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lushrue · 4 months ago

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there was something angry and dark festering inside of simon. (afab!reader, nsfw, mdni)

he noticed it for the first time when he went out with the rest of his team to the pub after a particularly difficult mission. everyone had their own way of coping with stress. price had his cigars, puffing away and coating his lungs with tar. gaz had alcohol, bourbon and tequila burning away in his stomach to soothe the cold grip of disappointment in himself. and johnny? johnny had women. birds of all different types, sizes, occupations. simon was convinced he didn’t even look at who it was he was snogging in the corner of the bar. as long as she was warm and willing, he was on her.

that’s when he felt it, watching johnny suck at some poor girl’s face like she held the nectar of the gods between her lips. simon had never paid much mind to getting a woman of his own. with his family life, he’d found it hard to put stock in anything akin to a committed relationship. too many things could go wrong. after all, as he reminded himself every time he came close to a woman, he had anger baked into his DNA. the desire to sink his claws into something and rip it apart until he was bloody was too tempting. he’d ruin whatever he touched, so why bother?

still, as much as he tried to deny it, he was a mere mortal. flesh and blood, hormones and urges. testosterone flooded through him the same as any other man. the sight of his sergeant indulging himself made the beast within him rear its ugly head. it was like a devil on his shoulder, whispering to him that he could have that too. he could dig his fingers into the soft plush of a woman, feel her curves and let her gentle caresses soothe the storm that never seemed to let up. ever detached, he weighed the consequences against the reward. sure, he could satisfy this hungry thing that ate at him every time johnny spoke of a new conquest. but it would mean corruption for whatever poor thing his eye landed on. he couldn’t do that to someone he knew, someone he’d have to face again.

a few nights after the incident at the bar, simon got a card for an escort company from price. “in case y’need it,” he’d said. unbeknownst to simon, his captain had noticed, seen the hunger that was building steadily in him. he remembered that same hunger building in him as a young man. lust for blood and lust for flesh was hard to distinguish in the civilian world. besides, he couldn’t have his best lieutenant unfocused. simon held onto it for a couple days, flipping it around in his fingers between rounds of paperwork. each time he skimmed over the phone number in pretty cursive writing, the beast inside him clawed at his bones, begging to be noticed. when he finally worked up the courage to dial the number, he hung up the moment someone answered the phone. it was too much, too fast. especially when he could just give himself the pleasure he was craving. so he set the phone down, grabbed his headphones, and opened his laptop.

moans and gasps echoed in his ears, a manufactured sex scene playing out on the screen in front of him. he’d barely paid attention to the setup; something about a pizza delivery guy and not having money, one of those cliches. his hand wrapped around his aching cock, thumbing at the tip as he watched the woman’s face. her expression was one of false bliss, played up for the camera and the enjoyment of spectators. simon could see right through it. he gritted his teeth, his calloused hand dragging painfully against the sensitive and dry skin. he tried to squeeze himself, milk any bit of moisture or pleasure out, but nothing came. it wasn’t the same, his hand no substitute for the sweet warmth of a woman wrapped around him.

after a few minutes of tugging at himself painfully, he slammed the laptop shut, tucking himself back into his cargos. this wouldn’t do, not at all. it didn’t feel the same anymore. the beast within growled, demanding sustenance. simon cursed under his breath and picked up the phone, dialing the escort company again. this time, he wouldn’t lose his nerve. he’d faced much scarier things than a phone call; he just had to remind himself of that. a woman who sounded like she smoked several packs a day answered the phone, rasping the name of the company and asking what she could do for him.

it was simpler than he imagined to book an escort. set a date and time, agree on a neutral location, put his list of boundaries on file, and sign a few forms to send back. easy enough. he was silent about his “date” to his teammates, not wanting the questions to flood in. this wasn’t a woman he was planning on keeping. hell, he figured she wouldn’t want to be kept anyway. all the better for him and the thing festering inside.

as much as he tried to deny it, nerves were building as the day of his appointment approached. it was one thing to see it done on a screen, it was another to make his body cooperate. simon had never experienced performance anxiety. if someone didn’t like his skills, fuck ‘em. his talent spoke for itself, the kill count in his file more than impressive. but this wasn’t killing. this wasn’t a battle, this involved no bloodshed. this was tender, intimate, gentle. this was letting someone see his soft underbelly, exposing the most vulnerable parts of himself and handing them over on a silver platter. he fought it down, swallowing it and forcing it back into the dark recesses of his mind to be dealt with later.

he showed up to the hotel, hoodie pulled up over his head and balaclava obscuring his face. this may be someone he’d never see again, but he wouldn’t take the risk. not when just seeing his face could damn someone to fates unimaginable. he stepped up to the front desk, muttering his last name and the room number they’d told him to request. he hated the way the girl behind the computer screen gave him a knowing smile as she handed over the key. strangers didn’t need to know his business, especially when it involved things as sensitive as this. he brushed it off with a gruff “thanks” and drug himself up the stairs towards the second floor.

he pulled out his phone to check the time, jaw clenching as he stared at the clock. he’d sat too long in the car trying to work up the courage to get out, and now it was his scheduled appointment time. he’d planned to give himself at least a few minutes to stand in front of the door and decide if he really wanted to go through with this. it was an out, a chance to tuck tail and run before anyone got hurt. he’d paid in advance anyways, so who would it hurt if he backed out now? himself. he’d just be hurting himself. two sharp raps on the door and a sweet voice called for him to come in.

that’s when he saw you, all dressed in his favorite color. a tight crushed velvet dress, heels sharp enough to kill a man, hair framing your face just so. the beast roared, clawing at his chest and begging to break free. it thumped at his ribcage, the bones prison bars containing the darkest parts of himself. he rubbed at his chest to soothe it, swallowing thickly as he shut the door behind him. you smiled, lips stretching to a thin red line over your teeth. “mr. riley?” you asked, pushing yourself off the mattress and standing to face him. “simon,” he muttered gruffly, feet planted firmly in front of the door. he was frozen, an utterly unfamiliar feeling to him. his next steps were always carefully planned. if he didn’t know exactly where he was going, someone who spoke in his earpiece did. this was all him, though. he was fully in control of his actions and it made him viscerally uncomfortable. no one to blame but himself.

“simon, then,” you say, taking a few steps closer to him. he tried to step back to keep the distance, but the door behind him stopped him in his tracks. nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. you looked so clueless, he thought, so oblivious to the fact that you were locked in a lion’s den. you stopped your advance, giving him a wide berth. he wasn’t the first man you’d booked that almost looked afraid of you. most of the time, the men you serviced were too shy or too awkward to find a woman to give them the time of day. “you can call me crystal.” not your real name, obviously. you were too cognizant of your safety for that.

“crystal,” he repeated slowly, trying the weight of it on his tongue. simon would’ve almost preferred not to put a name to your face at all. it would only make him more guilty for tainting you with his bloody hands. “you know the rules?” you asked, a bit more business than pleasure. he nodded curtly. they’d made him sign contracts and waivers, agreeing that he wouldn’t cause any bodily harm to whatever poor bird was assigned to him for an hour. he was legally bound to treat her nice, he reminded the beast. not very many pretty girls in prison. “good,” you reply, staying planted where you were until he made to move. “we can get started whenever you want. clock’s ticking, y’know.”

simon hesitated, taking in every inch of you that he could see. he tried to tell himself that it was threat assessment, an ingrained skill that everyone he met was subjected to. still, he couldn’t shake the sense that he wasn’t looking at you as a soldier. he was looking at you as a man. he was thinking about sinking his teeth into those supple curves, jowls dripping red. he wanted to dig his claws into the plush of your breasts, find the heart beating underneath all of it and take it for his own. mouth dry, he stepped forward, inching the smallest bit closer to you. you take it as an invitation and match his pace. you were close enough to touch now, dilated eyes looking up at him. prey, meat to be devoured.

slowly, simon reaches out, letting his bare hands brush against the skin of your arm. you shiver at the light touch. heavy petting was what you were used to, hands that sought to dominate you and bend you until you strained with the pressure. this felt exploratory, like he was testing the waters. he held his breath as his palms stroked over your elbows and forearms. if he looked too closely, he could see the blood from his hands staining your soft, pretty skin. this is why we couldn’t do what johnny did, he told the beast. trails of blood follow wherever we go.

“never done this before, huh?” you ask, keeping your tone even and light. no judgement, no pressure. simon grunted in reply, too mesmerized by the way your dress clung to your body. he could see the contours of you, the malleable skin across your stomach and the fat that clung to your hips. of course he’d never done this before. if he had, he wouldn’t be staring at you like a work of art and a piece of meat all at once. your hand snakes up, grabbing his and pulling it away from your arm. he tenses at your touch. he’s not exactly sure what he expected, but you touching him caught him off guard. your fingers close around his and you pull him towards the bed in the center of the room. it wasn’t the nicest; the sheets definitely needed a good deep clean and the mattress was likely stained with all manner of unmentionable things. but people didn’t do things like this in five star hotels.

you sat down on the bed and kicked your heels off, pulling your feet up and resting your weight on one hand. simon watched it all, eyes fixed on your every move. his hands flexed at his sides, aching to reach out and grab you. the beast was roaring for things to move faster, but simon tamed him. he didn’t want this to be over so quickly. the strap of your dress slipped off your shoulder, exposing more bare flesh to him. saliva pooled in his mouth, transfixed by the sight of you. he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d seen clean skin in person, unmarked by scars or tattoos. the mirror gave him no reprieve from it, reminders of all the battles he’d won written across his skin.

“take it off,” he muttered, not even looking at your face. you tried not to feel slighted by it. some part of you had almost expected him to be different by how nervous he had seemed walking in. but there were some things that never changed, you supposed. you reached back and undid the zipper on your dress, adjusting yourself on the bed so that you could slip it off. you hadn’t worn a bra, just underwear and a very skimpy pair at that. simon’s eyes trailed your hands as they peeled the dress off, then snapped up to admire your body. it was just as beautiful as he’d imagined it’d be. all supple skin and soft curves, the occasional stretch mark here and there. signs that you were human, that you were a real, tangible thing that he could claim for the night.

he wasted no time putting his hands on you, standing over you and squishing you in his hands. he squeezed and prodded, testing what areas made your breath hitch. you felt like a science experiment, observed and appreciated but not admired. you existed because he willed it and for no other reason. finally, after squeezing every inch of skin he could grab at, he looked at your face. not once had he touched anything above your neck. his gaze roamed over you, his thoughts taken over by the beast. he recalled all of the faces he’d seen play out on his laptop screen, imagined what you might look like with those blissful expressions. could he really make you do that?

as he took a seat on the mattress beside you, his hands drifted up to your breasts, pressing at your nipples with his calloused thumbs. that earned him a gasp, your lips parted deliciously. when he brought his pointer fingers up to pinch, that got him a whine. the blood rushed to your cheeks, simon’s cock stiffening at the sight. your heart was beating, blood was pumping. he could feel it under his hand. even with your profession, he perceived you as a saint. the crimson in your veins wasn’t tainted like his was, spilled at the hands of dogs hungry for power and control. no, you were pure. poor thing, you didn’t even realize that he would corrupt you from the inside out.

he pulled at the hardened buds on your breasts, the slight sting of pain making you hiss. “gentle, simon,” you chided, putting a hand on his wrist. with great effort, his touches eased up. his hands roamed downwards, pupils blacking out the color of his eyes as he stared at you. his full attention was on your face now, watching your reactions to each touch and stroke. it wasn’t until he got between your legs that he found what he was looking for. it was a familiar expression on your face as his finger dragged up and down the folds of your pussy through your underwear. mouth slack and hanging open, eyes closed in bliss, head thrown back. he could feel your moisture soaking through the fabric. this time, though, it hit him differently.

this wasn’t manufactured, and he wasn’t detached from it. he was making this happen. he caused those little whimpers to fall from your lips, he caused your eyes to screw shut when he pressed his palm against your heat. it made the beast grumble in satisfaction, belly aching for a good meal. he clumsily pulled your underwear to the side, trying to find the sweet spot that would make you melt. he’d heard it spoken about, that it was notoriously hard to find, but he was sure he could do it. his thick fingers prodded around, pressing and stroking while watching your reactions. that was when you realized it; he was a virgin.

the nervousness, the impersonality, it all made sense now. he really hadn’t done this before, not at all. you gently grab his wrist, dragging it up towards the top of your folds and positioning his middle finger over your clit. “i think you’re looking for this,” you say, cheeks flushed an alluring shade of pink under the blush and foundation you wore. he looked down at his hand, as if committing the placement of it to memory, before stroking his finger over the damp skin. you shivered, pleasure easing over you. that seemed to spur him on, his pace speeding up and becoming rougher. the pressure was almost painful and you shook your head, reaching down to hold his wrist again.

“here, let me help you.” you drag his finger over your clit, moving it in small, slow circles. at first, simon had been frustrated with you stopping him. he wanted to drink in your bliss, roll around in the pride of causing you pleasure. but then he saw the way your face twisted, and he couldn’t be angry anymore. you were helping, making sure this happened with you instead of to you. the beast couldn’t get to you like this, and the thought of that soothed him.

he continued his motions, his focus switching between your face and the arousal seeping out of you. your noises were music to his ears, moans and breathy whines that had his cock twitching in his pants. he was fully hard now, tip leaking just at the sounds you were making. porn had nothing on this. nothing could compare to bringing those noises about by his own hand. his digits slipped down to your dripping slit, running his finger through your folds and gathering some of the wetness on his finger. he held it up to his face, studying it almost, before slipping the finger under the mask and into his mouth.

you were salty, just as he expected. but there was a sweetness under it, something uniquely you. he could drink it in forever and never be sated. the balaclava he wore suddenly felt constricting, like it was in the way of his pleasure. he wanted to dip down between your legs and drink you up until the well ran dry. grabbing the fabric under his chin, he rolled it up over his nose and laid flat on his stomach. his head positioned between your thighs, he looked up at you with feral eyes. he was begging wordlessly, his gaze conveying what his words couldn’t. i need this, i’m starved, let me taste the nectar of the gods if only for a moment. with a nod of your head, he dove in.

his tongue was uncoordinated, lapping at your pussy like a dog. still, the broad strokes and pressure against your folds felt nice and you gave him a moan as a reward. the saccharine taste of you coated his lips and chin, almost in tears whenever he let a drop fall to the sheets. it wasn’t to be wasted, liquid gold that he had the sole pleasure of enjoying in this moment. he suddenly understood the allure of keeping something like this caged up in a two story house with a white picket fence.

your gaze drifted to his head between your legs, watching the way his eyes screwed shut with the simple privilege of tasting you. you idly wondered if he’d ever even tasted a woman. all signs pointed to no as his tongue prodded at your entrance, testing the waters and waiting for some indication that this was the right thing to do. a gasp rises from your throat as the tip of his tongue slips into you. it was thick and rough, stretching your walls just enough to make you keen. your hips jerk towards his mouth and he takes it as an invitation.

the beast purrs, a rumble in his chest that vibrates against your sensitive skin. it finally got to feed, to devour, to consume. simon’s fingers grip your thighs tightly, tips digging into the soft flesh and turning you a pretty shade of purple. the pain didn’t even register as heat shot up your core and straight to your head. you let yourself fall back against the mattress, chest heaving as his tongue plunged in and out of you at a brutal pace. he didn’t know what he was doing, that much was certain. there was no artful flicking of the muscle, no eye contact to make you feel special. this was pure instinct, messy and animalistic.

simon wouldn’t be sated until he had gathered up every last drop on his tongue, but the flesh was weaker than the spirit. his jaw ached and the way you were shrinking away from his touch made him think you were growing tired of it too. he knew the pain all too well, the blisters he’d given himself on his sensitive shaft from tugging at himself too long. no matter how long he would stroke and pull, the beast still roared. now, it was deliciously quiet.

he pulled his mouth away from your glistening pussy, grunting with satisfaction at the way your skin glowed with his spit and your juices. he wondered how lovely his cock would look all shined up by your mouth, but he wouldn’t do that to you. it would be enough to corrupt your cunt, all pliant and ready for him. your precious mouth could be spared.

simon unzipped his jeans and pulled himself out, pumping his length in his thick hand like he’d seen the men on the computer do. he almost wished he’d talked to johnny before all this, asked a real person to tell him how to do this. maybe it was exactly like the scenes he watched in the dark of his room, or maybe it was completely different. not knowing made him hesitate, hand tightening around himself at the base. you lean forward and suddenly your soft hands are on him, emptying his head. “we’ll go slow,” you coo, stroking over the pulse point on his wrist.

you lay back against the pillows, spreading yourself out for him. his eyes rake over every inch, his cock painfully hard and twitching at the sight. heat builds under his skin, sweat pricking at the back of his neck, but he can’t bring himself to get undressed. it was enough that he was pawing at you, letting himself be vulnerable and giving as much as he took. revealing scars, tattoos, things that had meaning so deep it was etched into his soul, that was just too much. you reach down and part your lips with your fingers, letting him see your arousal. a string of slick and spit stuck to your fingers, glistening in the warm light of the motel room.

simon’s chest heaved, his hand caressing himself without conscious thought. all he knew was that you were pretty, beautiful even. a bead of precum drips from his slit and he groans at the delicious moisture it provides. touching himself rarely felt this good anymore. you smile, reaching over into the nightstand and pulling out a condom. you tore open the package and looked at simon, asking silently for consent. when he nodded, you rolled it over his length, taking your time to stroke over the skin. the beast rumbled in disappointment at the latex separating skin from the warmth of you, but simon rubbed at his chest to soothe it.

you lean back once more, spreading your legs and planting your feet on the mattress. “whenever you’re ready.” simon leans forward to meet you, planting his hands on either side of your body. he bucked his hips, the thick tip sliding through your folds and gathering up your wetness. you moan and he answers it with a pleased rumble of his own. each press of him against your clit makes you keen. for once, you don’t play up your pleasure. it’s for his benefit, you tell yourself, so that he knows what feels nice to a woman and what doesn’t. it helps that despite his nervous movements, his fingers are incredibly precise once they know where to go. his cock is no different. “use your hand to guide it in, it helps.”

simon nods and follows your instruction. it’s like taking orders, and that’s something familiar. he prods at your hole, watching the way your eyes flutter shut at the pressure. it feels good for you too and that spurs him forward. he sinks into you, going slowly and letting himself enjoy each delicious inch. you’re warm and wet around him, hugging him so nicely. the sound you let out when he bottoms out in you makes him twitch, his whole body shuddering. he’s embarrassingly close to orgasm already, his core tightening as he tries to hold himself back.

as much as you want him to pound into you, to make you see stars and forget your own name, this isn’t about you. all your focus is on him, his pleasure, his enjoyment. you reach up and cup his cheeks, still half obscured by fabric. “let go,” you whisper, your thumbs stroking over his face. tears prick at the back of his eyes and shame bubbles up. his breath shudders, eyes glazed over with unshed tears and pure lust as he meets your gaze. “it’s alright, simon. let yourself feel good. you’ve earned it.”

letting go was scary, and he hesitated, the thickness of him sitting heavily inside you. it was almost uncomfortable, so you rock your hips to get some friction. he hisses, the muscles in his neck tightening. his head shakes frantically. he can’t hold it back anymore; you’re too warm, too soft, too gentle. he has to corrupt, to paint you red with the blood he sees staining his hands in his nightmares. it’s in his blood, he tells himself. a primal urge, he can’t help it. his hands roam your body, squeezing and scratching and pulling as his hips begin to move just as quickly as his head.

words of warning start to form on your tongue, but before you can say anything, his hips are stuttering, muscles twitching with his release. your ears were ringing from the sudden intensity, but you saw the words “i’m sorry” form on his lips. you weren’t sure what had happened to him to fill him with so much self-hatred, but you pitied him all the same. he pulled away from you, peeling the condom from his length and tossing it in the trash bin. his hands flex as he stands from the bed, tucking himself back in his trousers.

simon hadn’t known peace like this in a while. his head was quiet, the beast wasn’t thumping at his chest anymore. he felt like a man, an imperfect human, rather than a monster. when he looked down at his hands, they looked like anyone else’s. he didn’t see red, didn’t feel the warm stickiness of blood that always seemed to be there. you’d cleansed him, and he wasn’t quite sure how you’d done it. he looked at you for a moment as if to speak, then pulled the balaclava back over his face. “thanks,” he muttered gruffly, rubbing at his chest to commit the lightness to memory. then he was gone as quickly as he’d come. just like a ghost.

you’d tried to call after him, tell him that he still had time left if he wanted it. he didn’t seem to hear you. you noted the clock, though, counting the minutes he still had left. and the next time he called, you blocked your calendar with the extra time. the two of you had plenty left to explore.

#not sure how i feel about this one #might rewrite it later when i have more brain power #call of duty #cod #cod fic #reader insert #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley smut #ghost smut #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw2 #cod mw ghost

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atyourmerci · 10 months ago

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† Corruption †

Read pt.1 here

†

Summary: After that fateful night when Abby stumbled into your room and began her demise, she follows you into the showers to reconcile her sins

Warnings: smut, MDNI, switch!abby!?!?, switch!reader, heavy religion play indisone, fnv, cunnilingus, dirty talk yurrrr, no use of y/n

A/N: sorry this took 4ever I just really wanted to get this right and I still don’t love it but I must feed my babies. I mightttttt make a pt.3 that’s up to yall but either way I’m going to work on some other stuff so please send in recs!! (Also I know hotels don’t have communal showers just shut up and enjoy the porn:)))

†

Your vision went blurry, plunging you into a coma that kept your breathing synchronized until you couldn’t remember anymore. Maybe all the heavy breathing took you out, maybe God was retaliating at your corruption of his loyal follower. Either way- it was a good way to go out.

When you woke up, severely late at that, there was no sight of Abby, she was gone like the wind. In any normal case, that was what you preferred. The useless banter, awkward cuddling and sentiments were far beyond you. But this felt different- she- was different. Not in a way that you couldn’t have her, an unforbidden love tragedy, but in a way that she altered every being in you. She fucked everything you knew.

Days went by with no interaction; you both avoided each other like the plague. She probably condemned herself the moment she left; fuck she was already in suit of redemption mid orgasm. You avoided her because you knew you couldn’t stop yourself. This wasn’t her way of life- it was yours. Sure, she initiated it, but you reveled in it, got off on it, desired more.

Your thoughts were selfish, self-indulgent, downright merciless. While your days were spent avoiding your unrequited love, your nights had grown breathless as your hand was shoved deep into your panties trying to get yourself off to thoughts of Abby, to no avail. It felt like your karma for fucking God’s favorite devotee. You wished she would hear your aimless attempt, swoop in and return your favor. But she never did, of course she didn’t, she feared her own fucking reflection.

After a week of thoughtless days and sleepless nights you decided to shove the night as far back as possible, stop ruminating on the idea of her. That’s all that night was, a desperate idea of what she could be without moral. That wasn’t the Abby anyone knew, and neither did she.

Friday was terrible, there was an attack at the camp and a few soldiers were pretty bad off. Since you were the only medic, you were tasked with treating multiple injuries at once, scaling them at the urgency of attention. In a sick way, you hoped Abby was hurt. You wished you could have tended to her, even in that light, any way you could get your hands on her.

The only sight of Abby was her bringing in wounded soldiers’ bridal style into your med tent. When she first arrived, it was the first words either of you had spoken in a week, only for her to bark at you about the incident and return with additional members. After she had carried all of them in, she stood and watched you tend to them for a second before you aggressively whipped back to her with a, “I got it, stop breathing down my neck.”

You weren’t trying to be harsh with her, but the last thing you needed was her presence in the wake of this monstrosity. She had already clouded your every thought, and this was not the time to finally have her at the tips of your fingers again.

After hours of stitching, compacting, and amputating wounds you were spent. Blood trailed up and down your body, caked in sweat and dirt. You were barely mobile at this point, but the thought of going to bed decorated with the blood of your friends was unnerving.

You set off to the communal showers in the middle of the rundown hotel, it was so late at this point that you were guaranteed a peaceful shower uninterrupted by any needy suitors. You removed your blood adorned clothes, dropping them to the cold white tiled floor and started the rusty shower head.

The hot water drowns your skin as blood and dirt trail down your body into the drain, you let it soak in your tired flesh as you let the day out of you. You let your fingers run through your tangled hair when you hear a creak of the door open, causing a heavy sigh to linger out of your breath.

The last thing you wanted to do was having to entertain the presence of someone else so you decided to ignore the rustling, continuing to wash through your dirty locks.

Your peace was faltered as you left a breath coming from behind your neck, heavy in almost a pant. You feel strong hands whip you around to face your attacker, and shoved into the cold back tile of the wall sending you into a gasp. Abby stood before you, already stripped of her clothing, the water fell in between your bodies and into your open mouths.

Her hands still gripped at your waist, “touch me and don’t make a fucking sound,” she aggressively whispers low enough so no one could hear, as if it wasn’t the middle of the night, or that the water wouldn’t muffle out any noise, maybe she was that scared of being caught.

“Abby if you think this-“you begin to protest when she cuts you off by pulling you in by your waist to kiss you like a woman starved. It had only been a few days, but she gripped onto you like it had been years, years since she let herself go out of morality. You wanted to stop yourself, tell her you wouldn’t live this lie for her, but your body had a different agenda, it ached for her touch, anything she would give you.

She pulls away from you to simple mutter out a “please,” and you were convinced. It was like a parasite had wormed its way into you, you had gotten just as starved as she was. Without a beat you sunk to your knees as the water flooded your vision, the only sight was her sticky floods pooling between her muscley thighs. You attacked her pussy with your lips spewing a guttural moan out of her lips, she gripped onto your soaked hair for leverage. Her grip on your hair was almost painful but you couldn’t stop lapping her slick into your needy tongue to stop her.

Abby was already shaking from the overstimulation, you couldn’t pace yourself, you needed her to cum for your own validation, to know how much she needed you. Even if she never touched you, you were still fulfilled by the act. “F- fingers pl-ease” she says muffled by the water drenching you. You turn up to watch her plead tongue still deep into her slit, mascara running down your face as the water pelleted your eyes.

“D-ont look at me like th- this,” her mouth agape, she looked like she was crying, maybe she was, maybe it was the hot steam. You run a fat strip from her leaky hole up to her clit never leaving her gaze, she couldn’t look away and neither would you. “What are you going to do if I don’t Anderson?” You say with a cocky smirk and drive your tongue deep into her cunt again making her shake.

With an angered grunt you feel your hair being pulled up so that you’re back to your feet, you let out a wince from the pain before she throws you back onto the tiles, this time you had been too worked up to feel the chill of them on your skin. She places her left hand onto the titles next to your head, the veins in her arms bulging from using them to pull all of your body weight by your hair.

Her chest is flesh with yours that you can feel your bodies breath’s heave back and forth, eyes drilling into each other. “Fingers.” She demands. You didn’t realize you were so in shock by her aggression your hands were pinned at your sides, you moved them down her chest slowly, feeling every chiseled-out crevasse on her. Her breath only becomes more rapid as you draw your fingers closer to her aching cunt.

She whimpers out a “fuck,” as your fingers reattach to her clit, rubbing slow enough to relieve the pain but not enough to get her off. You watch as her head finally drops, and her arm shakes next to your head. Her cross was laid messily on her chest, flipped backwards, you hold back laughter as you think to yourself how God couldn’t watch this right now.

“You like getting fucked by a girl huh Anderson?” You dip your head closer so that you’re in her ear now, “you touch your little pussy every night since I made you cum, yeah?” You taunt and tease her as she whimpers into your ear. “St-op it,” she begs with her head nuzzled into the crook of your neck in a way to almost hide herself.

“Its okay baby, tell me how much you like getting fucked like a godless whore,” you start to circle her clit harder and faster so you can watch how much she likes it. All she can spit out in return is a desperate “fuckkkk,” and you know you’ve broken her. “D- don’t let me cum- I- I don’t deserve it,” she moves her head so you can see her now and begins panting on your lips.

“oh no Im going to enjoy watching you break again,” you say back with a wide grin, reveling in her desperation. You’re ready to dip your fingers into her dripping folds when you feel her free hand travel up your thigh. Her hand finally meets your cunt and she grips it harshly causing you to buck your hips into it.

“A- abby what are you d-doing?” Every emotion hitting you like a ton of bricks. Why was she touching you? This wasn’t her thing, not her job, that was your job. Would you be able to stop her? Control yourself? Let her have you? Why did she feel so fucking good when she was barely touching you?

She continues pulsing her palm into your aching cunt, “just let me try,” she breathes out against your soaked lips. Your fingers begin faltering at her clit, you try continuing your pace but it slows as her palm rubs against you.

She follows your lead by tracing her thick fingers through your slick folds, you bite down on your bottom lip to hold back from exposing yourself. When she begins circling your clit you can’t help but to whimper a choked out, “fuck just like that,” she was doing so well already.

She seemed pleased by her work, letting out a moan that followed your own. She was getting off on your pleasure instead of her own at this point.

You are barely able to keep your pace on her clit anymore, so engulfed by the feeling of her rough fingers on your swollen clit. She removes her fingers from your clit to move your hand off of her own clit, moving it so your palm lay against her chest.

She returns her fingers back so that only you are being pleased by her. You couldn’t believe that this was the first time she had done it, she felt like she was made to touch you, circling your bud like it would bring her to salvation.

Words were barely at the forefront of your mind at this point but you needed to ask her, “di- did you do all of- fuckkkk- ju- just to fuck me?”

She pierces her bright blue eyes into yours to make herself clear, “I worship you,” she says as she dips her long, thick ring and middle fingers deep into your cunt, immediately inching your g spot. The palm of her hand grazing your clit to give just enough friction.

All you can muster up to respond with is a guttural scream that rips through you, causing to use the hand that was placed on the wall to cover your mouth quickly. “Shhhh pretty girl I know I know,” she coos.

You bring her fingers into your mouth for leverage, anything to keep you from losing all control. Her pace quickens as she feels your walls clenching around her dripping fingers. How the fuck does she know you’re close.

As you begin nearing your climax, your mind runs free from all morality, she begin corrupting you just the same, driving out what you knew and replacing it with only her.

You didn’t even know you were doing it, not until she moved her fingers out of your mouth to understand you, “abbyabbyabbyabbyabby” with your eyes rolled, head slack on the tiles you begin worshiping her, praising her ever being like a mantra.

What brought you back to consciousness was the heavy breath and the ringing of your own name in a mantra beside your ear. You had never repented before, but she had begun her reconciliation along with you. If this were to be your religion, you’d give into her over and over again. At your knees to serve her, punished at your wrong doings and give penance for your sins.

“Serve me with your completion, give your god what she deserves,” she demands. You couldn’t disobey your savior, she showed your needy body mercy, and you must obey her.

It all hits you like a wave, all you can see is white as your body trembles under her. You can’t recall screaming but she moves her hand over your mouth. Your entire body shakes as she rides you over your high, kissing your forehead as you bite into her fingers, never letting up on her pace until she knows you can’t take it anymore.

As all of your limbs give out she slowly moves her fingers out of your abused pussy, picking you up before you fall straight into the hard tiles. She gently places you onto the tiles in front of her, holding you by your waist as the water floods from above you.

You try to mumble out something but she stops you with a quick “shhh I’m going to take care of you,” as she begins to wash out your hair gently. You lean your head into the crook of her neck and she lays peppered kisses from your shoulder to your neck.

“Please don’t run off again…” you muster up as she threads her fingers through your hair, “you’re all I know.”

“You’re all I have.”

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson2

#abby anderson #the last of us #abby anderson smut #abby anderson tlou2 #abby angst #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #sub abby

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exhaslo · 8 months ago

Text

Corruption Ch16

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10, Ch11, Ch12, Ch13, Ch14, Ch15

Warning: Minors DNI, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship/relationship? SMUT, so much goddamn smut like I need help, rough sex, breeding kink, creampie, overstimulation

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"Fangs that secrete enough venom to paralyze whomever I bite, could be useful but also disgusting to get close to others. Hm, no change to body from producing said venom. Fascinating."

It had been two days since the incident. Miguel had reassured you that he was fine, but then proceeded to lock himself in his own lab to run tests on himself.

"Talons on both hands and feet, allowing me to climb walls. Not the exact same way as (Y/N), this is far more violent since my talons could be used as weapons."

Miguel slashed against his desk.

"Wood nor metal can stop me. Not to mention, physical body mass has increased. Height increased, muscles strengthen and-"

Miguel stopped as he looked down. Withholding a chuckle, he returned to typing down his findings. Miguel stood in front of a mirror, taking in his now stronger appearance. He could lift over ten tons his weight, much like you.

"Side effect, eyes have become a red color and are sensitive to light. Senses have also increased, allowing me to hear, feel and even sense what others are thinking. Needs to be trained and nourished more to use in field."

"Miguel? Can I come in, please?" You asked, knocking against his door. Miguel threw on his lab coat, hiding his information,

"Yes,"

Planting himself on his seat, Miguel watched as you entered his lab. That bright smile on your face as you saw him. Miguel covered his mouth, smirking towards your blush towards his chest. Hopefully you won't tempt him too much.

"Are you sure you're alright? You've been cooped up in here for two days. I brought you some food," You said, holding up your cute little lunch bag, "I can put it aside if your not-"

"I'll eat it. I skipped breakfast," Miguel motioned you over.

He watched as you skipped over, opening your bag. He hid his smirk as you stared at his broken desk before continuing to get the lunch out. As you did, Miguel tensed as a new and strange scent caught his nose.

"(Y/N), are you wearing a new perfume?" Miguel asked. You tilted your head,

"No? Do I smell?"

"No, no," Miguel furrowed his brows finding the scent sweet, "Why don't you feed me? I'm starved."

Miguel resisted a groan as you took your place on his lap. The scent was getting stronger as you fed him. Miguel couldn't even focus on the food. Staring into your eyes, Miguel felt something almost primal in him act up.

"(Y/N), come to my place tonight."

"Okay," You agreed so easily.

It was difficult, but Miguel held back and behaved himself. He couldn't help but feel around your waist, needing to touch you. This had to be his Spider instincts kicking in. It had to be, what other reason would Miguel have the strong urge to fuck you?

"Miguel, you sure you're okay? I worry,"

"I'm fine. Just come to my place tonight and wear something that will excite me."

Leaving you with a peck, Miguel returned to his studies of himself. Now that he was a superior human like you, he could begin his plans for domination. To begin his plans to expand his rule of superior humans.

"Now, to test my stamina."

----------

You were on cloud nine. Was tonight finally going to be the night? Miguel just told you to wear something that would excite him! The amount of sexy new panties you had were going to finally be put to use!

Nearly squealing in joy, you hurried to your office to finalize some work before heading home. As you made your way to your office, you stopped in front of Aaron's shrine that some of the workers put together.

It was a shame. Aaron seemed like such a nice guy. To think that he was the one who caused the explosion and almost hurt Miguel. Miguel had told you everything about the incident so that you wouldn't worry.

At least Miguel was safe and sound.

Shaking the thought away, you hurried to finish you work. All that mattered was that Miguel was okay. Although, you were worried since he locked himself inside his lab. You wondered what he found that had him cooped up in there.

Recalling his strange behavior recently, you tried to think if anything in the explosion could have affected him. It sucked since you weren't as smart as half of the people in this building.

"I wonder...if I should wear perfume?"

---------

Miguel sat on his couch, waiting for you to arrive. He had done all the testing he needed in order to know that it was time. Miguel was going to make sure you didn't leave his apartment until you were pregnant. He didn't care how many hours it would take.

You belonged to him.

Catching that familiar scent in the air, Miguel stood and hurriedly opened his door. There you were, standing there with a shy look on your face; your scent oh so sweet. The dress you had on was tight, exposing your breasts ever so slightly.

"I'm not taking you to dinner," Miguel told you as he pulled you inside, "But good job on listening to me."

"O-Of course," You nearly stuttered as you fell against his chest, "Um, Miguel...have you been working out?"

Ah, so you finally noticed. Miguel just smiled as he grabbed your hand, gently biting your fingers. You scent getting stronger, causing Miguel to act more rashly. Thoughts of breeding you began to cloud his judgement.

"(Y/N), you'll do anything for me...right?"

"Yes,"

"Good girl,"

---------

You weren't sure what was coming over Miguel. He was acting a little strange, but it wasn't like you were going to question him. Miguel's hands were all over you as he brought you to his couch. You couldn't help but grow excited as you thought of what was to come.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled as Miguel kissed you. His hands were firmly on your waist. Each kiss grew more and more aggressive and hungry. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, exploring everywhere as he pinned you to the couch.

"Irresistibly sweet." Miguel groaned, his hands stroking up your thighs, "Unable...to think straight."

"Mhm, Miguel?" You muttered between kisses.

You gasped as Miguel picked you up and carried you to his room. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, feeling your panties get damp. This was escalating to an exciting point. Once in the room, you yelped as Miguel threw you on the bed.

"I don't care if you cry, I'm not stopping."

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. If your pussy could talk, it would be swoon right now. You took off your dress as Miguel removed his shirt. Sitting before Miguel in your underwear and bra, you were waiting for his orders.

"I've had you wait long enough. Lay down and spread."

You bit your lower lip and did what Miguel said. You were a little embarrassed since you knew your panties were soaked. You gasped as Miguel hovered over you, kissing you again as he took off your remaining clothes.

You arched your back, moaning into the kiss as Miguel started to rub your clit. His pace grew faster the wetter you got. Your body was getting hot and needy. Miguel's mouth was all over your neck, sucking and biting, leaving as many marks as he could.

"Hah~ Ah, M-Miguel~" You cried out, trembling in pleasure.

"Who do you belong too?"

"Ah~ Ah~ Y-You, You, Miguel!" You whimpered.

Miguel's fingers had dipped into your cunt, pumping inside of you at a fast pace. Tears had started to form, feeling the knot in your stomach about to burst. Right when you felt yourself about to cum, Miguel removed his fingers.

"M-Miggy! P-Please!" You begged.

You whimpered as you watched Miguel lick his fingers for the first time. His pupils were dilated and filled with lust. This was a first and new look. Miguel grunted as he took his pants off, revealing his dick, which seemed bigger than before.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

Miguel grabbed your legs, throwing them over his shoulder as he positioned himself. His breathing was irregular along with yours. Miguel's dick poking right at your entrance, begging to be let in. Begging to fuck you.

"Fuck, say it again." Miguel demanded, pinching your clit. You arched your back, squirming slightly,

"Miggy~"

With a sharp cry, Miguel slapped his hips into yours. Your body shivered as you cam from insertion. His dick slamming right inside you, stretching your gummy walls out. His tip smashed against your cervix.

Miguel grunted as he gave you no time to rest from your climax. His hips were rough as he slapped himself into you. His dick bullying your cunt with no remorse. You flung your head back, crying out in pleasure as Miguel's dick rammed into you.

"Miggy~ M-Miggy~"

---------

Miguel felt sweat roll down his forehead as he held your hips. Why did he have to wait so long for this? You were made for him. Your pussy was sucking his dick so well. The sloshing sounds it made as you cried his name. Everything was perfect.

Groaning lowly as you cam again, Miguel felt you squeeze around him so much. Webbing your hands to the bed post, Miguel kept focus on what he was doing to you. The rim of his dick around forming a white ring from your orgasms.

"Made just for me. My perfect match." Miguel grunted, fastening his pace as he felt his high coming, "Sucking my dick so well. You just want my child, don't you?"

"Yesh~ Y-Yes~" You cried.

Miguel felt his eye twitch as he slammed his hips into you, finally releasing his first load. After months of waiting, Miguel was finally breeding you. Slowly removing his dick just to admire his first work, Miguel cussed lowly.

"Perfect, but so wasteful. Do you want to disappoint me?" Miguel hissed, watching his cum drip out of you.

"N-No,"

"Then drink every last drop."

--------

You cried and whimpered as Miguel pinned you into mating position, fucking you relentlessly. His dick hitting your cervix, causing you to gasp and twitch with every thrust. Your cunt unable to stop wanting Miguel as he made his dick at home inside of you.

Your vision was starting to blur as your mind grew fuzzy. This was only something you could only dream of. Miguel's dick bullying your cunt. It felt so good. So right.

"Drink up."

"Mhm~"

Shivering, you moaned as you felt Miguel cum inside you once more. It was so hot. Taking a moment to catch your breathe, you slowly regained your vision as you looked up at Miguel. He had a wicked smirk as he looked down at you.

"M...Miggy~" You whispered tiredly. Miguel just chuckled,

"Awe, tired already? We've only just begun."

--------

Your face was pressed into the bedsheet as Miguel fucked you from behind. You could barely feel your body anymore since it was so sensitive. Each thrust made your body shiver and your pussy clench. You were so fucked out that you couldn't even think.

"My stamina outranks yours by a mile. It's only been an hour and you're tapping out already? Hm, I suppose I did go overboard for your first time," Miguel muttered.

"Mhpm~ Ah~" You moaned, cumming hard as Miguel slapped his dick into you a bit harsher.

"My mating instincts have finally passed as well. Just don't expect any rest any time soon. You will be caring my child. The future of humanity."

You just babbled nothing but nonsense as Miguel gave you one last load. Unable to keep yourself awake, you felt yourself knock out.

---------

Miguel sighed as you fell asleep. He turned you around, watching the mess of a work he did. He definatly went overboard, but you had to get pregnant. Fixing you on the bed, Miguel lifted your hips and legs up against the bed frame, wanting to make sure his cum stayed inside of you.

"Lyla, keep track on (Y/N)'s health. I want any updates of bodily changes."

"Yes sir, also your suit is ready."

"Hm, I suppose tonight is a great night to start my reign of terror. While I'm out, I want you to start transferring all of (Y/N)'s information and paperwork to this address."

"You haven't told her that she will be living here,"

"(Y/N) will agree...and if she doesn't, I'll just fuck the idea into her."

"Understood."

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Next Chapter

@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs @miss-galaxy-turtle @oscarissac2099 @lazy-idate @lauraolar14 @safixiovi @migueloharacumslut @straw-berry-ghoul @daisy-artfield @sukunash0e @undf-stuff @iamperson12280 @nightingale1011 @reader-1290 @mcmiracles @keepghostly @marlyharper @jadeloverxd @daddyfroglegs @shoukanjo @cicithemess @babyprofessorsharkpalace

#miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel o'hara #miguel x y/n #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara

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acapelladitty · 4 months ago

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Batman: Arkham Session #1

Summary: After an incident at work, Edward Nashton is assigned to Dr. Jonathan Crane for psychological assessment. A decision which places both men in the firing line.

One half of an exchange with the incredible @skxtchyghost who has the absolutely amazing art half of this little encounter here!

Fic Masterlist /// Link to A03

From the moment he laid eyes on him, Jonathan Crane could tell that Edward Nashton would be less than an ideal patient. From the way that he lounged carelessly in his chair to his casual gaze which swept along the many achievements and objects which littered the walls of Jonathan's office.

Every inch of the lanky frame screamed difficult and Jonathan found his mood worsening as he shifted past the meagre introductions which had been shared.

Jonthan flicked his eyes over the notes he had been provided from the incident report as his left hand rose to adjust the bolo tie which hung loosely around his throat.

"You destroyed a workstation in a fit of," Jonathan lifted the top sheet of paper from his clipboard as he quoted the report directly, "obvious rage while using considerably inappropriate language. These are not the actions of a rational man."

Unapologetic, Edward spread his hands in a wide gesture as a defensive smile stretched across his lips.

"I'm the only rational man in this city."

"Oh?"

Really having a limited interest in whatever nonsense Edward was about to spout, Jonathan made a quick note on his clipboard - ready to simply diagnose him with some asinine anxiety disorder and throw some medication at him to quell the worst of his obvious symptoms.

"The others are so willing to ignore the corruption," Edward continued with a growing irritation, "how unbearably stupid and foolish the criminals that rule this city choose to be."

"Harsh allegations."

"Only because the evidence is routinely destroyed. Weeks of work erased in an instance because a particular name would rather not be associated with the actions investigated." His tone snappy, Edward was clearly not at peace with his treatment and Jonathan frowned at the sudden emotional outburst. "Weeks! Good work. No recognition. Only a sharp reminder that our job is to catch real criminals."

"I can imagine the frustration."

Something in Edward's expression shifted and Jonathan tensed as he took in the change in body language, the immediate aggression which crawled into his leaning frame and clenching fists as Edward met his gaze without flinching. It was an open challenge and Jonathan would not back down as he accepted and adjusted his glasses to allow him to keep Edward's attention.

"You bore me. Don't feed me the words I want to hear, Doctor."

"Interesting. Do you see me as your enemy?"

Wary but slightly more interested in his patient, Jonathan asked the question with the smallest of smiles.

"Yes. Your work is as corrupted as mine even if your corruption comes from a more personal insistence."

Jonathan's blood ran cold.

"I do not know you, Mr. Nashton. Neither do you know me."

He couldn't know.

No one knew.

Especially not a jumped up technician from the GCPD.

No.

He was just fishing for information, attempting to claw back the control of the situation by fabricating infor-

"Your purchasing history is interesting, both online and in your role within this asylum." Edward grinned, his body language relaxing into something almost smug. "Meaningless to a layman, but a small touch of research and critical thinking goes to show just how dangerous the various chemicals and research papers you collect could be. Pair that with the increased reports of catatonia which patients under your care have been reduced to and we have something approaching a pattern."

"Mr. Nashton, these delusions do nothing to further yo-"

Rudely, Jonathan found himself cut off by a childish wave.

"Your business is your own and I have no reason to care for any of the degenerates in this building. My work is almost finished and I have my own important business to attend to. Where our paths cross is that I require a clean bill of health to leave my job with the appropriate supports in place."

Smiling widely, his glasses pushed tight against his eyes, Edward perched his fingers on the light-coloured vest which covered his shirt as his cheap shoes tapped a soft rhythm to the carpet. Opposite him, Jonathan felt much more uptight - the shift in dynamic having put his teeth on edge as the urge to regain control of the situation tempted him into dangerous territory.

"You're blackmailing me." Jonathan gritted out.

"If you choose to view it as such then yes. I choose to view it as a mutual exchange of services." Shrugging, Edward caught his hands between his knees. "You clear me, and I erase some of the more unsavoury purchases that you have unsuccessfully distanced from your name."

Seeing each other plainly, Jonathan abandoned any pretence of playing the game and his expression soured into open distaste, regarding Edward with contempt.

"And what guarantees do I have that you are speaking the truth? One word from me and you will be locked away with the worst that Gotham has to offer." Flashing a cruel grin, filled with yellowing teeth, Jonathan tilted his head. "I could have you in a shared cell which houses violence that would easily end a man like yourself."

"All my information is due to release at a specific time if I am not available to prevent it. Risk it all and see."

Reclining once more, Edward presented his hand before himself as he investigated his nails with a forced nonchalance.

"So, Doctor Jonathan Crane, how are we going to move past this?"

#i want them both carnally btw #edward nygma #riddler #Jonathan Crane #scarecrow #edward nashton #arkham games #arkham shadow #arkham origins #dc comics #batman

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mrsackermannx · 6 months ago

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trust me with it | choso kamo

choso has experienced so much of what it is to be human already, but you're slowly making him realise that he's far more human than he thought.

word count: 7k

tagging: (ya’ll interacted with my interact to be tagged post back in November🥺) @meownotgood @sixpennydame @tomuraslut @romantichomicide95 @cathybarn @c-h-e-r-r-i-e-s @whatthefucksatan @loveackermannn + @p00pdev1l (have to tag you my beloved <3)

tags: 18+ canonverse choso kamo x fem!sorcerer reader, minor manga spoilers, (nothing plot wise is mentioned other than yuuji and megumi reuniting/implied culling games arc/ post shibuya incident arc), loss of virginity (virgin choso) but still soft dom choso, corruption kink too I guess?? choso has a big dick, breeding kink, size kink, slight praise kink, belly bulge, unprotected sex, use of "human/little human," light love confession/confession of feelings-so sex with feelings? low-key self indulgent, not beta read, vvv intense sex, possessive/smitten choso (slightly yandere at the end??)

author’s note 💌: (nov 23): hope this isn’t a little too ooc, ive been dying to write something for choso and this came to me so i had to write it! virgin characters are my faves to write🤭(june 24): I HAVE HAD THIS SAT IN MY DRAFTS SINCE NOVEMBER AND WANTED TO SET IT FREE😭😭😭

Choso had been plunged into a world of the unknown from the moment he met you. Before you, he liked to believe that one hundred and fifty years of existence meant that his wisdom would always be the indispensable weapon against which he truly feared—the unknown, and the humanity of his heart.

He was hardly a stranger to continuous, repetitive loops of thought but it felt as if his brain had rewired itself. Not even his inner world was safe from the insatiable need to be near you, his own thoughts searched for you when they dared stray elsewhere.

He thumped the tile before him, hot water scalding his back as he willed his hopeless blood to answer him. It was acting on its accord all the time, his heart nothing but frenzied beating in his chest, not even his body in his own control anymore.

The need to be near you, to feel you and touch you in ways he couldn’t even explain was going to be his undoing tonight. Sharing a room with you seemed to send equal prickles of fear and excitement through him.

You reached out for your reflection in the glass as if you’d throttle it but chose to reach out and trail patterns against the window instead. You wrote nonsense for a few moments, before cursed energy started to zap through your fingertips in minute electric pulses. A shower normally reset you after a day like this, but you supposed this was a rather special circumstance.

You were glad to be alive even though you didn’t feel you deserved it and the weight of your fellow sorcerers still slugged down your shoulders. The responsibility for your students was an ever present taste in your mouth. You eyed your tattered uniform beside you, all too grateful for the hotel robe Choso had insisted you wear after he picked apart the suitcase left by the last guests. It was soft and fluffy, perfect for how light your body felt after your shower and admittedly around Choso.

You gripped your stomach, the guilt demanding to be free. Your head was still fuzzy from how hot you’d had your shower, as you’d yearned to wash away all that had happened. But that would be a dream, “Satoru, I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” you whispered, laying your forehead against the cool glass.

Thankfully the wailing vibrations of a nearby car alarm rattled through the glass and then your ears, dragging you from the dark edges of your mind.

You peered down below at the scene, squinting to figure out the cause of the chaos. Cackles of maniacal laughter followed sounds of crumbling concrete as your eyes darted from fire to fire. When one was extinguished another rose up in its place. Yet the neon lights of Tokyo still shone, a loyal audience and an ever present reminder of what life used to be like.

It was pure anarchy, like waking up from one nightmare and going right back into another. Yet the world was not ending and then starting again it just kept ending instead.

You weren’t sure what was worse, the hell out there, or the one in this room? Choso wasn’t quite sure either, he thought as much as he watched you intently from the doorway of the bathroom. He found he could often do so and never tire of it because there was a fluidity to your movements that calmed him, something that reminded him of water, like warm waves somewhere safe.

He liked that about you, he liked a lot about you.

You glanced at his reflection in the glass, and resisted smiling at how he watched you so attentively. Concern knitted his features into something soft and more approachable than the expression he usually showed everyone else.

He was so cute and serious all at once that it was infuriating. He towered over you in height and his hands dwarfed yours, every feature of his face was dark and perfect, and maddeningly symmetrical like he was crafted in heaven, like some kind of dark, beautiful, fallen angel.

But nothing about Choso was what you expected, that you learned early. He might have looked intimidating, but he was careful and patient, he stopped to admire flowers when he thought nobody was watching, he didn’t always say a lot, nor did he smile often, but he had an array of expressions that always managed to move you in some way.

You sighed. You resented how he’d managed to send the usually calm waves of your heart into a frenzy, a full blown tsunami.

But you couldn’t hate him, it was impossible. Not when every interaction you had together, you treasured so sincerely. You casted your mind back to just nights ago, when you were sitting together on a roof in some district, sharing konbini raided food together under the stars. He held his onigiri out to cheers with yours, a phantom smile on his lips before he took a bite.

Or when your hand brushed his as you were walking back and he frowned at how cold it was, clasping it immediately on instinct with his large, warm hand. You tried to shake his grip but he shook his head and clasped it tighter, urging you to keep up with his pace. You didn’t argue it any further.

Then just this morning after passing through what used to be a department store. You all but yelped when you felt something hook around your throat from behind. But a hand landing atop of your head quickly stopped your thrashing, “It’s just me.” You heard the glimmer of his smile, turning with one of your own.

He was still smiling, simply as if he was so fond of you that words were futile to express the depth. Your throat went dry as he adjusted the scarf on you, “I found this,” he murmured, before continuing ahead, turning to beckon you when you stood there frozen.

This person often acted without words and out of pure kindness and it baffled you. You knew what he had done and what he was capable of, but every wordless gesture, reassuring nod, and the warm brush of his fingertips against yours had you rethinking everything about love.

His deep voice settled through your body and calmed your rising nerves. He’d only said your name but it sounded like the unmistakable call to come home, it made you feel like a child again.

You were still standing at the window, then, he thought, no doubt thinking of other sorcerers, of Satoru, at least you knew Yuuji and Megumi were safe, only a few doors down.

“You should sleep,” he murmured, soft footsteps growing close until his body heat somehow billowed against your nape.

It was easier to face yourself than him right now, so you dared not meet your faces in the reflection staring back at you. “What are you thinking about?”

You wanted to speak but found yourself trembling, silent tears rushed to embrace your palms, staggering where you stood you tried to cover your eyes, but Choso was already there. You felt his strong arms lock around you, stilling the tremors that shook you. You stiffened at first before you melted, the hard pieces of you pooling to his feet like wax.

“What are you doing, Choso?”

“I felt like it was right,” he whispered, resting his chin upon your head. Instinctively his hands cupped your cheeks, swiping away the warm tears rolling there. “You stopped shaking.”

You couldn’t breathe now for entirely different reasons, being handled so tenderly seemed to make you even more tearful.

The commotion of the fighting in the distance seemed to unsettle you more, making Choso exhale suddenly through his nose. “I…wish you didn’t have to see that.”

Your lips parted, “I don’t want to think about anything anymore Choso,” you croaked. “I don’t want to think about anything.”

“Can you think about me?” he bashfully asked, stroking his hands through your hair. “I just want to help you.”

“I don’t want to burden you, just go to bed, okay?”

He stiffened against you, unhanding you to head over to bed.

“You don’t have to fight how you feel around me. I’m not one of your students.”

“I know.” You refused to let yourself crumble anymore around him, it was too dangerous, for so many reasons.

“We have to rest so we can fight,” he murmured. You turned to find him gesturing again to the space beside him. You sighed and he countered you with an even louder one. He crossed his arms as you smirked at the sound, “Don’t be stubborn. You need to sleep.”

His bluntness was something he did to lessen the burden of talking at times, but when he spoke to you it felt as if he did it to protect your heart. It was obvious he didn’t always know how he should say things before others, but with you it came easy.

You let out a bitter laugh, wrapping your arms around your cold body. “You know, Choso? The more time passes, I can see that you’re an older sibling.”

He decided to take that as a compliment, humming in gratitude before continuing to pat the empty space beside him. “Then listen, come here and sleep. You can’t sleep over there.”

He cocked his brow at you, “Can you?”

“Listen, I don’t care what Yuuji says, alright? I don't trust you.”

You immediately covered your mouth as if to take the projectiled words back. You turned back quick enough to see the frown on his face before it was gone before he impassively said, “At least trust him.”

Your eyes held each other's gaze until you refused to be lost in the beautiful unsurety of those dark brown eyes. So you stared back at the moon instead, wondering how you found time crumbling into nothing whenever you looked at him. You were trying to ignore the pangs of your heart, asking it why it had chosen now to fall for this half-human, half-curse you found so utterly captivating.

Even with your back to him the reflection of him was clear beside you, not willing to leave your side. He was wearing whatever clothes the last guests had left. A black t-shirt and some loose sweatpants, and his hair was loose and silky at his shoulders from his shower, and his skin was still flushed from it, too.

The image beside you, and the reality behind you caged you in, forcing you to face your true desires and the guilt that was tugging at your gut. He was innocently offering you space beside him to rest and your mind was everywhere else. You couldn’t ignore how seductive he sounded when he spoke this late at night, or how the sight of him reclining against the headboard with his thighs slightly spread like that was so sexually charged it was making your thoughts run wild.

Without his usual clothing you could see how thick his biceps were, and how broad his chest really was. You longed for him to touch you, to hold you, to explore you so he could learn what being human really meant.

His aura and general demeanour was so undeniably strong it had you wondering how much longer he’d play this game with you, and what he’d do to you if you gave him the opportunity. But a part of you also doubted that he felt that way about you, or anyone for that matter.

“It’s cold over there,” he pressed again, no malice at all, only concern. “Yuuji told me that I'm naturally warmer, it must be because my blood circulates differently…So, you really should come and sleep here next to me.”

You were freezing in your robe, unwilling to put your tattered uniform back on. So, you finally abandoned the window ledge, “What are you gonna do if I do?”

His face furrowed, “Whatever you want me to do,” he sounded more like he was asking. He'd been around you long enough to pick up on the slither of the nuance aching to be acknowledged.

“I’d rather not hear you complaining any more beside me though.”

“Whatever.”

He cracked you a half-smile, happy to see you finally listening to him, even if you were being a brat about it. “Good.”

You were sure you caught his gaze on your thighs as you neared the bed. You’d been chalking it up to him being curious, but the way his eyes had lapped over your bare skin tonight held something you could feel in your core.

“Do you think I don’t notice when you do that? Earlier, too?” you blurted.

His eyes darted to the door as if he planned to escape or as if Yuuji was about to burst in and declare that he room with him instead, rather than the tall black haired boy he’d been attached to the hip with since they reunited.

“I don’t want to fight with you. Yuuji respects you-“

He looked up at you, those dark eyes alight with something reminiscent of relief and perhaps yearning? His unwavering gaze sent flutters through you, it was like he was taking in every detail and leaving everything else alone.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d acknowledge my question at least.”

He pouted, noticing how your arms were tightly folded and how you were looking down at him with an indecipherable emotion. He hadn’t quite figured that one out yet, he thought, but he liked the look of it on you. It excited him somewhere, somehow.

“Choso?” Your voice was a soft, hypnotising hum whenever you said his name all honeyed like that.

His mouth went dry as he really took you in. How the moon was creeping in to illuminate your skin, drifting down your throat to where your blood pumped. He briefly questioned whether all of these feelings were because your blood was special? How was it that you glowed like the sun and the moon had gifted you their light? Why were you so attractive to him?

The bathrobe was much too big for you, the sleeves large and encasing your wrists, but it cinched in your waist. You had such an attractive shape, one that was so different to his own. He’d spent far too long trying to conjure up how you must look in his mind, but he could never form the image. Clothes were always in the way, taunting him, teasing him.

“Choso!”

“Yeah, yeah-“ His eyes widened as you closed the gap between you both, kneeling tentatively in front of him. He quickly brought his legs to his chest and turned away from you.

You scoffed, “You’re the one that wanted me over here so bad.”

Blood was thundering in his ears and his skin was burning so hot he feared he was about to explode into a thousand different pieces. He needed to hold himself together because he felt like if he looked at you he’d be doomed. Maybe his worst worries were true, he couldn’t be around humans like you, at his core he was nothing but a curse. What if you caused his body to show him yet another reaction? One that was weird? One you would hate?

“I know,” he mumbled, curling up on his side, he appeared to be shaking slightly, as he rocked his hips every few seconds. He was trying to elevate the pressure building in his lower half that was making him feel like he might burst. “I still do.”

You sighed, leaning over his body to assess his face. “Now you’re just worrying me.” You rested your hand on his forehead and he groaned.

“Why are you burning up like this? Were you not supposed to shower or something? I don’t see how you’re any different from us in that regard?”

He groaned into his fist, “Ever since I lost my brothers, and I met Yuuji. I've been feeling and experiencing things I never have before. I thought the worst and the best were over. But now, you?”

He was groaning like he was in pain. “I don’t think I can take it any longer.”

“Hey, calm down.” You bit your lip, “Take what? Should I get Yuuji?”

He quickly shook his head.

“Then I guess I’ll keep my eye on you tonight.”

The bed dipped beside him as you laid down, curling your body up like his. He froze, staring at you and your mouth, your lips looked so soft, he ached to touch them.

“Listen, I’m sorry for snapping at you. It’s not like I don’t trust you.” You paused, “You’re interesting, Choso. I’m just intrigued by you. I don’t know what you think of me, I guess that’s why I want to know why you stare at me like you do?”

His brows pinched together.

“Like earlier?”

“Was I?”

You nuzzled closer to savour the sweet treat of his scent. It was nothing and everything human all at once; sweet, and vaguely like metal.

“Maybe Yuuji hasn’t told you this…but like, you can’t just stare at people's bodies so obviously.”

“Their faces are better?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Got it,” he said slowly, but then he noticed you had nothing under your robe. He wondered if your nipples were hard because he could see goosebumps spreading over your skin.

His eyes settled on the space free from your robe. “And I…was staring at your body?”

“Yeah.”

Your eyes followed his, watching him grow more shameless by the second. With every doubt you had, a shaky breath or a small noise would escape him, that had you questioning if he felt the same desire for you. Seconds felt like minutes, as Choso allowed his gaze to roam freely of you, as you allowed him to.

“And…you don’t like that?” he whispered after what felt like forever, making your heart beat faster with all of these stolen whispers.

“You don’t like when I stare?”

Time slowed and all other sounds ceased to exist to him, he could hear every bat of your lashes, and every hesitant swallow. He was watching you so carefully he barely blinked. “I want you to tell me why.”

Then you did it, the thing that confirmed everything for him as you clenched your thighs together, ever so slightly. His own were locked firmly together, as he could feel something was happening there that he couldn’t explain. Maybe you were experiencing the same thing, he thought. He didn’t want to grapple with doubt when this might be the only time he had with you like this.

“It’s just not something you should do,” you finally replied, curt and crisp, but the way your voice shook suggested anything but. He could feel the heat emulating from you now. You were on fire, too, or at least he hoped you were, because he was finally at bursting point.

“I want to show you what you do to me. Do you want to see?”

Your lips parted to speak but before you could he was sitting up and gesturing to the thick bulge in his pants.

“This. This is mine,” he whispered, leaning in so his breath brushed your neck. “You know what’s happening to me, don’t you?”

You throbbed and pulsed for him, weakened by your desire. “You really are getting used to this whole human thing admirably fast. It’s endearing, honestly. You want sex and you’re already figuring it out?-“

“I don’t want to just get you pregnant-“

The tension broke with your laughter, “That’s not all sex is for, Choso. There’s many ways to do it, did you know that?”

“There’s another way?”

“Choso, if I show you, you can’t go around telling everybody, okay?”

“Is it special?”

“Not every time. But it can be. Shall I explain first?”

“Yes.”

“People have sex because it feels really good. When a man and a woman have sex, yes, they can produce life. But people have sex mostly because it feels good, are you understanding me here?”

He nodded, “It can be called fucking too. Sex is sometimes called fucking.”

He leaned closer with his eyes glued to your lips. “How did you know that’s what I wanted?”

You swallowed as he studied your face so intently, “Because you’re hard, right?”

He frowned in confusion, rushing to check his stomach, “Where?”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, “Oh you’re too sweet. Sit back.”

He let go of your hand and leant against the headboard awaiting your next move. You couldn’t help but wonder how long he could remain this composed?

You carefully lowered yourself on his lap, watching him wince, you knew it was because his cock was probably growing more sensitive by the minute. Due to his abilities, his blood was in a frenzy everywhere.

“You’re curious, aren’t you? About my body?”

Your words were all he needed for his body to act for him, as he reached and ripped your robe open and apart, “Choso,” you stammered, “you should have asked!”

His hand cupped your throat carefully, thumbing your thudding pulse point. “I knew you wanted that. Your heart has been beating like this since you laid down. You want to show me your body too, and you want me to touch it. Explore it. Don’t you?”

He smirked at you, and he looked so gorgeous it hurt.

“You want sex, don’t you? But are you sure you want it with me? I don't know what to do.”

You lifted his chin and smiled, making that primal part of him go even crazier, “It’s okay. I still want it with you, Choso.”

In the rush of the moment he suddenly realised what he wasn’t laying his eyes on, and he gasped as he finally did, though all to himself. “I can touch you?”

You nodded and he worked the robe down your arms, he was mesmerised, brown eyes glimmering in the low light. His breath growing heavier at the sight, “You’re so soft,” he stroked you so gently it turned you into mush. His hands rose up and down the dips of your curves, over and over as he appreciated the unique shape of you. It seemed like he wanted to commit your every breath to memory.

“You’re beautiful,” he said under his breath as he cupped your breasts, rubbing your nipples with his thumbs. “They’re so beautiful…You’re so beautiful.”

He leaned forward to rest his face in your breasts, locking a hand with yours. As he listened to your frenzied heart and toyed with your nipple, mesmerised by your body.

You ran your fingers through his hair and he moaned softly, pulling away to touch and grab at you all over again. His eyes locked on yours, watching the way you were getting worked up from his every touch. He noticed how much faster your heart beated when his hand stroked down your centre and neared lower. So he paused at your abdomen.

“You’re…exquisite.” His eyes were in yours like they always were, intense and full of anticipation. “Here, this part of you too.” He was flushed all the way up to his ears. “What do I call it?”

You smirked, “My stomach?”

He was trembling, trying to contain himself. Shaking his head, he asked a wordless question. You smiled, and he took that as assurance to venture further, cupping the hot heat between your legs. “You look so pretty like this, when I’m touching you here,” he whispered, watching your teeth sink into your lip as your arousal drowned his fingertips.

“My pussy? You’re touching my pussy,” you whispered. “Do you like it?”

He nodded eagerly, “This is where I put mine?”

“Do you want to?”

He nodded again, “Can I…look at it? Closer?”

“You can do what you want with it, Choso.” You cupped his face, leaning close. “I want you to do whatever feels natural to you.” You kissed along his jaw as you spoke, he quivered at each one.

“I think you’re more human than you give yourself credit for. A curse might have had its way with me by now and I know you must be bursting to try these new things as they come. So we’re going to do something special first.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna kiss. Kissing is done in all kinds of ways, you kiss your family on the cheek, normally. You kiss lovers on the lips. You kiss people you have sex with on the lips. It feels really good. Got it?”

“You’re going to show me though, aren’t you? You’re going to lead me.”

“Yeah, you ready?”

He nodded, “We’ll close our eyes, and then I’m gonna kiss you, got it? My lips will touch yours, and then you’ll let nature take its course from there. Don’t worry about being too rough with me,” you eyed his hands that were now resting at his sides, “You won’t hurt me. I’m a sorcerer, remember? It would take a lot to do that.”

“Then come here and give me your lips.” He tugged your mouth onto his, your lips meeting his eager ones, you thought he’d need a second to adjust to the sensation, but in a single second you were being slammed down onto your back. He clutched your face in his hands so he could kiss you without any distractions, it felt like he’d never let go. Everytime you moaned, he would too, like every kiss bonded you closer together.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting years for this, rutting his clothed cock into your naked, wet centre. You slid your tongue against his and he started to grunt, and his skin grew so hot against yours you wondered if he might set you both alight.

He was quick, and eager, pulling away to rip away his shirt, but earnest as he grabbed and then placed your hands on him. You made sure he felt your desire too, kissing all over him, finding that sensitive place just under his ear to suck and kiss. But then he was fighting you, just so he could kiss down your throat to get your tits once more, learning and learning. “I can kiss anywhere?”

“Yeah,” you moaned.

His eyes darkened with lust as he gripped both your breasts, running his teeth all over them and sucking until your blood rose to the surface in the shapes of his lips.

“I saw a lifetime when I saw you. I saw you, and I felt it all. I thought that was your technique, that you were going to lure me in and kill me with your beauty. I was wrong. Thank you for giving me your body. Trust me with it.”

He was gasping against your skin, running his hands up and down like you were about to disappear. And if his words were intense, his actions were even more so. “I want to kiss you forever.”

You had no idea what to reply to him right now, but there was something so beautiful about how direct he was, he loved his brothers, he knew of emotions, like love and admiration. He knew what he felt for you and he could put it into these words.

Falling for this man was hardly unusual when what you felt was so real.

“I trust you, Choso. I want you to kiss me for as long as you want to.”

“I can kiss here then?” he said, throwing your thighs over his shoulders as he gripped your hips and leered at your pussy.

“It’s so wet,” he hummed in awe, before he closed the space and kissed it. He let out such a loud groan you had to shush him, but then that was just it. He was sucking all over so your juices could dance through his taste buds. He was licking and sucking on your pussy with so much zeal you were surely louder than he was.

Choso was learning fast. He knew that you surely couldn’t be this wet like this all the time, he gathered it was because your body was readying itself to take him. Which also meant you wanted to take him, he wanted to take you. He’d yearned for you, he’d adored you. He adored this.

“I could do this forever,” he moaned, the grip bruising on your hips, as he locked you firmly in place so he could explore you. “Those noises of yours. Don’t stop. You won’t stop. I’m telling you not to stop them.”

“Yes Choso!”

He never thought the sound of his name could taste so sweet. He was groaning into you, sucking and licking until your swollen clit rubbing against his lips caught his attention. You prayed he’d be gentle as he spread your lips and looked at you, awaiting your reaction as he gave it a softer flick of his tongue. You shuddered so sweetly, squeezing his shoulders and tugging on his hair.

“That’s a sensitive part of you, isn’t it?” He chuckled to himself, a grin on his lips, “My sensitive little human.”

Your eyes widened at the words and he watched as more slick oozed from your throbbing sex. He laughed again, the deep sound reverberating deep in your core, he was so beautiful, so hypnotising. He brushed the hair from his eyes and kissed along your thighs, still keeping you spread.

“I’ll be gentle with you. I won’t break you unless that’s what you want.”

The pleasure you were experiencing from a half-human half-curse should have been illegal, it probably violated some sorcery law somewhere but you didn’t care. Not when he was somehow saying and doing everything to make you tick.

He kept licking and sucking until he found what you liked, and noticed the way you were shaking, the way your thighs were squeezing him tight so he didn’t stop. You gripped his hair, moaning his name as you came, the sweet taste filling his mouth until you had to forcibly push him away.

“Don’t keep your sweetness from me. That was all mine,” he grunted, travelling up your body with kisses. He took your face in one hand, his voice softening as he looked at you beaming in your afterglow, “Did I give you too much? Can’t take anymore of me?”

You shook your head, barely able to catch your breath. “You made me feel so good, Choso, you gave me an orgasm. That’s important in sex, to give your partner orgasms, it’s what just happened.”

His thumb rubbed your lower lip, marvelling at the subtle mark he’d left from biting it earlier, and he smiled, “So you keep stimulating your partner until they can’t take anymore, releasing themselves on you.”

“You catch on fast.”

He grinned, kissing you deeply as he rutted himself into you. “Show me what to do,” he said breathlessly. “I need you, now.”

“Fuck Choso your cock, I can feel it.”

You started to tug down his sweatpants, taking the time to admire how broad and built he was, he really was no different from a human at all. He moaned with every press of your lips on his skin, he’d made them so swollen, kissing and biting on them like he was ravenous.

You released his cock from the confines of his pants and gasped, frozen at the sight. “Are you scared of me? Is it different?”

“No, it’s amazing…” you licked your lip, “It’s just so big.”

The warm weight of his hand landed on your stomach, he rubbed there, reassuring whilst also obviously trying to calculate this himself, “But you want it, don’t you?” he murmured, soft, “So we can make it fit, can’t we? We have enough of this together.”

He was so clumsy as he touched himself it made your heart swell, gathering the slick that was pooling down his cock. He took it, and made sure to cover your pussy in it, pausing when his finger slipped inside of you with ease. But then you moaned so deliciously he found his jaw growing slack, eager to keep pleasing you.

“That’s why you’ve got this little hole haven’t you? It stretches to fit things inside, so it’s going to fit me inside like it’s doing right now.”

You quickly nodded, beyond fucked out by this man as he continued to stuff his precum into your pussy. “Yes Choso.”

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he grunted, stuffing in more of his fingers to fuck you even better. “Naked and free.”

“You can put it in now, Choso. It’ll fit. I want it.”

“Because you want me don’t you?”

“Yes Choso.”

You watched him, gripping the base of himself and aligning his heavy cockhead to your opening. His face was lost in pleasure, lost to every sensation, he was beautiful like this too, you thought.

“Only me?”

“Only you, Choso.”

“Then let me see everything,” he whispered against your forehead, large hands folding you and spreading your thighs wide. “You’re so beautiful. I want to see it all.”

“Please be gentle,” You whimpered, feeling him start to push in, you braced yourself, hanging on to him tight.

He groaned into your cheek as he felt resistance from you, no matter how good you felt he’d rather die than hurt you. “Is there another way?”

“Lie down.”

He did as you said, watching in awe as you were quick to straddle him, oozing slick all over his thighs. You still wanted him just as much as he wanted you and that excited him to no end. Even if he was a challenge and clearly more than you were used to.

You hovered as you aligned yourself with his cock, and he moaned as you finally touched him. And as you sunk yourself onto his cock he gripped your hips so tight you yelped, before your voice melted into a moan in unison with his.

“More,” he whimpered, as you stopped halfway, panting at the sensation. “Let me in.”

“Trying, Choso.”

“I want to feel all of you. All of your pussy.” His voice was low, and close to breaking as you throbbed on him.

“That’s it,” he stroked his thumbs in comforting circles, “Are you going to let me feel you?”

You quickly nodded, teeth sunk into your lip. His voice was as arousing as his cock, “Give me a minute, Choso. I can do it.”

“Does it hurt?”

You nodded and he pondered for a moment before he took his thumb to your clit, rubbing until you moaned. Then slowly, naturally, as if your body was melting into his, you made your way down the thick inches of him.

“You’re doing good, so good for me. You can take all of me inside. You’re strong.” He was so out of his mind he didn’t even know what he was cooing to you, but he just wanted to put you at ease.

“You pretty little human. Taking my body like this because you want your pussy fucked? Right? You like my cock inside you? Stretching you out?”

“Choso!” You groaned as he fully bottomed out, hands landing on his shoulders for support. “I love it, you feel so good. You’re making me feel so good.”

He whined at your words before composing himself, his lips trailing down your skin. “I am? Are you too weak now? Do you need me to help you feel good? Yuuji said you were a good teacher. He was wrong,” he taunted, kissing the side of your face as he gripped you.

His hands sunk into your ass as their final resting place, appreciating the softness there too, “You need to show me what to do, just once.”

“I can’t,” you whined, tears of pleasure flowing down your cheeks at how full you were. “Look at yourself. Your cock is so big.” You breathlessly gestured to your stomach.

His eyes widened as he pushed his palm onto your belly, feeling how deeply he was penetrating you, “You have to use me and make yourself feel good. That’s all, Choso.” You barely managed your words, eyes barely open as the pleasure he was giving you threatened to break you apart.

“I understand. Leave it to me,” he groaned, kissing your neck, as he started to move you off and on his cock, “We move together until we orgasm. You’ve never had a cock like mine so you can’t move, huh?”

He experimentally snapped his hips into yours and you whimpered so loudly he soon followed. Although he knew nothing of what was lewd and what wasn’t, he somehow knew that the sound you’d made was nothing but filth and that he’d done something you’d desperately needed.

He did it again and again, until he was drilling up into you and delighting in all of the sounds you were making, gasping from how good you felt. “Choso, your cock feels so good inside. It’s the best.”

“Then you never need another one, if only I make you feel this good. No other cock will ever feel the same,” he grunted, “You’re mine now, you beautiful woman.”

You kissed him messily in reply, barely able to form words as he fucked up into you until you were shaking and moaning into his mouth because you were coming all over him. “Then you’re mine, Choso. I showed you this, how to feel good. It won’t feel good if another human do-“

You gasped as his hand slammed over your mouth and you were on your back once more. He was folding you whilst holding back on finishing in minutes and he didn’t even know how impressive that was.

“Don’t say it. I don’t want another human near me like this. Only you. I told you, I saw you. I saw everything. I know that I’m different. But I can fuck you better, I know I can. You like what I’m doing to your body. I know, I know, I know, you do,” he chanted as he groaned into you, balls smacking hard against you as he ravaged you.

All you could do was hold tight and brace yourself as you whimpered.

“Mine, mine, mine. So, so, beautiful,” he grunted.

Tears pricked your water lines at the intensity, you felt so loved, and safe in his embrace like this.

You could feel him twitching inside of you, and you could see him holding back. “When you orgasm, Choso. Your cum will be different, it will be messier than mine.”

“Is that the stuff that breeds you? It’s going to shoot inside you, isn’t it?” he stammered. “You don’t want it? How do I control it?”

“You can’t, but that’s okay, I won’t get pregnant, I take something for that. So when you feel like it’s getting too much, give in. You can let go. You’ve already done so well.”

“I can fill you up with my seed?” He stretched your arms above you to take both your hands in a single clasp, cupping your chin with the other.

“Look at me. Why won’t you get pregnant? Because I’m not fully human?”

There was a sadness in his eyes, but it was being blown out completely by his desire.

Why was this man so hot without realising it? His brow as all furrowed, his face flushed, fucking you so hard it was now dawning on you how loud you both were being. “It’s a pill I take,” you moaned as he slammed into that spot inside that had you creaming on him again. “I-I told you.”

“Then I’ll pretend,” he grunted, gripping your hips hard as he fucked into you like he was trying to breed you.

“Like I’m going to fuck my seed into you so I can keep you forever. No man can have you if you’re filled with me.”

“I want your cum, Cho!”

“I know you do! You’re a needy little human taking my cock even though it’s too big for you, wanting my cum to fill up your pretty little hole.”

“I want it, I want it,” you moaned into his ear, wrapping your arms around him tighter. Your voice only made it worse, he pinned you down even harder, kissing and licking up your tears.

He was whimpering now, all of the pressure building in his core, he could feel it, the very sensation you were talking about. “You’re lucky I haven’t split you in two with my strength. But you take it, you take me in your pussy, waiting for every last drop of me.”

The loud smacks of his hips on yours were no louder than your sounds. He was fucking you like he’d never get the chance again.

“I wish I could breed you. Then everyone would know, I’d know. That you’re mine, all mine,” he was rambling as he came, holding you tight with his tongue down your throat.

You felt the insane amounts of cum spurting inside of you until the noises were so lewd it was near comical. Until there was so much cum he was slipping out of you and coming all over your stomach and the sheets too. Your name laced in every breath.

He groaned out your name, falling into your arms so could put him back together again. You kissed wherever you could, praising him through your breathlessness. You both rested for several of these precious moments. It seemed like the night had finally calmed outside of the hotel too, as had you both, after purging what had been brewing between you both since you’d first laid eyes on each other.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he asked, running his lips across your jaw.

“No, not at all.” You continued to soothe him, running your hands through his hair. “But now we have a whole lot to talk about. I wouldn’t normally fuck someone so soon that I saw a future with.”

He made a little hmph sound, “Why?”

“It normally comes after getting to know someone.”

“We’ll have all the time in the world for that,” he said gently, flipping you below him as he caged you beneath him.

“Won’t we?” he urged, folding up your thighs as he guided himself back inside. His voice was desperate all over again. “So,” he leant close, his lips brushing yours. He tried to resist, but gave in to taste your lips, taking the time to kiss you with so much unbridled affection it made your chest hurt. Before he finally spoke again, “So, stay alive for me, and I will for you.”

©mrsackermannx: do not repost, plagiarise, translate or modify my works.

#choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #choso x reader smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #calling all my choso fuckers!!!!!#I’ve had this in my drafts for so long 😭😭😭

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theskit · 2 years ago

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Sticker AU

Important!!!

Direct linking gets rid of the readmore cuts!

If you came here via direct link, or wish to use the direct links to another part of the story, and DO NOT want to spoil the surprise stickers, please click on my blog name to go to the actual post after using the link.

Part 8

《Prev Next》

Once Tim, Bruce, and Damian had returned from patrol Saturday night, it hadn't taken long to catch on that they'd all had an encounter with a mysterious, sticker wielding stranger.

It still sent a small wave of humor through Tim to recall how Bruce had looked, walking through the cave with a sticker proclaiming how many 'goodies' his utility belt had before he'd used an anti-adhesive spray to remove it and the rest of the 'evidence' without risking its destruction.

Damian was still quite adamant that the sticker placed on his katana sheath belonged to him, regardless of if it went with the rest of them into an evidence folder or not.

Pooling their information hadn't resulted in much of a physical description. Tim himself hadn't seen them at all while 'young with blue eyes and dark, possibly-black hair' and 'a sensed presence approximately equivalent to a 12 year old Dick or 14 year old Tim' was not exactly a unique description. Also, he did not need yet another reminder that he was shorter than any other Robin of the same age, thank you, Bruce.

Bruce *had* managed to bring back two blood samples that, while proving a match to each other, were stubbornly refusing to match with much *else*. Including normal human DNA.

The samples somehow had an incredibly mangled DNA strand. Some of it seemed to be *missing* or appeared to be merged with something that the batcomputer outright refused to identify on the first scan. Or the second. The third spit out a partial match to *Lazarus Pit water*. At which point the samples, which had degraded at an exponentially fast rate, were no longer considered by the computer to be a viable DNA sample to analyze.

They couldn't even definitively say the person in question *had* a meta gene, regardless of the odds being in favor of it, (or extremely good stealth tech no one had ever even heard of before) what with the, the, swiss cheese *nonsense* of a DNA strand the analysis had spit out! If the sample on the sticker didn't pull the same results as the ground-collected sample, Tim would have bet money on it being corrupted with something to prevent identification on purpose.

As it was, if the person those blood samples belonged to was not an incredibly sick individual, given the DNA irregularities and the sheer speed of degradation, Tim would be very surprised.

Or they possibly had ties to the League of Assassins, with the partial Lazarus Pit match, though admittedly, the light-heartedness of the stickers made that an incredibly low chance.

This discovery had not proven helpful in getting Bruce to calm down about a young, possibly ill, possibly LoA-adjacent, probably-meta child running around Gotham in the middle of the night, stealing from and pranking every vigilante they came across. The fact that Damian was almost as fixated on finding the child as Bruce came as somewhat more of a surprise, considering. All he would say on the matter was that the level of stealth displayed was quite admirable and worth investing in. Like they needed *more* assassin-trained children running around.

Ugh.

Alfred had eventually been forced to banish both of them upstairs to rest, giving Tim a look that he was choosing not to interpret at the moment. Tim was fine, it hadn't even been *that* long since he'd last slept.

Besides, disregarding the dead-end of the blood samples, there was more than enough information yet to be sorted through.

On top of trying to comb through any possible camera footage in the areas around the incidents, the hotel the sample was found at provided marginally more information. If you counted finding out that a large ghost hunting convention had been scheduled for the long weekend and most of the hotels around the area were booked with *hundreds* of non-local participants to then check up on as a positive information gain. They couldn't even say the hotel the blood samples were found at was the hotel the person in question was staying in. They only knew for certain that it was where the communicator had stopped working.

Plus, the strange way the signal had wavered before cutting out, and the way some of the cameras he had been checking showed nothing but static, pointed to a possibly quite sophisticated piece of jammer technology. Which brought back up the stealth tech option and *more* investigations into where it could have been obtained and who could be producing advanced tech like that.

At least that made the stickers make marginally more sense if they were bought at or created for the convention, though he had already tried to do an online search for the stickers and come up empty handed.

Batman and Robin would be heading out later that evening to see if they could find any new leads or possibly encounter the sticker kid again while Tim continued to track and filter information in the cave.

Stretching a bit and taking a large swig from the not-exactly-Alfred-approved cup of coffee he'd smuggled in, Tim cracked his knuckles and got back to work.

Danny was perfecting his thousand-yard stare off into the distance as his parents corralled yet another poor sap into debating ghosts with them when Jazz swung by the booth to check in. "Hey, Danny. How's it going?"

Danny slowly turned his head to look at her with an expression of immense suffering as he slid a sticker over to her.

Taking a peek at what she'd been handed, Jazz snorted a laugh. "Fair's fair, little brother. Yesterday was my day at the booth, today's yours. Chin up! At least we'll be taking it down and packing it up tonight and tomorrow we can just wander around for the last bit of the convention before we leave."

Danny sighed, "Yeah, at least there's that," he responded glumly. Hopefully, tonight's vigilante adventure would make up for this...

@mygood-bitch99 @stargazer-luna @easily-broken-by-emotion @dolfay @britcision @cyber-geist @is-this-even-relatable @alcorbearson @fisticuffsatapplebees @thegatorsgoose @my-mom-calls-me-rat @some-rotten-nest @crystalqueertea @meira-3919 @wandererofthestars @seraphinedemort @bjurnberg @blep-23 @stargirl1331 @bianca-hooks123 @addie-lover-of-stories @pickleking8 @iconicanemone @sarina-elais @mur-ururu @sailor-goddess @dragonfirefeather @nutcase8691 @ravenpainter @liandrin @jaguarthecat @russetfur1128 @purefrickingspite @oakskull @idfk-man10 @vythika96 @molasses-being-slow @satisfactionbroughtmeback @serasvictoria02 @tkiesai @breesperez139 @dhampir-princess @redhoneysugarorange @gildedphoenix @iglowinggemma28 @f4nd0m-fun @therandomartmaker @mandyne-1001

#dpxdc #theskit writes #Stickers AU #danny makes his own stickers :3 #and now danny is running around gotham like a gremlin #with a pocket full of homemade stickers #whatever will he do with them? 😈

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thewertsearch · 4 months ago

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AA: there was another half by scourge in two parts AA: one part three symbols AA: and the other AA: five AA: why the scale was tipped in this way between sisters AA: i cannot say!

Well, Bec's code was originally implanted in a Seer, so maybe Terezi’s brain is just better-suited for carrying gene sequences. It is one of the most obviously cerebral classes.

Four codes, each born from a separate Vriska Incident.

This is why Scratch was egging Vriska on so much. He was contributing to his own creation.

AA: each fragment would be transcribed in our rulebooks AA: sealing the collaboration between rust bloods and blue bloods AA: completing the code for our sessions architect

I still can't tell if each code is a fragment of MEOW, or if MEOW is only one of the four sequences that created Scratch. I certainly hope it's the former, because if Scratch's MEOW has been tampered with, his abilities might differ from those of a normal First Guardian. We'll have no idea what he's truly capable of.

This isn't the first time I've been confused by Scratch's origins, either. There's a small discrepancy in the comic, concerning the nature of the cueball he was (presumably) spawned from. I haven't brought it up before, but since this scene appears to leading into Scratch's creation, it may be my last chance to speculate.

So - the cueball. The magical little orb that Scratch is a dead ringer for. Barring the surprise introduction of a second white sphere in this infodump, it's the only item in the comic which would create a cueball-headed First Guardian. Franky, if he's not made from the thing, it just raises further questions, and I think it's essentially confirmed.

And it makes sense, doesn't it? The cueball can answer any question, so it clearly has access to some wellspring of absolute knowledge. Clearly, it's the reason for Scratch's omniscience... right?

Well, no! That's the problem! The cueball's omniscience is completely redundant, because the MEOW code already contains an omniscience gene!

According to the Scratch loredump, any 'intelligent' host for the MEOW code will be granted near-omniscience. Scratch didn't need the cueball, provided his humanoid component was sufficiently clever. Considering Scratch's own analytical personality, this was obviously the case.

Like - you get what I'm saying, right? Scratch's omniscience has two completely independent origins. It's an extremely strange discrepancy, and I'm not sure what it could mean.

The best theory I currently have is that Scratch arranged this himself, to give himself an advantage. Maybe having two sources of omniscience makes him even more knowledgeable than his peers? It would be very Homestuck for some characters to be 'more omniscient' than others.

AA: there was another fragment […] AA: an additional eight symbols AA: from a wild card source i suppose AA: it came from a timeline not meant to happen

Wh- Gamzee interfered in the creation of Scratch?

...fuck.

This is why Scratch is so uniquely malevolent - because Gamzee injected some foreign DNA into his sequence, creating a mutant First Guardian, with motives transcending the planet he was ostensibly made for.

I suddenly understand jack shit - but there's one thing I am sure of, and that's who to blame. A powerful, neutral Sgrub NPC was corrupted into joining the cult of English, and he has to be the one pulling the strings here.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #3603 #s139 #TAVROS. TEREZI. THIS IS NOTHING TO SMILE ABOUT

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pandorxxx · 1 year ago

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Same page

Jake (avatar) x omatikayan fem reader (reader is in her early 20’s.)

Warnings: Cursing, p in v, orgasms, creampie, mentions of rough sex (bruises, dirty talk), smacking, Jake being a dilf, Tummy bulge.

Synopsis: Jake was an honest guy, a great leader, an amazing warrior, and loved by all. However, he has a terrible secret that you just won’t seem to let him live down. What will he do to keep you quiet?

Jake was always a pretty straight forward, honest man. After all, he was the leader of his own clan. Everyone loved, and adored him. He was always a great leader, and a helping hand. He had the perfect family, the perfect clan to run, and the perfect life. Or so it seemed.

It’s safe to say that everyone makes mistakes, everyone slips up once in a while. But jakes mistake was almost career ending. The people wouldn’t forgive him, his family wouldn’t forgive him, and your parents wouldn’t forgive him either.

This incident happened about a year ago. It was jakes birthday, and his warriors threw him a grand surprise party. There were food and drinks, maybe too many drinks. And once the party was over, and Jake was too drunk, he accidentally stumbled into your hut, and made the worst possible decision.

It wasn’t until he woke up to you serving him breakfast that he had realized the gravity of the situation. What made it even worse was that, you were completely swoon by him now. Some would even say crazily obsessed. You’d watch him train warriors from the trees, and watch as he’d embrace his wife as a normal husband would. But God, did it make your fucking blood boil.

You wanted to play it cool. You weren’t the type to blackmail or anything, but you were becoming a mad woman. You needed a hit of him again, and at this point, you’d do anything to get it.

“Just like that, chin up!” Jake directed as he paced slowly to make sure every warrior was holding their bow correctly.

“Good, Good! Hold it.” He commanded, standing in place as his huge arms crossed against his chest, eyeing every warrior in his sight. It wasn’t long until he heard faint steps behind him. He turned around to be met with your tiny figure, and his eyes almost bulged out of his scull.

“Bows down!” He commanded. The warriors immediately listening. “Uh, we’ll wrap this up tomorrow kids! Go on, dismissed! Enjoy your night.” He spoke nervously as he waved the warriors off. Once there were no more in sight, he grabbed your arm, pulling you to a nearby tree.

“What are you doing, y/n?” He asked in a surprisingly calm tone, considering you had been stalking him for a year now. But Jake always prided himself on being a patient man.

You smiled up at him, rubbing circles into his sides. Making him squirm under your touch. “I just wanted to see you. Is that ok?” You pouted, but he knew what game you were playing with him.

“What do you want, little one? You shouldn’t be here. You’ll get me in trouble.” He spoke lowly, holding your wrists in one of his large hands so that you couldn’t touch him anymore.

“You know what I want, sir.” You spoke sensually, eyes falling to his loincloth in wonder. He snapped his fingers, signaling for you to look him in the eyes, and you obliged.

“Never again. Do you hear me? You’re as old as Neteyam. This is not right.” He shook his head, looking around the forest nervously.

“One more time, and I’ll leave you alone. I know you were drunk the first time, and you probably don’t even remember. But I promise, I can fuck you so good. Way better than your wife.” You rambled, eyeing him up and down hungrily.

“Hush! You don’t know what you’re saying. I-I’ve corrupted you. And I feel horrible about it, I really do. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry y/n.” He confessed, looking into your eyes. However, you weren’t looking for an apology.

“Don’t apologize. I loved every minute of it. The things you did to me, the things you said. The love bites you left. I’ve never been fucked like that in my life.” You whined, bottom lip finding refuge in between your teeth.

“Wait. Things I said? W-What did I say to you?” He asked in a confused tone, his eyebrow cocked as he awaited an answer. You sighed happily, thinking back to that night, as you often did.

“How I was better than Neytiri. How tight my pussy was. How pretty I was. How well I took your fat fucking cock, how-“ you went to continue but he placed his large hand over your mouth.

“Fuck, enough.” He strained, removing his hand from your mouth. You smirked up at him, your tail swaying behind you in anticipation.

“And don’t get me started on the bruises you left on me. Didn’t know I was so into pain until you came around. Now I only want you to hurt me.” You smiled, running a hand down his chiseled abs.

“I hurt you? How?” He asked. Jake was completely oblivious. He wasn’t a stranger to sex, especially with his nympho of a wife. But he couldn’t recall ever hurting Neytiri in the way that he hurt you.

“You were just alittle…rough. But don’t worry. I’m a big girl. And I want it again.” You spoke, grabbing the band of his loincloth. He instinctively grabbed your wrists quickly, stopping all advances.

“I’m not- I can’t do this.” He spoke nervously, running his hands through his hair. You went in, kissing his chest shamelessly.

“Just one more time, please? You can’t fuck me how you did, and just leave me hanging JAKE. I need it, dammit!” You snapped, stomping your foot in anger.

“God, keep your fucking voice down!” He strained, backing you into the tree with one little push, holding you there with one finger.

“I-I’ll do it. But this is the LAST time, you hear me? I don’t wanna hear about this ever again.” He commanded, ripping your loincloth off in anger. He was just ready to get this over with. His entire plan was to give you the most intense fuck of your life, so that you wouldn’t come back to him. Good plan, right?

“I promise! I promise I won’t talk about it again!” You nodded excitedly, eyes bulging out of your scull in excitement. He shook his head in frustration.

“How do you want it?” He asked, getting harder by the second. He was a man at the end of the day, and you were very beautiful.

“Like last time.” You spat, running your hands up his arms. He let out a sigh of frustration, placing his hands on the bark behind you.

“I don’t remember last time, honey. You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, hmm?” He titled his head, peering down at you as he awaited an answer.

You chuckled into your hand like a nervous young girl who was talking to her crush for the first time. He pulled your hand away from your mouth gently.

“No, you can’t get scared on me now. Tell me how I had you. What, was it from the back? Front? Side? In what way was I fucking you to have you so damn obsessed, tell me.” He whispered in your ear, sending shivers down you spine. You let out a soft whimper at his words, so ready for him to take you as his.

He began to kiss your neck gently, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. His large hands found refuge on your plump ass, squeezing it gently as he let out a low groan in satisfaction.

You could feel the waterfall pooling from in between your legs. You could also feel his large bulge pressing against your lower abdomen, thumping against your skin in anticipation for what’s to come.

You reached around lazily, untying his loincloth from around his hips. Once it fell, his cock sprung up, hitting his lower abdomen with a very loud, and heavy slap. Oozing precum trickling down his huge shaft, and all the way to his warm sack.

“Pick me up, sir.” You spoke nervously, standing on your tippy toes to wrap your arms around his neck. He smiled down at you, immediately obliging.

He held you up in the air. Giving your plump ass a nice smack. “Mmm, so this was how I had you.” He whispered against your lips, before kissing you passionately. You grabbed the sides of his face to deepen the kiss. His lips were soft yet skilled. Completely taking over as his tongue explored your mouth.

He deemed it the perfect time to slide into you. Holding you up by your ass with one hand, while he grabbed his aching cock, giving it a few strokes before lining it up to your entrance.

With one hand, he guided you down onto him slowly, making sure not to hurt you. But it was safe to say that you felt full already. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your head in his neck to muffle your loud cries.

“I know, babygirl. Just a few more inches. You’re doing amazing.” You whispered in your ear, sucking on the lobe before completely bottoming out with a loud growl. Your mouth flew opened with a loud gasp. With little to no warning, he began to bounce you on his cock firmly.

You backed up to look at him, placing your shaky hand on his stomach. “S-Sir, too much.” You strained, watching the large imprint form in your stomach with every thrust.

“Does it not feel good, babygirl? Didn’t you tell me you liked the pain that comes with it? You dirty little whore.” He tilted his head, watching his cock completely destroy your guts. The mix of pleasure and pain was consuming you. Similar to that mosquito bite that you continue to scratch; it hurts so good, and you can’t stop.

“I-I know. B-But I-mmm! too good, sir. I-I can’t!” You whined, your body flailing around from his hard thrusts. He began to slow down, thrusting into you at an agonizing pace. If you were being honest, this pace might’ve been worse. You could feel every inch, ridge, and vein as he pumped into you slowly.

“Better?” He asked with a devilish smirk, knowing that you were slowly crumbling beneath him.

“So *thrust* fucking *thrust* big! *thrust*” you moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head in satisfaction. He watched in awe, you were completely drunk off of him, just how he liked it.

“Yes, I’m destroying this tight little pussy, aren’t I?” He asked, listening to the squelching sounds followed with every slow stroke he sent you.

“Yesss, sir!” You nodded lazily. He sent you one hard thrust, knocking the wind out of you. Your jaw became slack, looking into his eyes.

“Say Thank you. For giving you the best dick of your life.” He growled, repeating the same hard stroke again, leaving it in you. You gasped loudly, eyes crossing as he overstimulated you.

“Say it, Princess.” He teased, repeating the same action again, this time, rolling his hips directly into your sweet spot. You let out a loud squeal, your eyes shutting tightly.

“Thank you, sir! T-Thank you so much.” You confessed breathily. He let out a loud chuckle, immediately speeding up the pace again. Sounds of skin clapping overpowering your very loud moans.

“And tell me how much you love this dick, hmm? How much you love when I feed it to you…niiiice and slow, juuust like this.” He spoke lowly, reaching up to smack your cheek a few times as he continued to plow into you.

“Yessss, I love it! I-I love it soo much sir!” You whined, cheeks burning from the little smacks he gave you.

“Now, apologize. For being a bad girl all this time.” He spoke lowly, sending you deep strokes right into your sweetspot.

“Mmm, im sorry! Im so-so sorry, sir!” You cried, tears blurring your vision. You were so close. The experience was too intense for you, and you just had to let go.

“Oh my-, I-Im gonna cum.” You whined, voice rippling from his thrusts. You let your head hang back, as loud moans escaped your lips. He was close too, just from looking at you fall apart for him.

He began to kiss your exposed chest, holding you up by your back as he rutted into you. “Cum on daddy’s dick. Go ahead, babygirl.” He moaned, watching your eyes roll back. Your legs began to twitch around his torso. You finally came undone, letting out an intense cry. His cream coated cock being revealed with each stroke.

“Juuust like that. Keep squeezing me like that!” He spoke breathily, his eyes rolling in pleasure as his thrusts lost their rhythm. With one last stroke, he came deep inside of you with a loud growl. He rolled his hips, ensuring that his seed made it to your empty womb, worrying about the consequences later.

“Fuuuck, babygirl!” He grunted, thrusting into you languidly as droplets from his huge load found their way to ground.

You both let out heavy pants, trying desperately to come down from your highs. Sweaty bodies finding refuge in each-others arms as you held one another close.

“About this being the last time��I lied baby girl.” He whispered in your ear, still pumping into you slowly. You both seemed to be on one accord, finally. Because you weren’t letting him go, no matter what.

“So did I…”

Taglist: @number1gal @loak-bae @tiredmamaissy @neytirishottie @terrorthewolf @lethargicluv @reyzzsostellar @m0nst3rfk3r @agelsully @jakescumdump @wekiamo @st-cass @cleardonutangelwagon @tsireqas @satanlovedays @afro-hispwriter @urfavgirlmakenna @fanboyluvr @iameatingmyhair @secretflowerobservation @violet-19999 @xreadersstuff @sweetllamaparadise @lia-nath @sullymenrhot @dotheyevenknowmars @xdbluesky @slay-nt @domino-x3-blog @ladylovegood-69 @itssomeonereading @sweetirilly @skxawngmia @j-jinxee @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @cumikering @pxndorasdream @itsaleidasworld @atxxokirina @yeletta @eywascall @valeriearriana37484 @avatarsslut @bee782916 @atxxokirina @taylormarieee @sweethoneycn

#avatar #avatar smut #avatar the way of water #avatar loak #loak headcanons #loak x reader #loak x y/n #loak smut #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam headcanons #jake avatar #jake x y/n #jake x reader #jake sully

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starlightshadowsworld · 1 day ago

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There’s been multiple characters in Bungou Stray Dogs that have been called “angel.”

Shibusawa called Atsushi the “angel that will save me.” Yosano was called the Angel of Death. Mushitaro called himself the Angel of Murder.

Ango is the angel Dazai refers to when he tells Sigma an angel is how he’s able to reach the outside world.

And while not referred to directly in Stormbringer Chuuya’s corrupted form resembles that of an angel.

Fukuchi (chapter 90) tells Tachihara that he is an angel but Tachihara is not. And explains what it means to be an angel.

“Now who are the angels? Those who don’t dirty their own hands, who don’t bear the filth. And send their inferior humans to the battlefield.

Those who, bearing no responsibility, crave nothing but the honour, riches and pleasures. They hold the reins of the people. Heavenly beings that’s others hands cannot reach.”

Fukuchi’s correct Tachihara doesn’t fit this criteria of being an angel. But neither do any of the characters I’ve listed.

Atsushi is the one who gets sent into battle. He does not control anyone and sees those others view as inferior, as people who need help.

And any time something goes wrong Atsushi blames himself for it.

Yosano sent soldiers to there deaths during the war, absolutely. But the second she realised the true weight of her actions she tried to stop it.

It was out of her control and Yosano still shoulders responsibility for it.

Chuuya has been on the front lines since he joined the Sheep. He enjoys the thrill of the fight sure but his fights are usually in service to protecting his family. Be it the Sheep or the Port Mafia.

Chuuya’s always been placed on a pedestal but he never put himself on one. And on multiple occasions Chuuya’s chosen to protect even if it could cost him everything.

Mushitaro tried to convince himself it was all for his own pleasure and amusement. But he only dirtied his hands for an old friend who’s long gone.

Same with Ango who dirtied his hands for Dazai. He took responsibility for the Dragons Head incident. And even with everything at stake Ango cautioned Chuuya against using corruption.

Even Fukuchi himself doesn’t truly fit this description.

Fukuchi’s dirtied his hands sure but happily uses others to do it for him. He tried to convince Akutagawa to kill Atsushi because he didn’t want the blood of more children on his hands.

The fact Fukuchi uses the vampires to begin show he has a hold on others. Along with his reputation that really carried things for him. His motive is peace sure but he’s already decided how many deserve to die for it.

Much like the politicians he’s criticising in the statement above. But I guess it’s fine when he chooses who deserves to live or die.

The only other person I can think of who fits this criteria the closest is Fyodor. Makes sense considering he’s probably the one who spoon fed the motto to Fukuchi to begin with.

But it is interesting considering Fyodor has only ever been referred to by others as a demon. Though he himself probably thinks of himself as an angel. One that will purge this world of abilities, of sin.

Despite possessing one himself.

Fyodor can dirty his hands but like Fukuchi prefers to use people to fight for him. He doesn’t see anyone as his equal not even Dazai. And he manipulates and brainwashes his way into controlling others.

It makes sense that in Fyodor’s eyes he is an angel. Though there is one thing Fukuchi mentions that the rest possess more than he does.

And that’s to be an angel means to suffer.

Fukuchi definitely suffered from war. But he says his experience with torture is from the torturers side. He has not suffered for his own mission of peace.

He’s never lost anything he didn’t plan to lose. Prior to Fyodor showing up Fukuchi was dying exactly how he wanted too.

Ango’s suffered. Mushitaro’s suffered. Chuuya’s suffered. Yosano’s suffered. Atsushi is suffering. Fyodor literally wouldn’t have gotten to this point if he hadn’t suffered.

Fukuchi by his own criteria is an angel and yet it puts him even closer to the demon himself. Rather fitting for a man who thought his quest to end a war with a war would make him a hero.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd chuuya #bsd atsushi #bsd fukuchi #bsd fyodor #bsd ango #bsd mushitaro #bsd yosano #bsd manga spoilers #bsd spoilers #atsushi nakajima #ango sakaguchi #yosano akiko #mushitaro oguri #chuuya nakahara #fukuchi ouchi #bsd fyodor dostoevsky

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runawaysiren940 · 3 months ago

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Here's the full script for the most recent video, minus where I ad libbed:

Dr. Moumita Debnath, a 31 year old doctor trainee, was found dead on August 9th, 2024. After taking a break half-way through a 36 hour shift, her corpse was found on a blood stained mattress. Her body bore the wounds of torture, from the wounds to her eyes, her pelvis, genitals, arms and legs. As noted in The Publica’s report, “The post-mortem report also noted that over 150 mg of semen was recovered from the doctor’s body, indicating that up to 30 men could have been involved in the violation of Debath’s body. The normal volume of semen produced by a male upon ejaculation typically varies from 1.5 to 5.0 mg, according to the online medical encyclopedia MedlinePlus” (Biase). Her family was told that she died via suicide, though her wounds made it obvious that this was not the case; however, this claim allowed the principal of the school to avoid filing a police report. The attempts to hide the crime did not succeed, and have resulted in protests across India and the medical industry, both in response to the lack of protections for medical staff, and because of the attempt to hide the crime.

In the aftermath, searches for footage of Debnath’s gang rape have trended, as “According to Google Trends, queries such as “Moumita Debnath porn” and “Dr. Moumita Debnath video” have experienced surges across India, with “Moumita Debnath rap[e] video” experiencing a 110% increase in searches. As of the time of this writing, of all the queries associated with her name, “Moumita Debnath photo video” is the 5th most searched in India, while “Moumita Debath last video” is the 12th most searched overall” (Biase).

This isn’t the only horrific case of gang rape, torture, or extreme violence against women. In fact, back in 2023, Vidya Krishnan wrote an opinion piece published in the New York times on the topic titled, “In India’s Gang Rape Culture, All Women Are Victims”, where she writes:

It is the specific horror of gang rape that weighs most heavily on Indian women that I know. You may have heard of the many gruesome cases of women being gang-raped, disemboweled and left for dead. When an incident rises to national attention, the kettle of outrage boils over, and women sometimes stage protests, but it passes quickly. All Indian women are victims, each one traumatized, angry, betrayed, exhausted. Many of us think about gang rape more than we care to admit.

In 2011 a woman was raped every 20 minutes in India, according to government data. The pace quickened to about every 16 minutes by 2021, when more than 31,000 rapes were reported, a 20 percent increase from the previous year. In 2021, 2,200 gang rapes were reported to authorities.

But those grotesque numbers tell only part of the story: 77 percent of Indian women who have experienced physical or sexual violence never tell anyone, according to one study. Prosecutions are rare.

Indian men may face persecution because they are Muslims, Dalits (untouchables) or ethnic minorities or for daring to challenge the corrupt powers that be. Indian women suffer because they are women. Soldiers need to believe that war won’t kill them, that only bad luck will; Indian women need to believe the same about rape, to trust that we will come back to the barracks safe each night, to be able to function at all. (Krishnan)

Just from recent memory, I can recall several other horrifying cases.

In a rare case of justice, in May 2024, a pair of brothers were sentenced to death for the rape and murder of a 12 year old girl. To hide the crime, they then burned her alive in a coal furnace. (The Hindu Bureau)

In 2012, 22 year old Jyoti Singh was “beaten, gang-raped, and tortured in a private bus in which she was travelling with her male friend, Avnindra Pratap Pandey. There were six others in the bus, including the driver, all of whom raped the woman and beat her friend.” She later succumbed to her wombs, while her friend supposedly committed suicide. (Khan)

Many rape cases end with the woman dead. It is horrifying to me, from across the globe, to know that women live under constant threat of sexual assault, and while all assaults are horrific, the cases which break into the international news sphere from India are especially cruel and disturbing. It is the culmination of a deeply traditional and patriarchal society, wherein the devaluation of women is compounded with caste and religious issues, along with the rise of pornography. Porn is the instruction, and rape is the practice; though clearly, there was no need for instruction.

Famous cases include:

The Suryanelli rape case, where in 1996, a sixteen year old was lured with a marriage promise, kidnapped, and was raped by 37 men during her forty day captivity. Although initially 35 of 39 accused were found guilty, in 2005, all 35 convicted were acquitted of charges.

The Pararia mass rape, where in 1988, at least 14 women were gang raped by the police force, and had their homes looted after they protested against being removed to make way for a damn being built. “India Today reported Sinha's concluding statements were: "It cannot be ruled out that these ladies might speak falsehood to get a sum of Rs 1,000, which was a huge sum for them." (Bonner)

In many caste altercations, women are targeted because to rape a woman is not done just to her, but is meant to be an insult to the community and the community’s honor. In an environment where religious and social conflict occurs, women are especially vulnerable as targets of sexual violence.

However, what the internet has provided is an avenue to share the debasement and horror of gang rape with other men. It prolongs the suffering and harm to the victim and her family; but also serves as a warning to other women, and as an enticement to other men. Come, they say. Look at what we did. See how we were despicable and got away with it? You can too.

A 28 year old tourist and her husband were robbed, then man beaten, and the woman, raped by seven men in March of 2024. Since they have taken down the video detailing the event from their social media, I will not show that here, or go deeply into detail. However, in the reactions to the incident, one can note a pattern of behavior, not just from Indian men, but also women.

The BBC reported:

“The chief of India's National Commission for Women, Rekha Sharma, also sparked criticism after she responded to a post from a US journalist who wrote that while India was one of his favourite places, "the level of sexual aggression" he witnessed while living in the country was "unlike anywhere else I have ever been". He also gave a couple of examples of sexual assault faced by women he knew.

"Did you ever report the incident to police?" Ms Sharma wrote. "If not then you are totally an irresponsible person. Writing only on social media and defaming whole country is not good choice."” (Sebastian)

Victim blaming is constant, and serves as a deterrent from seeking help, reporting incidents, or enacting change. In the aftermath of the 2019 gang rape and murder of 27 year old Priyanka Reddy, Indian filmmaker Daniel Shravan ranted on social media that “The government should encourage and legalize rape without violence,” and, “Girls above 18 should be educated on rapes and not deny the sexual desires of men.” He also went on to say that, “Rapists are not finding a way to get their bodily sexual desires [met],” which is compelling them to kill.” (“After a Woman in India was Raped and Murdered, Her Name Trended on Porn Sites”). Because assault and violence against women is so common in India, it makes sense that victim blaming, from both sexes remains so strong, as “according to Inside Southern, the reason for victim blaming is: “People may blame a victim in order to remove themselves from an unpleasant event and therefore confirm their own invulnerability to the risk. Others may perceive the victim as different from themselves if they label or accuse the victim. People console themselves by saying, “Because I’m not like her, and I don’t do that, this would never happen to me.”” (Ram). In other words, it a pacifier, a way to manage the dread that comes with realizing the ubiquitousness and unpredictability of sexual assault. If there is something you can do to avoid being assaulted, then it must be her fault. And you must be safe, because you don’t make those choices.

That men make up a large contingent of the judges and lawmakers that in turn pass the laws which allow rapists to walk free iillustrates the universal truth that Anna Maria Mozzoni, a popular Italian feminist theorist, wrote about in 1895, “You will find that the priest who damns you is a man; that the legislator who oppresses you is a man, that the husband who reduces you to an object is a man; that the libertine [anarchist] who harasses you is a man; that the capitalist who enriches himself with your ill- paid work and the speculator who calmly pockets the price of your body, are men.”

It’s easy to forget when the violence is not happening in front of you, when you can excuse it, or look away, or claim that there are forces at play that you don’t understand. It’s easy to say that the problem is with a people or a religion-

But the truth is that woman hating is universal. A passing interest in anthropology will only show the manifestations of this hatred in creative ways throughout space and time.

Works Cited

“After a Woman in India was Raped and Murdered, Her Name Trended on Porn Sites.” Fight The New Drug, December 2019, https://fightthenewdrug.org/woman-in-india-raped-and-murdered-her-name-trended-on-porn/. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Biase, Natasha. “Name Of Female Doctor Who Was Gang Raped And Murdered In Indian Hospital Appears On Porn Sites As Men Seek Out Footage Of The Assault.” The Publica, 19 August 2024, https://www.thepublica.com/female-doctor-who-was-gang-raped-and-murdered-in-indian-hospital-appears-on-porn-sites-as-indian-men-search-for-footage-of-crime/. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Bonner, Arthur. “Pararia mass rape (1988).” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pararia_mass_rape_(1988). Accessed 21 August 2024.

The Hindu Bureau. “Two get death for raping, burning alive minor girl in Bhilwara.” The Hindu, 20 May 2024, https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/rajasthan/two-sentenced-to-death-by-pocso-court-in-rajasthan-court-for-raping-burning-alive-minor-girl/article68195867.ece. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Khan, Aamir. “2012 Delhi gang rape and murder.” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2012_Delhi_gang_rape_and_murder. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Krishnan, Vidya. “Opinion | In India's Gang Rape Culture, All Women Are Victims (Published 2023).” The New York Times, 2 June 2023, https://www.nytimes.com/2023/06/02/opinion/india-women-rape.html. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Ram, Anjali. “Never Ending Tales Of Victim Blaming And Shaming.” Feminism in India, 12 December 2022, https://feminisminindia.com/2022/12/12/never-ending-tales-of-victim-blaming-and-shaming/. Accessed 21 August 2024.

Sebastian, Meryl. “Outrage over Brazilian tourist's gang rape in India.” BBC, 3 March 2024, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-india-68444993. Accessed 21 August 2024.

#radfem #radblr #radical feminism #runawaysiren #youtube #terfs do interact

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neetily · 2 months ago

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Kinktober 2024 — Vampire Sebastian

— ✧ pairing: Sebastian / F!Reader — ✧ genre: smut 18+ — ✧ word count: 8,180 — ✧ warnings: vampire, blood, blood kink, blood drinking, dubcon, biting, marking, pulling out, light angst, wounds, ambiguous/open ending — ✧ synopsis: the only thing he loves more than you is the sweet taste of blood. which is a shame, really, considering that's all you're made of.

— ✧ A/N: um. yeah. im not too sure how i feel about this one. i wrote it in a sickness induced haze, maybe you can tell. please enjoy regardless !! the plot changed a million times while writing lol.

— ✧ kinktober masterlist

Life with you was good. Enough? It was sweet, more than accommodating to his unnatural existence in the most comforting of ways— like a picture perfect snapshot of normality. You do your best to offer him something he knows is ultimately unattainable; because it goes against his very being, against everything he’s come to know and learn. And perhaps worst of all: against mother nature.

It’s not your fault. Far from it, actually. He’s been the way he currently is for… God, he’s forgotten how long for now. But a really long time is the point he’s trying to make to himself, perpetually stuck in the mid way point in his life all thanks to a misguided late night trip down the mines in the hopes of gathering some more of that precious stone he oh so adores, and coming face to face with a swarm full of bats. Harmless creatures the majority of the time, he’s came to understand through various late night study sessions since the incident. But nonetheless, Lady Luck was never on his side, and thus comes the misfortune of his existence.

Try all you like to help him lead and live a normal life; whatever the fuck that means, he’s forgotten all about the time before now… Your well meaning words and actions do very little to help. What did he like to do in the time before? Was it the same things he likes to do now? A couple hundred lonely years by yourself—because of course, he must outlive those he loves—makes you rather forgetful, doesn’t it? Like a corruption, more bat teeth and bat wings than blood at this point, but who’s counting? Certainly not him after that first initial damnation, and certainly not you, not with the way you hum so sweetly in the kitchen without a care in the world; a daily ritual, perhaps one of his most favoured times of day ever.

Dinner time.

Not because he has to eat— far from it, actually. Unless you’re offering up your own neck, that is… Which he swore off upon first meeting you. Far too enamoured with your scent for it to be considered normal by any means, he’s disallowed himself even a single entertaining thought about sinking his sharp fangs into that soft, supple neck of yours. Which is why he has to shake is head to ride those evil desires as he absently watches you, an attempt to banish the wicked ways of his existence to instead focus solely on how lovely you sound when lost in your own world. Busy hands make for empty minds… or something, he can’t quite remember phrases like how he used to. The intent is there, however, to remain thankful for your hard work; as opposed to hungry for more.

On one hand, he doesn’t think he’d ever get enough of you. Lovesick little grin tugging at his lips as he adores you from the kitchen table— though his mind might have forgotten important details, his hands still yet remember the teachings of his mother. Hand carved wood lovingly built just for you, resting under his boney elbow as he props his head up in his palm to dote on you in private. Out of all the people he’s met since falling victim to the bite of… well, you get it, you are by far his most favourite. Does he mean the most tolerable? Perhaps, at times. But most of all, you are the kindest. One of the only ones to truly understand him, to allow him to exist without fear or judgement, which is hard to come by nowadays. Certainly when it comes to dating, of which he hadn’t intended on doing so, least of all with you. But he learnt quick enough that there are plenty of things he didn’t expect when it comes to you.

Like how he finds himself enjoying humming along with you. Soft and quiet, low enough so that he has a chance to hear your dominating tune over his own rather lacking one. But it’s enjoyable nonetheless to share the same happiness together, even if you’re left relatively in the dark of his stalking presence behind as you continue preparing the best meal of the day. The muscle memory of his throat thrums to life every time he catches even a mere glimpse of your heavenly voice— it contrasts well with his own darker presence, don’t you think? He also, for one, enjoys the daily passing of each lengthy day with you. Or was it night? He lost track of time the minute he realised he no longer needed rest… but what matters is that he takes comfort in the normality of each day, so long as it’s spent with you. You, you, you, it’s always about you, and how much he loves you, simply fucking adores you. He’d worship the ground you walk on, so long as you promise to provide him normality. Empty, boring, mundane life. It’s all he’s ever wanted since turning into a blood sucker—stupid decision by the way, do not recommend it—but it’s funny, considering that he at least remembers wanting for anything but normalcy in his daily life before turning cold.

There’s just so much comfort to be had in the simplicity of it all. For how complicated his life has become, just your mere presence by his side seems to calm it all down, put it all into perspective, and reminds him that there is good yet in the world. Mostly in the form of you, slaving away in the kitchen over a meal you know he can’t taste or enjoy to the fullest extent, and yet the charade alone has his dead heart metaphorically skipping a beat. The utter dedication to normal you exhibit is a testament to how much you love him, he thinks. And he can only do his best to return the favour, being mindful to thank the pleasant weather of the day for offering him a nice temperature to his cold skin, and time herself for allowing him to spend it with you. Each day is a blessing, because of you. And he’d never take it for granted, not when you take extra care for his own apparent benefit.

Even if deep down, in the pit of his empty stomach, screaming to gorge on some livestock later tonight when you’re fast asleep, he knows that this comfort he is so thankful for is not to be his. Never has been, and it never will be. Little do you know, of course.

It shows up in ways he could never have guessed to begin with, which is all too unfair, in his royal opinion. Never mind the fact that he’s scorned to a life of very little—especially in the way of relationships, like life itself precariously holds a consistent knife to his throat in an attempt to keep him only close enough to all he holds dear. He at least expects that, y’know? But as he saunters up to you, feather light in his steps so as to avoid interrupting your mundane song, careful not to startle you too much, it seems as though life has different plans in store for him. In that, of course, his plan of doting upon you in secrecy backfires, all because he tries too hard to be that which he is not.

Normal.

A terrible word, he suddenly switches thoughts. Gross in its misconduct, like fire in his upset stomach to leave him wincing in pain. A cuddle—that’s all he wanted. All he ever asked life for. Just a plain old back hug for the love of his life, a sincere attempt to showcase just how thankful he is of your efforts, and how he ever expected things to go his way is beyond him; he used up a lifetime of luck when it came to winning your affections. And yet still, your reaction is normal, he could feel you jumping in his arms with fright the moment he locked them around you, nuzzling unbeknownst against your nape for a brief second or two until it hits him. The loud clatter of a knife, a telling gasp crawled up your throat. And that fucking smell. Like water and oil, it doesn’t matter how hard you fucking try to provide him with a simple life, the burning ache coursing through his veins is quick to remind him of just how much he hates that ugly word normal.

For a normal man would not be frothing at the mouth, champing at the bit for a single. Fucking. Taste. Just a sniff, even, please God, anything for a proper fucking whiff of that sweet scent— he’d fucking kill for that, y’know? Light and mouthwateringly enticing. Perfect fucking—

“Gosh! You gave me such a fright, Seb,” you laugh, airy and convincing. As if you weren’t in the paws of some predator right now. Oh how he hates the thought, wants to reassure you so badly that he doesn’t mean to cause you any harm. But his broken body just begs for him to remain frozen in place. Lock you in tight against his chest; if he had a working heart, he’s sure it’d be racing by now. How quick the dominoes fall into place, right? “Let me— Lemme clean up, okay?”

Inevitably, he knows he has to let go. Not only for your own obvious sake, so that you don’t end up with two puncture wounds in that soft looking neck of yours, but for his own sake too. To prove to himself that he’s in control, that he doesn’t have to give in to his animalistic tendencies, and that normality can be for him, too. But nonetheless, he squeezes you a little tighter before letting go.

“Sorry,” tumbles from his bitten lips— if he bites himself, perhaps it’ll stave off the cravings. “I— I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No I know!” you smile at up at him, gently, like a mother would. And completely unknowing of his internal struggle, he’s sure. He’s only went and tried his best to hide is inner animal from you every chance he gets, and maybe he’s just stupid, but he’s almost certain that you assume he’s in control at all times.

Which couldn’t be further from the truth, really. A mere loose thread away from snapping upon you at all times… it’s a fucking wonder that he’s lasted this long, to be honest with you.

All he does is yearn. Fists tight and balled by his sides, like some sort of petulant child denied dessert at the end of a meal. Physically fucking craving for you, even as he’s standing directly behind you with another sorry spilling from his blood bitten lips. Sorry, I want you too much. Sorry, for scaring you into a gash. Sorry, because I want nothing more than to force that cut finger deep down my greedy maw and lap you all empty.

Sorry, he really can’t compose himself. Not when it comes to you, how precious and fragile you are— it’s beyond tempting to his taste buds, especially when he accidentally catches sight of the red that now stains your finger all pretty for him; because of him. Whether intentional or not, it was his fault that you got cut tonight, and though he plays the role of the concerned boyfriend well enough to properly convince you of his apologies, deep down, he’s more eager for you. He only looked up due to your hushed hiss as the cold tap water kissed your open wound far more gentler than his tongue would, and he couldn’t help but to wet his lips at the sight.

Thirsty. He’s suddenly really, really fucking thirsty. Lying to himself by thinking that it must be the water that’s triggered his natural instincts— idiot. Of fucking course not… Rather, he’s hungry, as he so often is when around you, funnily enough.

“I— Really, I only wanted to—” he stutters out, mind a mess before the drops of red that stain the sink with his absolution, muddled thoughts barricading his lips shut just in case he fumbles out the wrong word. It’s difficult to focus on his thoughts with that smell invading his sense…

And as if to rub salt into his proverbial wound, you oh so gently and lovingly attempt to calm him down. Shield him from the truth that after all this time spent loving, caring, and looking after him: he’s still just a monster at heart. How fucking awful. So fucking predictable, huh?

“It’s okay, Seb. It’s just a tiny little cut, nothing to cry over.”

Yet still, you hiss and wince at the sting his abundant love offers you, his gaze settled on the way you clean the sore spot up while he remains frozen in place behind you. On one hand, he’s sure that it must just look like he’s scared, worried that you’ll hate him for what he’s done tonight— which is to say, he must appear worried over loving you far too much. Enough to cause harm, apparently. And on the other hand, he can already feel his tummy turn with the plague of his existence, how if he were to move even a single fucking inch towards you, he’s liable to jump your bones and suck you dry. Because that’s all his existence boils down to, really. A mess of gnashing teeth and furrowed brows, fuck, he can still smell that sickly sweet scent. Overwhelming his nostrils as you traverse around the kitchen, looking for a bandaid by yourself in the absence of his help.

He is helping, though. Whether you realise it or not, his refusal to move is help in its own right.

It’s been some time since he’s felt his heart flutter as much, his lashes batting at the way you struggle to find an appropriate dressing for your unfortunate wound, misplaced the band aids again? Just his luck, he thinks. Sucking air in through his teeth in a harsh manner, as if to communicate the gravity of his situation with you without need for words.

“I should go—” his words are sudden, but his tone is low and quiet, mumbled under his breath, for he fears that if he were to open his jaw too wide, you wouldn’t survive the resulting affection. “Really, I should— fuck,” so strong now, that smell. So good. “I have to go—” he scrambles, rushing the words out from his choked up throat in an effort to avoid the inevitable, forgetting that Lady Luck has never been on his side, not in the least right now.

“I’m sure there’s, um… Fuck, yknow, the things—” he can’t focus on his words or his thoughts, not with how his lips part with greedy exhales, struggling to find the correct string of vocalisations he needs to communicate just how entierly fucked he is right now. But regardless, he takes a shaky step backwards. Away from you and the awful, scary situation he now finds himself in. He’s done well to avoid your precious red for God knows how long, it’s a shame he must encounter it now, when he’s busy trying to adore you. Even worse that he can’t get his thoughts in order, internally fighting with himself over leave, now, and wait, she’s vulnerable. Always so fucking vulnerable, y’know that? Almost as if you were asking for it—

He loathes the thought as soon as it enters his spinning mind, tightly squeezing his eyes shut to match the constriction in his chest, be still my beating heart. Oh how he yearns though… To care for you, to find the bandaid you’re so carelessly currently search for, and to so lovingly place it upon his mistake. To grab you by the waist and recklessly throw you on the ground, to immediately attach his pearly white fangs to your supple neck and to bite down so hard that you forget your own name.

“They’re somewhere.” He settles on, hoping that you understand inherently what he’s talking about, gesturing to the kitchen with flailing hands that he has to fight not to reach out and grab, countering the selfish thought with another step backwards. Find the band aids quick, my love. “Sorry I— I can’t help y’look for ‘em.” His words turn slurred, slugging in his movements to escape your rather minor cut.

Anyone else would think he was afraid of blood. But, thankfully, you understand the truth.

So much so that he can hardly stand to greet the soft pitying look you adopt at his frantic actions, gentle eyes watching carefully as he holds a hand up to his nose, an attempt to cover the intruding scent— but you know all too well by now that that never works, don’t you? Like the time he had taken you out to that fancy restaurant, do you remember? Or had intended to, anyway… If not for the unfortunate mortal who had somehow tripped right outside the building, right into a nosebleed, as if life itself was reminding him: you are not normal. The fucking stench, God… still, to this day, he’s so sorry for having to head home. For ruining your night simply due to his natural blood lust. For being the way that he is, and for impeding your sense of normalcy so often as he does.

But your voice comes out whisper light when regarding him with utter affection, and it only makes his mind dizzier with desire, clouding his judgement when you pout prettily at him with “Oh, Sebby… I’m sorry…”

Disgusting. It’s absolutely fucking vile how he has the urge to snuff that meek little voice out for good, frustration balled up in his chest to leave him positively gasping for air before you. For he is but a slave to the bat that had bit him all those years ago, and here he stumbles back upon your sweet voice, intent on hiding in some other sort of cave and out of your sight for a couple days at least— but beneath it all, under the layers of blood and lust and teeth and claws, he is just a man. And a man has no hope in hell of escaping your outstretched hand; though thankfully, it’s the unsullied one. He hasn’t the chance to decline your gentle gesture, as much as it goes against his very nature to accept such undue kindness, though every fibre of his dead being just begs for him to decline, walk away while you still have the chance, while you’re still of mind to do so, he simply can do nothing other than accept your fingers intertwining with his own, in turn prompting him into shuffling closer towards the face of his doom. How long can one man rest on the precipice of utter damnation, without taking that leap? Surely, given the smile you send his way, the universe is communicating with him: too damn long, in your case. He had it coming, or something, fuck— he can’t focus on his thoughts now that he’s a step or two nearer to his downfall. The love of his life; you are the source of his pleasant agony.

And he wants for nothing more than to remind you of such facts. As much as that man within him cries for a break, fucking pleads to remain in control, your most human actions of connection are what brings the monster out of him. Unfortunate, really. Because he loves you, y’know?

He also loves just how strong your scent gets as he gets closer to the source, letting his nose rub lightly against your cheek— an action so barely there that he’s unsure if you even feel it, but the light giggle you let out in response lets him know that he can’t hide from you. Not now, look, do you see how hard it is for him to be around you? How utterly devoted he is to you, enough to ignore his humanity in favour of giving in to you; his selfish desire.

“Is it bad?” You ask him, and he can hear the cringe in your voice. Heavy with sorries, dripping in the metallic tang that hits his nostrils as he inhales along the shell of your ear, humming mild vibrations against your soft skin. He loves you so much, loves that you’re able to communicate with him on such a level that you needn’t express yourself wholly for him to understand your intentions. Didn’t you know? Only a vampire could love you forever, as deep as your blood is red.

Wordlessly, he nods against your neck, huffing and puffing away at the throb of blood just barely hidden beneath the surface. It is bad right now. All of this. You, for offering yourself up to him on a silver platter— you fucking know what you’re doing to him, how could you not? Him, for giving in to his selfish pleasures and accepting your bad behaviour, as opposed to his normal indignation. The situation, because for as much as he assumes you know that what you’re doing is dangerous, he’s not so sure you understand the gravity of just how awful it is; he’s been good at hiding his truest nature from you thus far. It’s all just so bad, isn’t it? Bad, bad, so fucking bad that it hurts to hold back for you, toying with his teeth as he runs his tongue along them, testing just how pointed they are just in case. It’s bad that he’s so close to you right now, because he loves you. Because he loves you too much to say stop, no— not like this, anything but this—

“A taste.” You reason with him, bringing up that bloodied finger dangerously close to his face, oh— he wants to eat it whole. Wants to swallow you up right where you stand, turn you as corrupted as he is… He wants to— “Just a little, one lick won’t hurt no one, right?”

How can he say no to that? How can he, ever, deny his true nature? What reasonable man would ever think of denying you, defying the love of his life the pleasure of his tongue upon that open wound? What kind of a man would pass up the opportunity of the hunt, would choose not to take aim and fire on an innocent creature when his stomach has been rumbling for days on end and he can’t think straight from the sheer magnitude of the hunger pangs in his chest?

And yet still, he hangs on. Tries to, at least. Letting out a muffled: “Shouldn’t.” Against your heated skin, only for you to hum back with “It’s okay. Just a tease.”

At the end of the day, he’s no man. He’s unsure if he ever was to begin with, in truth. For a man might manage to put down the rifle in favour of searching elsewhere to satiate his cravings, leave the poor innocence alone. He, on the other hand, jumps at the opportunity you unfairly present him. Lifts his heavy head with cloudy vision and immediately shoves your tainted finger into his wanting mouth. Lips wrapped tight around the digit as soon as possible, being mindful of his fangs for the meantime as he focuses solely on finally, god, fucking finally, tasting your sweet, sweet nectar. The thing that attracted him to you in the first place. One suck later and…

Euphoria. Strikingly beautiful on the tip of his tongue, God, how hard he has to try not to bite down.

It’s difficult to describe just how much he enjoys this. You. Your taste. The most perfect ambrosia, trickling against his tongue much too slowly for his liking, but he has enough wherewithal not to complain too much when his gaze flutters to stare at your own wicked smirk, his eyes briefly rolling to the back of his head in pure hedonistic enjoyment for the red that soon stains his tongue with sin. You’re sweet. Too sweet, unfairly so, as if made exactly to his personal tastes— meaning that you were worth the wait. The thrill of the hunt culminating in the way his tongue snakes and slithers around your cut, doing his best to suck as much of you out as possible, just to turn his cheeks all warm for once, fuck. He swallows down your warmth quickly, as if starved, because he’s never quite tasted something just as good as you before.

Even when he sapped a few unfortunate souls empty.

Human blood is always the best to consume, he thinks. Full bodied and flavourful, distinct from each other enough to have his preferences. Until now, he wouldn’t be so picky. Emptying any blood bag he could get his grubby little hands on simply because it was better than cattle, even if it was bad, y’know? But after lapping your wound all better, he realises: he can’t go back now. Pandoras box, opened and blushing before him, the way you knowingly smile at his open maw and heavy breaths should be warning enough, and yet still he awaits your instruction. Because he loves you. Because he’s no better than a man.

“Good?” You ask him, as if it’s even a fucking question.

“Uh-huh” he answers anyway, finger still popped inside of his tightly closed lips, as if warning you that if you were to pull back, he’d do nothing but chase after you again. Like some sort of stalker, or predator. Seeking the comfort of your hot flesh against his flat tongue for eternity, just to have your blood drip erotically down his throat.

Because it is inherently erotic. Sharing fluids always is, no? A twitch in his pants coming to life all of a sudden at the realisation, though he hopes you don’t notice it as of yet. The blood he consumed from your simple cut finger travels down, dripping all the way past his heaving lungs, squirming around in his tummy to fill it up with butterflies, and still yet travels south all the way down to his cock, causing a harsh throb to pump him all hard. Like some fucking pervert, leering at the way you simply watch him become less than human. Less than beast at this point, given how he eye fucks you with your red rendering him fucking useless. A dumb mess of a man from just a few droplets; one can only fight against natural instincts for so long before he feels the press of his fangs on his own back.

It’s a shame that you’re so pretty when you sigh, too. A thick bead of precum dripping from his tip in response, popping off your finger only to hum a moan in appreciation of all that is you. Or is he objectifying you now? He can’t quite tell, not with his mind so muddled and cock swiftly growing harder by the second. What makes it worse is how nice it is to feel the pang of pain in his chest when he realises just how kind you’re trying to be right now, withdrawing your finger to wipe it gently on a fresh kitchen towel. You think you’ve done good, right?

You think you’re doing so good when you encourage him further into the depths of depravity with a loving “You can keep going for a second, if you want?”, craning your neck to the side as you busy yourself with removing his saliva from your fingertip. It hurts to know that you’re just trying your best, doing what you think will comfort him, despite the danger.

It hurts to know that he’s getting off on it, too. Finding great sadistic pleasure while teetering on that edge you simply beg for him to jump from.

And who is he to deny his lover? But a fool, of course.

Maybe if you hadn’t offered him your finger, or you hadn’t gotten a fright and dropped the knife, or if he hadn’t spent the afternoon adoring you, maybe then he’d be able to restrain himself. Hold himself back like he should, like what a good partner would do. But alas, the sight of your throbbing neck, thick with life and pulsing with blood, is far too good an opportunity for him to pass up in the state that he’s found himself in tonight. A single drop from you could last him a lifetime, he’s sure.

But he’s intrinsically selfish. And not thinking straight, not since he inhaled the first whiff of your metallic scent. It’s all been downhill since then, hasn’t it? God only knows how long he’s been holding on to restraint for when it comes to you… maybe letting go will make him feel a little better, somewhat less guilty.

You’re just all too tempting, y’know that? Evident from the way he simply saunters closer to you like moth to a flame, till his heavy cock presses insistently against your clothed cunt, and you’re made to feel exactly just how much he adores you. This is enough communication, right? The slight gasp you let out upon the illicit contact, the staggering you do when he doesn’t stop walking towards you, intentionally pinning you against the counter directly behind your shivering back as a means to pin you in place. He needn’t use words when you can see his intentions, clear as day: he wishes to feast upon you. Plain and simple, a forbidden fruit he’s eager to swallow more of—

“Just a little, okay?” you remind him, and it takes him a second or two to nod yes at you, because he’s too busy placing his palms on the edge of the counter top, effectively caging you in against the hard wood and… his own hard wood. No escape, because you’ve got him hooked now. And he’d do anything just to taste you again. Anything, including things that he’d rather not think of, or that he’s scared of.

Thank god you’re the one that offered first.

“Promise,” he does his best to reassure you, but with a slow roll of his hips against your own, he can feel how guilt constricts his throat dry. Liar, he tells himself. There’s no way he’d ever manage life with only a little of you. “Will stop when you say, promise—” he babbles on, saying only that which he needs to in an effort to attach his lips to you neck faster; he’s not even fully aware of what he’s doing, let alone saying. But it works, his weak assurances have you tilting your head to the side for him, and he doesn’t miss the way your lashes flutter shut to the feeling of his hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin as he crowds closer to you.

When his pointed fangs hover over your thin flesh, he can feel his body warm up in response. Naturally, normally. Something this normal could never be so heinous, never as bad as he thinks, right? It’s normal for you to tremble against him when he lets you feel the slow drag of his teeth against your goose-bumped skin, and it’s normal for him to choke on next to nothing when he feels you shift your hips around a little; are you getting comfortable? Or just trying to rile him up some more, huh? Dirty little girl, so fucking filthy, aren’t you? Body begging for his bite— God, his cock is so hard now thanks to someone, that he feels as though he could cum on the spot.

So he bites. Distracting himself with such a simple action, really. Though dripping with desire, it’s so ordinary and normal that he can almost convince himself that it’s not bad. There’s no harm in it, right? No, how could there be, when you pained gasp soon turns into a low high-strung whine, body tensed under his own relaxed frame as he fervently places two puncture wounds on your delicate neck and drives his fangs deep. Deeper than the knife wound, that’s for sure. He, too, tense up a little with the commitment. Though not from pain, rather… an excessive need to restrain. To be slow and methodical with his movements, muscles taut before you as he all too slowly drags his teeth out from your yummy neck to lick them all clean again.

Oh. You’re fucking in for it tonight, aren’t you?

The snap is almost immediate, a rush of dopamine coursing through his system upon salivating over that fresh blood of yours, swallowing it down rashly and thickly, as if he’s just had his first taste of water in years. A growl soon follows, crawled up his throat like a prayer, only to be spat out against your matching cuts before he attaches his lips around them devoutly, and lets his tongue lay flat out against the trickling blood— let none go to waste. A single taste is all it takes, and he’s fucking ruined already. Like putty in your hands, except he’s sure to let you know who’s really in control by lapping at your dripping wound, and suckling on it just a little, just like you asked, to taste some more of that sweet nectar.

He knows he’s being too greedy when you mutter a mumbled “C-Careful, Seb…”, but he simply doesn’t have the power within him to care any longer. Too clouded by the taste of you blood, the smell of your life. He couldn't stop even if he wanted to— and he certainly doesn’t want to, distracting your pitiful cries for a break with another roll forward of his hips, cock pressed right against that hidden cunt, fuuuck. You taste and feel so good when you start to squirm on him. Like he’s actively swallowing all of your worries and fears, all that useless hesitation with every hump and lick he offers you.

“Always.” He whispers against your skin, because he’s not above lying at the moment t if it meant that he got to keep eating you and eating you and holy fuck he feels so dizzy— but in a good way. Like when you’re tipsy, and you’re only somewhat aware of your actions. Allowing his body to go through the natural motions as opposed to remaining in control because it’s easier that way. And it seems you appreciate it too, especially when it leads to him cupping your cheek with one hand, the other coming down to rest easily on the small of your back while he slurps and drools all over your neck. A reassuring hold to some. Utter possessiveness to him.

And he’d love to stay here. Attached sucking at your neck forever, his eyes rolling to the back of his head in pure unadulterated bliss at just how good you taste, cock leaking all over himself at the feeling of your body pressing snugly against his own, how you grow limper by the second in his arms due to the blood loss— but then he remembers something important.

“Here,” he regrettably unlatches from your neck, just briefly. Enough to get his words out. “Lemme put it in,” he doesn’t wait for your reply before hurriedly unbuttoning his bottoms with one hand, just barely hearing your muffled moans of disapproval in response, and he can’t help but to smile lovingly at the way you try to paw him off of you. You fucking asked for this.

“Promise it’ll feel good, even better.”

Though, whether his words of reassurance actually calm your grabby hands down or not is of no importance to him. Because deep down, he knows that he’s telling the truth, letting his underwear fall with his pants the moment they’re slack enough to, and his fist immediately grabs onto the base of his cock with a quiet satisfied sigh blowing across your cheek. You deserve to feel as good as he does right now, even if you’re unable to agree to his actions. Don’t worry, he’ll look after you. All the mortals he’s sucked thus far have expressed just how much nicer it feels when he’s buried balls deep inside of them during the act, too. And he wants for nothing less than to spoil his baby, especially when you taste better than anything he’s ever has before— shit, he has to latch onto your neck again just to keep himself composed as he drags your bottoms down too, leaving you bare and exposed in your cosy kitchen.

But you can feel it too, right? How warm it all is, how his tongue and lips suck you into a hazy daze with a nice heat spreading throughout your body. How about that times ten, huh? Sounds good, right?

The scent of your blood fills his nostrils with another greedy inhale against your neck, followed by the smell of your sex now that he’s exposed your lower half, dripping with desire for him— “See,” he half laughs between gulps of your delicious red, you’re no different from those he’s drained before. They always get wet. “Already feels so good, don’t it?” he mumbles, going back to sucking your neck with hums of appreciation while his cock bobs and twitches against your slit, dribbling precum all over your mound for you to shiver against.

All it takes is a little readjusting, tipping his hips back, bending his knees a little. Such small movements, just so feel so much better when his tip catches on your hole and he audibly gasps against your wounds.

You, too, gasp at the contact. A short moment shared in utter disbelief over how dizzying and exciting this whole situation is, his hips stalling for a moment or two simply to enjoy finally getting what he’s always wanted. Your blood on his lips to turn them all sticky and tacky, and his cock tipping into your cunt to leave you sighing and huffing with bliss. He might be sucking you into a state of stupor, but your body sure is awake enough to communicate pleasure with him, and that’s all the encouragement he needs to continue giving in to his selfish desires.

It helps that your being so pliant and submissive right now too, no doubt due to the amount of blood you’ve lost from his greedy gulps and sinful swallows. A light pink mix of blood and drool drips from your neck, around to your collarbone for him to gawk it. The sight of which, inevitably, prompts his hips into jutting forward, his cock swiftly stretching your little cunt out to accommodate the sudden girth. And it’s fucking hot how you can’t even muster up the energy to complain, really. A slight moan escaping your puffy lips, a subtle furrow of your brows. Whereas he on the other hand, is a downright fucking mess. Salivating all over you, eyes unfocused and glazed over as he gorges on your neck, mouth just swimming in your blood, tongue pointed to dip in and out of your open puncture marks like some sort of crazed animal. Almost making out with your holes, really, with how sloppy and messy he is with his bloody sucks. Gross, right?

And as soon as his cock is in, he’s pulling it back out again. Keeping you pinned against the counter, helping hold you up with both hands finding home on your ass to teasingly squeeze at the fat of it. You taste like you’re pent up right about now, and he loves you all too much to stop. Sucking. Completely smitten with the way you drown him in sweet sticky red, getting him high on the tangy taste while he gets drunk on your meek moans and whimpers— perhaps his pace is too fast to start with, yeah? It’s hardly his fault that he can’t slow down or hold himself back; if only you didn’t taste so good, y’know? If only the blood that stains his teeth a new shade didn’t have his cock throbbing harder than before, the tight squeeze of your insides pairs well with the sweet squelch of your hole, struggling to take his cock, are you? Or maybe it’s just that the amount of blood loss you’ve suffered is making you a little woozy, turned you just a bit too numb to his touch in an effort to hold on to life, maybe?

Though some part of him, deeply hidden and buried in his repeatedly slamming cock, recognises that he’s harming you right now… didn’t you tempt him in the first place? It’s not his fault, right? “C’mon, babe—” he huffs against your neck, unlatching so as to take a proper good look at how fucking dumb you appear right now; rolled back eyes and parting lips, the perfect picture of pleasure, yeah?

It couldn’t be anything more sinister, surely. Not when your cunt chokes his cock so perfectly, dripping slick down to his balls every time they slap back against you as a reminder of how much you’re enjoying this. Feels fucking good, licking his lips in part to concentrate on how warm and wet your little hole is while he picks up the pace to bring your attention back to him, but also to clean himself up from your blood. It swirls pleasantly in his system with his harsh fucks— he doesn’t mean to be so brutal with his affection, but isn’t that your fault for falling in love with a beast such as him? He’s only acting according to his nature, after all.

“C’mon, show me that— fuck, that— pretty fuckin’ face.” His praise comes out almost as a sneer, snarling with his teeth bared as instincts beg him to dominate, to show you who’s boss right now; though, in actuality, it’s you. It’s always been you who he’s beholden to, who he can’t stop thinking about, loving on, lusting after. He might be barely in control right now, but he’s only acting out because he wants you. Terribly so, enough to keep pumping his fat cock in and out of you at such an unfair pace that he has to stabilise you, unable to clearly see your surely pretty face regardless of his attempts because he’s fucking you so fast. His hips just don’t let up, driven to continue from the tight ball of lust your blood pools in his tummy, your squishy insides suck him off so well— almost as well as he’s drained your neck, right? But you do look pretty, absolutely. Hair a mess, tits bouncing before him, a soft necklace of saliva blood decorating your chest with his snap thrusts. It’s disgusting how easy it is for him to lose himself in you, in the soft walls of your cunt, stroking himself off so well with your hole.

In his lust induced drinking spree of your blood, he bets half of it still yet clings to his lips in a show of love for you. And, concerningly, his cock throbs all the harder when you whisper his name. Like feathers on fresh snow, he’s more so filling in the blanks of your mouthed words, but nonetheless fat beads of precum spill out inside of your cunt at how fucked dumb you are right now. You’re so cute.

He promised you it’d feel good, and look at you. Can’t even speak from the sheer pleasure rolling through you, right?

More than anything, he’d like to gulp around your neck some more. Engulf every inch of you with his teeth, leave his mark all over your body like laying claim to his territory. But you’re barely holding your head up at this point, and as he grows close to orgasm himself, so too does clarity come. Just a little, fuzzy at the edges of his blood red darkened mind, enough to give him the idea to plant his thumb between his pelvis and your own to rub sloppy circles around your clit like how he should have done earlier.

But oh, look. There’s a little blood down there, too. From his thumb no doubt, mixing perfectly with the slick your hole gushes out around his fat cock, rocking you up and down his erection desperately so that he can focus more on getting you off than himself.

He’s had his fun, hasn’t he?

“I—” … what? He hadn’t meant to speak just now, chewing on his bottom lip in utter confusion while your insides tighten and, indeed, convulse around his cock. Promising to milk him empty as soon as possible, a choked moan escaping your puffy lips for him to feast on. And as he nears that edge himself, falling forward into you so as to be as close as possible while burying his cock balls deep in your too tight little cunt, a wave of understanding washes over him and he reflexively pulls out.

Still, his hand just as naturally gravitates to his cock as he pumps it fully, a fast up and down stroke that he can barely catch up to, gasping before you with a furrow in his brows. He’s so fucking close, licking his lips a final time to remove the stain of red upon them, and the lingering taste of your blood is all he needs to finally finish upon your front.

Thick, white ropes of salty seed splatter across your wrinkled clothing, dripping down in fat globs to your bare and exposed cunt. So soft and sore she looks, now that he’s had his way with her. And if he’s being honest with himself, he thinks you look stunning painted in white, and he’s never felt so fucking good before.

He felt so unnaturally good. Not normal not by any stretch of the imagination… Which therein lies the main issue.

His grip on you tightens as soon as he’s calmed down enough to realise what he’s just done, a cracked sob urgently crawling up his throat in the face of his actions. How—

“I’m so fucking sorry.” Ah, there it is. What he was trying to say earlier, suddenly rolling like water—or blood—off his tongue in such a pivotal moment. Pain sears through him at the absent look you offer him back, and his gaze finally clears enough to allow him the sight of just how deep his fangs have burrowed. Hidden amongst your open flesh is plenty more sorries, just as much that spill from his gasping throat, though he immediately knows that it’ll never be enough. Not with how tight his chest burns, how his tummy flips with utter sickness at how pale and frail you appear in his arms, no less better looking as he gently lowers you to the ground and he matches you by kneeling at your side.

“I didn’t mean to— I mean, I didn’t want to do all that, y’know? I just— fuck, that’s why I wanted to leave, didn’t wanna hurt you at all, I—” he could mutter about how much he didn’t want to do anything all night long if he could, but the warm smile you adorn when listening to his panic stricken rambles cuts him short. Prompts him into idly chewing on his bottom lip, being sure to hide his fangs from your view as if communicating, again, I’m sorry.

“Seb—” you rasp, and his eyes widen to the sound of your voice. Soft and light, though through the most heinous means possible. Because he hurt you. It hurts, instantly, to hear it. But he doesn’t shy away from his consequences, doing his best to regard you with genuine affection in spite of the tears that well at his lashline.

“It’s okay.” You cough, sputtering blood from under him with reckless abandon. “Was my fault,” you continue, and he instinctively shakes his head out of fear.

No, no, not your fault. Never your fault, it should have been me who walked away from you!

“Really, it’s okay. You were right, it—” felt good? He doesn’t want to hear another word of your dwindling life wasted on his immature actions, shutting you up with a hand held over your lips, and a harsh shh falling from his own. He takes a quick look over your frame, calculating just how near death you really are— though, you’ll always be under on that edge when in close proximity to him apparently, he chastises himself with. But all it takes is that second of taking inventory for him to lift you back up, bridal style in his shaking arms, as he strides out of the kitchen with you in tow.

Not once has he ever tried to care for a mortal after feeding, so he’s not entierly sure what he’s supposed to do in a situation like this. All he knows is that the doctors office isn’t too far away from your big farmhouse, and he’d do anything to at least try and save you.

Lest he joins you, once and for all, with another sorry locked and loaded behind his stained red teeth.

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