it as he goes.

Simon eventually reaches the edge of the covers that have fallen around your waist from him getting up and he has to lift them out of the way to reveal the rest of your gorgeous body to his yearning mouth. Rolling them back at a leisurely pace, he makes sure not to reveal too much so the cooler air outside of the blanket doesn’t have a chance to make you uncomfortable until the warmth from his lips can keep the skin flushed. Over the curve of your waist, your stomach, your hip bones he places his steamy kisses. It is when he gets to your belly button that the anticipation finally hits him that he is getting closer to his favorite spot: that beautiful place in between your thighs.

The mattress creaks under his weight as he arrives at the foot of the bed so that he can remove the covers and push them off your legs. He can feel his cock throb as he pulls them back and finds what he’s always pining for. A heavy exhale falls from his lips and his mouth begins to salivate as he catches that first glimpse of your legs laying splayed open and that sweet little pussy just there waiting for his mouth to embrace.

Simon can’t ever get his fill of it and God, he needs it so bad now that he sees it again. For a split second he thinks about making his movements more pronounced to wake you up, but a sudden intrusion of an idea makes him stop. You had mentioned recently that you were wanting to try something, to be woken up with his tongue lapping against your clit. What kind of man would he be if he never indulged his sweetheart’s fantasies? Today seems as good a day as any to make your dreams come true, not that he ever needs an excuse to get lost in all that goodness between your legs.

There are times when he is so ravenous for your cunt that nothing else will even come close to satisfying that beast inside him, but today he doesn’t want it to be about the harsh and rough… well, not yet; this morning is all about making you so delirious and overstimulated off his tongue only that you won’t be able to get out of bed at all and he can keep you all to himself for the entire fucking day.

Quietly Simon slides himself off the edge of the bed to situate himself kneeling on the carpet so that he can lay his torso on the mattress, giving him a better angle to be able to move in. Your legs are positioned open in such a way that from here he can easily slip his face up in between them and right against you, but he is in no rush. Ever so gently he pins more tender kisses along the soft, supple muscles of your inner thighs, his lips embracing your flesh with silent promises that everything he is fixing to do he is going to do for you only because you deserve it.

His pretty girl, his sweet thing, so perfectly made as if just for him; fuck, do you make him want to worship the ground you walk on.

His eyes catch the goosebumps forming under his breath along your body wherever he places his warm mouth and he cannot help but smile at your automatic physical reaction to him. Even in sleep you know his touch and respond to it.

“My sweet girl,” he whispers in his husky morning voice into your calf as he continues up the length of your leg. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so goddamn beautiful. I’m one lucky bastard and I ain’t eva’ gonna forget it.”

He continues on without hesitation as he slides all the way up until he is right at the threshold of those delicate petals that he wants his mouth on. A moist heat meets his lips as he leans in and places kiss after kiss to them; never has something felt so perfect pressed against him. If Simon could live between your legs permanently, they would never fucking find the man again.

One of those beefy arms he slips under your leg to prop it up and move it even further out of his way so that he has as much space to work as he needs. Restraining himself from going in fast and heavy isn’t easy, but what he wants is to keep his movements relaxed, not crazed and insatiable like on occasions when he’s had a bad day and just needs to smother against you. No, you deserve the full princess treatment from him and that is what you are going to get. Taking the opposite hand not around your thigh, he uses two of those long, thick fingers to delicately spread apart the lips to get at all that lays in waiting inside.

“There she is,” Simon sighs quietly as he immediately spots that sweet little bean that he desperately wants to suck until it’s swollen and throbbing and then even more until you are coming on his face.

He doesn’t go right for the kill first, instead building the anticipation of your body as he kisses that crease between your petals and your thigh, using his balmy breath to stimulate that sensitive area as he switches sides a few times until he feels you twitch and only then does he continue. Gathering up all the spit in his mouth he collects it on his tongue and presses it through your petals to coat the area until your body can take over. As he pushes that thick muscle into you he catches the sound of a quick rush of air escaping through your nose, followed by a sleepy sigh as you stir.

His movements are tender and intimate, circling the nub with the tip of his tongue and slowly using the pad to make love to your clit. You sigh again heavier this time as you begin to squirm in your sleep the more he strokes, your hips rocking faintly over his face as the sound of your fingers clawing at the fitted sheet is caught. Just a little more stimulation and you aren’t going to be able to stay asleep much longer.

Your quiet, breathy moans become more than whispers now and those amber eyes dart back up to your face over the curves of your body, desperate to watch the subtle changes that ripple across your features as he works at bringing you into consciousness by your pleasure alone so he can witness the very moment you wake.

There is a brightness on the other side of your shut eyelids as you slowly slip back into the realm of consciousness, the sound of your own muted groans filling the quiet around you along with something else you cannot quite distinguish and it feels like you are still dreaming. Then it hits you: there is a familiar glowing, warm sensation in the pit of your stomach that amplifies as you continue waking. Your eyes flutter open as the sensation is so intense that you can’t ignore it anymore and as you look around to gather your bearings you notice that there is a blonde-haired head rocking undisturbed between your thighs.

As you focus you realize that he is staring right back at you and the corners of his eyes crinkle as you feel his lips upturn against your petals; you know he’s pleased with himself at what he is doing. He doesn’t stop or try to speak, he only tightens his grip around your thigh that he has propped on his shoulder and continues to service your clit with his tongue while he presses his face in tighter so that the pressure adds to the stimulation.

The sensation is damn near overwhelming now and you realize that he must have been at this for a bit as it feels like you are about to come. Your head falls back heavy against the pillow as your eyes close to allow the feeling to wash over you completely, needy moans unable to be kept under control fill what was once the silence in the room.

That’s when you feel his lips lock around your clit before he sucks down on it and using the very tip of his tongue he twirls around the bud while his fingers come back into play. He finds your entrances and gently shoves his middle finger inside to rub across your G spot and instantly you can feel your calm shatter into pieces. A euphoric spasm shoots through your entire body, making your limbs start to tingle, and you know by the feeling that it is only a few more moments that remain until you are going to spill.

“Simon, shit…gonna come,” you whimper his name as you grind your head into the pillow. To have so much ecstasy hit you all at once overwhelms you with its intensity and leaves you unable to function. You are about to come, that is all your half-asleep brain can process.

With a few more strokes of that strong muscle and a few more flicks of his finger resting inside you, the pressure building at the base of your spine and the warmth gathering in the pit of your stomach reach their threshold and you spill over the edge with a strong jolt that causes your back to arch up off the bed as you cry out. The force of it makes you buck against Simon’s face, but he is ready and digs his fingers in full force until his hold on you is so secure that he isn’t going anywhere as you ride out wave after wave of your orgasm that crashes over you like a tidal wave.

Fuck, what a way to start the day.

In your sleepy, mind-numbed state, you forget just how voracious your military man can be and mistakenly believe that at any moment he is going to emerge from your thighs and come lay beside you…except instead of letting you go, he doesn’t stop. Simon keeps at it, only slowing his pace down to almost nothing, but not pulling away from you. Instead he sneaks quick breaths by tilting his head to the side so that it exposes his nose to the air before he buries it right back in against your now dripping slit.

“Simon, baby,” you call groggily down to him as you try to wriggle free of his grasp; it’s the only thing you can do to persuade him to release you, “you can take it easy. It’s still early, we got all day.”

Just a second, you need to take a break only so long as to catch your breath.

Simon hears your pleas, but it falls on deaf ears as he does not even budge. His plan is already set in motion and you are not nearly exhausted enough for him to even think about stopping yet. This day needs to stay in the forefront of your mind for at least a few weeks after he leaves and be the specific memory that fuels your desperate masterbating while he’s gone and not able to fix the ache.

“Shh…” he hushes mutedly against you. “I only have a few more days with ya and I wanna give ya my full attention. And this mornin’ I wanna take care of ya. I’m gonna take care a ya so fuckin’ good, baby.”

Is there a way to say no to that? If there is, you can’t find it and don’t want to. Even through the overly sensitive nature of your body right now, you don’t want to deny him a thing, not when he says it like that. And to be honest now that he has you at his mercy, his tongue still stroking along the line of your slit before coming back up to circle the nub, you are starting to want it again too.

Tiny beads of sweat like mist cover over your body as the feeling of Simon’s arms slithering up your torso are felt running through the perspiration, greedy hands searching for your chest without being able to see. Grabbing onto as much of your supple breasts as can fit in his large palms he pinches the nipples and rolls them between his thumb and forefinger to make your heated body burn until you whine out loud as they stiffen at his touch.

“Shi-i-it, Simon,” you say, your speech starting to slur together as the mindless haze floods your thoughts from the activity at your chest that radiates in waves of arousal you can feel throb in your clit. Keep sucking, keep playing with my tits, don’t stop, your mind screams.

Everything outside this is like a distant memory; your body is floating and your mind drunk as you exist only in a world made of pure ecstasy. Your hand reaches down around his arms across your torso to the back of his head where you can press and push him in tighter to your pussy and you hear Simon hum a deep, contented sigh at the feeling of you forcing him to suffocate even more.

Tha’s it baby, drown me, he thinks to himself as some feral part of his brain gets activated.

There is movement in the mattress that shakes your body up and down as Simon begins to grind his aching cock against it, trying to use the friction to relieve some of the pressure in the swollen tip. Hearing your beautiful music while being smothered in your pussy is like a religious experience that is akin to having heaven on earth.

Your glistening thighs are vibrating around Simon's ears and as each flick of his tongue finds its mark you are brought closer to climaxing again as you spiral into sensory overload. Over and over he engages with your core, his mouth filling with your sweet juices, the tip of his tongue playing in such a way it feels like he is signing his name on his favorite part of you.

His name is falling from your lips in pathetic whines now as the only word you can recall in the fog of euphoria that you are trapped in. Every inch of you is wrapped in a cold sweat that feels like you’re about to burst into flames, the muscles in your belly contract rigid as the pressure in your spine increases with every stroke.

Right there, it’s right there. You have to come to release the tension.

And that tightness finally snaps just like that and you come again, this time harsher and more intense than the last. Your thighs lock tightly around Simon’s head as you writhe wildly, your body struggling to take all that immense euphoria that fills up every inch of you.

Lengthy seconds pass as you come back down from that high while the sounds of your whimpers act as a gauge to the man crushed in your leg lock how long he will have left to stay suffocating. Once you settle back down again into the pillows and release his head from your hold does he actually emerge fully to sit up for the first time since he went down.

Twice is enough, right? For anyone else it would be, but for Simon you know the man is still craving more. He wipes away the accumulation of cum and spit glinting in the morning light off the hairs on his chin onto the sheet he has picked up, a contented grin filling his beautifully stark features as he sets the damp fabric aside and stalks back up onto the bed like a lion ready to pounce. Stray kisses embrace your lower abdomen as he sets himself into position kneeling between your legs.

“Ya ready for more a’ me, baby?” he asks, though not waiting long enough for an answer before he is gripping into your hips to pull your body down over him until your butt rests on top of his thighs.

You shake your head back and forth. “Too much, t-too much,” you plead, but that isn’t going to do anything and you know it. He is ravenous.

Simon licks his raw, swollen lips. “But you’re takin’ it all so fuckin’ well. Your legs aren’t even shakin’ that bad yet, sweetheart. Said I was gonna take care ‘a ya good and I think that means ya need more.”

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry at the thought of going again. “I can’t…I can’t…” you continue, the back of your head digging into the pillow. His fingers run along your inner thighs to send shockwaves of overwhelming ecstasy shooting up your spine to the top of your head and your mouth struggles to form the rest of the words. “Just give me a minute. Please, Si. I don’t think I can go anymore.”

“Yes ya can, beautiful; you’re not done,” he grunts with a sharp inhale as he takes your legs in his grip and lifts them up so that he can rest your calves over his shoulders in a way that will strap you to him. Looking down at you through the gap in your legs he flashes a toothy, mischievous grin that has you shivering with anticipation as the heat from his breath rolls over your stomach. “Come on, sweetheart, I know ya ‘ave a little more in ya. You’re gonna take it all for me, yeah? I want ya ta fuckin’ soak me.”

You’re screwed.

Nodding your head in agreement, he immediately leans his face in until his nose can nuzzle against that overstimulated button and your back harshly arches right off the mattress, hands gripping with iron strength into the bundled up sheets you’ve gathered in your fists. Those long, rough fingers holding up your sides drive deeper into your hips so that you can’t slip away from his face while you buck roughly as the movements of his tongue settle back into a steady rhythm again.

So velvety soft, so warm, so moist, it makes his engorged cock throb hard and can feel it prod into your butt. He is overtaken by a desperate, burning need that floods his veins like wildfire; he wants to bury his face even deeper into you as if he is trying to fuse himself with your body. That feeling in him is unleashed in all its fury and he laps at your cunt faster and harder with each passing minute and your already weakened body is overwhelmed.

“Fuckin’ breathe, sweet thing,” he says in a deep, desperate growl, ripping his face from within you for only long enough to speak the order, as he looks down to see the mixture of pain and pleasure ripple through your brow before he is right back in.

Hot tears are stinging at the rims of your eyes now as your overly sensitive clit is stimulated again, collecting until they finally break over the edge to stream out from the corners and down over your cheeks. Simon stares at them glinting in crystalline drops as they catch the light from the window before they disappear and gather on the pillow behind your head and goddamn are they so beautiful they nearly stop his heart.

This is it, this is the one that will do you in and his mission will finally be accomplished. He is pushing your body to its limit of what it can handle and you take it all so gorgeously. To see his sweet thing so out of her goddamn mind is something he hopes will be ingrained in his memory for the rest of his miserable life.

The heels of your feet dig into the sides of his bare torso until his ribs are stinging under the pinpointed pressure. You don’t know if you have another one in you, but just as the thought burrows into your intoxicated mind you can already feel that gathering warmth in the lower part of your abdomen…except… Something is happening, that feeling of orgasmic pleasure bubbling up in your core is similar, but different.

“Do ya want me ta stop?” he asks with his mouth full, prompted at the feeling.

You whimper pathetically through the tears spilling from the corners of your eyes; as overwhelming as it is, there is no way in hell you can let him stop now. “No,” you say pitifully as you try to push his head back down tighter against you, “don’t, don’t. Please…oh fuck, fuck!!”

“Good girl,” he growls as he dives right back in like he hasn’t already had you twice now.

It’s too much, the pressure is overwhelmingly too intense. A deep sense of release more extreme than any orgasm you’ve ever experienced leads to a gushing sensation from between your legs and you throw your head back as you squeal loud as ever as it just keeps coming. Your body shakes and twitches as everything you have is released onto his face for the last time.

“There ya go,” he praises in between breaths as he strokes you through it, stopping once you lay limply in his grip. “Ride it out for me.”

Legs shaking, chest heaving, eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed, Simon lowers you back down from his face and notices that his lap is wet and there is a markedly large wet stain soaking into the sheet under you both now. His face is just as coated and Simon is quick to realize what has happened.

You can barely move at this point, but still turn your face back towards him to be met with a very happy and content man gazing back at you with those fiery auburn eyes as he wipes at the moisture covering face to clean it.

“Goddamn,” he says with a grin as he emerges from the same sheet he used before, “my pretty girl gettin’ so worked up she fuckin’ squirts on my face. Ya do know how ta fuckin’ treat me right, baby.”

You’ve never experienced anything quite like it before and are surprised that you are even able to do it in the first place, but if anyone could make you do it, it would be him. For a split second you feel a little self-conscious at this new development, but the way that Simon looks at you as if you have just hung the stars makes you giggle from the combination of nerves and adrenaline and settle back down.

He crawls back up the bed and drops down exhausted, but completely satisfied beside you and once he settles he reaches out to pull you into his steamy, heated embrace, skin to skin against his chest. His hand cradles the back of your head as he simply gazes into your eyes until your breathing slows and only then does he finally go in to kiss the last part of you he has left to claim.

His lips meet yours softly, but with the entirety of his passion for you. This is his little slice of paradise that he cannot help but feel lucky to have. Out of all the shit he’s had to deal with in his life, he found you and that means something to him. That’s why things like this he will never mind doing, not for you. Not if it’s to keep you satisfied.

“Ya know, ya make it so fuckin’ hard for me ta leave,” Simon sighs quietly against your lips as the backs of his coarse fingers caress the delicate skin of your cheek in featherlike strokes. “I gotta make it just as hard for ya. Cause I’m gonna miss ya like hell. Still got two days left; gonna make ‘em count, sweetheart.”

Oh, he will… he definitely will. He always does.

6K notes · View notes

lalunanymph · 6 months ago

Text

୨⎯ 🖤⎯୧ 𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐃É𝐌𝐎𝐍

driven by a desperate need to uncover the truth behind your visions after the chaos at the auction, you strike a deal with sylus to unlock more of your memories… only to discover far more than what you bargained for

𓇢𓆸 MONSTERFUCKING, explicit smut with sylus in his demon form, cumflation, predicament bondage (he ties you up with his evol), mentions of pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage, nightmare landscapes, references to GOETHE'S "FAUST" AND HADES imagery for my rendition of sylus' origin, religious imagery, sacrilege, mentions of food, mentions of blood, mentions of death, reader goes insane, mentions of gore, mentions of violence, reader and sylus had a child together, sexy but it's also pretty angsty wbk, this is barely edited ... sorry ...

They say that no one understands human curiosity quite like a demon does.

Once angels with the entire heavens at their feet, their eyes now scorch the earth searching for souls to entrap and torture, striking deals in turn for pounds of flesh they devour once a mortal leaves the realm.

Demons were cunning and ruthless creatures who struck fear into every heart they encountered; whose natural oozing charm and demeanor could convince even the most stalwart of men to sell their soul in exchange for a paltry consolation prize.

In a way, Sylus reminds you of a demon.

If it weren't for the deal you struck with him to bring you to the auction at the hotel, you wouldn't be stuck in this liminal situation where you know too much, but not enough.

After the incident at the Salon Hotel where your memories were coming back in pieces and fragments, frustration stole the last of your rationality and you all but begged the towering, intimidating lord of the N109 underworld to help you gain more of your recollections back.

At first, he had refused to do so with no reason given.

But, just as you overestimate how stubborn he can be, he underestimates just how persistent you are in turn.

Sitting across from him in nothing but a scarlet robe he had gifted you, the runny morning sunlight spilling across the mahogany table does nothing to warm you up from the inside out. You're still jittery from the explosion and the fight with that strange looking Wanderer, all while your lover (partner?) appears both nonchalant and nonplussed despite almost losing his life a few nights ago.

"I can hear the wheels in your head turning, sweetie."

Sylus finally puts down the book he's been reading for the past half an hour, peering at you over his glasses.

You clear your throat and reach for the glass of pomegranate juice the personal chef had prepared, whetting your throat and your lips for what you have to say next.

"Sylus, it's been days since the last time we were at the hotel," you pause, biting your lower lip. "Don't you think I deserve an explanation of what happened? What I saw in those... flashbacks?"

If you could even call them that.

The dagger in your hand. The blood stains on your fingers. A towering, dark figure whose touch was more familiar than you could ever believe. It all felt too real and tangible.

Much, much too tangible.

As much as you try to ignore it, bury your curiosity six feet under where you could never see it again, your innate Hunter instincts tell you there's something big he's not telling you.

Something he can't tell you.

Sylus' exaggerated exhale grates your ears and he gives you a scrutinizing look all over.

"I told you—"

"You have no idea what set off those flashbacks, yeah, I heard," you bite back, seething.

A shadow of a grin teases the corners of his lips. "Seems like the little kitten has her claws ready. Whatever is bothering you, sweetie?"

Bristling at his patronizing tone, your glare sharpens, your grip around the glass tightening.

"I want to know the truth, Sy." You lean back in the chair and cross your arms. "The whole truth. And nothing but. Why did I have those visions? Why were you in them? Why can't my memories come back no matter how hard I try to remember?"

You expect him to scoff or play elusive with you like he usually does. But, for the first time since you've met him, Sylus is wearing a pensive look, one which draws the angles of his face to look older than his 28 years of age.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

His voice is hoarser than you expect, and you perk up in disbelief.

"You-you're willing to tell me?"

His crimson eyes flicker to the pomegranate juice in your hands.

"I would like to. But, it depends on if you can handle the truth, little bird."

You squint at him through narrowed eyes, trying to uncover the ploy he has up his sleeve. Trusting Sylus didn't come naturally to you, though you did try for the sake of the Aether Core bond connecting you both.

"I can handle it," you mutter decisively. "You've seen what happened after the hotel explosion—I can handle it."

The sunlight cascading behind you drenches half of his face in the shadows, a look of deep contemplation etched in his countenance.

"Alright." He stands up, and without another moment to spare, rummages in his fridge, fishing out a whole pomegranate and peeling it with nimble, sure fingers. Your curiosity simmers to a boiling point when he taps out a handful of seeds, placing it in a bowl and pushing it right towards you.

"Eat up."

Cautiously, you assess the blood red seeds, wondering if this was a test or some sort for him to evaluate you.

“What is this?”

Those crimson eyes glint with an unnamed emotion, and his expression remains unfathomable. Straightening to his full height, Sylus sauntered over to you, hands in his robe pockets; a teasing grin on his lips. He stops just shy of brushing his shins against your knees, and leans forward, broad shoulders blocking out the morning sunlight as he drenches you in the full shadows of his intentions and secrecy.

“You asked me to tell you the truth and I will. Consider these seeds a downpayment for what I’m about to reveal to you tonight.”

Adrenaline spikes your veins, and your breathing hitches with excitement.

Is he really…?

Your thoughts trail off, and you hum, reluctantly picking up one perfectly round, juicy red globe.

Faintly, your voice reaches him, soft and frayed with hesitancy.

“And if I do this, will you tell me everything I want to know?”

Striking a deal with Sylus is like striking a deal with the devil himself. You knew this—if it was too good to be true, there was something you had to give back in return. But… the idea of fully comprehending the horrible visions you saw is much too tempting.

In answer, he cocks his head to one side, regarding you curiously like how a raven might, his mannerisms bringing to mind a scheming Mephisto.

“Of course. When have I ever gone back on my deal?”

The allure of knowing is too hard to resist. As you bite down on the pomegranate seeds, its sweet juices coating your tongue, you never thought succumbing to temptation could taste this good.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

It’s night somewhere in the recesses of your consciousness.

You should be in your own bed in Sylus’ mansion, high thread count sheets pulled up to your chin, but instead, you’re barefoot in this abandoned colosseum, staring up at the towering effigies of old gods long departed from this world. The state of these statues are in ruin; fragments of faces and bodies missing as if they were alone were the lone survivors of a universe-changing explosion.

Only the sound of your breath and the rustle of your footsteps whispering across the stone floor touched your ears. Your guard is up, and you think you’re fully here alone when a presence makes itself known behind you.

You feel his arms wrap around your torso, pulling you right to his chest. There is no need to turn around; you already know who it was.

Silver hair the color of snow shines in this drab, gray pantheon where old gods and a new world witness him getting to his knees, pressing his face right into your belly that, you realize with a jolt, is protruding slightly.

“I have missed you,” his familiar baritone sends sparks of longing down your spine, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, sighing deeply in contentment.

“My brother tried to keep me locked in the basement,” your words, though foreign to your own ears, felt right at this moment.

Sylus, dressed in a soldier’s uniform, kisses your stomach again, his yearning felt through his sigh when he caresses your hips with broad strokes of his large palms. “I only wish to be with you for the rest of my life.”

“That is my dearest wish, too,” you reply back in a shaky voice.

His smirk, though flashed centuries apart from the Sylus you know now, is still familiar and cheeky.

“Run away with me,” he decided, straightening up to tangle his fingers with yours, squeezing your hands tightly. “Run away with me and let us forget this horrendous fate, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, and you touch your belly, as if holding onto it for strength. “My love, my brother will be back and he will wonder where I am. It is not safe for you here. He knows what you have done to me—” your grip tightens further on your belly, “—and he wants his revenge for the grave error you have caused my family and I. You need to run—”

The touching scene is interrupted by a man clearing his throat. The both of you look up to find the wounded eyes of your brother searing through the two of you.

“Sylus,” Valentine snarled, and your lover is quick to hide you behind his broad build, unsheathing his sword.

“Do not harm her,” Sylus’ tone is low and menacing. “Your sister had no part in this debauchery. It is me you want.”

Your brother's eyes, so similar to your own, flash with a hunger for Sylus’ end and he swings the sword first. A bloody fight ensues, one man battling for your honor and the other for your love. Your cries go unheard, as if they are alike to the stone statues observing these conflicts with a detached eye.

“Sylus—noooo!”

His blade sinks into Valentine’s chest, cherry red blood spewing out onto the stone floors. You drop to your knees, cradling your belly in anguish as you cry out your brother’s name over and over again. Your brother’s blood seeps through your hands, staining your snowy white nightgown as you fail to staunch his life from leaving his shuddering body.

He’s dead… oh gods… he’s dead… My last family member is dead!

Devastated, you run off barefoot into the night, rocks and dirt cutting through the delicate soles of your feet as you scream and cry like a madwoman.

Sylus has killed my brother… he’s killed my mother…

This cursed child in your womb!

You want nothing more than to pull it from the flesh of your being, leaving it straggling and dying for breath. You want nothing of Sylus in you—there is an absence of everything warm and good in your shivering chest. All you desire for is his demise from this world.

Hurling yourself into an empty church, you stagger to the sanctuary, climbing the steps and crumble into a desperate, sobbing heap.

Tears drip down to the stone floor, and your sobs echo around the vacant space. Saint Verona gazes down upon you, heavenly in her glow of flowing blonde hair and esoteric glare, stoic and silent, as if she too has abandoned you from God’s good graces. A bubbling laughter filled with nothing but terror and hysteria bounces across the church’s walls and you cackle, tearing at your hair, your clothes, fists raining down onto your belly as you try to rid yourself of the monster’s child.

The scene changes.

Scorching earth fills your nose, and in your hand, a dagger prevails.

There’s a thundering of hooves, like a battalion of horses fighting in the distance, ringing through your hollow ears. The ground shakes and trembles from the force of the hundred horses, but when you look up, you see a familiar pair of red eyes burning through the dark mists surrounding him.

His name comes to you in a flash.

Sylus.

Those crimson orbs seem to float through the smoky composition of his face, though if you look closer, you can see the translucent demonic skin stretching over his towering form appearing in fleeting instances—proof that he was once human.

You glare at him, getting to your feet and wield the dagger, aiming it straight for his heart.

The second the pointed tip sinks into his chest, the world explodes in a shock of white light, and you’re back in the same, decrepit pantheon.

There is no longer a child inside of you, just hatred tearing through your heart as you bare your teeth at his demonic form, not afraid so much as devastated by his betrayal.

“You hurt me.”

Your voice rings through the empty halls with the conviction of an entire jury waiting to declare him guilty.

Sylus doesn’t respond, merely taking one step towards you. His demonic form towers above you by a few feet, but you tilt your head upright in defiance, unwilling to back down and grovel for a man who had left you in the lurch; abandoning you when you needed him the most.

A clawed hand drifts from his side, and you flinch when he touches your cheek, tracing his finger down to your jaw. The mists swirling around him recoil, as if waiting in anticipation.

“I’ve missed you.” His voice is a low croak, vibrating through your chest with the strength of his despair.

You shrink back from his touch, the baleful glare on your lips never fading.

“Why? After what you’ve done… after what you did to me…”

“I never intended for you to get caught in the crossfire,” he rumbled, taking one step closer to you. The tendrils of black mist move with him, and you feel them reaching out to you, caressing your arms, your hair.

One of them touches your cheek, and you’re surprised to find it warm and pulsing, as if human blood ran through its dark haze.

The tendril reaches to touch your lips, and those crimson eyes burn through the dark night, remaining steady on you.

“I only wanted to make sure you were safe. That is why I made the deal with Mephisto.”

You shake at the name of that cursed demon who had stolen your lover’s humanity.

“And why should I believe you now?”

Though in his demonic form, there are still bits of his humanity flickering through the amorphous slate of his once face. You can almost see his lips twisting into a frown, the desperation besmirching his brow with a furrow.

“Do you think I would’ve done this—any of this—if it weren’t for you?” Sylus takes one thundering step towards you, close enough for you to reach out and brush his translucent skin. “I love you! I love you so much, my beloved and here you are, boldly claiming I want to destroy you. It is absurd.”

“It is not absurd!” you cry out, raising your fists and slamming them onto his chest. “You took everything away from me! You stole my livelihood, my sanity, my… my family!”

Sylus caught you in time as your strength gives out and you crumple in front of him, tears seeping down your cheeks and staining your frock.

“Our child… you didn’t even search for me when you found out the truth…”

Your hands clench above your hollow belly.

For a palm with such immense size and width, it cups your face gently, bringing his face closer to yours, the love he feels for you desperately trying to bridge the distance.

“I made sure to speak to the underworld lords. Our baby is currently in paradise now, my love. Nothing can hurt her. Her soul is free,” his voice breaks at the reminder of the price he had to pay to protect you and the child you both made out of love. The price of his soul, bartered and bargained for with the devil himself so his human lover would never feel an ounce of pain in her life again.

You shake your head, tears staining the stone floor with dark droplets. “The price is too high, Sylus. It is too much. I should be taking on some of the burden—”

“You will remain in the above world, my love,” he reprimands you without an afterthought. “I will not ask you for much except to continue living as you would if I didn’t exist.”

What’s left of his human conscience aches at the reminder of what he has to say next. “You are free to love, free to get married, have more children if you like… Your freedom has been bought and paid for. You don’t have to suffer anymore, Y/N. It is done.”

He stands after a second of hesitation, but you desperately reach out for him, grasping onto his broad shoulders.

“I can’t live without you.” More tears gloss over your eyes, and you hiccup the truth through quivering lips. “Please. Sylus. There has to be a way we can be together.”

He remains silent, impassive in the face of your desperate plea.

The tendrils hovering around you are softer this time when they reach out to stroke your hair, grazing your cheeks and neck, leaving shivers of heat running up your spine. Effortlessly, like you weigh next to nothing, the wrap around your body, lifting you off the ground.

Your back meets stone, and your hands are tethered above your head by the dark mist, the aching silence too much for you to handle.

“Sylus…”

The sound of his name from your lips will never not be the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.

Despite being dark and imposing in his demonic form, it doesn’t scare you a single bit when he moves closer, face hovering inches from yours. The tendrils now stroke your bare thighs, feeling the tensing of your muscles under his touch, wrapping around your shapely calves to spread them wider.

“Do you trust me?” He whispers, low and inquisitive, filling your parted mouth with his hot breath.

You nod, unable to speak, but the devotion in your eyes never wavers.

“Yes. With all my heart and soul.”

Your soul. Sylus feels the last remaining stronghold of his patience snapping; he has to claim your body as his own.

There is nothing lewd in his touch when he caresses your hips, moving his sweeping palms to your chest as he squeezes your heaving mounds. Sylus’ mouth finds refuge in your neck, kissing a fiery trail up to your jaw as he tastes you with his tongue.

Your whimper fuels his sick need to claim you over and over again until you bear his marks upon your skin. Sylus lets the tendrils do their part in undressing you; those wispy curls slithering underneath the straps of your dress, drawing them down to let him feast his eyes upon your naked chest.

And you take these transgressions he inflicts upon with barely a grimace, encouraging him with soft moans and groans as the snakelike mist curls around your breasts, teasing your nipples to stiff peaks.

Sylus commands the mist to lift you higher, right at his mouth level and he takes his time to savor the taste of your skin—licking your tender nubs, biting down on them and leaving them stinging from the cold and his saliva.

Your abdomen constricts, and he sweeps a hand down the taut line of your body, humming in appreciation. It’s like he can finally see and touch you without any distance between your bodies; despite his sheer size and non-human composition.

For the first time since his perceived betrayal, you’re openly receiving him with your reactions and enthusiasm.

Sylus, you groan his name like it's a mantra.

The tendrils trickle to the split between your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress aside so he can appreciate the bareness of you beyond your inner shift. He doesn’t hesitate to tear off your clothes, hungering to feel your body quivering under his palms. When your bare body is revealed in the gossamer light, he takes a step back, eyes burning from how pure and sacred you look.

Inches of warm flesh, so different from the hardness of his own translucent skin, greets his claws and he takes his time to touch you; memorizing your shape and smoothness in case he may never encounter them in his existence again.

You throw your head back, baring your graceful neck, and his mouth sinks right into the tender skin, working a mark right on your pulse point.

“My love,” he groaned in between kisses. “My love. All mine.”

Your hips begin to twitch, and he takes it as a sign that you’re begging for more attention right where you need him the most.

He may be a demon, but as Sylus sinks to his knees, he feels like a sinner falling at your altar; taking you into his mouth like you’re the only covenant in the world he wants to keep.

Trembles tear through you like an earthquake, and Sylus has to sink his claws in the plush flesh of your thighs to keep you steady.

He runs his tongue over your clit, through your folds, the weeping wetness of your need running down his mouth, his jaw.

The taste of you pumps his veins full of ecstasy.

Your sounds, moans, cries all filling his stone dead heart with a staggering love one will never find in this universe.

Feels so good… you feel amazing…

Your desperate panting and moaning go straight to his fuzzy brain, and your hips are circling and undulating, desperately trying to get yourself off with his mouth.

Sylus doesn’t care. He wants you to use him; wants to be used by you thoroughly.

Those blood red eyes flicker up the length of your body, taking in the tendrils still cruelly teasing your nipples, your quivering thighs and endless streams of moans signaling you’re right at the brink of your pleasure.

Giving your sensitive nub a tender kiss, he rises to his full height, and prepares for the final claiming.

The way your eyes widen when he reveals his cock nearly makes him laugh, and you gasp, flinching back at the sheer size and girth of him.

Close to a foot long, you’ve never seen such… length on an appendage quite like the one Sylus was carrying.

He noticed your gaping stare, the petrified silence, and laughed.

“Don’t worry, my love. I will make sure to prep you very—” he takes one step closer, sinking his claws into your thigh. “—very,” you feel his lips brush underneath your ear, drawing a shiver of heat wracking through your body. “—very well.”

He remained true to his word.

Sylus spent what felt like hours between your thighs, giving your orgasm after orgasm, using his tongue, teeth, claws, and the mist to get you spilling for him until your every pulse wracking through your body was starting to hurt.

Your cries were eventually muffled by the tendrils stuffing your mouth, the cross-eyed expression you wore making it harder for him to deny the need to absolutely claim you with no mercy.

“No more,” your garbled plea reaches his ears, and Sylus leans back on his haunches, staring up at you with a raised brow.

Your exhaustion manifests in the tired droop of your eyes, tugging right on his heartstrings.

“Oh, my. Looks like I’ve tired you out, my love.”

Sylus gathered you in his arms, holding you tightly to his chest. Your head lolls against his broad shoulder, the exertion wearing you out and making you susceptible to his next ploy.

Lifting your hips, he tests the waters by sinking the tip of his tapered cock right into your heat.

Your eyes flutter wide open, a gasp ripping past your lips.

“Sy,” you stammered, and he shushes you.

Pain. A neverending stretch.

Your gasp is fused with panic, and you shake in your bonds, your body seizing.

“N-no… it can’t fit… it can’t…”

“Ssh.” He kisses your tears away, soothing your worries with his palms on your cheeks, thumbs stroking your jaw. “I’ll go slow, my love. I won’t hurt you.”

You hiccup and give a little, teary nod.

Sylus smiled at your adorable surrender, staying true to his promise and taking his time to slowly ease inside of you.

Without much effort, he’s halfway in and you gape, unable to believe you can take all of him in one go.

A mist tendril helps to keep your body keyed up for him, playing with your clit and rubbing the sensitive nub until you begin to shiver and shake.

You clench your hands into fists, unable to break the bonds that hold you fast to the sensations; that tie you down to Sylus.

He nips and licks at your throat, growling under his breath as his cock endeavors to plunge inside of you.

The need to fully bottom out, to have all of him buried inside of you is much too lustful of a temptation to surrender.

Sylus needs to see you struggling to make him fit. He needs to hear you say the words that will give yourself fully to him.

Oh… Sylus… oh gods… gods…

“No gods, my love,” he bites down on your earlobe, drawing a full-body shiver from you. “Just me.”

His crimson eyes glance down to where you’re connected, and he huffs a sound of satisfaction.

“Look at that perfect cunt, my love,” he guides you to look down, enjoying how your eyes widen and your breath falls out in a desperate puff. “She’s taking me so well… you’re taking me so well…”

One more inch, and the ritual will be complete.

Sylus can see the tip of his cock pushing against your stomach, and the idea of him being so deep, so intimately connected with you, makes his heart lurch and the blood rush to his ears.

“Gods!”

Your scream echoed around the pantheon, both a revelry and blasphemy at once.

His grip around your hips tightened, long fingers overlapping around your smaller figure as he waits for you to stop squirming, his jaw set tightly so he doesn't lose control of his urges and unintentionally hurt you.

“Darling,” his warning comes out as a low rumble. “Please, cease your movements. I am barely holding on by a thread.”

Your lachrymose eyes trail upwards to him, and something in his chest tightens at the look of pure trust and devotion you give him.

Tentatively, he shifts his hips forward, giving a gentle thrust to test the waters.

You respond instantly, back arching and hands turning into white-knuckled fists above your head that he thinks you might accidentally snap off your fingers. Your clenched jaw and quivering thighs fuel him to pick up the pace, and soon, the decrepit hall is filled with the sounds of your bodies messily meeting.

Each thrust he gives you makes your belly bulge, the sheer size of him driving you to the brink of madness as your eyes roll back into your skull, your mouth falling open and tongue slightly dangling past your lower lip.

He lives for the blissful look on your face, increasing his movements until he feels that familiar knot tightening deep in his body.

“You feel like a dream, my love,” his whisper lights up the lust-tinged room with a flicker of innocent love—a great divide bridging closer and closer from the power of his devotion to you.

The mists move by his command, pleasuring your erogenous zones—tugging and flicking your nipples, grazing firm circles on your clit.

Sylus needs you to be at the edge with him; needs to have you trust him enough to go off the deep end with someone as corrupted and wicked as himself.

Your choked gasps and stuttering hips bring about a whole new wave of love and fierce protection he feels for you.

Tangling his claws in your hair, he pushes your face up to meet his, devouring your entire being with his soul-sucking kiss.

The earth shakes, the walls tremble, and debris clatters to the ground.

Your orgasm comes as a jagged cry, and you shatter around him for the final time tonight, digging your heels into his broader waist; nearly losing yourself from the sensation of being completely tiny in comparison to him.

Warmth gushes inside of you. At first, you find it familiar—comforting, even.

But, it doesn’t stop.

Sylus keeps spilling inside of you until you hallucinate his taste in the back of your throat—salty, and musky desire.

His hips tremble with the force of his unholy release, snarls and gasps bouncing across the dilapidated walls demonically sinister.

You should be afraid—you knew that.

But, all you can feel in this moment is raging passion for the man who was once your entire world.

The mists release you and you tumble right into his arms, feeling much too small and weak in his massive arms.

Sylus’ demon cock remains hard and unyielding inside of you, and you think you feel him sloshing about in your inner guts.

Your belly is completely swollen, protruding from the copious amount of cum you hold inside of you.

It makes you shiver and keen at the strange yet welcomed sensation. Sylus, mortified, tries to pull himself out of you, but you shake your head, needing to hold him close.

He drags you to the ground, holding you steady in his hulking build, pushing what’s left of his human nose into your hair to take in your musky, sweet scent.

When you straighten to lift yourself from his cock, you wince and gasp at the amount of white that floods from your gaping hole, making you twitch and whine loudly.

Sylus too, groans at the sight, his head thumping back onto the stone floor.

“You will be the death of me, darling.”

His claws gently drag through your hair, and you sigh, leaning into his touch no matter how diabolical it may be.

Silence resounds around two lovers who are simply enjoying each other’s company. You press your head to his chest and he plays with the ends of your hair, content to nuzzle and cuddle you like he used to do when he was still human.

The thought puts a damper on your high, and you exhale, twining your arms around him.

As if he can read your mind, Sylus’ grip on your frailer body tightens—unwilling to let you go.

“Extend your palm,” his hoarse mumble draws you up short, and your look of bewilderment is second only to the confusion when he materializes a ripe pomegranate right into your outstretched hand.

Sylus’ claws wrap around your smaller hand as he curls your fingers around the rotund fruit, reluctant to let you go.

“This is part of our deal,” he rumbled. “Until I can manifest in a pure flesh form, I will come to you in your dreams. Eat this and think of me, my beloved, and I will be with you the very second I hear your call for me.”

You gaze at the fruit in confusion, about to open your mouth and speak when you realize he’s disappearing right in front of your eyes.

“Sylus!”

Your desperate cries mingle with your pained exclamation when you tumble to the hard ground, the warmth and strength of his body no longer under yours. The pomegranate in your hand rolls into a dusty corner, but you turn a blind eye to it—unable to believe he is well and truly gone.

“Sylus,” you begin to sob, clawing at the ground, as if you could dig up the stone flooring and bring him back into your arms.

“Sylus, you promised me! You promised you would never leave… you… you promised…”

You promised…

“...promised…”

Your eyes flutter open in the half-darkness. Tears are drying on your cheeks, soaking the pillow underneath you.

Numbly, you touch your stomach, thinking you can still feel the imprint of him deep inside of you. The sheets are tangled around your legs, and the emptiness yawns like a pertinacious monster inside of you, clawing through your soul till you think you might go mad with need.

“Sylus…”

You feel the shadows stirring, and without warning, his embrace returns to hold you tightly to his chest.

The familiar scent of him, coming back to you after lifetimes apart, destroys what’s left of your self-control.

You sob in his arms like a child, soaking his robe with your tears and sorrow.

Let it out, darling, he whispers in the darkness, those crimson eyes filling with grief and pain, his tears dripping into your hair.

Let it out… let it all out… I’m here… I’m here…

“Sylus,” you gasp, digging your fingers into the soft material of his sleeping robe, as if your touch alone could ensure he never leaves you again. “Sylus… I’m so sorry… I’m so…”

“Ssh,” he cradles you in his arms, rocking you from side to side like how a father might soothe a terrified child. “Oh, darling. There is no need to apologize. There is no need.”

Your shuddering, muffled wails pierce through the quiet night, and his eyes squeeze close, unable to bear the thought of you suffering from the same memories that never ceased to keep him up till dawn.

All Sylus has ever wanted was to protect you, but sometimes, protection comes with knowledge and knowledge is, in his experience, nothing but pain.

“Do you want to talk about this now or shall we wait till morning arrives?”

He wants to give you the choice he never had—a chance to confront your past and shape your future together, releasing himself from centuries of limbo spent navigating uncertainty alone.

But, you shake your head tiredly, a telltale sign of where your headspace was tonight.

“No. Let’s do it in the morning.”

Your arms tighten around him and he implicitly reads your unease and trepidation, letting you curl your body deeper into his embrace.

Sylus pauses for a moment, finding his center in your embrace, knowing that despite the centuries of turmoil you've endured together, come morning, you'll still be by his side.

“Of course,” he whispers, his voice threading through the comforting silence that envelops you both. He gently kisses the top of your head.

“Till morning, then.”

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

dawn says: ngl i teared up writing this </3 goethe's 'faust' will always make me emo because all mans really wanted was to be loved by someone (and amass immense power but ... oh well ...)

i had to review a lot of notes on faust as well as this reddit post for reference in this piece so your reblogs and feedback will be extremely appreciated in return mwah

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, sentence structures and plot lines and claim it as yours. do not recommend and repost my stories on other platforms.

#🦢 writes #sylus x reader #sylus smut #sylus angst #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x you #sylus qin #sylus love and deepspace #sylus l&ds #lads sylus #qin che #sylus #love and deepspace

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tokkiwrites · 3 months ago

Text

𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗.

mom's fiancé/bf! joel miller x f! reader • part two • part three

tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, slow burn, sexual tension, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, Joel being an emotionally complicated bastard, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, nsfw, p in v unprotected, breeding kink.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ me writing angst?? wow could never imagine it. i hope you guys like this i dunno what came over me. almost 7k (oops) words of hurt confusion and a filthy finish to dry your tears. not proofread!!

The house smelled like home, like it always had. Fresh cut grass from the lawn, the faint scent of laundry detergent, and the crisp autumn air breezing in through the windows. But the warmth that had once filled it felt absent now, replaced by the coolness of change. A change you hadn’t been able to brace for. Your mother had finally met someone after years of being alone, and that someone was Joel Miller.

You sat at the kitchen table, your fingers trailing the edge of your mug, staring at the steam rising from your coffee. The engagement ring on her finger glinted as she poured a second cup of coffee, smiling to herself. You couldn’t take your eyes off it—the gold band, the small, delicate stone. Joel had chosen it.

"Can you believe it?" she said, laughing lightly. "I didn’t think I’d find someone after your father. But Joel... he’s good to me."

You swallowed hard. "Yeah, Mom. I can tell."

You knew he was good to her. You saw it every time they were together. The way he would brush his hand over her back when he passed her, the way he’d laugh at her jokes. The way she looked at him, like he was everything she had wanted but had never thought to ask for.

But that wasn’t what twisted the knife in your chest.

Joel had always been more than just a neighbor. You’d been only nineteen when you started noticing him, the way a girl starts to notice a man—how his shoulders would flex when he lifted something heavy, the rasp in his voice when he spoke to you, low and careful. He was rough around the edges, with that Southern drawl and hands scarred from years of work. A part of you had always wondered what those hands would feel like on you, against your skin, but you never let the thoughts go far. He was older, after all, and back then, it had been nothing more than an innocent crush. But now he was here, in your life in a way you hadn’t imagined, not as some distant neighbor or a fleeting thought, but your mother’s fiancé. The reality of it made your stomach churn, and you hated yourself for the way your heart still skipped a beat whenever he came around.

"I’m glad you like him," your mom continued, her voice pulling you out of your thoughts. She took a seat across from you, her eyes soft with affection. "I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about this, but... it means a lot to me that you’re okay with it." You forced a smile, the tightness in your chest growing. "Of course. I just want you to be happy." She reached out and touched your hand. "I am."

You wished you could say the same.

The days stretched into weeks, each one bringing you closer to the wedding. The house buzzed with preparations, your mother caught up in a whirlwind of joy and excitement. You tried to blend into the background, to stay out of the way, but it was impossible. Every time you turned around, Joel was there, a steady, looming presence.

One afternoon, you found yourself out in the yard, helping your mom plant some new flowers along the fence. The sun was high in the sky, the heat beating down on your skin. You wiped the sweat from your forehead, focusing on digging the next hole. "Need some help?" Joel’s voice came from behind you, making you jump. You turned, finding him standing there with a shovel in hand, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. He was wearing a faded flannel, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the sinewy muscles of his forearms. His hair was streaked with gray at the temples, his face lined with years of hard work and sun exposure, but he was still undeniably handsome. Too handsome.

"No, we’re good here," you replied, keeping your voice steady as you turned back to the soil. Your mom looked up from her spot, grinning. "Actually, Joel, I think we could use a little extra muscle." He chuckled and came over, kneeling beside you, close enough that you could smell the scent of earth and sweat on him. His presence was overpowering, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your mind from drifting.

"So," he said casually, his voice low as he worked beside you, "you’ve been quiet lately. Everything alright?" You felt his gaze on you, but you didn’t look up. "Yeah, 'm just busy."

"Busy, huh?" He tossed a clump of dirt aside, his tone teasing but not unkind. "You don’t strike me as the busy type." You shrugged. "Things change." Joel paused, his fingers still in the dirt. "That they do." There was a weight to his words, the way he said it, something that settled deep in your bones, like he knew what was deep beneath your facade. You risked a glance at him, and when your eyes met, the air around you seemed to thicken. His gaze was too intense, too knowing, and it made your heart pound in your chest. "Joel, could you help me with these pots in the back?" your mother called, oblivious to the tension that had been steadily growing between you and him.

Joel blinked, breaking the moment. He stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands. "Yeah, sure thing." As he walked away, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You couldn’t keep going like this.

Temptation lurks.

The engagement party was held at your house, the backyard filled with neighbors, friends, and family. You had helped set everything up, stringing lights across the trees, setting up tables with white linen. Your mother had been glowing all day, her happiness contagious to everyone but you.

You were standing near the bar, sipping on a drink when you saw him. Joel was talking to your uncle by the grill, his hand resting casually on the back of your mother’s chair. You watched as he laughed at something your uncle said, the sound of it rumbling low in his chest. He looked so at ease, so comfortable in this life he had built with your mom. But there was a crack in the facade, something that only you could see. The way his eyes flickered to you, even when he was mid-conversation. The way his smile faltered just for a moment when your gaze met his.

he feels it.

"You look lost in thought." You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice. Joel was beside you now, his presence like a shadow that followed you everywhere. You forced a smile. "Just thinking." He leaned in a little closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Care to share?" You shook your head, setting your glass down on the bar. "It’s nothing."

Joel’s hand brushed yours as he reached for his own drink, the touch so brief and fleeting, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm. He must have felt it too because he hesitated for a moment, his fingers lingering a second too long before he pulled away. "You seem different, sweetheart." he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to figure you out. sweetheart. it sounded so natural, meant just for you. "Not like yourself." He continues. You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. "Maybe I’ve changed. Or maybe you don't know me that well."

"Maybe," he said, his voice quieter now, more serious. "But I think I know you better than that." Before you could respond, your mother appeared, smiling brightly as she slipped her arm around Joel’s waist. "There you are!" she said, looking between the two of you. "I was wondering where you disappeared to."

Joel’s eyes never left yours. "Just catching up."

You excused yourself quickly, retreating inside the house, your chest tight with frustration and confusion. You needed air, space, anything to clear your head. But no matter how far you ran, you couldn’t escape the way Joel made you feel. The way you wanted to feel, despite everything.

everything beneath the surface.

The weeks leading up to the wedding were a blur. You kept your distance from Joel as much as you could, but it was impossible to avoid him completely. Every time you saw him, the tension between you grew stronger, pulling you in even when you wanted to push it all away. One evening, after a particularly long day of wedding planning, you found yourself alone on the back porch. The sky was dark, the stars hidden behind thick clouds. You sipped your drink slowly, trying to let the cool night air calm your nerves.

"You okay?"

You turned to find Joel standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. You hadn’t even heard him come out. You straightened up, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’m fine. Just needed some air." Joel stepped onto the porch, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, his hands in his pockets as he looked out into the yard. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. "You’ve been avoidin’ me," he said quietly, his voice low and rough in the quiet night. Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t deny it. "It’s not like that."

"Then what’s it like?" You sighed, setting your drink down and standing up, needing to put some space between you. "Joel, this... it’s complicated. I can’t—"

"Complicated," he repeated, his tone tinged with frustration. He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "It wasn’t complicated before, was it?"

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. His words hit you like a punch to the gut because they were true. It hadn’t always been complicated. Before your mother, before the engagement, there had been something between you and Joel that had lingered, unspoken, for years. Maybe it had been innocent at first, just a crush you’d had on the older man next door. But it had evolved into something else—something dangerous.

"Joel," you whispered, shaking your head, trying to regain control of the conversation, but he was already too close. His presence overwhelmed you, drowning out the rational part of your brain that screamed for you to walk away.

"You feel it too, don’t you?" His voice was almost a whisper now, and the way his eyes bore into yours made it impossible to look away. "I’ve seen the way you look at me, baby." You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. "This isn’t fair," you managed, your voice breaking. "You’re marrying my mom, Joel." He winced, as if the words had physically hurt him, but he didn’t back away. "I know," he said, his voice tight. "I know I shouldn’t feel this way. Goddamn it, I tried not to. But I can’t help it, baby, Iㅡ" You took a step back, trying to create some distance, but Joel followed, his gaze never leaving yours. His hand reached out, brushing your arm, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "Don’t—"

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his hand dropping, but his eyes were still fixed on you. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. Should've been ya."

"Then why did it happen?" you asked, your voice breaking with the weight of the question. "Why are you doing this, Joel? Why are you marrying her?" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "It’s not what you think."

"Then tell me," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. "Tell me why you’re with her when—"

"When I want you," Joel finished for you, the rawness in his voice making your heart ache. The admission hung between you, heavy and undeniable. You wanted to pretend you hadn’t heard it, that it didn’t mean anything, but it did. It meant everything.

Your breath hitched as you stared up at him, the world tilting on its axis. You felt the pull between you, that magnetic force that had always been there, but now it was more dangerous than ever. It wasn’t just some unspoken tension anymore. It was real, out in the open, threatening to tear everything apart. "Joel, this isn’t right," you said, your voice trembling, even though your heart screamed at you to move closer to him. "It can’t happen. Not like this."

"I know," he said, stepping closer, his voice barely a rasp. His hand reached for yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "But that doesn’t change how I feel." You pulled your hand away, the loss of contact almost painful. "You have to stop," you whispered, your throat tight. "You have to marry her. You can’t do this to her." The agony in his eyes was unbearable. "You think I don’t know that?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your pulse racing. "Then why are you doing this?"

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked away, like he couldn’t bear to face the truth. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost broken. "I thought I could love her the way she deserves. I thought... if I just tried hard enough, I could make it work." Your heart ached for him, for your mother, for yourself. "But you don’t, do you?"

His silence was answer enough.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay strong. "You need to go through with the wedding, Joel. My mom... she loves you. She’s happy."

"I know," he murmured, the weight of his guilt evident in his voice. "But what about you? What do you want?" The question hung in the air, suffocating you. What did you want? You wanted him, but not like this. Not in a way that would destroy everything around you. Not in a way that would hurt your mother, who had already been through enough pain. "I want my mom to be happy," you said finally, even though the words felt like they were tearing you apart. "That’s all." even if it was a lie.

Joel stared at you, his expression unreadable, before he finally nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. "Me too." He stepped back then, creating the distance you desperately needed. "I’ll do the right thing," he said, his voice low and resolute. "For her." he wouldn't believe himself either.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice to say anything else. The weight of the moment settled over you both, heavy and oppressive. Without another word, Joel turned and walked back into the house, leaving you standing alone on the porch, your heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

It was all ready to collapse.

The wedding day approached faster than you had anticipated, each moment feeling like a countdown to an inevitable disaster. You tried to bury your feelings, to focus on helping your mom with the final touches, but the weight of what had been left unspoken between you and Joel hung over everything. You hadn’t spoken to him since that night on the porch, and the tension gnawed at you.

The morning of the wedding was bright and warm, the sun filtering through the lace curtains in your bedroom. You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the soft fabric of your bridesmaid’s dress, trying to shake the growing sense of dread that settled in your chest.

You wanted to be happy for your mom—she looked radiant, glowing in her wedding dress, and she deserved this moment. She deserved love, peace, after the years of struggle she’d endured. But underneath your forced smiles and quiet congratulations, you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel. About his eyes when he looked at you, about the unspoken words still hanging between you.

Downstairs, the house sung with excitement, guests gathering for the ceremony. You could hear the faint sounds of laughter and music, the clinking of glasses as the day unfolded. But it all felt so distant, like you were watching it from the outside, detached from the joy that filled the air.

Just as you were about to head downstairs, there was a soft knock at your door.

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. You already knew who it was before you even opened the door. Joel stood there, looking as conflicted as you felt. He was dressed in a suit, but the usually rugged man looked uncomfortable in the formal attire. His hair was neatly combed, but there was still that familiar edge to him—rough, worn, and undeniably Joel.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you, his dark eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite name. "You look beautiful."

"You shouldn’t be here," you whispered, your voice shaky. "I know," he said, his voice low. "But I had to see you. Before—"

"Before what?" you interrupted, your hands trembling. "Before you marry my mom?" Joel’s jaw tightened, and he took a step closer. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice barely audible. "For all of this. For... for everything I’ve put you through." Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "You have to go through with it, Joel. You promised her."

"I know," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. "But I can’t stop thinking about you." The rawness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to stay strong. "You don’t get to do this now," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "Not today." Joel’s hand reached for yours, but you pulled away, stepping back. "Don’t," you warned. "Please don’t make this harder than it already is." He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes filled with regret, before he finally nodded. "I’m sorry," he said again, his voice breaking. "I’ll... I’ll go."

You watched as he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall, each one like a nail in the coffin of what could have been.

Unbeneath.

The wedding was beautiful. The flowers were perfect, the music soft and sweet, and your mother’s face glowed with happiness as she walked down the aisle. Joel stood at the altar, looking handsome and calm, the picture of a man ready to commit to a life with her.

But you saw the cracks beneath the surface. You saw the tension in Joel’s shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as your mother approached him with a radiant smile. You knew he was trying to hold it together, trying to play the part of the perfect groom. But deep down, you could see it—he wasn’t entirely there.

Standing as a bridesmaid near the altar, you forced yourself to smile, to focus on your mother’s joy. But it was like watching a car crash in slow motion. The weight of what Joel had said to you that morning still clung to you, heavy and suffocating. As the officiant began to speak, your heart pounded in your chest. The words felt hollow, echoing in your mind. The vows of eternal love, of commitment, of being faithful—it all felt like a lie. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stay focused, trying to hold on for your mother’s sake.

But then Joel glanced at you.

It was brief—just a flicker of his eyes in your direction, but it was enough to make your breath catch. His gaze was filled with conflict, guilt, and something else you couldn’t name. And in that moment, you knew—he was thinking about you. Even here, even now, when he was supposed to be pledging his life to your mother.

Time seemed to slow as the officiant asked Joel to recite his vows. He hesitated for just a second too long, the pause so subtle that no one else seemed to notice. But you did. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between doing what was right and doing what he wanted.

"I, Joel, take you—" His voice caught, barely noticeable, but you saw it. He cleared his throat, trying again. "I take you, to be my wife."

Each word felt like a stone dropping into a bottomless well.

Your mother smiled at him, tears of joy in her eyes. She was completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. She believed in this moment, believed in the future they were about to share. And you hated that you couldn’t give her that same belief, that you couldn’t share in her happiness.

When the ceremony ended and the guests erupted in applause, you clapped along with them, your hands numb and mechanical. The celebration carried on around you—people laughing, clinking glasses, congratulating the happy couple—but you felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath you.

At the reception, you stayed at the far end of the garden, away from the crowd. The string lights twinkled above, casting a soft glow on the scene, but the beauty of it all felt distant, unreachable. You sipped your champagne, staring blankly at the dance floor where Joel and your mother swayed together. They looked perfect, like a picture from a magazine. But you knew better.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Joel came up beside you, his presence like a storm cloud looming on the horizon. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, and there was a weariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

"You disappeared on me," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the music and chatter. You didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes on the dance floor. "Just needed a moment." He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I didn’t mean for things to get this way. Please believe me, I didn’t knowㅡ didn't know she'd fall." You finally turned to face him, the rawness of his words cutting into you. "Well, they are and she did so.."

Joel looked at you with an intensity that made your heart ache, the same look he’d had earlier that morning. "I can’t stop thinking about you, baby." he repeated softly, his voice rough with emotion. "Even now. Especially now."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. "You need to stop," you whispered, your voice trembling. "You made your choice. You married her. I don't even know what your plan was."

"I know," he said, his voice tight with frustration. "I know what I did, but that doesn’t change what I feel. It doesn’t change this." He gestured between the two of you, his eyes pleading. "I never wanted to hurt you, or your mom. But... I can’t pretend anymore. Not with you." Your chest tightened, the pain almost unbearable. "You have to pretend, Joel. You have to. For her." He stared at you, his expression torn between guilt and desire. "And what about you? What about us?"

"There is no us, Joel. Never was." You said the words like poison in your mouth. "There can’t be." Joel’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing your arm, and the familiar spark shot through you, the one you’d tried so hard to ignore. His touch lingered for a moment before he pulled away, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"You’re right," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "There can’t be." But the words felt like a lie the moment they left his lips because despite everything, despite the weight of his new vows, you saw him lean in closer. His breath mingled with yours, and his eyes-filled with guilt, longing, and desperation bore into you. His lips inched toward yours, the world around you fading into a blur of muted colors and distant laughter. People were far enough to not see you, but that didn't make it any easier. Your heart pounded, your breath shaky as you felt the warmth of his body close to yours. You knew this was wrong, that you should push him away, but your body betrayed you. The yearning, the suppressed need that had lingered between you for years, finally pushed through the cracks.

With one last glance into your glassy eyes, as if seeking permission-or maybe forgivenessㅡ Joel closed the distance.

His lips intertwined with yours, soft and rough at the same time, filled with everything that had been left unsaid. You froze for a moment, the shock of it crashing through you like a tidal wave. But then something snapped inside you, and you kissed him back. All of the restraint, the pain, the buried feelings surged to the surface, spilling into that one kiss.

His hands cupped your face gently, his touch tender despite the intensity of the moment. The world around you ceased to exist. It was just you and Joel, a stolen moment in a sea of impossibilities. His lips moved against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if both of you knew this would be the only time you'd have. As if the kiss had to say everything words couldn't

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, reality crashed back in. You broke away, gasping for air, your chest heaving. The warmth of his touch still lingered on your skin. Neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Finally, Joel stepped back, his face hardening as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I’m sorry," he muttered, though you knew the apology wouldn’t fix anything.

You watched as he walked away, back to the party, back to your mother—the woman he had chosen. The woman he was supposed to love. Your heart broke all over again as you realized that no matter what you felt for him, no matter what he felt for you, it would never be enough to change the reality of the situation.

And so, you stood there, the cold night air brushing against your skin, watching as Joel rejoined the celebration. The sounds of laughter and music filled the garden, but all you could hear was the silence between you and the man you could never have.

Was one night really that important?

You stood there, alone in the shadows, the air growing colder around you. The question gnawed at you, refusing to let go. What harm could it do? One night. One moment where none of thisㅡ none of the guilt, the secrecy, or the heartbreak mattered. No one would know. No one had to.

Would it really hurt?

The thought was reckless, dangerous even, but it lingered, growing more persistent with each passing second. Your mind kept replaying the way Joel had kissed you, the heat and desperation in his touch, the wayyou had kissed him back without hesitation, as if your bodies knew what your hearts refused to admit. You hadn't wanted to stop. And he hadn't either.

Your breath quickened as you thought of him, standing there, so close you could still feel the faint echo of his warmth, his scent, the way he had made you feel as though the world had disappeared, as if nothing else mattered but the f you, in that moment.

No. You couldn't. You couldn't do this to your mother. You couldn't betray her like that, not even for one night, no matter how desperately you wanted him. But the longing was still there, a dark ache deep in your chest, making it harder and harder to ignore. You let out a quiet, shuddering breath and looked back toward the reception toward Joel, who was now standing by the bar, talking with a few guests. The smile he gave them was easy, practiced, but you could still see the shadows under his eyes. You could still see the guilt that gnawed at him from the inside.

What if nobody knew? What if this one mistake, this one selfish moment, stayed just between the two of you? What if you could find a way to make it work-just for one night, just to feel what it was like to truly have him without the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders?

You swallowed hard. you could still taste his kiss on your lips. You could still feel the burn of his fingertips against your skin.

But then, you remembered your mother's face. Her warmth. Her trust. She was so happy, so completely in love. The thought of betraying her, even just for a moment, tore you apart. Could you really live with that kind of guilt?

No.

Butㅡ

You closed your eyes and exhaled, trying to quiet the storm inside you, trying to remind yourself of what was right. This wasn't a fleeting desireㅡ it was a devastating disaster waiting to happen

And yet, your body ached with the need to be close to Joel again. The yearning, the intensity of that single kiss and one pathetic touch, it was too much to ignore. You had given in once, but you couldn't go down that path again.

You took a step away from the garden, retreating into the shadows. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe one night wasn't worth it. But then you heard his voice, low and familiar, cutting through the noise. He was closer than you expected.

"Hey."

You froze, your heart stuttering in your chest. You didn't need to turn around to know it was Joel. His voice was all too familiar now. He stepped into the shadows with you, the dim light casting sharp lines across his face, making him appear even more worn, more conflicted. "Iㅡ" He hesitated, his voice thick with emotion. "I shouldn't have kissed you earlier. I know I shouldn't have."

You didn't say anything. You couldn't. You didn’t regret it. You wish it never ended.

Joel's gaze softened, and he stepped closer, but you kept your distance. He seemed to notice the space between you, the invisible barrier that neither of you wanted to cross but couldn't help but feel. "I don't know what to do anymore," he said. "I just know I don't want to lose you." His words shattered what little resolve you had left.

And in that moment, everything that had been building between you, the unspoken, the impossibleㅡ became undeniable. It was wrong. It was selfish. But here he was, standing before you, asking you for something you both knew you could never truly have. And for a moment, it didn't matter that it was wrong

You let out a shaky breath, your voice barely a whisper. "One night," you murmured. "Just... one night."

Joel froze. His eyes searched yours, and for a second, it seemed as if he might say no. But then his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you toward him, his lips catching yours in a kiss that was deeper this time, hungry, urgent. There were no more words between you, just the frantic need to close the distance between your hearts, to feel something real, even if it was only for one night.

As his hands wrapped around you, pulling you closer, there was a fleeting moment of clarity,a brief flash of the consequences. But it was swallowed up by the heat of the kiss, the intoxicating feeling of finally giving in to the desire that had been burning between you for years,

It was wrong. It was a mistake

But as Joel's lips moved against yours again, you forgot about everything else. Joel’s hand slid to your wrist before you could pull away, a firm, steady grip that tugged you gently toward him, toward the quiet behind the chaos. The party’s laughter and chatter were left in the distance, fading as you followed him, the night air thick with tension.

"We should go to a room," he whispered, his voice hoarse and urgent, almost pleading. "The party still has a few more hours before it ends. Don't worry, baby. It'll all be okay. She won’t even notice we're gone." You looked at him, heart racing, mind reeling, torn between the gravity of his words and the electric heat still burning in your chest from the kiss. He was leading you, his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you through the garden, toward the back of the house where the guest rooms lay hidden behind thick foliage and shadows.

You followed, not because you were sure, but because the pull between you was undeniable. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, and maybe you didn’t want to. His pace quickened as he sensed your hesitation, his breath hitching, more desperate now, as though he needed you to understand. "We can’t keep doing this," he said, his tone a mix of anger and longing. "We can’t keep pretending like we don’t feel it. This—" he glanced back at you, "this is what we've been needing for so long."

You could barely catch your breath as you stepped into the hallway of the house, away from the party. The muffled noise of music and chatter was barely a memory now. The quiet was heavier, more intimate. And when you finally stopped, your back pressed against the closed door of a guest room, you both stood there in the dim room, hearts pounding like they were about to burst.

His hands were still on you, strong but gentle, but this time, they didn’t move to pull you in. Instead, he lingered, his fingers barely grazing the skin of your arms as though he was afraid of breaking something fragile—something that might never be repaired.

"Joel..." Your voice was soft, porcelain, and it trembled in the stillness of the room. "Please.." you can hear him mumble a soft 'fuck' before his lips crash onto the exposed skin on your neck, his hands roaming your body like he's been waiting to do this for a thousand years. he quickly manages to discard the jacket of his tuxedo and unzip the back of your dress, your hair that was neatly pulled up now down on your shoulders. "You're so beautiful, baby. Always have beenㅡ god, I was so stupid not doin' this earlier." Your mind reeled, cunt pulsimg. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath, trying to steady your pulse. the fire between you crackled and burned hotter, and for tonight, you gave into it.

"Joel, please, justㅡ touch me, please.." he nods his head. "fuck, yeah, okay. You sound so pretty when you're desperate." you shudder at his words, a soft moan slipping from your lips. " 'm gonna fuck you tonight 'n make up for all of the nights i didn't." that was a promise.

you were now almost fully naked, the only thing covering your body was a soft, laced, white set you had on. "Pretty girl." he begins to discard those items from you too, but removes only the bra, leaving the white panties on. you look up at him, his presence swallowing you whole. without words you reach our hands out, promptly placing them on the hem of his pants and starting to unbuckle the belt he had on. you fingers fumble from the tension, but you finally do it. you trail you fingers onto his abdomen, drawing small hearts before you hear him growl. he picks you up swiftly and throws you on the bed settled in the middle of the room. his pants come undone so he pulls them off fully. "Spread your legs, baby." you do, your pussy spilling over the lace that barely covered anything. his rough fingertips trace your clothed folds, making you look away. "Look at me. Look at me, tell me what you want."

"Want you, Joel.." he hums. he pulls the panties to the side, eyes fixed on the way your cunt glistened under the dim light. its not long before he gets on his knees between your legs. "sweet girl. been dyin' to know what's inside that pretty head of yours when you look at me like that." His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. "you know how much i had to hold back? wanted to ravage you, toㅡ" he trails "to destroy you. make you beg for me to stop..." joel leans down, his rough beard tickling your neck, drawing a soft moan from between your lips.

"Sure you want this, darlin?" Nipping at your bottom lip, he waits for your signal. "So sure." This is it, the moment you had only dreamed of. that's when his lips crashed against yours again, his mustache pricking your skin. you kissed back, hungry, so hungry like you've never felt before.

"want that pretty pussy wrapped around my cock." you whimper pathetically at his dirty words. dirty. dirty like his touch that left your skin tainted, dirty like how you know you'll feel after all of this is over.

but you like dirty. you love dirty.

joel pressed himself against you, his briefs now fully off. fuck, he was huge. his leaking tip was pressing against your folds. "so wet, baby. all this for me? c'mon, let me hear you say it."

" 's all for y-ou, Joel ㅡ" you choked back a moan, pushing yourself back onto his bulge. he laughs, tilting his head to the side slightly. be drags the pulsing tip up and down, up and down again and again, as if he didn't make you wait long enough for it. after he thinks its sufficient, he starts to push inside, causing you to bite onto your forearm and shut your eyes as tears welled up in them. "atta girlㅡ you can take it. you're a big girl, ain't ya?" he teased. "My little girl, takin' my cock so well."

by the time he was fully inside, you were a mess, tears stained your cheeks, drool at the corners of your mouth covered in smudged lipstick ㅡ you were in a dream for sure. joel moves, at first, slowly as to let you adjust. he's patient. praises trail onto you as he kisses little pecks on the small of your back. "That's it, darlin'. take it all." your body trembles from every breath and touch of his.

his pace picks up, skin hitting yours roughly, fingers tangled in your hair and his other palm flush against your belly. "feel me there, sweet girl?"

"I- yes, yes, please, p-please ㅡ " You were hanging on the mattress for dear life, your brain foggy. nothing made sense but this. Joel buried deep inside of you. he fucked you hard, and deep, your stomach churning at every hit. his calloused hands gripped tightly at you hips, his moves now more ragged.

"shitㅡ whish I married you, baby.." he says through grunts, palms still gripping your hips. "Wish it were you there in that dress. 'm sorryㅡ" you cry a little louder as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. "let me put a baby in you, sweet girl, we can run away andㅡ fuck, run away and be happy. have our own little family." your eyes roll to the back of your head. "Joel, Iㅡ"

"You'd want that? imma make you a mommaㅡ my pretty wife, god."

" 'm s-so close, Joel, please "

"I know, baby, I know. Y-You go ahead." With a few more snaps of his hips, you're both coming, bodies writhing, as his head falls upon your chest. For a long, heavy moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish. All that was left was the two of you, in that silent little room.

Joel pulls out, making you moan. He watches intently as his seed drips out of you, licking his lips as a palm rubs your lower belly. He hopes it'll stick.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #stepdad!joel #joel miller angst

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jobean12-blog · 4 months ago

Text

Ravish

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 781

Summary: You love being part of Bucky's undercover jobs.

Author's Note: There's no real plot here. Bucky's being a ninja, you're with him because he always wants you by his side, even while he works, and he can't resist some alone time. The new pics are just too good and he's so yummy and we all know I love bow ties so here it is. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!🥰

Warnings: softness and sexiness, semi-public sex, oral (f rec), fingering, Bucky in a bow tie...

“You’re supposed to be working,” you whisper as he takes one step closer and meets you halfway, sliding both his hands along your neck to gently grasp your face.

“And you’re getting way too much attention. I don’t like it,” he murmurs against your lips before he kisses you.

He walks you backward until you hit the wall, his lips and tongue all over your skin. With a pull at your dress, he parts the fabric along the thigh high slit and with one single determined tug he rids you of your panties.

“Bucky,” you gasp as your head rolls against the wall.

His fingers are soft as they wander over every inch of your skin and the more of you he uncovers the more he makes you feel like you’re something to reveal, something to revel in.

Darkened blue eyes rake across your skin and you can see his impatience. You grab the sides of his bow tie and give it a harsh pull to loosen it then begin working on the buttons of his shirt.

His suit jacket is still draped over his shoulders, but your hands slip inside his shirt to feel the warm and hard planes of his chest. He gives up on undressing any further and kneels on the floor between your thighs, spreading you open, and delicately dancing his metal fingers along your skin.

He works his way higher and buries his face in the apex of your thighs with a long, slow lick. The sounds that fall from your parted lips make him grow wilder and your legs spread as wide as they can in your dress.

His hands stay firmly planted on your inner thighs to keep your legs open, his sounds pressed against you. Your hips rock into his face and you thread your fingers through his long hair.

“Oh God, Bucky.”

He groans, his mouth eager, and his eyes trained up on your face.

You feel the build, feel it spread out and race through your body before you’re gasping and senseless, offering no coherent words, just soft sounds of bliss.

With effort he stands, his lips and chin glistening under the sliver of light coming from the party just outside the hallway.

You lean forward and grab his jacket, dragging his mouth to yours and tasting yourself.

He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth with moan, then whispers desperately, “already so close doll.”

A warning. One you can feel in the erratic thrust of his hips and the tense swelling of his cock along your stomach.

He manages to get his pants down, the material bunching at his ankles as he grabs your thigh and wraps it around his waist. Even in his desperation he fills you slowly, watching every inch of his cock disappear inside you.

“Fuck doll. Fuck.”

His eyes squeeze shut, and he pushes deep, lifting your leg even higher. His mouth crashes down to yours, his thrusts hard and fast until he’s holding steady and coming inside you with a low, strangled groan.

He stays still and gently kisses your lips, your cheeks, and follows the path with a soft brush of his thumb.

You sag into his arms, clinging to his broad shoulders until you can catch your breath.

His fingers trace the curve of your bare shoulder, goosebumps erupting in their wake, before he grazes them down your arm and across your stomach.

Parted lips hover just above yours and his gaze is steady when he dips his cool fingers between your legs and lightly sweeps them across your sensitive and wet skin.

Your body trembles and you moan out his name.

“One more time doll. I need to hear you one more time.”

You offer him everything, arching into his hand and releasing all of your sounds into his mouth.

As you quiet and his movements slow, his kiss is soft, just the gentle slide of his lips over yours.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers.

You lean into his neck and kiss him there, lingering and tasting his skin.

He reluctantly releases you and carefully fixes your dress before doing the same to his clothing. You reach for his bow tie and start to redo it then run your fingers through his hair.

“There, you look presentable again.”

He gives you a boyish smirk and a wink before his expression turns serious again.

“I don’t want you out of my sight for the rest of the night,” he warns.

“Of course, Sergeant,” you reply.

He growls out your name and kisses you hard and fast, taking your hand in his before walking you back to the party.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #thunderbolts

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runa-falls · 1 year ago

Text

after dark

summary: he wants you. and he knows you need him.

pairing: geneticist!miguel o'hara x intern!reader

rating: explicit [18+] - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

cw: dark!miguel, dub/non-con elements, somnophilia, dacryphilia, drugging, afab!reader, stalking, obsession, smut, slight size kink, piv sex, creampie, breeding kink, gaslighting (?), a bit of dumbification, miguel's nano-suit in action!

wc: ~1.7k

a/n: this is my submission for @romana-after-dark's dead dove december event!

masterlist

---

Despite the obnoxious number of pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals on your bed, your body is completely uncovered. A sweet scene reserved for his eyes only.

You're curled up with your shirt shoved up to your chest, displaying your barely there panties that cling to your curves. Your body shivers unconsciously as a shadowed form cascades over your sprawled figure. He steps closer, his broad body blocking the moonlight that streams in through the window.

So unsuspecting. So…pure.

You nuzzle your face into your pillow with a sleepy sigh, body soft and relaxed, completely unaware of his presence. His claws dig into his palm as he holds himself back from touching you.

You've always been a tease, showing up to work with those naive eyes and sweet smiles. More than once, your fingers have brushed against his as you shyly handed him a cup of coffee, mumbling an adorable, "For you, Dr. O'Hara", before scurrying away.

Red eyes glow as you move to lay on your back, legs falling apart to show him how the fabric of your underwear presses perfectly against the softness of your cunt. Your arms lazily stretch above your body, resting against the mess of your hair on the pillow. He seethes at the sight of your tits, barely shielded by your t-shirt.

You want this.

He's sure of it.

You're practically begging for it with how sweet you smell.

A hand lightly brushes against your abdomen, moving methodically so the sudden touch doesn't accidentally wake you. A finger hooks the underside of your shirt and tugs it over the curve of your tits, revealing your pebbling buds to the cool air. Sensitive.

He swallows down a groan as he captures a tit in his hand and softly squeezes the soft mound. You arch your back against his thumb as it barely flicks over your nipple and a soft whimper slips from your pouty lips against your pillow.

His other hand palms over his covered cock as it throbs desperately at the sight. Damn, you're a heavy sleeper.

Miguel lets his touch drift lower, teasing at the waistband of your underwear. He traces that cute little bow in the front, a symbol of innocence above a needy cunt. You’re so cute, acting all pure when all you really need is a big cock to fill you up.

Two fingers press gently against your covered folds, prodding where you need him the most. You’re already wet for him, drenching the light fabric with your slick. He lightly tugs the underwear out of the way, needing to feel your sloppy cunt suck around his thick fingers.

Pulsing fangs dig into his bottom lip as he reveals your pussy, glistening so ethereally under the moonlight. He spreads your slick over your folds, mesmerized by the mess as you drip nectar onto the mattress below. God, you’re soaked. Even unconscious, you’re a desperate slut who’d take anything to be filled and bred.

He attempts to push a finger inside of you, tenderly nudging at your entrance until he can ease the tip of his index finger inside your hot core. About halfway in, your body stiffens and your legs instinctively spread apart.

You’re trying to let him in. You’re inviting him.

With more space, it’s easier to push in, to bury his finger until you’re wrapped around him. You feel so good, so wet and hot, perfectly tight around his finger. He can’t wait to feel the vice of your cunt around his cock.

Slowly, he pulls out, staring at the glistening tops of his knuckles, your mark on him. You let out a pretty sigh, so light and pleasurable and real that he’s afraid you woke up, but still you don’t open your eyes.

Miguel pushes back in, just as slow, but this time at an angle. The tip of his finger drags against the top wall of your cunt and your pussy flutters around him. This time you let out a rough moan, involuntary, but so delicious. You’re so responsive to him.

His mouth waters as the heady scent of your lust calls him to coax more pretty sounds and messy slick from your body. He nearly turns you over to shove his cock into you, needing to feel your cunt swallow him until you’re staining your pillowcase with drool and tears.

He needs more. But he also needs you to cooperate.

He leans over the side of the bed and hovers over your figure. His fangs throb under his top lip as he gets closer to you. He brushes your hair to the side, exposing your neck, eyeing the spot where your throat meets your shoulder.

He presses a gentle kiss against your shoulder before laving his tongue against his target area, your sweet taste egging him on. Your body shivers with sensitivity as his hot mouth works over your skin, but you stay asleep. Your lack of awareness gives him the confidence to take the bite.

An involuntary moan rumbles up from his chest as his fangs sink into your soft skin. Miguel has to hold onto your arms before he gets carried away from the feeling. Your head involuntarily tilts to the side to give him more access to your neck as your body throbs, and you groan as a wave of pain, pleasure, and shock fills your senses.

Your eyes flutter open when the bed dips next to you announcing his presence, but all you can see is scarlet eyes staring down with curiosity. Your mind is foggy as you try to sit up, but your body stays flat on the mattress, feeling heavy and helpless.

"Hmn…?"

Miguel coos lightly against your shoulder, “Shh…don’t worry, cariño. I’ll take care of you.”

You recognize that drawl, but you've never heard him so low and rough, “O’H-Hara?” You try to cover yourself with your blanket, slowly moving against whatever is holding you back, but he holds onto your wrist to stop your movements. “Wha–” You choke on your words as a sudden bout of heat spreads throughout your body.

The tingling hot sensation is overwhelming as it settles onto the surface of your skin. It makes your head fuzzy and susceptible.

"Let me help you..." Miguel settles over you and grinds his hips against yours, pinning you against your bed. He's hard against you, thick cock perfectly outlined by the thin fabric of his suit that's barely acting as a barrier between you. Your ruined underwear is still shoved to the side as he ruts himself against your cunt.

"Doctor..." Your body is immediately on fire, reacting mindlessly to his touch. You mewl wordlessly, arching your back and pressing harder against him. You don't know what's happening to your body. All you know is that you need more. "Please." It's a broken plea that leaves your tired lips.

There's an unbearable heat between your legs, but his body prevents you from pressing your legs together and reducing the intense feeling. He squeezes your wrists as you squirm under him, huffing in lustful frustration.

He whispers something above your ear that your scrabbled mind can't decipher, "Suit, Code Zero, Confirm."

But it doesn't really matter what he said when his bare body is finally pressing against you. He doesn't even have to line himself up before his aching cock is rubbing against your dripping folds, tip bumping so softly, yet earth-shatteringly, against your clit. “You don’t have to beg anymore, baby, I’ve got you…”

You cry out when he notches his cock against your entrance. He presses in slowly, letting you feel how completely he stretches you out. Miguel bites back a smile when he feels your legs shake against his hips. "This is what you wanted, isn't it, mi vida?" His voice is nearly a growl with how it drips with darkness.

You nod, eyes blearily searching his, wondering when he'll finally bottom out. Miguel watches your eyebrows scrunch together as you struggle with the intense pressure of him pushing in.

Adorable.

He groans when his hips finally meet yours, filling you to the brim. He doesn't waste time before beginning to move against you, fucking his cock into you over and over until you're eyes are rolling to the back of your head.

He doesn't stay gentle for long, easily losing himself to the feeling of your perfect little pussy wrapped around him. You can hear the distinct sound of his hips smacking against your thighs complimented by his rhythmic sopping jabs as he fucks you baselessly into your mattress.

It's all so much that you don’t even notice the tears that run down the sides of your heated cheeks onto the pillow under your head.

But he does.

"Feels that good, hm?" He teases, "Such a weepy baby. Can't even take a good fucking without cryin'." A raspy groan vibrates against you when your cunt accidentally flutters around him, unable to hold back against the pleasure he's forcing into your body. "Tell me you need me, cariño."

"I--" You try to hold yourself back from the edge, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of playing your body so perfectly, but then he rolls against you so fluidly, hitting that explosive spot inside of you.

"Go on, baby." Miguel encourages, "Say. It." He punctuates each word with a stabbing thrust right where you need him.

"Mngg..." Your cunt tightens impossibly hard around him as white fills your vision. A grated moan is squeezed out of your throat as you reach nirvana, every ounce of energy pushed out in one final bout.

You don't mean to cum, you don't even want to, but you have no control over your body.

You go boneless as he continues to fuck you, harsh strokes against your weak body. "Mm, I’m gonna fill you up so good, cariño." Your body stiffens, quickly pulled out of your temporary state of euphoria from his words, "...Gonna fuck a baby into this pussy so you'll never leave me."

You try to shove yourself out of his hold, but his hold is too strong.

"W-wait, Dr. O--"

"It's Miguel." He growls out.

"Don't -- not inside --" Miguel ignores your pleas, letting go of one wrist to place his hand over your mouth. You can't do anything against his large body as he frantically ruts into you, taking everything he wants and more.

"You want this," He huffs. "You need me, baby. Need to be filled up and taken care of." He gives a few more hard, sloppy thrusts before shoving himself deep inside and painting your cunt with his cum.

#deaddovedecember2023 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #cw: somno #cw: somnophilia #cw: dub con #em's 123 celebration

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comatosebunny09 · 17 days ago

Text

carpe noctem [ climax ] | sylus

— summary: sylus drags you onto a mission with him for old time’s sake. and you slide into familiarity, almost like there isn’t a wedge in the form of a beautiful young hunter driving you apart. — cw: explicit sexual content, reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, mentions of blood, profanity, mentions of pedophilia, mentions of human trafficking, minor character death, men with guns, reader has a shitty past, self-destructive behavior, reader doing her assassin duties, a little romance sprinkled in between, mdni — notes: inspired by mr. & mrs. smith. thank you so much for reading, lovely! [ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ] — now playing: cariño - the marías — obligatory tags: @withering-dream @an-ever-angry-bi @midiplier @abbylee0710 @picnicthegarden @karespocketboyfriends @chrissy26 @delulusimps @glamouroki @midiplier @celestemcbrim @everywherenothere @ari-shipping-stuff @beewilko @alexhenituse @nim-rose @moonlight-inthe-sea @sunnyf4lls @himiko-omikami @inkonparchment @sillyfreakfanparty @regandoesthings @im-in-different-universe @ravensheart18 @alyyylog @corvid007 (sorry if i missed anyone.)

He wanted to make love. You wanted to fuck.

He wanted you, all tender and pliant beneath him, his name hinged in your throat. He wanted to worship you, to uncover the erogenous zones of your body piece by piece, and to expose you like forgotten treasure buried deep beneath rotting ruins.

But you reasoned you didn’t have time. You were in a hurry—a hurry for what, exactly, you couldn’t pinpoint.

Perhaps you were rushing to feel something, in a hurry to please and to feel useful as you tore his shirt from his shoulders, his body rigid and searing between the thick of your thighs. Pleasing is all you know, serving embedded in your chemical makeup, no room to pursue your own desires.

Your mouths came together so abruptly that your teeth clashed. The counter of his kitchen island was glacial and tacky beneath your thighs. You’d barely divested yourself of your coat before you drew him into an ardent dance of tongues, his abs twitching beneath the artful crawl of your fingers. You tugged at the give of his pants, quietly yet vehemently demanding he take them off. He drew back, wild-eyed and hair mussed, eyes drowsy with want.

“We should slow down,” he sighed, hot and open-mouthed where your shoulder met neck. Blistered down to your collarbone where he nipped, hands roosted on your hips, thumbs soothingly cruising over juts of bone.

It made you sick, his tenderness. You weren’t glass and didn’t deserve to be handled like it.

You chuckled something husky and bitter, tossing your thoughts to the wolves. Your fingers raked through his hair. Grabbing the scruff of his neck, you brought his mouth back to yours, trapping any further words of protest in his throat.

You didn’t want to think. Didn’t want complications. Just wanted to be driven by sensation, tucking your inhibitions into the darkest hulls of your mind.

You’re a bit of a masochist. You enjoy punishing yourself for misdeeds you’ve constructed in your mind—having feelings for your boss, secretly envying your friend. Your use is slowly running its course, and you’ll one day be thrown to the wayside.

You figure you don’t deserve kindness. Sensitivity. You don’t deserve a slow love, the steady creep of an orgasm bubbling in your stomach, evoked by the sluggish grind of hips, words of affirmation whispered like the sweetest supplication into your ear.

No.

You deserve to be used, lusted after. You’ve spent most of your adult life with that mentality, your past having engraved that under your skin. You’ve been a weapon for as long as you can remember. A tool. Loveless. Which is why, when the gentleman who’d frequented Lux wanted to take his time with you, you declined, opting for something more ragged and intense.

He took you hard and rough on his counter at your behest. Left you open, bare, laughing, battling to get your breath under control. You stayed the night to humor him. Let him hold you as he stroked the sweetest compliments of all with ghostly fingers into your skin as the stars in the sky gave way to the gentle spill of sun rays.

You crept out of his arms and apartment once he sank below the misty shawl of sleep. He’d inquire about your whereabouts later—ask why you didn’t stay. You rarely did. Tonight, you felt weak.

You’d ignore him until you next needed him. When the urge to forget sunk its talons into your chest, curling around your heart and squeezing.

You had a mission to prepare for. Sylus’ name lit up your notifications, cryptic as ever with minimal words. You’d deal with your feelings later.

There was work to be done.

Besides, you didn’t even remember his name.

How could you face him when you’d uttered someone else’s name while he was deep inside you?

—

You pay for your escapades in the form of pretty petals of blue and green blooming on your neck the following night. Bite marks.

You rub at the raw skin for the nth time, a hiss forced through grit teeth. Maybe he was a little too rough. Concealer works wonders, coupled with your glamor. Still doesn’t take away the sting, but you suppose the pain is your punishment for being weak.

You stretch, yawning. Shift until the leather of the car’s backseat squeaks. You sense his eyes on you in your periphery, boring down to the marrow. The fine hairs littering your body stand on end. You maneuver again, leant against the door, cheek propped on your knuckles, avoidant as ever.

You try to focus on the scenery unfolding beyond the car’s windshield. Powdery stars spilled over a deep violet canvas. The red glare of brake lights every so often as you approach another vehicle. Try to focus on the driver’s fingers readjusting on the steering wheel, on the fixed hum of the engine, and how it intermingles with the gentle bumps on the road. Home in on your breathing and the thunderous drum of your heart. He’s been watching you like this since you eased into the car—Sylus.

You get this creeping suspicion he wants to say something. Like he knows all your secrets, having perused through them like they’re the yellowed pages of a book. Nah. He wouldn’t know what kind of night you had. He wouldn’t care. You’re a grown woman, capable of making your own mistakes and reaping the repercussions of them. He has other things on his mind—other people.

Another yawn escapes you. You curse yourself for not grabbing coffee on your way out. Too busy pouring yourself into your dress, painting your face with makeup, and meticulously tucking your weapons away.

“Long day?” says Sylus. You jolt the slightest bit at the grit of his voice. How it breaks up the silence and sets your stomach alight with dragonflies. Fabric shifts. His exhale is weighted beside you, thigh brushing yours as he spreads his legs, so very big in comparison to the backseat.

You force a smile, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress. “You could say that.”

You feel the shift in his gaze. There’s a whisper of bitterness in his tone when he next speaks. “Maybe you should spend less time pursuing your hobbies at night and more time sleeping.”

This time, you do turn. Cut your eyes to him, mouth tugged up with confusion. His expression reads passivity. Mouth scrawled into a rigid line, scarlet eyes fixed to yours, unrelenting. Something’s off about him tonight. You sensed it in the brevity of his call when he phoned you to outline your mission—you’d be accompanying him tonight to a banquet. A glittering, amenable doll on his arm, smiling pretty like murder wasn’t rotting your mind. You’d lure your target away to be snuffed out like a candle’s flame. Slip out without drawing suspicion, and the world would be rid of another shit stain.

He quirks a brow, wordlessly challenging you. No customary smirk comes this time. Just the air weighted with something tense. Your throat clicks when you swallow. You opt for obliviousness, laughing it off despite the gnarling feeling in your gut worming its way up your throat. Despite every synapse in your brain screaming for you to fire back. You’re reading too much into things. He’s being his usual, detached self, and not because he knows you were up to no good last night.

Right?

“Maybe I should.”

The tendons in Sylus’ neck pull, jaw tensing. For a moment, he looks like he wants to keep prodding. But he instead averts his gaze when the driver chimes in, announcing you’ve arrived at your destination.

The venue’s tawny spotlights dance over the windshield as the car crawls to a stop. People donned in expensive formalwear line the sidewalk, animatedly chatting as they await entry. You take some time to admire the historic, art deco architecture before your door opens, the crisp evening air spilling in and fanning over your skin.

You look up when Sylus offers you his arm. His expression softens considerably, contrasting the wet cat he was moments ago. There’s a hint of a smile twitching his lips. He almost looks boyish, and you can’t help taking him in. He’s dressed to the nines, tucked in a three-piece tux, bow tie meticulously tied, hair swept up into a pretty, alabaster coif.

Your lips spasm. You peel yourself from the seat, gathering up the trail of your dress. Twine your arm with his, allowing him to shepherd you through the throng of people. It almost feels like old times, their voices petering to a hush when they catch sight of you. They part like a school of fish as the pair of you make your way up the steps leading to the venue’s doors.

“Stay frosty,” you joke to dispel your nerves, standing before the heavy, double doors, waiting for the attendees to open them.

Sylus snorts, his arm flexing beneath the possessive clutch of your fingers. He pinches the bridge of his nose. And the exasperation in his voice makes your eyes crinkle with mirth. “Please, never say that again.”

You slide into familiarity thereafter, almost like there wasn’t a wedge in the form of a beautiful young hunter driven between you.

—

She said something curious to you when you arrived at the airport earlier—Ms. Hunter. You had the time to spare. You wanted to ask why she requested you drive her instead of Sylus. But you didn’t push it, figuring she had her reasons. Maybe she didn’t have the energy for his nagging, his fretting. She should be so lucky.

She’d be gone for a couple of weeks, swept up in the grueling task of protecting researchers in the mountains from Wanderers. A part of you felt sorry for her. Worried. But she was a big girl. If she could smack Sylus around in Kitty Cards, she could dodge a few teeth and claws, no problem.

“Need help?” you asked over your shoulder, the SUV’s engine humming idly at the airport’s drop-off point.

She smiled at you from the backseat. “I got it!” she chirped as she fetched her oversized suitcase from the floor.

She rounded the vehicle, bowing to your level at the window. Up close, her smile looked more mischievous than usual. Smile lines bracketed her honey-dipped eyes as she murmured, “Be nice to Sylus. He’s trying, ya know?”

You pinned her with a quizzical look, your mouth working around a retort. She left before you could get a word out. You watched her slip through the crowd of travelers milling about before she was out of sight, leaving you to mull over what the hell that meant.

—

It starts to make sense as time passes what she meant.

When you’ve gorged yourself on conversation and champagne, nestled between politicians, CEOs, socialites, and people of the like. Fickle, spewing gossip you can’t be bothered to keep up with.

Sylus rarely leaves your side, only slipping away to chat up old colleagues or to procure you more bubbly. Always has a hand, scorching and possessive, at the small of your back, or an arm slung about your waist, drawing you into the safety his body exudes. He doesn’t correct anyone when they address you as his, giving you a subdued, amused look when you work your mouth into amending them.

You titter shyly, toying with your necklace. Maybe this is a part of your cover—pretending to be his significant other, all pretty and docile at his side. You won’t complain. It’s nice being this close, feeling wanted, and being envied in a different way. Not for your body, but for the man wrapped so willingly around your finger.

It’s felt like ages since you’ve last done a gig together, so you’ll enjoy his attention, even if it’s all a ploy, while you can.

The evening slides by in a blur of twinkling chandeliers and laughter.

Sylus draws you into a dance, and the pair of you are swallowed up by the mass of swaying couples and the string orchestra. Your cheeks ache with a smile, your limbs and inhibitions loosened by the champagne. He holds you to him as you waltz, his body rigid and devastating against yours, languorous fingers curled around your nape. He hasn’t stopped smiling, a boyish dimple cratering his cheek. Hasn’t released you from the scarlet stir of his eyes since, and you smoosh your face against pectoral muscle, hiding the warmth splotching your cheeks.

His heart thrums something steady beneath your ear. Beneath the expensive pleat of his tux. Breaths even, his bewitching scent furling in your chest like smoke. You let him lead you about the glittering marble tiles of the dance floor, feeling like you’re in a dream. Perhaps it’s the bubbly that’s got you toddling through a dreamlike fog, but a fraction of you starts to think, just for a second, you’re more than a cover, and your boss isn’t so detached, shoving you to the back burner in favor of someone else.

Your breath is sharp when he suddenly peels away, expertly twirling you. You laugh as your dress flutters around your ankles, nearly tripping you up. He dips you as the music dampens, the beautiful scenery tilting and blurring. Swathed in the tawny lighting of the banquet hall, you make out his features, something akin to affection loosening his expression, and the smile slips from your face.

The world fades away, and only the pair of you seem to exist in this moment. He pulls you closer until your vision fills with red, fringed by dark, wispy lashes sweeping over cheeks mottled pink. His lips purse as his gaze slides to your mouth, breath stirring your baby hairs. You hold your breath as he eases in, appearing like he’ll kiss you, and you’re stricken by something hot. Your mouths but a hairsbreadth apart, he whispers something that makes your heart sink to your feet.

“It’s showtime.”

The magic of the moment falls away as he steadies you. A pout worms its way onto your face as Sylus tangles your fingers together, a chuckle swelling in his chest. He leads you back to your table, still holding your hand, even long after you’ve returned to your seats and the event’s host takes to the stage to introduce a guest speaker.

—

Nikolai is easy to manipulate. To bend to your will. Of course, he is. All men are if you know how to approach them.

It helps that your glamor erases a few years off your face, giving you the appearance of a young woman barely experiencing the world. His favorite. It only takes you fluttering your lashes, laughing pretty, and flattering him to get him to take you back to his hotel room.

On the surface, he’s a passive, middle-aged man who looks like he wouldn’t harm a fly. But beneath that facade, he’s a scourge waiting to be wiped out. He’s as despicable as everyone else you’ve bumped off, auctioning off girls to nefarious men under the guise of selling “harmless little dolls.” Moonlighting as a franchise owner, using his stores as a ruse to smuggle young girls through the channels of the underworld.

You take that personally, having once been on the auctioning floor yourself. Memories of a past painted red flood your mind, and it makes your stomach churn with disgust. You were lucky then, having been turned into a murderous tool rather than a fucktoy. So, it makes sense why Sylus was so eager to get you on this mission. Like he knew you’d take pleasure in watching Nikolai’s life drain from his eyes, his blood caked up under your nails.

Your smile twitches, threatening to screw up into a grimace as you walk at Nikolai’s side, arm in arm. He’s red-faced and cheery, having gorged himself on champagne and merriment at the banquet. You would’ve snuffed him out if four bodyguards didn’t flank you. Not like you can’t take them, but you’d rather complete your mission as quietly as possible without rousing suspicion.

You just have to keep up the act long enough to isolate him so you can make your move. He’s been ruffling Onychinus’ feathers, claiming to be in cahoots with its notorious leader. Sylus, of course, doesn’t like that, not wanting to be associated with the likes of him. This is where you come into play, his ever-faithful watchdog, ready to kill at the drop of a hat.

Nikolai ushers you into his hotel room, where three more guards stand in good form in the living area. You acknowledge them with a seductive smile, allowing one to frisk you. Your smile grows tenfold when he finds nothing, clearing his throat and straightening his tie as if he’s fallen prey to your charm. Someone should be fired.

Nikolai leads you into his room thereafter, the double doors shutting and locking with finality. You offer him a massage, to which the portly man happily accepts, stripping down to his boxers and plopping onto the king-sized bed. He has a thing for pretty, young girls barely scraping the surface of legality. You’ll see to it he’s ushered into the afterlife by one.

Your hair waterfalls from its updo, warm as it spills onto your shoulders when you pull your hairpin free. You ruck up your gown, climbing over his body to roost yourself on his backside, legs bracketing either side of his waist, heels digging waning moons into your thighs. You’re sultry as you ensnare him in small talk, fingers kneading over layers of fat and muscle. Nikolai hums appreciatively, seemingly thrilled to have your company. Just the way you want him.

Your fingers tip-toe up his spine, thumbs smoothing over the notches of bone there. He exhales beneath your ministrations, remarking how magical your hands are. You huff a laugh as your fingers curl around his jaw, the opposing set burying themselves in his hair.

“Massaging isn’t the only thing my hands are good at.”

With a fluent twitch of your wrists, his neck snaps, the sound barely heard above the gentle croon of the jazz music he queued up beforehand, accompanied by the exhale of a life dying out like a flame.

You pull his eyelids down, easing off his lifeless body. Stare at his corpse with a faraway look in your eyes, smoothing some hair away from his face. Like he’s a sacrifice to the little girl inside, screaming for revenge. You straighten your dress when the bedroom doors rattle, Nikolai’s men frantically calling his name. Shit. Maybe you weren’t as meticulous as you thought.

Quickly, you survey your surroundings for a way out. Spot the sliding doors leading to the balcony, and you dart between them, the wispy curtains grazing over your fevered skin. A wintry kiss of wind greets you as you lean over the rail, hair ruffling, and you take in the bokeh of lights glittering on the street below.

You’re at least eight stories from the ground, so jumping is out of the question. You could very well fight your way out, but Nikolai’s guards are heavily armed. There’s no guarantee you’ll make it out of the fray unscathed.

You lean back against the rail, adrenaline spuming through you, watching the bedroom doors pulse as his guards kick and shove against them. Fuck! Tugging a knife from the garter belt tucked beneath the slit of your dress, you prepare for a fight, body taut, nerves flaring.

Just when you’ve resolved to get your hands dirty, something feathery touches your bare shoulder. Gentle and curious in its embrace, and you whip your head around to its source. You’re met with a smoky tendril, speckled with claret orbs of energy, swirling ominously before you. You peer over the railing, a familiar shock of white blurring into frame. There’s no mistaking the upward cant of his lips, and the crinkle of scarlet-spun eyes from this height. He motions to you with two fingers from the sidewalk, wordlessly beseeching you to come down.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter, a nervous expression stretching your features. Heights have never been your forte, but you suppose beggars can’t be choosers. “Fuck it,” you relent, gathering some courage and climbing onto the rail.

Nikolai’s men finally break through, and as they dart in, spraying the room in a hail of bullets upon seeing Nikolai’s corpse, you fall into the feathery cradle of Sylus’ Evol, a yip ripped from your throat.

You float to the ground like a feather, falling into Sylus’ arms. He looks down at you with something unguarded shining in his eyes, using his Evol as a shield when Nikolai’s men pelt the pair of you with a barrage of bullets.

You lose yourself in the moment. Your lips part, lids heavy with something you can’t quite place.

“Took you long enough,” you chide to dispel the tension brewing between you, trying to catch your breath.

“I’ll be more punctual next time,” Sylus answers with a chuckle, voice rumbling against your body as he casually walks away from the scene, refusing to put you down, even long after he’s warped you to safety.

rising action | masterlist

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus angst #lads sylus #sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus love and deepspace #carpe noctem series #limerence series

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im4rmy · 2 months ago

Text

his favourite part of your body - OT7 (idol AU)

☄. *. ⋆ Mark

• your lips: you have pretty plumped lips and you usually wear lip gloss. you often catch him staring at your mouth while you talk.

• "sorry what were you saying baby?"

• he often gift you new lips products. you don't buy them anymore since you met him💀

• "that's the new lip gloss, isn't it?"

• he wants to kiss you 24/7.

• "plaese, baby, just a peck"

• you make sure to put on some lip gloss before getting on your knees and giving him head.

• "god, baby. you know me so well"

☄. *. ⋆ Renjun

• your hands: you have soft and slim hands, you like to wear gold jewellery. he likes to play with your hands when you're talking, they're just addictive.

• once he got turned on by how you were turning the pages of your book.

• he gift you new rings every now and then.

• "i like this new hand cream. is it peach scented?"

• lots of kisses on your knuckles.

• there's a reason if he loves to interwine your hands together before you two climax in bed...

• you're much smaller than him and seeing your little hands on his body makes him go feral.

• "look at you... c'mon, honey, use your pretty hands on me"

☄. *. ⋆ Jeno

• your whole body: you're not super skinny and he fell in love with your curves instantly.

• he loves to just rest his hands on your belly and he loves your thick thighs.

• "tonight i dreamed about dying suffocated between your thighs. i woke up with the worst boner ever"

• he asks you to sit on his face at least once a month.

• you're not insecure about your body and he finds that even sexier.

• you sometimes steal his credit card to buy new coordinated lingerie and he thanks you every time.

• your ass cheeks are his favourite anti-stress. he prefers the right one, for some reason.

• "they fit perfectly in my hands, it's crazy"

☄. *. ⋆ Haechan

• your neck: you have a pretty long neck and you never forget to wear your signature scent... and he happens to be in love with it.

• he loves to fall asleep with his face buried in your neck while you lazily run your fingers in his hair.

• "i would gladly die here, like this"

• you became a master in the art of covering hickeys.

• he loves how you always wear your silver necklace, it compliments your skin so well. it's just the cherry on top.

• "i just want to crawl inside your skin. this close is not enough"

• lots of kisses starting from your collarbones all the way up to your jawline.

• "so fucking sweet. you're something else, istg"

☄. *. ⋆ Jaemin

• your back: he fell in love with you at first sight seeing you in a fancy black dress that left your back uncovered. since then, that's his favourite thing in the world.

• he gives you back massages to turn you on but in the end you fall asleep and he's the one hornier than ever.

• he has plenty of pics of your bare back in his phone gallery.

• "look! look how perfect you are"

• you picked up the habit of laying on your belly on the bed, so when he comes in he excitedly lays on your back and hugs you. you can't move anymore.

• kisses. kisses. kisses. bites. other kisses.

• your back is the reason he loves to take you doggy style.

• "god, you're so beautiful from here, princess"

☄. *. ⋆ Chenle

• your legs: you're a volleyball player so you have pretty muscolar legs. there's a reason he loves to watch you play in those scandalous shorts.

• "are those even legal?"

• he gives you rubs from your ankles all the way up to your thighs, he just loves to touch them in every way possible.

• you once apologized because you didn't have time to shave properly and he looked at you like you were crazy.

• "what are you talking about? i love this, you're so hot"

• he loves to bring your legs over his shoulders while he's on top of you.

• when he's on tour he often asks for some pictures.

• "you know what i want, (y/n). take off those pants for me"

☄. *. ⋆ Jisung

• your butt: he'll never admit it but he literally drools over your ass.

• he literally can't watch you play volleyball because what if he get caught staring at your ass by chenle? That's a no.

• you got him the first boner just by sitting on his legs.

• "i'm not obsessed over it... i like it, of course i do... it's you"

• he loves to hug you from behind for a reason.

• he always asks for your permission to touch it and would never do it in front of other people.

• you once sat on his dick turning you back at him and he came in that exact moment.

• "fuck- what was that? do it again"

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

masterlist

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

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agreeeeeeeeeee · 15 days ago

Note

DESPERATELY need to see your take on poly wolfstar smut. sorry if thats too broad but youre an amazing writer and i just need to see you bring it to life.

had me at poly wolfstar 🫡

LOCKJAW | poly!wolfstar

feat. poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

CW: MDNI 18+, no plot just smut. oral, piv, dirty talk, cursing, softdom!Remus, switch!Sirius

AN: bc I can't get the damn tiktok audio out of my head

masterlist

Sirius was draped face down across your lap, nuzzling into the crease of your hip while his hands kneaded your thighs.

“Sirius, quit squirming,” you huffed, lifting your book to glare down at him.

“Can't get comfy,” he mumbled, lifting the hem of your shirt to bury his nose into your skin, the tip of it like an ice cube.

“Sirius! Merlin, you're a handful,” you rolled your eyes and looked towards Remus for assistance. He was stretched on the other end of the bed, watching the two of you over his own book. Sirius’ feet were in his lap, tucked between his thighs for warmth.

Remus tsked under his breath, pinching Sirius’ calf and earning an annoyed grunt. “Leave her alone, Pads. She has an exam tomorrow.”

“But I love heeeerrrr,” Sirius whined, clutching you tighter. “Smells s’good,” he hummed.

Remus shook his head, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, dove. I tried.”

Sirius had been a needy, pouting wretch all day. You woke up with his morning wood digging into your stomach, his hips twitching in his sleep as soft, mumbled moans dripped like honey from his lips. Any other morning, you would have taken full advantage of your drowsy, wanton boyfriend, but when you checked Rem’s watch on the side table, you realized the three of you were about to late to Charms…again.

And later in class, Sirius seemed incapable of focusing, every spare scrap of attention he had devoted to you or Remus, or both of you. Studying your hands as you wrote, groping beneath your robes to squeeze your flesh, nuzzling into your necks, whining pitifully in your ears. He even pulled you into his lap during Potions, his boner pressed against your uncovered heat for a dizzying, thrilling moment, before Slughorn kicked him out for being a nuisance.

At dinner, Sirius was practically eating out of your hands, desperate for even a little contact, an ounce of physical touch. By then, you and Remus had put together what was ailing your poor boy and started to play along, keying him up even further only to deny him the smallest satisfaction.

You fed Sirius grapes, bits of bread and cheese, but wouldn't let his lips touch your fingers. Remus rested a hand on Sirius’ lower thigh, tracing the bones of his knee through the hole in his jeans, but didn't dare twitch a finger higher, no matter how much Sirius whined and squirmed. You'd even given Remus a full kiss when you'd returned to the common room, tugging at his lower lip with your teeth the way you knew Sirius liked, but only gave Sirius a chaste peck, leaving him dumbstruck at the bottom of the stairs.

If you didn't relieve him soon, you feared he might combust.

You glanced up at Remus again, and he caught your eye. “Ready?” You mouthed, and Remus nodded with a sly smirk.

With deft fingers, Remus started massaging Sirius' feet and calves, increasing the pressure until Sirius was moaning against your skin, going languid in your lap with a pleased hum.

“That feel good, baby?” You cooed, running your fingers through Sirius hair. “Rem is so good with his hands, isn't he?”

Sirius nodded, his hips twitching into the mattress as Remus worked higher, pushing his thumbs up the back of Sirius' thighs in a straight line

“So tense, pet,” Remus hummed.

“Because you cunts have been torturing me all day,” he huffed, but it was toothless, softened by the breathless edge of his voice.

“Torturing you? I would never do such a thing,” you pouted, feigning indignation.

Sirius nipped at your hip before laving his tongue over the sting. “I know you felt me this morning,” he chastised, pulling down the waistband of your skirt to kiss along your hips.

“Yeah, I felt we were all going to get detention for being late to Charms,” you said, trying to ignore the blooming heat between your legs from his touch.

“Would've been worth it,” he grumbled.

“You’re right, maybe you wouldn't have been such a needy brat all day.” Remus tickled the bottom of Sirius foot and he yelped, flipping over onto his back to try and bat Remus away, but you held down his shoulders, keeping his upper body in your lap.

“You can't let him get away with—oh fuck,” Sirius' complaint was interrupted by Remus gliding his fingers between Sirius’ thighs, caressing over the thick ridge in his pajamas bottoms.

“You want me to stop him?” You asked, batting your lashes, and Sirius shook his head side to side vigorously, his hair falling across his face.

“Don't you dare stop,” he whined, canting his hips into Remus' palm.

“Poor thing,” Remus cooed, trailing his finger through the puddle of precum bleeding through the fabric of Sirius' pants. “Been suffering all day at the hands of our beautiful girl.”

You scoffed, unable to stop the grin rising on your lips. “Me? You were the one that wore that slutty little sweater vest.”

“It was temperate today! You were the one that conveniently forgot underwear this morning,” Remus shot back, winking at you.

“You what?” Sirius squawked, jolting upright to glare at you. “And you didn't tell me?!”

You shrugged, toying with the hem of your skirt. “Didn't think it was relevant.”

Sirius gaped at you and Remus snickered. “That is the meanest thing you've ever said to me,” Sirius said, clutching his heart. “Like you don't even know me.”

Remus shifted to lay between Sirius' legs, licking a stripe up his cock over his pants, distracting him from his tirade. Sirius collapsed back onto the bed with a moan, and you slipped off the edge of it before he trapped you beneath him again.

“Oh, we know you well enough, Pads,” Remus chuckled, mouthing at the head of his cock. “Don't we, dove?”

You nodded, stroking Sirius’ hair out of his face while Remus toyed with him. His eyes were half-lidded, cheeks flushed, fisting the quilt beneath him.

“Rem, don't tease me,” he whined, the muscles along his abdomen tight with the strain of keeping still.

“But you like it,” Remus said matter-of-factly. “That's why you kept up with whiny puppy-dog thing instead of just asking.”

Sirius huffed, looking at you for help, his green eyes pleading.

“We love you, Sirius,” you said, bending down to kiss his forehead. “And if you need something, just ask, yeah?”

“We're here to make you happy,” Remus added, dragging down his waistband of Sirius' pants to kiss along his hip bones.

“Just need you two,” Sirius panted, reaching for you while Remus licked up the smear of precum along his pelvis. “Please, baby.”

You unzipped your skirt and let it fall to the floor, showing Sirius the drooling, sticky mess between your legs that his desperation inspired, and he groaned, his pupils dilating instantly.

Remus chuckled. “Look how hard that made him, darling. Making a mess of himself,” he teased, though his eyes were locked between your legs too while his tongue traced over the root of Sirius. Another flush of arousal made you pussy throb, and Sirius practically whimpered.

“If you don't bring that sweet pussy over here now,” Sirius warned, grabbing you by the hip to tug you closer.

As soon as you kneeled back onto the bed, he yanked you over his face, throwing one leg on either side of his head so you were facing Remus, who had paused his own work to watch you through heavy lashes.

Sirius immediately laved his tongue through your soaked slit, a deep rumble of satisfaction reverberating from his chest when you cried out, bucking against his tongue.

“This what you wanted, pet?” Remus said, spitting on Sirius' cock and stroking it with his fist. “To be smothered by us?”

You felt Sirius nod, his tongue fucking into your sloppy channel with ruthless, hungry precision, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open. Syrupy thick pleasure pulsed through you, making your toes curl and your head fall back while he drank from you, fiendish as a vampire.

“Take your blouse off, pretty girl. Let me see you,” Remus instructed, using his thumb to massage under the head of Sirius' cock, making him whine and twitch beneath you.

You obliged, fingers clumsy as your arousal deepened. You tossed your blouse off the bed, followed quickly by your bra, and Sirius’ hands immediately shot up to grope and paw at your chest.

Delicious, spiralling heat surged through you when he tweaked your nipples, his tongue moving to circle your clit, his nose pressed against your entrance. Sirius was a master with his mouth, and his eagerness only made him more merciless in the hunt for your release.

You leaned forward, resting on your forearms on either side of Sirius' hips, and licked a stripe up his cock, tasting the heady combination of Sirius and Remus' drool.

Sirius cried out, his hips bucking up at the unexpected contact, and you giggled, repeating the motion.

“I c-can't take both of you—” his protest fractured when Remus licked along his base, your mouth suckling the head, and his cock gave a hard lurch as more blood rushed south. “Fucking saints, so good.” He dove back into your pussy, sucking your clit between his teeth and lashing it with his tongue, payback for your dirty tricks.

You cried out, spine arching as he devoured you and you felt your peak start to build, a steady stacking of pleasure that grew more precarious, more overwhelming, by the second.

“You're perfect,” Remus hummed in appreciation, lifting from Sirius’ cock to give you a messy kiss, his tongue tracing your lips before licking into your mouth, making you loose your breath.

After a few moments, and a whine in protest from Sirius, Remus broke the kiss and turned his attention back to your needy boyfriend, finally taking all of him into his mouth with a smooth, practiced swallow.

“Merlin, Moony, fuck,” Sirius grunted. “So tight.”

You combed your fingers through Remus' hair as he sucked Sirius, earning a sweet hum from your sandy haired love.

“You're perfect too, Remy,” you cooed, trying to distract yourself from your mounting orgasm. “My beautiful boy.” You kissed along his jaw, feeling the tension and tremble as he worked Sirius deeper into his throat. You saw his hips twitch, his hands fisting the sheets. “Finish him off and then you can fuck me just how you like. How's that sound?” You purred in his ear and he groaned, creating a domino effect of moans as the vibrations worked through each of you.

You felt two fingers prod at your entrance and you keened, feeling Sirius sink to the knuckle and scissor your open with his long fingers.

“Shit, Siri,” you whined, rocking back into his hand while his tongue lashed your swelling bud.

“Want you to come all over my face, darling. Taste so good, need—fuck—need it so bad,” he mumbled against your sex, lapping at the creamy mess his fingers coaxed from you.

You rested your head on Sirius’ hip, watching Remus gag on his length through a rosy haze, the combined stimulus making your mind you fuzzy, your heart pound. It was too much, an onslaught of erotic sensation, and your body was pulling apart at the seams, nerves fracturing under the strain—

You came with a scream, trying to muffle the sound into Sirius’ skin as you shattered, a gush of moisture surging from you at the intensity. You were rendered matterless, a floating speck of dust, drifting on the current of the stars.

Sirius grunted beneath you, his muscles tensing in a wave, and he bucked hard into Remus' throat, the root of his cock pulsing as he came a heartbeat after you.

Remus took it all in stride, milking Sirius with his mouth while petting your hair as you came down, tethering you both to the earth.

When you were finished, you slumped sideways onto the bed, panting and slightly shaky from the intensity of it all. Sirius rested his cheek on your thigh, breathing labored and eyes closed, his face shining with your slick.

Remus pulled off of him with a pop. “Worth the wait, Pads?” Remus asked, kissing along Sirius’ thighs.

Sirius shook his head. “We could have done that at least three times since this morning, but noooo—”

You swatted his stomach and he chuckled, nipping at the tender skin of your inner thigh. You glanced up at Remus, who was watching the two of you with so much affection it made your heart twist.

“Come here, baby,” you murmured, and Remus leaned over, capturing your lips in an airy, open-mouthed kiss that stoked the dwindling fire in your belly. You could taste Sirius on his tongue and it made your head swim, your thighs clench.

“Think our girl is ready for more, Moony,” Sirius said, untangling himself from the two of you and stepping off the bed to retrieve something.

“Is she?” Remus asked, flipping himself around and bundling you into his arms, raining kisses over your face, neck, chest and making you giggle. “What say you, my love?”

“Please, Rem?” You whined, grabbing at his cock nestled between your bodies, already rock solid and hot to the touch.

“Oh, suddenly she's polite,” Sirius scoffed, swatting your ass as he climbed back into bed.

Remus chuckled, kissing you one more time before passing you into Sirius’ arms. You snuggled into Sirius’ chest, kissing along his tattoos, loving your two boyfriends so much you could hardly breathe around the fullness in your chest.

“Hi, dolly,” Sirius hummed, drawing you up by the chin for featherlight kiss. “Ready to get fucked out of you mind?”

At the same moment, Remus lifted your hips until you rested on your knees. Face down on Sirius chest, ass up. Sirius adjusted his legs so your feet were pinned beneath them, and Remus grabbed your wrists to fasten them with Sirius’ tie behind your back, seamless in the only the way the two of them could be. Like they shared the same, filthy mind.

It made your cunt clench around nothing, your knees weak beneath you, desire pumping thick and sludgy through your blood.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, squirming in their hold until you felt the head of Remus' cock tap against your still-sensitive clit.

“Shh, there's our sweet girl. Rem’s gonna get his now, okay? Can you do that for him? Take it like a good little slut?” Sirius asked, petting your hair and smoothing a hand over one of your trembling legs.

You nodded, burrowing into Sirius' neck to ground you. “I'll be good,” you answered, and both boys cooed in approval.

Remus brushed his lips along your spine, still teasing your clit with his cock. “You always are, precious,” he murmured, straightening. “Just try not to wake the entire castle.”

In one, brutal thrust, Remus slammed into you, his hips slapping against your ass with a definitive smack. You cried out, the sound barely muffled by Sirius’ skin, as pleasure streaked beneath your skin, frying the last functioning neurons in your brain. The maelstrom of feeling only increased as he fucked into you, ruthless and rutting.

“Fuck, Moony. Look at our girl, takin’ it so well. Aren't you, darling?” Sirius caressed your cheek, dropping a kiss into your hair.

“Yes—mmph—fuck, so big,” you mewled, fingers tensing around the tie securing your wrists, your whole body desperate to move and release some of the compounding energy that was drowning you alive.

“So fucking tight, Pads. Squeezin’ the hell out of me,” Remus grunted, his grip almost painfully tight on your hips. But you barely registered it, completely awash in the seizing, spiraling ecstasy taking over your body, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

“You wanna come around our boy? Let him stuff that greedy little pussy full?” Sirius reached beneath you, his middle finger finding your clit like it was magnetized to it. “Absolutely dripping wet for us. Fuck me,” he praised, removing his hand to steal a taste before returning to massage quick, tight circles around the puffy bud.

“Please, please, please,” you chanted, fucking back into Remus as you chased your high, feeling him hit every angle, every inch of your stretched out cunt.

“Go on, dove. Come for us,” Remus gruffed, reaching forward to fist your hair and pull your head up, your cries of ecstasy ripping through the air.

Sirius grinned, kissing the tears as they rolled down your cheeks. “So fucking beautiful,” he said, his free hand wrapping around your throat. “Let go, love.”

And you did, your orgasm slamming into you like a branch of the Whomping Willow, knocking your soul out of your body and into the stars. You were nothing, everything, a mindless tangle of flesh and blood and feeling, the only tether you had was your boys hands on your body, Remus’ cock swelling and the scalding heat as he painted your insides.

You collapsed onto Sirius, breathless, boneless, so sensitive that even the brush of his hair was agony, the thump of his heart like a roaring train.

“Sh, sh, sweetheart, I’ve got you. You did so well, all done now, dolly. You were such a good girl for us,” Sirius shushed, his voice growing clearer as the fog lifted. You were crying, trembling in his arms as the pleasure worked itself out of your system. “She's alright, Rem,” you heard him say, and that was enough to bring you fully back to the present.

You turned to look at Remus, who was watching you with a worried crinkle in his brow, slumped against the pillows at the other end of the bed, chest heaving and sweat dripping down his scarred chest.

You wiggled out of Sirius' hold and threw yourself onto Remus, kissing him with a much strength as you could muster until you felt him smile.

“Didn't mean to be so rough with you,” he murmured, skimming your jaw with his thumb. “M’sorry.”

You shook your head, silencing him with another kiss. “I love you. That was amazing. You're amazing. If I wasn't 90% gelatin I'd tell you to do it again “

The boys chuckled, Sirius climbing up to lay beside you both. You settled into your usual sandwich, Remus wrapped around your back while you nuzzled into Sirius' front, his arms draped over the both of you, and your legs all tangled together.

“I need to shower,” you grumbled, feeling Remus' release trickle onto your thigh.

“No, you need a cuddle,” Sirius retorted, already sounding half asleep.

“I could get us into the Prefect bathroom,” Remus suggested, and Sirius snapped awake.

“Why didn't you say that sooner!” He cried, shoving you both towards the edge of the bed. “Let's go, you lazy asses!”

You and Remus groaned, but let Sirius drag you up and wrap you into your robes.

Looks like you'd be sleeping in tomorrow, too.

Thank you so much for reading!

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painted-flag · 1 month ago

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DIES NATALIS - geta and caracalla

₊˚⊹♡ dies natalis; meaning birthday, anniversary. ₊˚⊹ emperor geta x fem!reader x emperor caracalla ₊˚⊹ masterlist. ₊˚⊹ based on this request. (3.9k words)

The rising sun cast light through the open windows and along the marble flooring of the grand room; spreading a gossamer veil of scattered iridecence into the space. A warm breeze came in, making the silk curtains billow. You woke up a while ago, still stuck on the same time clock when you had been working day in and day out. In the large bed you were in, two bodies clung to your form.

Caracalla’s face was buried in your stomach, subconsciously trying to escape the rising sun. His arms were wrapped around your middle and he was peacefully snoring. Next to you lay Geta, whose arm was directly over your chest, holding you down to the bed. You could feel the tickle of his breath on your neck as his rhythmic breathing signalled that like his brother, he was in a state of deep sleep.

You wondered how long it would take for them to wake up. Today was their dies natalis, the day they were both born. Endless festivities and games had been planned for the entire week to celebrate. Important people from all over the empire had travelled – many long distances – to come and offer gifts for the emperors. Yet, you did not wish to wake them just yet. They were so calm, so relaxed; such was a rarity with the amount of stress they were constantly under.

Suddenly, you found yourself reminiscing on when you first met them many moons ago. Things were so different then and never would you have thought they would change.

The day had been impossibly hot, more so than usual on summer days. Despite the heat, the emperors did not shy away from it. They were in one of the palace courtyards that had multiple fabric covers over the top, with some slivers of rays peaking through the cracks and tumbling down upon the stone and reflecting off of the ground and walls. A small pool was at the centre, decorated with lilypads and other flora. Fish swam about, exotic and imported from faraway lands.

You were tasked with bringing the emperors another pitcher of wine. It had only been your first week in the palace and the imposing structure had yet to become familiar. It was grand, full of memories and secrets that you would never uncover. As you made your way to the twins, your nerves had gotten the better of you.

You stepped out into the courtyard and were greeted by the sounds of birds chirping and water running as it was directed from a pipe into the pond. Your feet carefully moved knowing that it is best that you remain as quiet as possible. The brothers sat at a table placed upon a raised dais. A vast platter of various foods was placed in front of them and the brothers lazily picked about; the intense heat had killed a large portion of their appetite.

Upon reaching them, you bowed, though they did not seem to notice you as they were talking. You quickly poured more wine into both of their goblets and moved to stand a few feet away. There, you would wait if they needed anything. You held the pitcher in both of your hands and gazed off to the side. Every once in a while you would glance back at them to make sure their cups were not empty.

After a few moments, the sound of one of the emperor’s voices calling for you brought you out of your daze.

“You, girl.” Caracalla leant back in his seat with an air of carelessness, though there were hints of curiosity in his wondrous eyes. You moved instantly, making your way up the two steps of the dais and bowing to both of the emperors.

“Is there anything you need, Caesar?” You asked. He was gazing at you, but there was something in his eyes that showed he was not entirely present.

“You are new here,” Caracalla stated and he shared a look with his brother who sat across from him, “I have not seen you around here. Who are you?”

His curiosity struck you as odd. You were nothing but a small part of the axis that made up the chariot of the empire – only a useful tool to keep it moving along.

You answered with your name and he hummed. While Caracalla looked content with talking to you, Geta had rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. A look of annoyance was on his face.

“Brother, we were talking about Acacius’ movements.” It seemed that you understood the reason behind Geta’s indifference. They were engaged in a conversation when Caracalla called you over, getting distracted as he is known to do.

“Ah, yes,” Caracalla answered, “You’re dismissed.”

You bowed again before moving down the steps while facing them, knowing it was disrespectful to turn your back to them. Once you were far enough away, you turned and walked back into the palace.

If you thought hard enough, you could still feel the harsh pounding of your heartbeat at that moment. It had taken you a while to calm down. Your body had already been struggling to cope with the heat, but that encounter had left you flushed for the rest of the day.

It was a pivotal change in your life. Afterwards, Caracalla had repeatedly summoned you to serve him and his brother. The older twin had come to be comfortable in your presence quickly, coming to you for comfort. It was odd how easily he clung to you. You supposed it was because of his condition that ailed him. You did not judge him for it and came to figure out ways to help him when he had an episode.

Geta, on the other hand, was difficult to gain the favour of. He had been wary of you from the start. There was a deep-seated paranoia in his body which caused him to be distrustful of everyone that was not his brother. He often ignored you when you were around, only talking directly to his brother even if you were involved in the conversations.

Your hand made its way to his copper hair, brushing at the strands gently as they reflected the sunlight streaming in. His face was relaxed as he breathed in and out, content to rest on your chest. It was at that moment when you remembered the day he had opened up to you.

Caracalla had been inconsolable for the better part of an hour. The few servants that had dared enter his quarters were left running from the scene in horror and fear. Geta had been there and struggled to control his brother’s actions. Oddly, you had been summoned to the room after hearing about the events.

As you made your way down the hall, you could hear his shouting from behind the doors.

“Schemers! Traitors! They are here, they are here for us! They’ll kill us!” More crashing came after, the sound of pottery smashing acting as a sharp contrast to his voice. “Where is she? I want her! Is she safe? Where is she?”

You burst into the room and saw Caracalla brandishing a sword and flailing it about like it weighed nothing. Curtains were torn, furniture tipped over and smashed, sheets and pillows strewn about, and food had been spilled from a table. Geta was standing back and dodging his brother’s swings.

“I am here, brother! Stop this, please!” Geta was begging. His clothes were ruffled and his face was distressed.

Caracalla spotted you at the entrance and pointed the shortsword at you, but not in a threatening manner, “You! Have they come for you, too? They have tried to kill me again. They’ll come after you soon!”

You recognized his inconsolable state, having dealt with it several times before this. You knew that you had to act fast before others got hurt; even worse, before he got hurt.

“Nobody has come for me, sweet boy. See?” You gestured to your body, “I am unharmed, as are you.” He was still swinging the sword around and whipped his head from side to side like a figure would jump out from behind any of the pillars in the room and go straight to attack him.

“It is only a matter of time! They always come, you must stay safe!” Caracalla was enraged, but it was undercut by tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

“You wish for me to be safe, sweet boy?” You asked, already having come up with a plan to disarm him so he would not hurt himself or others. While this was going on, you could feel the intense gaze of Geta who stood off to the side, seemingly having lost all hope of recovering his brother.

“That sword, I can protect myself with it. Right, my sweet boy?” You had learned quickly that he was very receptive to that nickname and responded well when you went along with his thoughts long enough to coax him out of it.

He stopped swinging the sword, “I… yes. Yes, you can protect yourself.” His voice dropped and he had stopped shouting. Carefully, you approached him and reached out for the short sword. Caracalla hesitantly passed it you you. When it was in your grasp, you let out a breath you were holding. Now that he was disarmed, Caracalla hit his head, muttering things under his breath as he sat down near the only table that was not knocked over. He wished to huddle under it.

Geta was beside you and you turned to him. Gripping the top of the hilt by where the blade is attached, you held it out for him to take. There was a look on his face almost akin to awe or veneration. He took it from your hold and you bowed your head gently.

Turning back to Caracalla, you bent down and sat next to him. There was a shattered vase on the floor that you cautiously tried to avoid. There were puddles of water and various flowers strewn about. An idea came to your head, one that you hoped would ground him back to the world.

You gathered up a few of the flowers. A couple of shards of the broken vase cut your hands, but you paid it no mind. The iris you held out to him had a thin stem and multiple purple petals spread out in a pretty arrangement.

“Sweet boy, smell this flower. It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Caracalla looked at the flower and hesitantly leaned closer to you to smell it. He took in a breath, his nostrils flaring. For a moment he stared off at the stone floor.

“Iris. It is an iris.” Caracalla spoke. Geta had put the sword away and came to sit by you. You tried not to focus on how close he was and how you could smell the scent of fresh linen on him.

“Good,” You passed it off to him so he could hold it and picked out another flower, “Which one is this?”

“A lily,” Caracalla responded. The two of you continued the process with a few more different flowers, with Geta’s vision switching back and forth to see the interaction. The cuts on your hand bled slightly, but the pain was worth it to see how well the plan was working.

After a few minutes, Caracalla’s eyes blinked rapidly before stopping. He glanced around the space, “I– what happened to this room?”

“Hello again, sweet boy,” You cupped his face with your hand and swiped your thumb along his cheek to get rid of a few tears that escaped his eyes. You did not want to worry him or risk losing him to his mind again if you told him of his outburst, “Your brother is here.” It would help him immensely to see the familiar face of Geta that was next to you.

“Geta?” He asked.

“Yes. He wishes to see you. Why must you hide in that mind of yours? He loves you very much and misses you.” You handed him the rest of the flowers so he could bunch them up in his hands, sniff them, and hopefully remain grounded. Caracalla seemed stuck in the trance of the flowers but was clear from his delusions. His fingers brushed the petals gently.

“I will go and get you some water.” You informed him before getting up. He needed to get more fluid into his body after exerting it so much. As you exited the room, you did not notice that Geta followed you.

“Wait!” He called out. You turned around and waited for him to get to you. When he stood in front of you, he paused. Geta’s mouth opened and closed a few times as if he was having trouble putting to words what he wanted to say. This was the first time you two were alone and you were scared he would now cast you off for not addressing his brother with the titles he held.

“You…” He took in a large breath, “You calmed him…”

“Yes, Caesar. It was not the first time.” You did not know what else to say. His gaze flickered down for a moment, spotting the blood on your hands. Geta took a step closer and grabbed your wrists. He pulled them up to inspect them closer. You could not deny the feeling of shock that shot up your arms at his touch. You watched his eyes flicker with unknown thoughts.

“I’ll send for the healer,” He said. You smiled gently at him.

“Caesar, thank you but I am fine–”

“I will send for the healer.” His voice was more stern that time. There was no arguing, so you agreed to the help. He walked you back to Caracalla’s room and you pretended that you did not notice the fact that he kept his hold on one of your hands.

After that incident, Geta was more trusting of you. He did not look annoyed when Caracalla invited you around Rome. In fact, he had begun to send for you even when he was alone. It took longer for him to begin to speak about his own troubles, but you appreciated how open he had become.

To others, your relationship with the emperors was considered odd. Them having favoured a servant and shared your company was not like their other concubines. They had preferred to keep that part separate from one another and not share. However, what the politicians and high society found even more odd was that over time they had abandoned their concubines in favour of you. Some whispered of sorcery; that you enchanted them. Others believed you had somehow blackmailed them.

The simple answer was that Geta and Caracalla had found an unlikely companion in you that went beyond physical attraction. Many could call it odd, but you did not care.

While one of your hands carted through Geta’s hair to slowly wake him up, your other hand trailed down to Caracalla’s head that rested on your stomach. You began to massage his scalp and watched as he started to twitch; indicating that he was slowly coming out of whatever dreams had a hold of him.

Geta woke first. He groaned lightly and tucked his head into your neck. He breathed out and his lips brushed the underside of your jaw.

“Good morning. It is your special day today,” You spoke. He groaned again and shuffled closer to you. He peppered a few small kisses to your jaw, but still kept his eyes closed.

“Don’t speak of it. Let us stay here.” His arm tightened around your upper chest while his hand moved to hold the side of your face and tilt your head closer to his so he could lay kisses on your cheek. You giggled at his movements, causing your stomach to move more and wake up Caracalla quicker than your hand massaging his head.

“Good morning, sweet boy,” You spoke. He, like his brother, only groaned in response and buried his head further into your stomach. He peppered kisses onto your stomach and you felt your skin heat up at the attention from both of them. His arms that wrapped around your torso tightened slightly. You ruffled his hair more.

“Can we not stay in bed?” Caracalla questioned, his voice muffled by the thin slip you wore to bed.

Geta hummed at his words, the feeling reverberating through your skin, “Agreed, brother.”

You almost wanted to laugh. They were never morning people, preferring to stay up late into the night and sleep in until the last possible moment. The habit was far different than yours. When you were still a servant, you had to be up well before the sun rose. Now, as you had since been relieved of those duties, you slowly began to get used to waking up later.

Knowing there was one surefire way of getting them up, you spoke, “What if I told you both I had gifts for you?” The moment those words left your lips, the twins shot up. Caracalla’s head lifted and you saw his shining bright blue orbs staring at you with anticipation. Geta pulled away slightly and propped himself up on one elbow to stare down at you.

“Gifts?” Geta questioned.

“You got us gifts?” Caracalla joined after.

You laughed at their enthusiasm, “Of course, I got you both gifts. But you must be up to receive them.” For a moment the two paused, weighing the scenarios in their heads. They turned to one another as if communicating in silence. Caracalla got up first, reaching for a wayward blanket and wrapping it around his body. Geta followed but grabbed his favourite red and gold robe.

Your arms and legs stretched out to relax. As you shifted to get out of bed, Caracalla reached out to hold your hand and help you off. Your bare feet hit the stone floor, sending a slight chill to your bones. You kissed his cheek and thanked him. As the brothers moved to graze at some of the food that had been carried in earlier, you walked to the doors and opened one.

Spotting one of the guards, you spoke, “Could you send for someone to fetch the emperor’s gifts?” The guard silently nodded and marched off. You came back in a closed the door. The grumbling in your stomach was hard to ignore as you sat down at the small circular table with Geta and Caracalla.

Instinctively, you moved to grab the pitcher of wine and pour them a drink, but Geta reached out and covered your hand that gripped the handle. He sent you a dismissive look. There were many times when they had to talk to you about your habits and how you no longer needed to do them, but it was hard to break. Instead, he picked up the pitcher and poured your drink first before doing it for his brother and then himself. You smiled while looking down at the plate in front of you. While you may have changed over the months, they had as well.

“What is it?” Caracalla questioned you as he shoved a few grapes into his mouth.

“Well, that would ruin the surprise. There are only a few more hours until the games start and the senate will expect an address for–”

“Let’s not speak on this now,” Geta interrupted while he rubbed his temple, “I wish to enjoy this morning.”

“Of course,” You took a sip of wine before hearing a knock on the door. Instantly, you felt your nerves light up. You hoped, truly, that the gifts you picked out for them would be favoured. Today they would receive countless priceless objects from waiting members of the empire, and despite your new position as the emperor's favourite, you only had so much that you could give them.

You left the twins at the table and approached the door. Two servants stood on the outside. One handed you a gold gilded box and the other held onto a lead that was tied to a chittering monkey that rested on their shoulder. You bent over slightly to allow the monkey to crawl onto your shoulder.

The small creature was a sudden purchase. You had already commissioned Geta’s gift but were left pondering what Caracalla would like. All it took was an afternoon stroll in the exotic markets while the twins were in the senate; that was when you spotted the friendly little monkey poised to be sold. It felt like fate.

A broad smile made its way on your face. You turned back into the room at the two who remained eating and in conversation with one another. For a brief moment, the memory of when you first met them flashed to mind; the stifling sun, the babbling water, and the two eating their midday meal in the courtyard.

“Caracalla,” Caracalla turned to face you first, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the tiny monkey on your shoulder, “Happy dies natalis.”

“Monkey!” He shot out of his seat and moved to you, instantly enraptured by the cute creature. You laughed at his enthusiasm.

“You’ll have to pick out a name for him.” You informed. Caracalla picked up a few pieces of fruit from the table and began to feed him while thinking up a name. You then turned to Geta, who was staring expectantly at you.

You handed him the gilded box, “Happy dies natalis.” He gripped the box and flipped open the lid. Inside were four rings, each similar in design but with different stones. A lapis lazuli ring as a symbol of royalty, opal for love and hope, amethyst for peace, and one final unassuming one that piqued his interest. He picked it up and inspected it.

“I know it does not look like much and is not as grand as the other stones,” You suddenly got nervous, “It is a rock from the lands where I was born. I thought that, well, it may… Oh, I don’t know–” Geta quickly leaned towards you and placed a kiss on your temple.

“It is perfect, truly.” He put the box down and slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of his left hand. You sucked in a breath at the gesture; the vein of love ran directly from that finger to the heart. The moment between you two was interrupted by Caracalla.

“Dondas!” He yelled, “He shall be Dondas!” Geta wound his arm around your waist, letting his hand rest on the side of your thigh. The coolness of the ring seeped passed the thin silk of the nightclothes you wore.

Caracalla had walked up to you, “Thank you,” He pecked your cheek before focusing his attention back onto the monkey. Its delightful chittering was admittedly adorable and you held your hand out to gently pet his head.

“We must show off Dondas. Everyone must know about him!” Caracalla spoke with enthusiasm. He made his way to the door, but you cleared your throat loudly. He turned back to you.

“Won’t you get dressed first?” You questioned. A flush came over his face as he remembered he was only wrapped in a silk sheet. Geta’s hand squeezed your waist. You smiled before going to leave to get the servants to fetch their clothing.

It was odd how far your life had come and how much had changed, but it was better than you could have ever expected. The initial fear and trepidation you had when coming to serve in the palace had been worth it. Geta and Caracalla shattered your expectations. While they may still be ruthless, hotheaded, and prone to fits of anger, you knew there was no place safer for you.

This was my first time writing for these two and it was so much fun! Thank you to the anonymous sender for the request. I hope it turned out well <3

#emperor geta #emperor geta imagine #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #emperor geta fanfic #geta x reader #joseph quinn #emperor caracalla #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor caracalla x you #emperor caracalla fic #emperor caracalla imagine #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #fred hechinger

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hima-matta04 · 2 months ago

Note

Could u do smut with Mr. Chopped or Mr. Wheelchair, pretty please??

OMG I never post Mr. Wheelchair!!!!!

warnings: sexual content, afab reader, whiny Mr. Wheelchair, biting, blood drinking.

Enjoy~

It was nearly impossible to walk past him and not feel some pity. Some days, you found yourself slumped on the floor next to him, speaking for hours. Of course, the two of you grew close. Close enough for him to admit how little action he got.

No action would be the correct way to put it. He was nearly desperate one evening, for your touch. While you thought he was paralyzed from the hips down, his cock was still fully functional and now fully erect as you sat on his lap grinding on him.

His sharp teeth showcased in the grin he held as the friction from your leaking cunt was the first feeling he had in years. Sharp groans and grunts left his throat as you attempted to keep composure. His eyes were needy and filled with desperation.

“Please…more…”, he whined into your neck where his face was buried. This gained a small chuckle as you began uncovering him. His breathed hitched in nervousness.

“As you wish~” you teased which earned more whines from him. He had a pretty cock with very few veins. There were a couple of discoloration at the base. His tip stuck out to you the most. It was a beautiful soft pink color, and a small pearl on precum awaited your cunt.

He flinched as you began to sink down onto him. Your warm, welcoming pussy engolfing him as he panted. It was, hands down, the best feeling he ever had. You had to cover his mouth with your palm as he got louder and louder.

He suddenly bit down on your hand, hard. The loud squeal bringing more attention than his moans. You attempted to quiet yourself as he intoxicated himself in your blood. His weak hands gripped at various parts of your body.

The thick, rish texture slipped down his throat, easing him as he bottomed out inside of you. It was as if you could feel him draining you. Each gulp robbed you just a little bit more of yourself. You quickly removed your hand, deciding it was better if he just stayed loud than to drain the life from you.

As your hands propped on his shoulder, you grimaced to the pain in your hand from the pressure on an opened wound. Mr. Wheelchair took a deep breath as you lifted your hips and then rolling them into his, a satisfied sigh left his mouth, now covered with your blood.

“Me…sorry…hand hurt…” he mumbled as he attempted to keep himself quiet for you. He was met with a gentle kiss on his cheek as you softly rode him, reassuring him the you’d be fine. He placed his hands gently on top of yours.

You knew it wasnt going to take long for him to cum, but he was starting to moan louder and louder into your shoulder. He was met with a hand stroking his hair softly as you sped up, accidentally causing him to take a second bite from your shoulder.

As you wailed in pain from the wounds, your pleasure oddly enough started to build up. He began apologizing once again as he struggled to control himself. His apologies turned frim worried to pleasured as he climbed higher and higher to climax. “Please~! In you! Me be good!”

You never had taken him as one to beg, but the sweet sounds that continued leaving his mouth had your head in the clouds as your orgasm rushed through you. Hot spurts of his white seed shot into you as you rutted your hips against his trembling body.

His voice was hoarse as he asked one last request. “Kiss me?”. He earned a smile from you as you brought your lips to his bloody, chapped ones. He thanked you for everything you do for him. Both the comfort of your company, and the intimacy of your touch.

Your hips were tired. Your shoulder and your palm was bloody, but the blissed out sight of Mr. Wheelchair made all of the pain worth the endurance. He muttered out quietly incoherent praises, thanks, and apologies as he slowly drifted to sleep.

He continued to grip onto you in his sleep, holding you in place on top of him. Lets just hope that the nurse wouldn’t ask to many questions about your injuries.

#smut #homicipher #x female reader #x reader smut #homicipher fanfiction #homicipher game #homicipher smut #homicipher x reader #mr wheelchair #mr wheelchair smut #Mr wheelchair x reader #Mr wheelchair x reader smut

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diaphene · 4 months ago

Text

enjoy ·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳nsfw / MDNI

his hands were locked on your ass in a bruising grip, as he continues to rock back and forth inside of you. his face buried in your chest, slowly losing his mind, overwhelmed by how perfect you feel

you could've sworn he stopped breathing with the way his face was completely smushed between your breast. you bite your lip with a lop sided smile... but you didn't have much room to talk about him, with your own climax quickly approaching

he lets out a desperate moan and begins to pump faster, hitting that spot that makes you become light headed. your mouth widens as you throw your head back, chanting yes, yes, yes as you are brought to tears

with him still thrusting, you gather the energy to look down again, and are met with intense, electrifying eyes and a dark look, right before he releases inside with a groan. too far gone, he had completely lost all control

it was so powerful, the energy surged off of him, causing the power to go out all around you

you both froze in place, still in bed. slowly uncovering your faces, you cautiously looked around, assessing what had just happened

he knew before you did, swearing under his breath and plopping his head on your stomach in defeat with a huff. you had to cover your mouth to stifle the laugh that was inches away from bursting through. he was silent for a moment, already well aware that tomorrow he's going to get an ear full of this from... well... everyone

"its not funny" he said with that infamous frown

that just made you laugh harder

unable to resist, he cracked a smile himself, in disbelief

what was he going to do with you

#we n i tell you i was zoned tf out for th e longest time w/ this shit #lord deliver us #or me #shadow smut #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shth x reader #shadow the hedgehog smut #shth smut #𝓭𝓲𝓪 ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀˏˋ°•*

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tokkiwrites · 3 months ago

Text

𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗. (2)

mom's fiancé/bf! joel miller x f! reader • part one here

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants. tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, slow burn, sexual tension, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, Joel being an emotionally complicated bastard, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, nsfw, head f receiving, p in v unprotected, breeding kink, cum eating & fingering for like a sentence. /ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ you asked, and i delivered. PART TWO IS HERE YALL. i hope I didn't let you down :( 5.52k words of pure wrongness, but hey, it's joel, so it's okay (haha, not). not proofread, so if you see any errors, just close your eyes pls thank you.

The weight of that night lingered in every breath you took. The memory of Joel's touch, his hands tracing every inch of your body, had seared itself into your skin, refusing to fade. It wasn't just the physicalㅡ it was the way his voice had trembled when he whispered your name. The way he'd held you like you were something sacred something he couldn't afford to lose. But you both knew that after last night, everything had changed. There was no going back

The secret you now carried inside you was heavier, pulling you further into an abyss you couldn't climb out of. And the worst part? You wanted more. Now that, you had tasted what it felt like to have him, the craving for him was worse than ever. You were addicted. The first morning without him felt empty wrong. You should have been able to bury the night, to bury the guilt, but instead, it gnawed at you, weaving into the longing that wrapped itself around your chest like a vice. You scrolled through your phone again, reading the last text he had sent.

• miss you, baby. I can't stop thinking about you. Wish it was you here with me.

your heart twisted in your chest as you read it again, your fingers hovering over the screen, aching to respond. He was gone. He had left early that morning with your mother, whisked away on a honeymoon that was supposed to be filled with love and joy: A honeymoon that, in a cruel twist of fate, was meant to celebrate his new life with her.

But here he was, texting you and you couldn't help but answer the pull that tied you to him. You could practically hear his voice when you read his words, feel the roughness of his hand brushing against your skin in the way your body still hummed with

the memory of him, and your cunt still felt him deep inside of you. Your fingers shook as you typed your response:

• I miss you too.

You stared at the words, hating yourself for them, but unable to stop. You hit send before you could think twice. A sick sort of thrill coursed through you as you imagined him reading it, imagined him lying next to your mother, his phone lighting up with your message, pulling him back to you even from miles away.

You had woken up in his arms, tangled in the sheets, the air between you still thundering with the afterglow of the forbidden but impossibly sweet. You had watched him get dressed in silence, his eyes lingering or you with a mixture of longing and regret before he had leaned down, kissed you hard, and whispered, "This changes everything." that it had. You hadn't stopped thinking about him a second since. But the worst part was, neither had he. Another message came through, lighting up your phone, pulling you from your thoughts.

• I need you. Being here with her feels wrong, baby. don't know how I'm gonna survive his week without touching you. ❤️

your breath caught in your throat as yot read it, heat blooming low in your belly. He missed you. He wanted you. Even while he was supposed to be with her, on their honeymoon, he was thinking about you.

You hated the way it thrilled you, how the hought of him being with your mother didn't make you sick with jealousy, but instead only intensified the twisted longing that had wrapped itself around your heart. You knew it was wrong, god, it was so wrong, but now that you'd had him, you couldn't stop wanting more. You typed back, your fingers moving quickly, not giving yourself a chance to reconsider.

• need you, joel, I dunno know how to do this.

the truth of those words settled over you. you didn't know how to do this. how to navigate this mess of secrets and lies, of immense guilt. All you knew was that the need for him hadn't gone away: it had only grown stronger. As you waited for his response, you lay back in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. you mind replaying every moment of the night before. Your phone buzzed again.

• ill find a way for us to be together.

it was insane. It was dangerous. But he means it. And so did you. this impossibly tangled knot that you couldn't unravel, no matter how hard you tried. And part of you didn't want to. You wanted him. Still. More now than ever.

Your phone vibrated once more

•When I get back, I need to see you. Alone We'll figure this out, I promise.

You were already too far gone

Joel’s name lit up your phone screen, the buzzing pulling you from your thoughts. It was a shock, seeing him call. You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the screen, before finally answering. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice shaking slightly. “Hi, baby.." Joel’s voice came through low and rough, like gravel under your feet. There was a pause before he spoke again, the silence thick. “I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to hear your voice.”

Your heart plummeted at his words. The sound of his voice alone sent a shiver through you, bringing back everything from the night before—the touch of his hands, the way he’d kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, the feeling of him filling you up. You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whine. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you confessed. There was a soft sound from him, almost like a groan, the tension in his voice unmistakable. “I’ve been thinking about you too, baby. I can’t stop. You under me like that, full of my cockㅡ it’s all I can think about. I keep replaying it. I miss you so much.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Hearing him say it made it all so real, the intensity of it, the wrongness, and yet how much you both wanted it anyway. You squeezed your eyes shut, the memory of his hands on you still fresh, your skin tingling. “It’s been so hard," you whispered. “ I hate that you’re there with her...” The words slipped your lips before you could process them. He exhaled deeply, like he was struggling to hold himself back. “I know,” he muttered, his voice tight. “I’m trying to be here, I really am, but all I can think about is you. You’re all I want. I wish I was with you right now, not here.”

What he was saying hit you hard. He was supposed to be on his honeymoon, with your mother. But here he was, calling you, telling you how much he missed you, how much he wanted to touch you, hear you moan his name again. It was twisted, but you couldn’t deny the way it made you feel—desired, important, needed. “Joel...” You didn’t even know what you were asking for. You just wanted to hear him say more, to fill the aching silence between you. “I can’t stand being away from you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Being here with her… it’s all wrong. 'm thinkin' about you the whole time. I want to be with you, not hidin' this.” The admission made your heart race, your body responding to the urgency in his words. You sat up on your bed, the phone pressed tight against your ear, needing to hear more.

“I need you,” you whispered, not caring anymore about what it meant. “I don’t know how to stop wanting you, Joel. I made everything worse. I don’t know what to do.” Joel’s voice came through soft but strained. “I don’t want you to stop. I don’t want this to end. I need you too, baby. I’ve needed you for so long, and now that I’ve had you…” He trailed off, breathing heavy on the other end of the line. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About us. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this week without you.”

Your heart ached hearing him say it. You imagined him there, lying next to your mother, feeling the same torment that was tearing you apart. The thought should have made you feel worse, but all it did was make you crave him more. “When you get back...” you began, your voice unsteady. “What’s going to happen?” There was a pause, tension .” I don't know, little girl. But I need my hands on you again, feel you around me, kiss yaㅡ we'll figure it out."

Before you could respond, you heard a faint sound in the background—your mother’s voice, calling for him. Your stomach twisted, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You felt like throwing up. He was still with her, still living this life he didn’t want, while you waited, caught in the middle of it all. “I have to go,” Joel said quickly, his voice urgent. “But I’ll call you again. I miss you, baby. We’ll figure this out.”

And then the line went dead.

You stared at the phone in your hand, the silence deafening. Your mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another, but all you could think about was him—how much you still wanted him, even knowing how wrong it was. The pull between you was too strong, and you didn’t know how to stop. his last words were ringing in your ears—“We’ll figure this out.” But would you? Could you?

Your hand shook as you placed the phone down, the weight of everything suddenly pressing down on you with crushing force. The room felt colder, emptier, like all the air had been sucked out the moment his voice disappeared from the other end of the line. You had been holding it together, balancing the edge of something dangerous and intoxicating, but now, in the quiet of your room, the dam finally broke. You pressed your palms to your face, feeling the burn of tears already welling in your eyes. You couldn’t stop it. The guilt, the longing, the impossibility of it all—it came crashing down like a wave, and you were powerless against it.

A sob escaped your throat, low and broken, as you curled into yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. The tears came hot and fast, spilling down your cheeks in heavy streams. You didn’t even try to hold them back. You wiped at your eyes, but the tears kept falling, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. You hated this—hated how torn you felt. Hated that, despite knowing how wrong it was, you couldn’t stop wanting him. It made everything feel impossible. You wanted him so badly, it ached. But the guilt—it clung to you, wrapped itself around your heart and squeezed, suffocating you with its weight.

The sobs came harder, your body trembling as you rocked yourself, trying to find some sort of release from the storm inside you. The image of Joel lying beside your mother, on their honeymoon, gnawed at you, twisting the knife deeper into your chest. How had you let it come to this? How had you fallen so far, wanting something you knew you could never truly have?

But even through the disgust, through the pain, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. His voice, his touch, the way he had looked at you. It had felt real. Too real. And now it was like you were caught in a spiral, unable to pull yourself out. You cried harder, the sound of your sobs filling the quiet room, your heart breaking under the weight of it all. You pressed your face into your knees, feeling the dampness of your tears soak through the fabric of your jeans.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You had wanted to make your mother happy, to stay away, to be the good daughter. But Joel—he had always been the one thing you couldn’t resist. And now that you had crossed that line, there was no going back.

The phone buzzed softly beside you, the screen lighting up with a new message. You didn’t need to look at it to know who it was. Even now, your heart still reached for him, wanting more of the thing that was tearing you apart. But you couldn’t. Not right now.

So, you sat there, curled up in your bed, crying alone, knowing that despite everything, despite the pain, you were already too deep. And you weren’t sure how to climb out.

the time slipped through your fingers.

The sun had barely set when you heard the familiar sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside. Your heart raced in your chest as you glanced out the window, the bright glow of the headlights cutting through the dusk. Joel’s truck. They were back. He was back. you hated that he had to go away for work so often. even though the honeymoon ended early, he had to leave again for something regarding his job, so this was the first time you saw him in weeks.

The past week had felt endless—long days filled with quiet moments where you found yourself staring at your phone, hoping for a message that never came. After that phone call, everything had felt suspended, like you were teetering on the edge of something you could never go back from. You had tried to keep yourself busy, but every time your mind wandered, it drifted back to him—the sound of his voice, the memory of his touch. The longing, the guilt, the jealousy... it was all there, swirling together in a storm you couldn’t control.

You stood by the window, watching as Joel’s truck pulled into the driveway next to your mother’s. He climbed out, his tall figure silhouetted against the setting sun, a bag slung over his shoulder. You saw him exchange a few words with your mother, who was already standing on the porch, a wide smile on her face as she rushed over to greet him.

You blinked, shaking off the sudden wave of jealousy that washed over you. Stop it, you told yourself. She’s your mother, and he’s with her. You pulled away from the window, trying to steady your breath. But it didn’t help. The pit in your stomach only grew deeper. You couldn’t escape the feeling—the weight of what had happened, the shame that gnawed at you. You had always known this day would come, but that didn’t make it easier to face.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden. You froze for a second, your heart thudding against your ribs. Your mother called out, “I’ll get it!” But you knew it wasn’t her who he had come for. it was you. so you rushed in front of her, muttering a soft "i got it." When you opened the door, you saw him standing there, looking every bit like the man you had spent the last weeks fantasizing about. His dark hair was tousled, his eyes still shadowed from the exhaustion of travel, but there was something else—something hungry.

He was wearing a simple flannel, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, calloused forearms. He looked worn, but somehow more real than before. More him. You could feel your nipples harden at his sight. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low.

You nodded, feeling the tension coil tighter between you. For a moment, neither of you said anything—just stood there, caught in the gravity of what had happened, what you both knew but weren’t quite ready to speak.

Your mother’s voice interrupted the silence. "Come on in," she called out from the living room. "I was just looking at the pictures from the trip. Joel, why don’t you show her the ones we took from the beach?" Joel glanced at you, his eyes searching your face, but you forced yourself to smile, hiding the turbulence inside. You could already feel it— those pictures, the idea of him sharing his time with her, touching her, laughing and smiling while you were here, waiting, stuck between two worlds.

As you stepped into the living room, Joel followed, and your mother handed him a small photo album that just came in the mail with a beaming smile. "Look at this one, Joel. It’s from the sunset on the beach. I swear, the sky was never so perfect!" she exclaimed before heading to the kitchen to make some drinks for the three of you. Joel opened the album, flipping through the pictures. There they were—Joel and your mother, side by side, arms wrapped around each other, smiling as they stood by the ocean. You could see the joy in your mother’s face—the happiness you had always wanted for her, but it still stung. The sight of them together made your chest tighten with something you didn’t want to acknowledge. were you jealous?

Joel glanced up at you, sensing your discomfort. He cleared his throat, his voice lower than usual, as if he was trying to say something that hadn’t quite formed yet. "I missed you," he said quietly, glancing back at the pictures.

You stared at the photo of Joel and your mother standing on the beach, their hands intertwined. The image of them together, so carefree and happy, only deepened the ache inside you. You clenched your jaw, feeling the jealousy flare up—jealous of the way they had spent those days together. Jealous that he had touched her, laughed with her, shared moments you had longed for. He caught the shift in your mood, the way your eyes narrowed at the pictures. You couldn’t hide it. Joel stepped closer, his tone more serious now. "Hey, don’t look at it like that. babyㅡ"

You blinked, feeling the sting of unshed tears. "Like what?" You asked, trying to mask the hurt in your voice. "Like I’m..." He paused, his eyes searching yours, his hand hovering, almost as if he wanted to reach out but stopped himself. "Like I was with her, and not with you."

"But you were." You blurt it out.

Your heart hammered in your chest. The way he said it made the jealousy bubble up even more, but there was something else in his voice too—something like regret, like he was just starting to feel what had happened between the two of you. "I just..." You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. "I can’t do this, Joel. Seeing you with herㅡ it hurts."

Joel’s face softened, and he took a step closer, his hand finally finding yours. His touch was grounding, reassuring in a way you hadn’t expected. "Hey, look at me," he said softly. "It wasn’t like that. I’m with her, sure. I promised her, and I’m tryin' to be a good man for her, but it’s not the same. You’re different. You’ve got a hold on me, baby. on my soul and heart. I can’t explain it.." You stared at him, your heart a mess of confusion and desire. His words sent a wave of relief through you, but it didn’t erase the pain. You wanted him, but he was still bound to your mother, and that fact ate at you from the inside out.

"I can’t pretend," Joel said, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. "it’s not something I can just ignore. And I won’t let it destroy you or me. It’s just... hard to figure out where to go from here." Your breath caught in your throat. "I don’t want to lose you," you whispered. "But I don’t know how to do this—how to live in this space between what’s right and what feels so damn wrong."

Joel’s expression darkened for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on him as well. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. "I know it’s messy," he murmured. "But it’s not goin' anywhere. I’m not goin' anywhere."

There was no easy answer, no clear path to walk. But in that moment, as you stood in the same room as Joel and your mother, no matter how hard you tried to fight it, you knew that whatever happened, you couldn’t walk away from him.

Not now. Not ever.

The early evening sun cast a golden glow across the kitchen as your mom stood in front of the mirror, giving herself one last look before grabbing her purse. She hummed to herself, the excitement of her night out with friends clear in her every movement. She was still glowing from the wedding, from the honeymoon. The happiness on her face felt like a knife in your chest.

"You're sure you'll be alright here?" she asked, her voice light, not really expecting a different answer from you. " I won't be too late." You nodded, trying your best to keep your smile steady. "Yeah, Mom. We'll be fine. You deserve to have fun." Your mom turned to Joel, who was leaning casually against the kitchen counter, his hands tucked into his pockets. "And you.." she teased, stepping closer to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I know you're not much of a party guy. Try not to be too boring while l'm gone."

Joel chuckled lightly, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "I'Il behave,"' he promised, though his eyes flicked toward you for just a moment. a brief, loaded glance that made your heart flutter.

Your mom laughed, oblivious to the tension in the room, as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "Alright, don't wait up for me. I'll be back later." She waved, her heels clickingsoftly against the floor as she headed out the door.

The sound of the car starting up, the engine humming, and the tires rolling down the driveway were the last reminders of her presence before the house fell into silence. The quiet between you and Joel was immediate, heavy, as if the very walls of the house knew something had shifted. You stood there, not sure what to do. "Guess it's just us now," Joel said, his voice low, rough around the edges. He knew what he was doing. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Yeah... just us." You could feel his eyes on you, the same gaze that always seemed to see right through to the heart of you, the gaze that made you feel vulnerable exposed.

Joel pushed off from the counter, taking a few slow steps toward you. His movements were deliberate, careful. "You alright, baby?" You looked away, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to pull together some semblance of control, but it was no use. "I thought i could handle it, being here with you..." Joel's jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's been hard for me too," he said quietly, his voice strained. He reached out slowly, his hand brushing your arm, the touch so soft it sent a shiver through you. "This whole thing," he muttered, his eyes dark, intense, "it's not what I thought it would be. Not with you here. It ain't easy for me either."

Your pulse raced as you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. "I don't know how to stop," you whispered, your voice trembling. Joel's hand moved to your waist, his grip gentle but firm. His touch was warm, grounding, but the fire between you was undeniable. "I can't stop." he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "i've tried, but..."

He trailed off, his eyes flicking to your lips. You could feel the pull between you growing stronger, the tension wrapping tighter around you, making it harder to breathe. "Joel.." you gasped, not sure what you were asking for. "I know, baby.." you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. "I need you." you finally muster some courage. Joel's eyes darkened at your words, and before you knew it, his lips were on yoursㅡ soft at first, tentative, but when he felt you respond, the kiss deepened. His hand moved up your back, up into your hair, pulling you closer, his touch igniting something inside you that you had been trying to keep buried.

The kiss was everything you had been wanting, everything you had been denying yourself. It was soft but intense, slow but deliberate, and it left you breathless. But even as you kissed him, even as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him, the reality of it all lingered in the back of your mind.

you pull back for a second. "We shouldn't be doing this." Joel's grip tightened on you, his eyes searching yours. "i know, darli'. we shouldn't." He pulled you in again, his lips finding yours, and this time there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. It was raw, intense, and everything you had been craving. His hands moved over your back, your arms, as if he couldn't get enough of you, as if he had been holding back for too long. You let yourself forgef everything. He picks you up and places you on the cold kitchen counter, your legs wrapping around his middle. "Need'a taste you, sweet thing." You moan as he undresses you from your flimsy shorts, pulling them down and getting on his knees in front of you. "No panties, baby? filthy little thing." Though it wasn't on purpose, you can't help but blush at his reaction. Joel inched closer, rogh beard rubbing against your plush skin, making you jolt. finally, he sticks his tongue out, dragging it through your dripping folds. you grab onto the counter, leaning back on your hands as you try to bite back moans. "Look at ya, dirtying your moms counter. don't you feel bad?" he teases. you don'tㅡ for anything. it all fades away. the moment he digs into you, your eyes roll to the back of your head. joel circles his tongue around your swollen bud agonizingly slow. you try to push his head further, signal him to go faster, but he's adamant that he takes his time.

it doesn't take long until you feel yourself unraveling, that pit forming into your tummy as your muscles tense up. Just then, Joel pulls away with that, leaving you gasping for air. "Not yet, baby. want you to come on my cock." he was so vile, wiping his face with the shirt he had on before undoing his pants. they fall to his ankles and he scoots closer so that he's between your legs, his lenght resting snug between your puffy lips.

"Please, joel, don't do this to me.." You whine, unable to resist longer. "Pretty desperate thing. 's okay, I'll give it to you." With that, he pulls you closer and aligns himself with you dripping entrance. even if it wasn't the first time with him, it still stings, the stretch deliciously painful. "Fuck, baby, look at that. this pussy was made for me, yeah? say it baby. say this pussy is mine." he grabs you harshly by your face, as he pushes in fully. " 's all y-yours, joel, 'm all yours."

"damn right you are. my little girl, so eager to take my cock.." he deliberately snaps his hips, the tip slipping past your cervix. the pain was taking over your body, and you let yourself sob as joel holds you close while he starts moving. " 's okay, sweet thing. i got you. you're alright, you can take it." you are alright.

Joel leans down to capture your lips into another kiss. His lips are warm and inviting, igniting a spark within your core. The kiss deepens, filled with an intensity that speaks of desire. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as his fingers trace delicate patterns on your skin. The world around you blurs as he pushes inside of you faster, harder, and you hiss softly through the kiss. he's moving his hips the same rhythm as your heart that was pounding against your chest. "I can never get enough of you.." he growls through broken grunts as he moves into you, your walls clenching around him. "Joel, godㅡ" he leans down again, planting soft pecks across your collar bones and down to your breasts. "yeah? c'mon baby, tell me how good it feels."

"feels so good.." Your moans echo through his head like a melody, and you can feel Joel's grip onto your waist growing tighter. the familiar pool into your lower belly makes its presence known as your back arches against his hold, one hand slipping under one of your thighs as his lips write kisses from your neck to your pebbled nipples "I'm so closeㅡ" Your little cries are enough to send him over the edge. "I love you so much, baby, shitㅡ 'm gonna come some deep in you. feel me in your little tummy?"

your heart almost stops. he loves you. joel loves you. he said he loves you while he's drilling into you on your mom's countertop. and he's your mom's husband. as he's fucking deeper into you, the words slip out without warning, no second-guessing. "I love yㅡou, Joel!" he closes his eyes, forehead resting agains yours as his hips buckle from releasing white ropes of warm liquid inside of your velvet walls, the feeling overwhelming and suffocating. you wait for him to calm down a bit before you bring your hands to his face and pull him up for another kiss. You both catch your breath. finally, he breaks the silence, while taking his shaft out of your pulsing cunt.

"fuck, baby... look at the mess you made. you bad girlㅡ lick it up now." you whimper as you try to move your limp body down the counter, bending yourself over to lick up the juices and come that dripped from you. joel licks his lips, watching as his seed trickles down your thighs. he takes two fingers and with no warning sticks them up in you, as you still lick the cold surface. "Want it all in you." you feel his warm, thick fingers swirling around your cunt, pushing back in any come that may have slipped out. "You'll look so pretty with my baby in you."

Joel loves you.

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