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lupinmoonlight · 11 months ago

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Hello, I love your stories <3 Can I request for story professor Lupin x female student, with dominating Remus, a lot rough sex, blow job and very sweet and tender aftercare? :)

Corrupted

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You and Professor Lupin had been having an affair for some time already. However, this time, he couldn't help himself and practically snatches you from the corridors in broad daylight. Rough sex in Professor Lupin's quarters ensues. (2,450 words)

Warnings - professor/student, smut, blow job (reader giving), swallowing, rough sex, professor kink, lots of "good girl", implicit mention of spanking, reader climaxes twice, so does remus, marking, mention of bruising, mention of biting, choking, reader depicted as "innocent", mention of reader almost passing out, aftercare, not proof-read, my grammar.

Notes - Thank you so much for your comment and request, Anon! Sorry for taking a while for this, I hope you enjoy! I appreciate everyone's patience. I am slowly going through requests.

You were making your way to lunch when you felt yourself getting grabbed firmly and pulled aside. His approach was subtle yet deliberate, a skill he had mastered over the last few months. His voice was a warm whisper, barely audible in the sea of students, for your ears only. "My quarters. Now."

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. The picture of innocence, though your mind raced with vivid images of what was to come. His gaze held yours. Intense. Hungry. Unyielding. This was not a request. It was a command.

"I...Yes, Professor Lupin," you managed to reply.

"Good girl," he murmured, his breath tickling your ear. "Don't keep me waiting."

He stepped back, blending seamlessly into the crowd, and you were left rooted to the spot, your knees nearly giving out. You took a moment to gather yourself, trying to calm the racing of your heart and the flush that coloured your cheeks. You glanced around, ensuring that no one had noticed your exchange, and made your way through the corridors.

Reaching his quarters, you paused outside the door. You were nervous. It was a feeling that never went away, no matter how many times you met in this clandestine manner. He had an effect on you that was overwhelming, intoxicating, suffocating, in the most delightful way. The mere thought of him, of his presence, of his scent, was enough to make you combust.

Finally feeling brave enough, you knocked softly. The door swung open, and there he stood. He stepped aside without a word, his eyes never leaving you, silently inviting you inside.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, Remus moved closer, his tall frame effortlessly backing you into the wall. Your face instantly turned a deep shade of red under his intense gaze.

"My, my," he murmured, a teasing lilt in his voice as he observed your reaction. "You really are the cutest when you're all flustered like this."

You, utterly undone by his proximity and the deep timbre of his voice, could only manage a weak nod, your breath catching in your throat.

"Look at you," he murmured, "all flushed and breathless. Can't even look me in the eye, can you?"

Your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red if that was even possible, your gaze flitting down, unable to hold his. Remus's hand guided your face gently back towards his, his fingers trailing up to entangle in your hair. With a firm tug, he exposed your neck, leaning down to press his lips against your skin, leaving a mark that was as much a claim as it was a caress.

Your knees weakened at the sensation, your grip on him tightening as a soft gasp escaped your lips, making him chuckle against your skin.

Pulling back slightly, he watched you with a hungry gaze. "Wear your hair up tomorrow," he instructed. "I want to see that mark I left on you."

You could only nod, too flustered to utter a single word. But Remus wasn't satisfied with just a nod.

"Ah, ah," he admonished lightly. "Use your words, sweetheart."

"Yes, Professor," you whispered. "I will."

"What a good girl," he praised softly, his words sending a fresh wave of heat through you. He pressed closer, and you could feel the hardness of him against you through his trousers. Instinctively, you pressed back, seeking more contact.

In a swift movement, Remus spun you around, pressing you into the wall. His hips pressed flush against yours. You tried to press back against him, your actions betraying your desperation.

His response was primal, a growl rumbling in his chest. "You're so responsive, so eager," he observed, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you have any idea how much that turns me on?"

Your breath hitched, your body trembling with need. "Professor, please," you begged.

Another growl rumbled in his chest and before you could do anything, he abruptly pulled back and dragged you to his bedroom with an urgency that bordered desperation. He released your arm, eyeing you as if you were his prey and he was a starved predator.

"On your knees," he commanded, and you stood there, unable to move, feeling vulnerable and captivated at the same time.

"On. Your. Knees," he repeated and this time you obeyed, sinking down onto the floor in front of him.

You looked up at him as he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. He reached down and gripped your hair firmly, pulling your head towards him. Your eyes were perfectly aligned with his crotch, the outline of his hardened length straining against the fabric of his trousers. You swallowed thickly in anticipation, your lack of experience making you nervous.

His free hand reached to unbuckle his belt and the sound of his zipper getting undone filled the room. The sight of you on your knees, looking so innocent and vulnerable, was maddening, making his length twitch. He finally freed himself, his eyes never leaving yours, his grip in your hair tightening.

"Open," he commanded, guiding himself to your mouth.

You obeyed, your lips parting to take him in. Your fingers delicately wrapped around him, and your lips, soft and inviting, approached his hardness. He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes darkening with need.

The first touch of your lips against his sensitive tip had him gasping. Your mouth was warm, wet, and perfect around him. You pulled back slightly, teasingly running your tongue along the underside of his shaft. The sensation made him jerk involuntarily, a throaty groan escaping him. Encouraged by his reaction, you began to work your way down, taking more of him in. "That's it," he murmured, his fingers instinctively tangling in your hair more firmly.

He let you experiment with your pace as you started to bob your head in rhythm, eliciting deeper moans from him. Feeling bold, you decided to go deeper, to try and take him in fully. The tight constriction made his knees nearly buckle, causing him to throw his head back and moan aloud as he hit the back of your throat. "Good girl, so very good."

His gaze found yours again, taking in every detail: the way your lips stretched around him, the slight watering of your eyes, the flicker of determination to please him. The sight was intoxicating. "So beautiful," he rasped, barely able to string words together.

It didn't take long before his control began to waver. Gripping your head, he started to set the pace, moving in and out of your mouth in rhythmic thrusts. Each movement brought him closer to the edge, and he could see you trying your best to keep up, tears starting to roll down your flushed cheeks.

You moaned around him, sending vibrations up his length, making him curse loudly. The sounds you made, the way you tried to keep up with his thrusts, only fueled his arousal further. "You're going to make me come," he warned, his grip on your hair tightening.

"F-fuck," he growled as he felt his climax approaching, his thrusts becoming short and fast.

"Swallow," he commanded. "Be a good girl for me and swallow."

You could only nod as he kept using your mouth for his pleasure until his body went taut and he thrust deep into your mouth one last time, his seed filling your throat in thick, warm strands.

You choked a little, overwhelmed by him, but Remus held you there, his body throbbing with each pulse, until you swallowed everything. "Good girl," he muttered, his chest heaving from the intensity.

The sight before him was so erotic, sending a new wave of arousal through him. You, still in your innocent school uniform, now tainted by his lust, your face flushed and lips swollen, tear-streaked cheeks. "Look at you," he purred, "so beautifully ruined for me."

In a haze, you were hauled up from the floor and thrown on the bed, face down. "Can't keep my hands off you," he growled, hiking up your skirt with trembling hands, removing your panties hastily.

"Lift up your hips for me," he ordered, his voice firm and filled with hunger.

Before you could comply, you felt a dip in the mattress and his strong hands gripped your hips with a bruising force, raising them up and positioning you to his liking. A small whimper escaped you as you felt vulnerable and exposed. He let out another growl at the sight of you, hips raised; a beautiful display of submission just for him.

You felt his tip of teasing your entrance, eliciting a desperate moan from you as you tried to press back into him, desperate to have him inside you.

"Good girls use their words to tell what they want," he practically growled as his hand landed sharply on your backside.

"R-Remus...please," you begged breathlessly, but it wasn't good enough for him. With a fistful of your hair he tugged your head back, almost bending you in half from behind, his mouth next to your ear as he whispered "You will address me properly. Now try again. What do you want?"

"I...I want you inside me. P-please, Professor," you tried again desperately. The anticipation was too much and you felt like you might be pushed over the edge without him even touching you.

The words were barely out of your mouth when he pushed into you, filling you completely. There was no time for niceties, no time to get you ready. You cried out, clinging to the sheets below you as if they were your lifeline. "Professor!" Your voice came out as a pathetic whimper, barely audible amidst the heavy sounds of his laboured breathing.

"So tight...Always so tight for me," he hissed. He dominated every inch of you, his trusts hard, deep, unrelenting. The sound of his body colliding with yours filled the room, each thrust driven by pure need. He was like a man starved, each touch, each bite, each mark, feeding a desire that felt like an endless pit. An insatiable void.

His hands roamed over you as he kept pumping into her relentlessly. He was everywhere. One of his hands reached around your throat, restricting your airways in the most delightful way. The feeling went straight to your core and your climax hit you unexpectedly, with such force that your vision went blank. You felt yourself spiraling, the world narrowing to the sensation of him inside you. With a cry, you tightened around him, surrendering to the intensity of your release.

Your face was pushed down, the sheets muffling your whimpers as his body pushed you into the mattress. He didn't care that you came. He didn't care that you were overstimulated. He didn't stop. He continued his merciless pace, the pleasure now bordering on pain.

"God, Y/N," he cursed, the force of his thrusts increasing. "You feel so damn good."

You cried out, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. You couldn't breathe, you couldn't move. All you could do what lay there, on your stomach, hips raised as your Professor took what he needed. And it was perfect.

You cried out again, your body tensing as another wave of pleasure crashed over you unexpectedly. Having you clench around him like that was his undoing. With a final thrust, he buried himself deep within you, causing you to gasp. "That's it, take all of me," he rasped as he spilled into you with abandon, his hands gripping your hips possessively.

Each thrust that followed milked him for every drop, his hips grinding against yours as he sought to sate the hunger that consumed him. As his movements slowly stilled, he remained inside you for a few more moments, trying to catch his breath. A soft kiss was place on your shoulder but you barely registered it.

He withdrew slowly and sat back on his heels, his body slick with sweat, his breath coming in heavy pants. You tried to move, but a gentle hand on the small of your back stopped you. "No. Let me. I want to take care of you."

You slumped back on the bed, overwhelmed by what had just transpired. You were shivering, your breathing was laboured, you couldn't speak, couldn't move. Remus, ever attentive to your needs, quickly recognized the signs of you experiencing a drop, a common reaction after such intense moments. His nurturing instincts kicked in, seamlessly shifting from the dominant beast to the caring protector he inherently was. With a soft incantation, he cast a cleaning spell over you both, removing any physical traces of your shared passion.

"Are you alright?" he asked, the concern clear in his voice. When you didn't respond, too caught in trying to ground yourself back, he gently turned you around, sitting you up. His hands were tender as they cradled your cheeks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress.

"Look at me, love. Breathe with me," he coaxed gently. He took deep, deliberate breaths, guiding you to sync your breathing with his. Slowly, your breaths became more regular, the trembling of your body easing as you came back to yourself.

Once you seemed calmer, Remus helped you back into your underwear and smoothed your clothes with a careful touch. He conjured a glass of water with another quick spell and held it to your lips, encouraging you to drink. Still slightly dazed, you complied, the cool water a welcome relief to your sore throat.

"Good girl," he praised softly, his voice now warm with affection. His approval brought a faint smile to your lips, a small sign that you were recovering.

"There you are," he cooed, pressing the softest of kisses to your forehead. After you finished your drink, he lay back down, gently pulling you into his embrace. He held you close, cradling you against his chest as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His touch was gentle, reverent, as he peppered your face with light kisses.

"I'm here, you're safe," he murmured soothingly.

You nestled into his embrace, the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart grounding you.

"You made me miss lunch, you know? That's quite unforgivable, Professor Lupin."

Remus looked at you with feigned guilt, a twinkle in his eye. "Oh dear, I am terribly sorry. How can I possibly make up for such a grievous error?"

You couldn't help but giggle at his theatrics. "Well, I suppose you were lunch enough for today," you teased back with a huff.

He sighed playfully, shaking his head. "I fear I've corrupted you, Y/N."

"Perhaps it is I who have corrupted you, Professor."

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #professor lupin #professor lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #professor lupin smut #hp #hp smut #hp fanfic

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 10 months ago

Text

No Other Gods

Serial killer! Billy Russo x Female Reader.

Billy’s POV mostly

Summary: Billy’s on the run, moving from place to place as he leaves a trail of bodies behind. When he steps into a church to hide, he stumbles upon someone that makes him want to stay.

Warnings: Dub- con, violence, gore, blood, blood smearing, so much murder, mentions of Billy's past assault attempt, suggestion of possible sexual assault attempts toward the reader, religious themes, blasphemy, sexual acts in a church, thoughts of non-con (no actual non-con), poison, restraints, oral, fingering, sexual intercourse, wax play/heat play, Devil worship.

If you want clarification on a possible trigger, I am happy to elaborate.

I took the dove out back, shot it, then resurrected it so I could kill it again. Be warned.

For my lovely @ittybxttykxttytxtty who was so instrumental in the design of this fic. This goes out to you, love, who reminded me that I shouldn't be afraid to write whatever inspires me.

He’s calm.

Each step he takes is slow, measured, he hears the echo of it on the quiet street, the drag of his shoe on the concrete sidewalk.

He turns the corner, and has to fight the instinct to hold his breath as they turn their heads to look up at him. The murder weapon tucked into the waistband of his jeans feels ten pounds heavier.

Even breaths, one in, one out, he knows nothing, he has no sense of concern, or worry. He blinks, feels trepidation wash from his skin.

Internally, he readjusts his course, doesn’t want to walk past the group of officers that are studying him from further up the street, doesn’t want to answer questions just yet, not until he has his story straight.

From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the church and he changes his walk ever so slightly that it looks as though he’s been heading there the entire time.

When he’s at the closest point, he raises his head and smiles, gives a little wave to the officers, wishes them a good day, though he knows what they know, and it’s not a good day for them.

The church is pristine, unlike the other buildings on the street, it stands with fresh paint and the smell of almost dried varnish and scrubbed steps that tell him that this church is probably the most coveted place in the entire town.

Billy, having just cut a man’s throat in the High school gymnasium, steps past the door, and does not immediately combust.

Surely, that must mean he’s doing something right, that his cause is a good one, maybe even approved of in the eyes of God.

He’s not convinced.

For a moment, he thinks it’s empty, thinks he’s alone with God and his thoughts, up until the slight movement of shoulders draws his eye.

He’s in disbelief that he missed you the first time, the light of the stained glass hitting your sedentary form.

He takes some quiet steps forward, swears he feels the concealed knife grow warmer. He watches you, studies in rapt attention the way the coloured lights look on you, the way they illuminate your hair, makes his fingers ache to touch something that looks explicit in its forbiddenness.

Your dress is white, or a cream colour that tells him the outward state of your mind, the purity nurtured in your soul.

He moves faster now, eager to see you, to know what you look like, to hear your voice, to look into your eyes.

He turns when he makes it to your pew, sees the way the light caresses the planes of your face, and he wishes he could do the same.

You are radiant, undisturbed beauty, your hands clasped together beneath your chin, a small rosary wound between your fingers. He wants to touch your hair, swirl strands of it around his finger, he wants to feel your skin, hold your form beneath his palms.

Everything he wants, halts, the moment you turn your head and look up at him.

His lips part in surprise, he’s taken by you. You must be an angel, or something more.

“Hello.” You say softly, gazing up at him with unsure eyes.

“Hello sweetheart, I'm sorry to bother you.” Billy answers smoothly, as though he isn't desperate for you to get closer so that he can catch your scent.

You look like you smell like flowers, he thinks to himself, bristles with delight when you finally stand, the light streaming through the stained glass paints you with a myriad of colors.

“It's okay,” you soothe, “I don't mind helping.” You smile at him, an ease of trust in your eyes. Trust, he could so easily extinguish with the weapon concealed on him.

You extend your hand, giving him your name, he smiles, gives his back. In your eyes, he can see something he doesn’t quite recognize.

Too pure, Billy finally decides. You're too pure, there must be some wrong.

“I’m new to town,” Billy explains, leaning in so that he can stand in God’s light with you, in hopes that you can absolve him of the thing he has done.

“Got a little bit lost. Will you help me find my way?”

You smile, and it reminds him of warm fires in the winter, of standing in sunlight after being drenched from head to toe.

“Where are you going?”

One of the wives whispers something in your ear, Billy watches you tilt your head back laughing. You had this entire town wrapped around your finger and before he’d arrived, he’s sure no one had ever questioned your purity.

A white dress and blue cardigan, he wants to take you into one of the back rooms of the church and push his murderous hands under your dress, feel your gasp in his skin as his hands paw at your delectable thighs.

He wants to ruin the very image of you, reshape you for him, and him alone.

He turns his head slightly, observes that he’s not the only man here transfixed by you, but one in particular catches his eye.

The reverend, in the same clothes he’s just delivered Sunday sermon, gazes lustfully at you, his glasses balanced at the very tip of his nose to conceal the direction of his eyes.

He recognises the expression, knows it like he’s looking into the face of someone who once looked at him the very same way. The reason he started killing in the first place.

He feels the itch swell inside of himself, his fingers flex.

It seems as though it would be time to hunt again very soon.

“Lost again?” Someone says behind him while he’s picking out laundry detergent.

He turns, seeing you there, in a pale pink shirt, and tan pants that hide your figure from his view.

He smiles, watches the way you light up even more. A sweet, little morsel made for his fangs.

He holds up two different boxes of detergent for you to see.

“What do you think?” He asks.

You hum, deep in thought.

“This one,” You say, pointing at the item in his right hand, “smells too flowery for my taste, and you don’t seem like a man that likes to smell like flowers.”

He smiles, raises his eyebrows, intrigued.

“And this one,” You point to his other hand, “Oh, that’s the one I use.”

“So it must be the best.” He agrees, as if you made a proper suggestion, putting the latter into his shopping cart.

You smile up at him in amusement.

“So, how are you getting all of this back to your place?” You ask, tilting your head at the moderate amount of groceries in his cart.

He turns, looking at what you were observing.

“You’re right, I might have picked up too many things for my walk back home. I’ll have to put some things back.” He agrees with her implications.

“No way!” You protest, reaching to take his hand, tugging him with you.

“Pastor Wade brought me along with his wife, I’m sure they’ll have some extra space in the back for you.” He follows, feeling anger that Wade had found himself closer to you than before. You wave your hand excitedly at the reverend, and Billy smiles internally at the sour look he receives from the man himself.

The trunk gets filled with the reverend’s new items, and Billy smiles, looks at you as you tilt your head, trying to solve a problem of too many groceries and too many people trying to fit into one vehicle.

“Give it up,” He says, mouth angled near your ear, “I’ll find another ride-”

“Don't you dare,” You argue, “I promised you a ride home and I won’t back down now.”

He smirks, watches you pile yours, and then his items into the backseat of the car. When you’re done, there’s only just enough space for only one person to fit.

“That’s okay.” You insist, “I can sit on you, if you don’t mind?”

Of course he doesn’t mind.

“If you’re sure.” He taunts.

“It’s a great idea.” Wade’s wife echoes, too eager to have them both in the back seat and the journey started.

Billy does his best to appear aloof, he gets in, and looks up at you expectantly.

You’re hesitant at first, before looking around, and then climbing into the back seat of the car to seat yourself in his lap.

Billy takes a deep breath, exhales, watches the pores on your neck and collarbone rise when his breath touches you.

A few moments into the ride and you’re wriggling uncomfortably in his lap.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Warm.” You explain, reaching for the buttons on your pink cardigan, brushing his stomach with your hand as you tug it off your shoulders.

Billy watches, with rapt attention as you reveal a white shirt beneath your cardigan. When you almost slip off his lap, he reaches to grip your knees.

“Hold on, sweetheart.” He whispers, just so you can hear.

You hold conversation with Wade and his wife throughout the journey, talking about how excited you are for the upcoming Christmas season, and that dressing up as an angel at the annual concert is a highlight for you.

All the while, Billy keeps you seated in his lap, your ass right on his hardening cock, the smell of blossoms drifting from your hair.

He closes his eyes, tries to distract himself from thinking too much about you, but he knows it doesn’t work. When the road gets bumpy, Wade apologises for the rough ride, and you respond with something reassuring.

You stiffen after a moment, and he knows he’s been caught.

He knows you feel him when you turn your head to look at him in surprise, his cock, hot and hard below your ass, rubbing against you as the car sputters along.

He looks right back at you, meets your shocked look with a sinister one of his own, wants you to know what a man feels like, makes sure you commit him to memory.

In the rearview, he sees pastor Wade glance at the pair of you. Billy looks back, holds his eyes, gives the supposedly pious man a smirk.

The next Sunday, you sit beside him in church.

It completely unfocuses him from his next target, he tilts his head to look at you.

Such a curious thing, drawn to something you now know isn’t as wholesome as appeared to be. It makes him feral, makes him want to put his hand on your thigh, slide it slowly up until he’s at the apex, tuck his obscenely large fingers under the waistband of your panties, find you dripping, feel you aching, press a lone finger to your swollen clit, make your sweet little cunt gush in God’s sacred domain.

When it’s time to take his hand in prayer, he makes sure to do it as slowly as possible, dragging his fingers along your palm, your touch makes him feel blessed.

It becomes a habit, sitting beside him for Sunday mass, the eroticism of your touch right before you pray, before you ask God for forgiveness from all your impure thoughts and deeds, and Billy sits besides you, blood dripping from his hands as he imagines the ways he wants to violate you in this very church.

It’s a Wednesday evening when he steps into the church, the most desolate time possible. He knows there’s only two people here, him, and his target.

He moves slowly, cautiously, on the balls of his feet to avoid making too much sound. The wind blows, the front doors to the church groan.

He passes the stained glass windows where he’d first met you, he passes the pew he sits at every Sunday while thinking about you, he passes the doors at the back of the church that he thought would make a decent place to defile you.

He goes deeper, till he can hear the quiet familiar slapping of a man going at it.

He’s not shocked by it, or scandalised, he knows his wife barely touches him, he knows she has an idea of what goes on inside his head. Billy’s studied her too, looked at her while she watched the way he leaned in to speak to you, a spark of realisation in her eyes.

He makes gentle movements, turning the doorknob with two of his fingers at a pace so slow it goes unnoticed by the person on the other side of the door.

He gazes steadily through the small gap.

Pastor Wade has your pink cardigan pressed to his face. Billy remembers the last place he saw you wear it- in the back of Wade's car.

He has one hand to his face, and the other stroking his meagre erection. Billy waits, in the stillness, the only sounds are the preacher’s laboured breaths and the movement of his hand.

There’s a right moment to act, and Billy waits patiently, he doesn’t have to talk himself into this one as much as he’s done with some others before. This one comes easily, in part because he’s grown accustomed to the feel of blood spilling onto his hands, almost craving it now, but mostly, it’s because Wade’s next intended victim is you.

In front of him, Wade groans, tilting his head back pace quickening. Billy pushes the door open. The wooden door doesn’t groan like it did before, Billy had greased the hinges just last week in preparation for this.

Billy stands behind the man, waiting for the precise moment, and when the preacher lets another groan loose from his lips, a warning of impending release, Billy strikes.

The man comes just as his throat is cut open, blood spraying from his neck as semen spills from his cock. Warm blood pours over Billy’s hands, as he supports the man as he drops, not wanting to cause more noise than necessary.

He lies on his side, turns his head upward, mouth parting in surprise as he sees Billy’s face.

“I wish I could punish you more, but I’m not worried, I know the Devil is going to take his sweet time with you.”

He watches the words register behind the dying man’s eyes, and Billy smiles wickedly as life leaves him.

He tugs your cardigan free from Wade’s hand, it’s partially soaked in blood and will need to be properly disposed of, he doesn’t want anyone finding it and linking you to the crime in any way.

He studies the soft pink material, smiles at the thought of you. He brings the material up to his nose, catching the smell of blossoms just barely clinging to the fabric.

The fluttering wings of a bird above makes him glance upwards, and he figures one must have found its way into the space between the ceiling and the roof, searching for a comfortable space.

He uses your cardigan to clean his knife, before turning, and heading for a sink to wash the blood from his hands.

He brings a casserole to the deceased’s house the evening they discover him dead.

It’s just a little something to help out, he explains to Wade’s widow when he greets her in the kitchen. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, crying from the moment she’d heard the news, no doubt.

He doesn’t stay with her too long, excusing himself despite her attempts to hold onto his hand, the women around her gazing at him, more intrigued than ever about his culinary skills.

He wants to find you, to see you. There’s an itching inside of him that won’t go away until he knows you’re here with him.

When he finally catches sight of you, something inside of him unknots itself. You’re standing in the middle of a large group of concerned people, you look like you’re fighting tears with everything you have. A woman touches your shoulder, and you raise your head to give her a brave smile.

He pauses on the outskirts, wonders how he’s ever going to get your attention.

But he doesn’t have to worry, because your eyes lock with his as soon as he stands still, as if you’d been seeking him out this entire time. He gives you a small smile, something of an icebreaker from so far away, and you take it as an invitation, running right to him with tears already spilling down your cheeks.

Your body collides with his, and for a moment, there’s only you, and the softness of your form, and the smell of your hair and he’s quietly reassuring you that everything is going to be okay.

He enjoys it, the way you grip his shirt, the way you cling to him with every ounce of strength you have. He hugs you back, finding a way to the soft loveseat in Wade’s living room. You don’t pull your head from his chest as you cry, you shake with big, heaving sobs, and he tries his best to comfort you.

If you’d only known what Wade’s intentions were with you, you wouldn’t be crying. After a while you calm, and you continue to cling to him while you sniffle, his shirt damp with your tears and he wears it like a badge of honour.

So many people stop in to check on you, more and more with each passing hour. Billy thinks more people are concerned with your wellbeing than with Wade’s actual widow.

It amuses him, that so many people are drawn to you, that you have such influence on everyone, that they care so much for you, and here you are, tucked into his body, turning your head into his chest to cry every now and again, growing less frequent with the more time that passes.

Later, he offers to take you home. He’s just been able to afford a slightly beat up car, and he asks if you’d be okay with being driven by him. You accept with sleepy eyes, and he smiles internally, going to find Wade’s wife to bid her goodbye.

He overhears one person speaking with another about the state in which the body was found, covered in his own blood and semen, throat slit from ear to ear. Billy is delighted to hear it, he wants everyone to know, he wants to shame Wade’s name, even in death.

His widow is sad to watch Billy leave, she grips at him once more, trying to wrap her arms around him the way you do. When he mentions your name, he watches her stiffen, mouth set in a grim line, something in her eyes like accusation, or knowledge of something that she cannot say to another soul.

She doesn’t speak her accusations to him, and he leaves, wraps an arm around your wobbling form and helps guide you to his car.

You’re so tired, and you fall asleep in his car as soon as you’re buckled in. He drives slowly, takes the long way, anything to be by your side longer. Your cheeks are stained with tears, he thinks about how beautiful you’re going to look in black.

You hum sleepily, reaching across, he blinks in surprise when you take his hand in yours.

“I heard how he died. Can’t wrap my head around it. Someone just decided he shouldn’t be alive anymore. Can you believe that?”

The lord giveth, and the lord taketh away, he wants to say.

Out loud, “I’ve seen it a couple of times, back in New York.” he says instead.

You squeeze his hand.

“Do you think you could ever take a life?”

His breaths pause, it was time to confess to you.

“I have,” He clears his throat, “I have killed people, I was in the army.”

Your head swivels to him in his peripherals, he glances back with a sad smile.

“I just thought you should know.”

“Thanks for telling me.”

You continue to hold his hand.

“You- you’re not- you don’t hate me?”

“It’s not in me to hate, I have to believe that the path you’re on was necessary to bring you to me.”

“To you?”

“So I can help you.” You answer, squeezing his hand.

He wants to rip you apart and reshape you with his own hands.

When he finally gets to your house, he helps you out of the car, helping you up the few stairs and supporting your weight as you get the door open. When he tries to let you walk on your own, you stumble, and he has to catch you before you fall.

“I’m really tired.” You explain to him, and he hums in understanding.

He takes you up to bed, watches you collapse onto the soft surface, knee length dress rucking up so that he catches just the quickest glimpse of your underwear.

His hands clench into fists. He wants to push your skirt up, bury his face between your legs, taste your little cunt, worship you until you come on his tongue.

“Will you stay?” You ask, arms spread out, legs slightly bent as they press together.

He kicks his shoes off decisively.

“What will people say?” He teases.

“You don’t strike me as a man who’s ever cared about that.” You whisper softly.

He grins, climbs into bed beside you, reaches around your hip so that he can pull your body against his.

“Goodnight, angel.” He whispers as your eyelids flutter, struggling to stay conscious.

“G’night, Billy.” You respond, touching your face into his chest once more before you doze off completely.

It's too much power, and you must know it. To fall asleep so easily right beside him, every temptation to be like the predators he hunts. He could press his palm to your thigh, drag his hand up to your hips, you would never even know. He could do so much worse, pin you to the bed, pull his cock out and take you right here, watch you wake in shock while he fills you. Watch his cum leak out of your little hole. What could stop him? You? God? Everything he's wanted at the tip of fingers and all he has to do is take.

In the end, he doesn't do it. He lies beside you and thinks of all the vile things he could do and doesn't act on a single thing and he doesn't really know why.

He thinks it's because of the consequences. Doing that would mean you wouldn't want to be around him, and he needed you to want to be around him.

By the time morning comes, and you wake, he's spent the entire night memorizing the feel of your body against his. If you feel his aching erection, you say nothing of it, and he's not sure if that's a good thing or not.

He finds you right after the funeral, lighting the candles that have gone out when the doors had been wide open to allow the coffin through.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, approaching you, swallows as he finally has a chance to fully appreciate your funeral attire.

It's loose, giving you an almost formless shape, to hide from everyone's view, your skirt is just a little shorter than usual, probably something you haven't worn in a while, resting at mid thigh and no doubt giving the women something to chat about in hushed voices.

You glance at him with a little smile, before continuing your painstaking process of relighting each candle.

“I'm alright. The lord gives, and like natural order, the lord takes.”

He blinks.

“That's right.”

“What do you think about the Devil?” You ask suddenly, not looking up, simply tilting your head to continue your work.

“What do you mean?” He pries.

“Is he evil? Or is he just the way God made him?”

“He's both.” Billy answers.

You smile, and finally turn to look at him.

“Do you think God loves him?”

“Doesn't the Bible say God loves all his creations?”

You smile wider, nodding. For once, Billy feels like he doesn't have the upper hand in a conversation.

“Are you worried about eternal damnation?” Billy asks, taking a step closer, ready to reassure you that someone as sweet as you couldn't possibly end up in Hell. If you were damned, well that didn't bode well for him.

“I'm not afraid of Hell, I can handle fire.”

Billy watches you raise a hand, and hold it closely over one of the candles. He hisses, grabbing your wrist and pulling it away.

He turns your palm to check for any serious burns, but he'd withdrawn your hand just in time.

“I'm alright, Billy.” You reassure him, leaving your hand in his, and using the other to continue with your previous task.

It's the first time he realises that there is more to you than he'd initially thought. He'd seen you as a pristine painting before, something to be looked at, forbidden to touch, to love from afar. Now? You were an enigma, a puzzle whose pieces were made to be handled, to be solved by the right person.

Billy wanted to be that person.

“-He wants to be here with you, the lord is one with everything, he’s in everything you see, and everything you touch. You just have to close your eyes and let him in.”

From around the corner, Billy listens to you speak, your hands holding the other woman’s, who’d stumbled into the church an hour ago, searching for someone to speak with.

“I’m not worth the forgiveness.” The woman sobs.

Billy is ashamed to admit that the very sound of your voice turns him on. He feels sick, that listening to you speak about the lord makes him hard. If he closes his eyes, he swears you talk about God as if he’s just another person in the room,

“He believes in you. You’re here, you found me, because that’s what he wanted. You found the strength to come in, to open yourself up to being judged just a little, and I know he appreciates that. He loves you, and I do too.”

Later, when the woman leaves, with a promise to be here on Sunday, Billy finds you, shuffling and reorganising reading materials near the altar.

“You’re good at this.” Billy murmurs.

You smile.

“I’m just doing what he commands.”

Jealousy stirs in Billy’s chest.

Before he can stop himself, he’s stepping into your space, you look up at him with wide eyes, as you try to back away.

“You’re so selfless, don’t you know what people say about you?”

You blink in surprise, your body lowering as you descend the stairs, away from the altar and toward the pews.

“It- why should it matter what people say?”

“They call you a temptress, you’re the reason Wade’s burning in Hell. I heard his wife say it herself.”

“That’s not my fault.” You defend.

“It’s not? You’re telling me you have no idea of the effect you have on men?”

You go down another step, he follows.

“I- I don’t- I’m not-”

He feels so large, looming over you, frightening you.

“You don’t?”

“I only want to serve.” You whisper.

“Who?” Billy taunts.

“What?”

“Who do you serve?”

“The Lord.”

The back of your legs bump the wooden pew. Billy watches you gasp.

“And what if I wanted you to serve me?”

He doesn’t let your confused expression last for too long.

Billy acts fast, sitting on the pew, and gripping your hips to drag you onto his lap. He guides your legs over his, spreads his thighs so that you’re forced open too.

You suck in a deep breath, head falling back onto his shoulder. You look up at him, mouth parted, eyebrows drawn together.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your body still on top of his own, he realises that you’re not fighting him like he was worried you would.

He shushes you, gently presses the tips of his fingers right above your knees, takes his time dragging them up.

You reach for his hands, covering them, unsure if you should stop him or not.

“I’m giving you what God can’t.” He simply says, looking up at the altar before them, listening for anyone walking in as he brings a veined hand up to cup your mound.

You let out a little whine, fingers gripping his wrist, unable to pry his hand away.

“This is wrong.” You whisper, tugging at his wrist.

“I’ll make you feel right in a minute.” He answers, moving slowly to push his hands into your panties.

This is what your cunt feels like, is his first thought. Billy bites down on his bottom lip, his fingers feeling over your pussy, exploring, learning, and when he finally dips his hands lower to find you wet, he can’t help chuckling to himself.

The wrongness of your situation turns you on, and Billy uses it like fuel, lights a fire so readily, eager to watch everything burn.

“This is all an act, isn’t it?” He jabs, “You pretend to be so pure but that little cunt is dripping on my fingers.” You shake your head in protest.

He’s gentle when he finally touches your clit.

You gasp, let out a strained moan, trying to fight a losing battle with your body.

He circles his fingers on your little bud, pulls your legs open wider when you try to shut them. He’s slow, he’s careful, he feels you tremble, feels your breaths get faster.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to cum already.” He chides, “I’ve only just started.”

A soft cry is your only response.

When the sun is at the right angle, it shines through the stained glass and paints you both in multitudinous colours. He looks down at you, your face is one of mindless pleasure while the hues dance on your trembling skin.

“Look at you,” he murmurs reverently, “sinning in God’s light.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, mouth parting with the start of a loud cry, he slips his free hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds of pleasure you make.

You rock on him, cunt spilling more and more onto his fingers, his mouth begs for a taste.

Your nails dig into his wrist, he welcomes the feeling, delighted to have given you something only he could give.

When he’s sure you’re going to be quiet, he slips his hand from your mouth, and after a few moments, he pulls his hand from your panties.

His fingers go right into his mouth, eyes closing in bliss at your tart taste, he licks his fingers clean, runs his tongue over them one more time to make sure he’s gotten every drop of you.

You look at him with parted lips, caught in your own amazement, coloured light still spilling onto you.

He smiles, pulling your skirt down, closing his legs which close yours.

He pauses when he feels your fingers touch his chin, he looks at you in surprise to find something calm in them. You part your lips, like you’re about to say something, and then you startle when the doors to the church are pushed open.

You slip off his lap, rising to a stand, you smile, welcoming the people coming in.

Billy is waiting in the confessional booth for you to pass by. You’d been so exhausted recently, trying to help the newest preacher get settled, and then someone else had been murdered. A woman working at the bank had been stabbed repeatedly in the face inside the bank vault. Her body had been found on a pile of money.

It was odd, Billy thought he was the only one of his kind in town, to know there was another out there, made him want to look out for you more than ever.

This, was not him looking out for you.

Rather, he was waiting to pull you away, to be your distraction from another funeral, to save you, if he so dared call it that.

He hears footsteps, identifies you from the click of your familiar shoes on the church floors.

He hears the large wooden doors at the front open to allow the coffin in, and while everyone looks in the direction of the doors, he slips out, wraps his hand around your mouth, and pulls you, struggling into the confessional.

You stop fighting when you see him, and he smiles, bolting the doors closed from the inside.

He looms over you, cock hardening in his pants, presses a finger to his lips with a smile.

Your mouth parts, curious about him, and when he presses you back, settling your body onto the wooden bench, you don’t have much choice but to obey.

He watches you, fire in his veins. You look up at him with the sweetest eyes, and he knows he’s ready to defile you right here.

Instead, as the funeral begins, he drops to his knees in front of you, pulling your panties down your legs so that he can worship you with his tongue.

He keeps you right on edge for the entire sermon, licking you slowly, your hands in his hair, your breathing deep and low to avoid attracting attention.

He edges you, echoes the prayers being said outside into your heated core, licks at your sweet bundle of nerves, doesn’t stop for a single second.

When the congregation takes up a gospel in praise, he waits till the voices are at their highest point to let your orgasm take you.

He tastes you greedily, thankful to have ever crossed your path.

He closes his eyes, decidedly not done with you, peeling at your virtue until nothing remains.

He takes you home that night, helps your exhausted form like he did before, hands gripping your waist to support your fumbling steps.

“You need to stop expending all your energy like this.” He chastises, lips in your hair, breathing in your scent.

“I’m fine, I just need to sleep.” You protest.

He guides your key into your door.

“Will you stay again?” You ask hopefully.

“If you want me to. But if someone sees me leaving-”

“I know, they’ll have reason to call me a whore.”

“Don’t say that about yourself.” His voice is maybe too sharp with you.

You let out a little laugh.

“Right. Sorry.”

He gets you up the stairs, feels you take a deep breath as you yawn.

“Help me get out of this dress?”

God, you really were tempting him.

He watches you fall back onto the bed, clad in only your underwear. He finds it impossible to look away, when your body looks so divine.

He gulps, wants to kiss every exposed inch, wants to make you see heaven any way that he can.

You watch him while he watches you, he’s transfixed by you.

“You want to touch me, don’t you?”

He curls his hands into fists.

“I always want to touch you.”

You give him a sleepy grin, arching your back, reaching behind to unclasp your bra.

“Can you bring me a dress from my closet?” You ask softly, and he stiffens to obey.

He pulls the door open, searching through the delicate things suspended from hangers for something for you to sleep in. He finds a sheer dress, smiles as he pulls it from the closet, he glances back at you to find you already asleep, your breasts exposed to the cold air.

He smiles, turns back to close the door, pauses when something shiny catches his eye.

It’s behind the wooden walls of your closet, shining through the slats. Billy’s eyebrows draw together, leaning in to press against the spot, the entire panel of wood shifts, and he realises that the closet has a false back.

He tosses your dress over his shoulder, reaching for either side of the wood, he presses down gently, and the entire thing shifts upward, allowing a space for his fingers to fit in.

He pulls, the piece of wood is heavier than expected, turns, and tucks it against one side of the closet.

What he finds… washes his mind blank of any rational thought.

It’s an altar, but it’s not for God.

There’s an inverted pentagram painted onto the wall in something that Billy, with his years of experience in the matter, knows to be dried blood. On the pentagram, there are photos pinned, polaroids of him that he’d never seen you take, taped to your wall with little hearts scribbled on. There’s other things as well, the dog tags from his bedside drawer, the pocket square he’d thought he’d misplaced after Wade’s funeral. So many little items of his, in this space, and he realises that he has no idea who you are at all.

On the floor, is the pink cardigan soaked in Wade’s blood, half burned from where he’d tossed it into a quick fire in the woods behind the church. Billy kneels, fingers brushing the handle of a knife with a blade embellished with flowers, stained with blood. The skull of a goat, surrounded by black and red candles.

He knows he should be feeling fear, but there’s no ounce of it anywhere in his body. He licks his lips, plucking a photo of himself from the wall, he feels his lips curl up involuntarily.

He stands, turns to wake you, to confront you, and halts when he finds you already behind him.

You look sleepy still, swaying on your feet, body still bare, and before he can say anything, you raise a fist, and blow a strange powder directly into his face.

It stings when it touches his eyes. He groans, drops the photo of himself he was holding, presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and stumbles. His throat tickles, he coughs, body trying to expel whatever you’ve dosed him with. He can’t see, and he reaches for where he knew you were last, only to find formless air.

He tries not to panic, if you wanted to actually hurt him, you would have by now. Perhaps you just didn’t know what his reaction was going to be and you were safeguarding yourself.

He feels the handcuff wrap around his wrist, but he fights it, his eyes sting too much for rational thought.

“I’ll help you if you cooperate.” He hears you say.

He huffs out a breath, extending his cuffed arm for your guidance.

You pull at him, bringing him to your bed, and cuffing both his arms to the frame. His eyes sting when he tries to see through them, his face burns too, like it’s on fire.

The next thing he feels is a cold cloth on his face, and then there’s instant relief.

You place a damp rag over his eyes, and on the lower half of his face, leaving his nose exposed for him to breathe.

“Let it sit for a little, it needs to neutralise the poison.”

Poison? He thinks in shock.

He tries to calm himself, tries to tug on his restraints as little as possible. He tries to run through everything he’d learned in the past few minutes, sort them into his head, solve puzzles he didn’t even know existed.

You were entirely not who he thought you were, not even a little, not even at all.

No, not true, he’d seen it, glimpses of the real you from the very start, too pure, he’d thought, too pure that there must be something wrong.

He should have seen it from the minute you took his hand, from the minute you sat on his lap, when you felt his erection and still flocked to him. Billy should have known. It was in the way you thrived under the attention, the memory of you holding your fingers over the candles in the church. He’d seen it all, and had been unable to put the pieces together.

He hears movement, feels the bed dip as you come closer to him, feels your weight settle on his hips, straddling him.

The rags are pulled from his face, and you use the edge to wipe the remnants of something he can’t see.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t want to hurt you, but it was this or hitting you over the head with a bat.” You smile down at him, he can still see you there.

You don’t look like a new person, you only look more relaxed in his presence, his eyes drop down to find you wearing the dress he’s picked before he’d discovered your secrets.

“You don’t worship God.” He starts.

You smile.

“No I don’t.”

“But you go to church, you help other people find God.”

“You think that saves them? No one in that church is free of sin, no one is made better by being there, they’re only better at hiding it.”

He blinks, tilts his head, waits for you to continue.

You reach for a box of matches, striking one, you light the candle sitting on your bedside table.

“I go to church, because every time I step in there, I spite God.”

He watches you reach to strike another match, lighting the candle on the other side of the bed.

“My Lord, the only one I pray to, is the Devil himself.”

Billy blinks, tilts his head.

“You tempt everyone there with your innocence on purpose.” He says, thinking out loud.

You make a sound of disagreement.

“Not exactly, I’m just charismatic, and the fruits fall where they fall. My intention isn’t to tempt, it’s not my fault that men are so easily… tempted.”

He raises his eyebrows in amazement at your point.

“Look at Wade for example, I was only as nice to him as I was with everyone else, but he took it another way, I’d finally decided to kill him when he touched my thigh for too long… I was watching him from a small space in the roof when you came in.”

Billy watches, hypnotised as you drag your palm over your stomach, your ass grinding gently against his semi-erect cock.

“I watched you stand behind him, waiting for the right moment.” You whisper, hand slipping under your sheer dress, working its way down the front of your panties. Billy’s teeth clench, pulling at the handcuffs.

“I watched you cut his throat,” You groan, “There was blood everywhere.” Your head tilts back as he watches you touch yourself to the memory of his past crimes.

“You took my cardigan. I knew there was something about you before, but it was only then that I knew I had to have you.”

He watches you, fingers hidden from his view as you pleasure your little cunt. He feels rage at not having any control.

“The woman in the bank,” Billy tries to think with you so close, “That was you.”

You nod, smiling down at him.

“She was a bad person. I wanted to give Satan someone to play with. Just like he gave me you.”

Billy’s hands are in fists, blunt nails pressed to his palm.

“Let me go.” He grits out.

You smile dreamily, shake your head.

“Not yet. I want to have you first.”

His breath halts in his chest, desperate to ask you what you mean, but he thinks your intention is clear enough.

He pulls harder on his restraints, not wanting to be bound the first time he feels you.

“Don't fight it, Billy. Let me have you how I want, and then, maybe we'll see about those cuffs.”

He stops struggling, takes a deep breath, goes still.

You smile, undoing his belt as quickly as you can, and then tugging at the buttons of his shirt until his torso is bared to you.

He listens to you hum with delight, feels your scorching tongue lave at his chest, over his heart, flicking at his nipple.

He begins to understand how feral you are, listening to your hums of appreciation as your tongue drifts over his neck. He realises, that you’re just a small thing, searching for someone exactly like you in a world full of people pretending.

When you open his pants, his mouth goes dry, his jaw drops open as you suck on the tip of his cock for just a small moment, enjoying the taste of him before you’re slipping your panties to the side to take him in.

Billy closes his eyes, swears, low in his throat. You feel better than he’d imagined, your walls fluttering around him, pulling his cock deeper into you so naturally that he swears it was always meant to happen.

You moan loudly, head tossed back.

“I would have let you fuck me in that church.” You confess, “I would have let you fuck me in a pool of Wade’s blood.”

Billy groans.

“I’d fuck you in the bare earth.” He grunts, supporting your conversation, “I’d make you beg me to.”

You clench tightly around him, and Billy swears he sees stars for a moment. Your breasts bounce as you roll your hips on him, and after a moment, you pause, reaching for one of those lit candles beside your bed.

Billy looks at you, keeping your steady gaze, trying to prepare himself for the possibility that you might drop hot wax onto his skin.

But you spare him, instead, you tilt the candle, letting a few drops of molten wax fall onto your thigh.

He feels you tighten, grunts in pleasure at the vigour your pace takes on.

He’s so captivated by your enjoyment of it, that he can’t help but ask.

“Do it to me.” He asks.

You smile, hovering the candle over his chest, and when the first drop hits, he gasps. It stings, burns like fire, but then something sweet fills the space, his body somehow asking for more.

You don’t give him any more though, placing the candle back in its original spot, and beginning to rock your hips in tandem.

You’re struggling to achieve orgasm in this position, and he feels amusement rise within him, knowing more about your own body than you seem to know.

It finally makes him relax, knows that no matter how hard you try, you still need him to get you off.

He waits, and waits, and finds that he can be patient when it comes to pleasuring your cunt.

You pause, pouting.

“Poor little girl,” Billy chides, “Can’t manage to come on her own. You need my help, don’t you?”

Your eyebrows are drawn together When you look down at him, trying to make sense of his words.

“N-no, I can, uh, do it myself.”

He grins sharply, relaxes.

“You’re so out of your depth.” He taunts.

“Nuh uh.” You hum, still trying to use his cock to pleasure yourself. Billy turns his head to study his restraints, the wooden pillar he's cuffed to on the headboard is wobbly, he figures one sharp pull at just the right angle would get that hand loose. The other pillar however, is too sturdy for a move like that.

He has to move fast when he does it, find a way to get you to release his other hand.

But first, a distraction.

“You're beautiful like this,” he says truthfully, “Your true self is so much more than I'd imagined and- well maybe we are right for each other.”

He watches you nod eagerly, still trying to reach your peak, your head tilts back, lulled into a false sense of security.

Billy takes his opportunity to strike.

He pulls as hard as he can on the wooden pillar of the headboard, muscles flexing almost painfully. He almost thinks he's going to fail but right at the last second, the wood gives, freeing the handcuff and allowing movement.

Your eyes fly open, and you reach for something behind you, pulling out a knife.

He catches your hand, twists your wrist so that the knife falls free, and pushes it off the bed.

Before you can scramble off of him, his hand grips your hair harshly.

“Unlock me.” He hisses into your terrified face.

Despite your obvious fear, he still feels you clench around his cock, and his desperation to have you exactly how he wants, increases.

“I'm not going to hurt you.” He clarifies, “But you're mine now, so unlock me.”

Your eyelids flutter, your eyes glancing at a spot beside him. He doesn't turn to look, simply leaning his body with yours, hand still fisted no doubt painfully in your hair.

He looks from the corner of his eye, as you tug the bedside drawer open and stick your hand in.

“You better not be reaching for another knife. It wouldn't take much for me to squeeze the life out of you, even with one hand tied.”

He feels you clench around him again.

“You like that? That I could kill you without a second thought? Your cunt’s gripping me so tight, baby.”

You let out a little whine, withdrawing with just a metal key pressed between your fingers.

“Good girl,” Billy praises, feels even that go right to your cunt, “Now unlock me.”

You do his bound hand first, and then pull the other cuff from around his wrist. Your eyes cling to the reddening bruise on his wrist from pulling too hard.

When he's finally free, he grins, right in your face, before pulling you off his cock and flipping you over.

You gasp in surprise as your back hits the bed, Billy leans away to get a good look at you.

He can see your delectably shaped tits through the white sheer dress, he admires the way it looks- like innocence and somehow pure sin wrapped all in one.

He thinks, for the first time, he finally sees you, finally understands what he has, looking up at him with careful eyes.

“You said something earlier. That the Devil sent me here for you,” he leans forward, cups your breasts through the dress, stiffening your nipples, watches you writhe beautifully under him.

“But I'm not your plaything, little girl,” His fingers pinch down, pressing your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, watching you gasp in pain and pleasure, “You're mine.”

It sets off something inside of him, and like an avalanche, any semblance of self control he'd ever had, just crumbles.

He leans down, lips pressed to yours, he feels an ache inside of him lessen.

You kiss back, with forceful lips, your hands gripping the back of his head, fingers in his hair to stop him from pulling away.

His hands press against your shoulders, feeling their way over the sheer sleeves of the material, gripping your hips, fingers catching on the fabric as he touches your body for the very first time.

Your legs wrap around him, it makes him so delighted, that you want him, that he's going to use that against you.

He pulls back, grinning when you whine, reach for his mouth once more, his hand finding your throat too easily, gripping it to push you back.

“Where did my little fighter go, hmm?” He leans forward to lick your cheek, enjoying the surprised expression on your face.

“Please,” you whisper, “I need you to make me come.”

His nose brushes yours.

“Why? Don't you touch yourself all the time?” He taunts, already knowing your responses before you say them.

“I haven't been able to- since you touched me.”

He laughs, watches you get more and more demure with each moment.

“You haven't been able to come since I put my hands on you? I wonder why?”

“You feel too good.” You confess to him.

He tries to fight it but it makes him laugh again, he buries his face into your neck, amusement so heavy in his body and he has to let it out.

“Sorry, It’s just that- you haven't even seen what I can really do yet.”

“Show me.” You beg.

His hands caress you gently, he nods his head, and then, tears your dress into pieces.

You’re so turned on, aching for him, you shudder as he pulls the remnants of your dress from your skin.

His touch is frantic, his palms skate over your skin, gripping, feeling, your thighs, your legs, your arms, it makes you so much more aroused to be felt like this. No part of your body is safe from his wandering hands, it feels as though he’s trying to learn you, and you are so eager to let him.

His lips are next, kissing the top of your breast, working his way between them, the feel of his lips on your skin makes you feel more connected to him than before. He pulls your panties off in a swift rush, kissing at your knees when he finally gets them off.

“Want to know why my touch feels good? Because I know you. I know what your body likes.” Billy says, you lift your head to look at him, his hand sliding up between your thighs, the tips of his fingers making delicious sparks.

He touches your slit, tracing the seam of your cunt so gently, desperation pooling under your skin. He presses a single finger against you, until he just brushes your clit with the very tip of his finger.

“You need this little bundle here touched, kissed, and it can’t be too harsh.”

You cry out when he just softly strokes your clit. Pleasure burning through you at just the simplest move.

“You think that just because you like pain, that this has to be rough too, but no, your pretty body craves a soft touch.”

He proves it to you, his gentle fingers massage your clit, he makes it look effortless, eyes drawn to your centre, looking up at you with dark eyes every now and then.

It’s the burn of his slow movements that make you lose your mind. The worst part is that he’s right, you’ve never touched yourself so gently before.

“Does that feel good, baby? I’ve killed so many people with these same hands. But I bet that makes your little cunt even wetter.”

You mewl, nodding, remembering the way you’d seen Billy kill. The amount of blood he’d left behind, such a messy crime scene.

You bite down on your bottom lip, back arching, hands gripping your sheets.

Just a little bit more, you think, gasping, quietly urging him on, hoping that he doesn’t stop his movements.

“That’s it,” Billy praises, “Just like that, show me exactly who owns you.”

Your breath stutters in your chest, your vision goes white as pure euphoria overtakes you. It comes in waves, cunt fluttering around nothing, your body shudders as your brain tries to process pleasure beyond your comprehension.

It takes you a moment before you can breathe through it, and like before, it feels like you’re floating, somewhere deep in your subconscious.

His face comes into your line of sight, a proud smile on His lips, beautiful in every way as He hovers above you.

You suck in another breath, it helps you feel your body, and the remnants of your still occurring orgasm.

“The first time I saw you, I couldn’t look away. I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on. I wanted you all to myself. Now that I have you here, now that I see you, I want you forever.”

You nod eagerly, smiling up at him, gripping his hand to press your cheek into his palm. You wanted that, you wanted to be His as well.

“Now be a good girl and stay still.” He whispers, lowering his body once more, burying his face between your thighs for the second time in your life.

You almost want to scream. His tongue pushes its way to your clit, flicking softly, dipping down to lick at your entrance.

You hear Him moan between your thighs, you shudder, arching your hips into his face.

He slaps your thigh, a warning that he intends to uphold the discipline of His instruction, you simply clench in response.

You wanted- so much more than you could admit.

You'd thought, for a brief moment, that he was the personification of Lucifer himself, that Billy was a reward for your years of devotion, but somewhere in the back of your head, you were starting to feel something different, new, that not even your devotion to Satan himself could match.

He licks you like he's starving for it, hands on your thighs, tongue in your cunt you want to struggle just so He has a reason to hold you down.

You say His name, you feel your thighs tremble, His lips kiss at your swollen clit.

You don't know what you're feeling, something in your chest, that tugs everytime he touches you.

Drunk on His mouth, you hiss when his pace increases, unsure if you'll even be able to have another orgasm so close to the last.

He's careful, dexterous, precise, he licks cunt the way he kills- with careless precision, a spectacle to be admired, spoken about in hushed tones.

Billy doesn't ask, he simply manipulates your body until you're wound so tightly on edge once again, unable to comprehend how you got here in the first place.

You groan, your grip on sanity crumbles away, all you can think about is Him, and the way his beard feels, scratching between your thighs, and the darkness of his hair and the grip of his fingers on you, holding you to him, daring you to struggle.

There’s a loud rushing in your head when your next peak finds you, your back bowing off the bed once more, something pinches in protest but you can’t focus on it, the pleasure too important to give up just because you’re a little uncomfortable.

He licks at the arousal spilling from you, moans into your body with each taste, making you see stars, or fireworks or maybe even just flashes of bright lights and colours.

It somehow reminds you of the stained glass of the church, makes you feel adjacent to something that’s on the tip of your tongue but you can’t find the right words for it.

He draws back, beard wet with your slick arousal. It’s gorgeous, and you watch him tug his black shirt off- that he’d worn to the funeral of the woman you’d killed- and use it to dab at his chin.

Your eyes roam down his body, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a man as sculpted as he is, lean and muscular, small bits of hair on his chest and a spot right below his navel that your tongue aches for.

You sit up, looking at him, pressing your thighs together as he pushes his pants all the way down his legs, his cock already solid and leaking for you.

You remember the first time you felt Him, the way you knew without a doubt that you were going to have him, before you even fully understood what he was.

He reaches for you, grips your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed. You gasp at his easy display of strength, watching as he strokes himself for a few moments before lining his cock up with your dripping entrance.

Your past orgasms have made you more sensitive, each inch of him he presses in makes you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to breathe through the overwhelming pleasure and the stretch associated.

“You're so tight.” He utters with a strained voice.

You can only moan, reach to touch Him, the light of the candles flickering on his bare skin in the dead of night.

Your fingers graze a circular scar on his lower abdomen, and at the same time, he thrusts the rest of his cock fully into you.

You cry out, the sudden bliss of being stretched, goes right into your head, you gasp, your body begs for more, begs to be undone by him.

You swear you can taste blood in your mouth from biting down on your bottom lip too much, unable to vocalise your appreciation of him, he draws his cock out, before making another harsh thrust.

Your back arches, you don’t feel like you’re in your body, or maybe you feel too much in your body, the only thing you know for sure is the pleasure that fills you, that threatens to swell under your skin and explode outward.

He keeps his motions swift, harsh, deep, following through with each shift of his hips fully before beginning another.

“Who’s your God? Tell me.”

“L-Lucifer.” You utter automatically, but it’s the wrong thing to say. He stops, hands gripping your jaw tightly, bringing all your focus to him.

“What was that?” He grits out.

“Lucifer?” You whisper, voice light with pleasure.

He shakes his head, leaning away and reaching for something nearby.

You tighten around him when you spot the burning candle in his hand.

“Say that again.”

“Um…” You stutter, unsure of what to say.

You gasp in surprise when the first drop of hot wax hits your hip. It stings, just for a moment, before leaving the sweetest tingle in its place.

“Please.” You moan, pressing your hips upward for more of his torment.

“Can Satan do that?” He asks, rutting his cock into you at a slow shallow pace. When you don’t respond, you feel another heated droplet sting the skin of your hip.

You peek at him through parted eyelids, watching the way he looks at you in amusement, before tilting the candle again, this time to allow hot wax to fall onto the opposite side.

“Billy.” You moan, and you watch him grin.

“Answer my question, little dove.”

You shake your head.

“N-no. Satan can’t make me feel like this.” You whisper.

He moves, drips wax onto your thigh, making you gasp in pain, feeling it heighten your euphoria.

“Do you like feeling this way?” He asks, and before he can finish his sentence, you’re nodding, raising your hand to your chest to roll your nipples between your fingers for his appreciation.

“I like it, Billy, I love it.”

“Then tell me who your God is.”

You think you finally understand what he's trying to say, his cock pressed deep inside of you. He's the reason you feel so good, he's been the person occupying most of your thoughts from the day you met. He's someone you'd be willing to kill for.

“You.” You finally answer, and he smiles, moves his hand, still holding the candle, wax dripping onto his fingers, he tilts the candle and lets a few heated droplets touch the skin over your womb.

You gasp, the skin there is a little more sensitive, the burn is more intense, more pain than pleasure but He doesn’t seem to care, simply continues to smile as he blows the candle out, putting it back on your nightstand.

There's still another candle on the other side, allowing you to see, though everything is just a little dimmer now.

Your skin tingles, warm, the dried wax on your skin cracks as you move, but you don't get a chance to focus on it too much, because as soon as Billy lets go of the candle, he's pressing into you with renewed vigour.

Your thighs tremble, tears pool in your eyes, He's rough, grunting with each stroke he makes, earning a reciprocated cry when his cock bottoms out inside of you each time.

Skin against skin, sweat glistens on his chest, you want to taste him.

“Say it again.” He commands, leaning over you to brush his lips to your ear, “Who do you worship?”

“You, Billy.” You respond eagerly, gripping his shoulders, pressing your nails in, listening to him hiss in response, gripping your jaw to bring you into a bruising kiss.

It's messy, his tongue dipping forcefully into your mouth like he owns you, his cock doing the same, taking everything as if it's owed.

You bite down on his bottom lip, hears him grunt out a manic laugh in response.

“You're all fucking mine.” He grits, leaning back and pulling your boneless body up until you're on top of him, his hands gripping your hips to keep you moving on his cock. You tuck your head into his neck, unable to be anything more than a receptacle, to take Him, over and over until he's finished with you.

“How does it feel to be saved by your new God?” He grunts between thrusts.

You can barely find the words to speak.

His hand slaps the flesh of your ass hard, demanding a response.

Cruel, you think, that He wants you to speak, that He thinks you're even capable of thought.

“Feels good.” You hum, fingers gripping his neck, nose to his jaw, taking what he gives, you tears dripping onto his collarbone.

He groans into your ear, it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard and you finally begin to understand true devotion.

“Please,” You beg, “Please.”

He grunts out a chuckle between thrusts.

“You don’t have to beg, I’m here, I’m not leaving.”

You tilt your head up, vision hazy, your body tingling with something too intense to be just bliss.

He kisses you softly one more time before dropping you back onto the bed, pushing your knees upward so that they’re almost to your ears.

He feels so much deeper this time, fucking you hard, merciless thrusts that has your cunt fluttering again, warning you that you’re on the right path to an orgasm.

He doesn’t stop, looking right into your eyes as he pushes his cock into you, over and over and over. You see stars, you see him, you see nothing else.

He licks his thumb, lips wet with saliva, he slips it between your bodies, angles it right against your clit, swipes gently from left to right.

You make a loud sound, followed by a flurry of pitiful whines, trying to warn him, to implore him. He doesn’t stop fucking you.

Your toes curl, one small breath of air before the most intense rush of ecstasy takes root in your body. You’re lost in the rapture, taken by the experience to even register the sounds you make.

You feel fire, you feel sparks, tingles that rush all over your skin, your inner walls gripping him so tightly as you’re forced to experience bliss at His hands.

He groans loudly, and before you know it he’s fucking into you rougher than before only for a moment before he makes a sharp sound of relief, cock pulsing as he spills himself into you.

You clench around him, making sure he gives you every drop of himself. Knowing that this is the right way to show your devotion.

There’s a moment of insecurity, when he crashes to the bed beside you, eyes closed, his breathing is quick, as if he’s just run for miles. You worry that once he’s had his fill of you, that he won’t be interested any more.

Your head is turned to look at him, lungs still heaving, the bliss of your orgasm hasn’t left you completely yet, and you watch him, curious to observe what he does next.

He peeks an eye open, mouth pulling into a smile that bares his teeth, he pushes himself up, crawls closer till he’s in the space between your body and arm, kissing at your cheek and shoulders softly.

It opens something inside of you, to feel that, to know without a doubt that He meant every word He said.

You raise your hand in wonder, fingers gently brushing His cheek, before pressing your palm to His face.

He looks down at you, moves his own hand to run the backs of his fingers against your face, two people, finally seeing each other, finally showing themselves, unafraid.

It’s more than you could have ever hoped for.

Billy stands in the shadows, waiting.

He watches his targets leave the bar, two men, laughing with each other as they head to the nearby bus stop.

He follows, observing the way they move, trying to figure out just exactly how drunk they are. One wears a leather jacket, with his hair slicked back, the other wears a plain white t-shirt, and jeans.

They talk loudly, confessing to things Billy already knows about.

When one of them looks up, and sharply elbows the other, nodding to a place ahead, Billy knows what they see.

You lean against the bus stop, face buried in your phone, too occupied with it to notice that you’ve been spotted.

You’re beautiful, Billy muses, white dress, denim jacket, a little purse hanging from your elbow, standing under a small streetlight. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

The man in the leather jacket gets to you first, looking over your shoulder, peering into your phone looking at what you’re doing for a moment before saying something to you.

He watches you startle, look up at both men as they approach.

It’s like a dance, the way your fright gives them confidence, the manner in which you step back, warning them that you’re going to run before you actually do.

He smiles as you slip from their reaching grip, running into the nearest alley, he watches them take chase.

He moves faster, making sure there’s no chance of putting you in any real danger.

When he gets there, they’ve got you cornered, your back against a wall with them closing in. They’re too focused on you to ever notice him.

He takes a breath, waits for a moment, enjoys the thrill of what he’s about to feel.

When one of the men reaches to put his grimy hands on you, Billy strikes.

The man in the leather jacket makes a gurgling sound as his throat is cut wide open, splashing mostly on himself, but some of it gets on your dress and he knows he’ll get on his knees later to apologise for getting your dress messy, even though he knows you like it.

The other man can only make a single sound of terror before he’s falling to the floor, mouth agape as the handle of a knife protrudes from his eye.

He’s still alive, though not for long as Billy watches you drop to one knee, pulling the knife from his skull to plunge it into his vocal cords next.

You look up at him, with bright eyes, excited to be doing this with him. He bites down on his bottom lip, thinks you look adorable when you’re seeking his approval.

He doesn’t care if the men are in their last moments, he reaches for you, grips the collar of your jacket and hauls you up, manoeuvring you until your back is pressed against the wall of the alley.

He drops his head, angles to place a fierce kiss on your lips, smearing blood on your face when he grips your jaw.

Billy pulls away, breathless, heart hammering with the thrill of murder, he looks into your eyes, and finds himself looking back.

He’s not surprised- simply acknowledging to himself that it’s what he’s been seeing the entire time, what he couldn’t put a name to when you first met, he now knows.

“And the lord said ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me.’”

It makes you look up, to meet Billy’s eyes.

You watch the corner of His mouth twitch in amusement.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #my writings #billy russo smut #dark!billy russo #serial killer!Billy Russo #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #just overall bad #everyone is evil #there is not a redeemable character in sight #Forget 'I can fix him'#reader just said 'watch me make him worse'

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ruyakasunshine · 3 hours ago

Text

F1 drivers rated on how likely they are to know what ao3 is

note : this is just for entertainment. I will also use this to make a general reminder not to get anything fanfic/rpf related outside of sites such as tumblr, ao3, or wattpad. Enjoy!

This is just the current grid, because if I had to do it with every driver that raced this season, I'd get a surprisingly high amount of drivers to talk about.

20. Fernando

Grandpa. Need I to say more?

19. Checo

In a recent GQ Sport interview, he revealed that he didn't even have social media on his phone. I'd be surprised to hear he has any ao3 tab open up there.

18. K-mag

I don't feel like I need to explain this one. But I also believe that if Haas got him to read a chapter of a wattpad fanfic out loud where he has to replace Y/N with his own name after every penalty point he gets, he would have stopped causing so much ruckus. Or he might even cause more, who knows what goes on inside his mind.

17. Nico Hulk

Hear me out, he doesn't know what a fanfic is, but if he were more popular with the writer, he'd read the shit out of those.

16. Valterri

I could pay actual money to hear him read a 'kidnapped by one direction' self insert story out loud. If there is any Sauber intern lurking here, please consider. Wattpad as a sponsor would bring you a lot of money, think about it. I promise you will see a rise in your fandom if the name of the team was "wattpad kick sauber". I would buy merch. You need the money the way the constructors are going. Think about it.

15. Lance

I don't know too much about him, but I will assume he doesn't spend too much time on social media, or googling himself with all the hate he gets. But maybe if he were to read a strollonso fanfic, we might get to see him have actual expressions on his face. Granted, that would be a look of horror, but I will take what I can.

14. Carlos

I think he might combust if he read any ABO fanfic. I might want to see that.

13. Max

He is too busy sim racing to care. Good for him, I wish I could say the same about myself but alas I am too busy reading the same fanfic for the 23th time.

12. Yuki

I believe if you pronounced the term "Y/N" next to him he might assume that's a car brand. Or, like, hello in a foreign language. Again, good for him.

11. Zhou

Hear me out, fanfics seem to be quite popular in China, and he has a sister, there is no way he hasn't heard of the existences of it. I don't think he has read any though, which is for the better.

10. Franco

Our dear Franquito hasn't been on the grid for long enough to discover the amazing word that fanfics have to offer, but let me tell you that if he hasn't found out stuff yet, he'll find some soon enough. Let the writers have time to write a little bit more about him, and soon we'll get an instagram live of him reacting to those.

9. Liam

I think he is young enough to have googled himself (he had to find something to do since he's been a reserve driver since like the year 2010), but he also hasn't been a permanent member, so he might not have enough material to accidentally stumble upon.

8. Esteban

He googles himself. He knows there are fanfics. And he fucking likes that. If there is a rise of pierresteban fics on ao3 after Brazil 2024, he will be the first one to know let me tell you that much.

7. Lewis

Okay you might be wondering why this senior citizen is up here, and the answer is simple : he is too famous not to know. Like COME ON. He's been here since 2007 (which is longer than some people who'll see this post have been alive for— that's a scary thought for another day), he has been in famous and televised rivalry, and he has to live with the existence of the quote "everything but a lover" about nico and him.

There is no way he hasn't READ a fucking brocedes fanfic. If he is willing, I will teach him how to use ao3 so he can look-up some "fix-it" fics. He might use some inspiration, and who is better for that than tired college students writing about their sad ass in between lectures?

6. George

He seems like the type to lurk a lot around the internet, so the chances of him finding the link to a fic on the third page of google isn't impossible to me.

If you find any comment of someone correcting your spelling, you know who did it.

5. Pierre

He probably googles his name too often not to have stumbled upon a "Reader x Pierre Gasly" wattpad fanfic. sigh.

4. Alex

Alex, I know that you are the second most likely to have tumblr (right after george who actually has an account). The chances of you knowing what a "lemon" is is way too high for my liking.

3. Charles

The C in Charles stands for Chronically Online. My boy was known for liking tweets about himself, and we know that fans talk about fanfics on twitter. He clicked on a link of a lestappen or sebchal fanfic at least once out of curiosity let me tell you this much.

2. Lando

Too chronically online not to have read fanfics about himself. I just know he typed in "lando norris fanfiction" straight in google at least once. Jail.

1. Oscar

Here me out : his sister is a K-pop fan. If you believe that she never yapped about a fanfic she read to her brother, you are strongly unfamiliar with sibling relationships. But the chances of him not listening to her are also very high, so maybe he shouldn't be so high up my list. But oh well.

He is also good at hiding his game, but he is as online as Charles (you thought you were sneaky but we caught you clicking on that link of Max playing air-hocket dear Osc.)

For my own mental health though, I will assume he hasn't read about his own self yet.

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strlingsav · 2 years ago

Note

Hello there, may I also request in a breeding kink ghost 🫣

Sure thing! Thanks for asking!

Yours

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Simon fantasizes about making you his.

Two

Warnings: breeding kink. Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

Ghost was intimidating, that much was obvious. But you'd seen the other side, the side that could be soft and sparing. It took a few years before he truly trusted you enough to make something of the tension between the two of you.

The fleeting touches, longing stares, quick glances over his shoulder. He'd keep his eyes on you wherever you went, a possessive compulsion he couldn't help but feed into, not when you had so easily pulled him in and kept him trapped with your suffocating touch, feel and smell.

He wasn't too proud to admit he wanted you all to himself. He thought he would loathe the distraction, the gnawing in his gut that screamed for you, all the fucking time. It was never-ending torture; he truly didn't understand how you managed to have him so absolutely devoted. But, the thought of you made him the happiest he'd ever been, likely the happiest he'd ever be.

He liked knowing you were his. The only thing missing was a ring and some kids, but you weren't quite there yet. He knew, and was thankful that you were on preventatives. However, the idea of you carrying his child made him almost combust. It was most primal, obvious way to show you were his.

He'd never experienced that type of need before; but with you, it was the only thing he could ever think about when he was inside you. It drove him wild, how fucking hot you'd be, waddling around the apartment, rounded out with the unborn child inside you. His unborn child. Staying home, looking after his kids, providing for you, protecting you. So, he did what he truly loved, the only thing that would satiate the aching desire: burying his cum deep inside you.

You'd returned to your apartment and had a quick shower before dinner. Simon was usually home later, but you'd make the most of it by cleaning and finishing the laundry.

You wrapped the towel around your body, then your head shot up to the bedroom door as it opened. Simon walked in, like he was looking desperately for something.

"Simon? What're you doing home?"

He slowed as he neared you, his hands taking hold of your waist. He didn't answer, instead, he pressed his lips against yours, tugging you closer. He pulled the towel off your body, and lifted you to his hips. You gasped at the flurry of actions, and especially as his palms gripped your ass to hold you against him.

"Been thinkin' about you all day," He mumbled against your neck, vibrations of his voice travelling through your body. "Thinkin' about fuckin' you all damn day."

You smiled coyly, a light blush dusting over your cheeks. You laughed.

"You're home early," You said, wrapping your arms over his shoulders.

He lifted his head to look at you, and still had his mask on. He must've been in a rush, as it was only haphazardly rolled up to his nose bridge.

"Couldn't wait," He sighed, laying you down beneath him on the bed.

Your insides were turning to mush slowly. He flattered your ego and simultaneously made you weak in his hands. He knew exactly what to say- not purposely, either, which made it even harder to resist his antics, especially when you'd just showered.

When his hand reached down to feel the soft skin of your pussy, he let out a strangled sigh.

"Just- just let me fuck you," He said, his lips closing in on yours. "Miss the way you feel."

You swallowed, nodding slowly when he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your lips briefly, and you took your bottom lip between your teeth. Your hand fell to the crown of his head, sliding it over his balaclava, and watched his lips engulf your breast. His hands took charge, squeezing your plush flesh in his palms, calloused hands scratching against your velvet skin.

His warm lips and tongue left a trail of kisses to your hip bones, and his hands gripped your thighs, lifting them to his shoulders as he lowered himself to your pussy. He hadn't quite touched you yet, his eyes glued to the vision of your body, your waist and hips, the softness in your edges, your breasts. He looked up at you, meeting your gaze as he extended his tongue to your clit.

You quickly shut your eyes, basking in the heat of his tongue, the pleasure of stimulation. He didn't waste any time, either. He was already inserting a finger by the time you'd gotten used to his tongue flicking over your clit. The desperation and hunger in his movements lead you to believe him; he really couldn't wait.

"Simon," You choked out. "Sl-slow down." Your fingers tugged at the mask on his head.

He did- a bit. Not enough to tell much difference, just enough to let you actually enjoy the feeling of his fingers curling inside you, his mouth sucking and mouthing your clit. You sighed, laying back against the pillow, jutting your hips up to allow him better access. He hummed appreciatively, his fingers digging into your thighs.

He was still fully dressed, only missing his vest and boots, wearing a button-up and his tactical pants. He didn't much care for being fully undressed, but if you asked he'd remove every last article of clothing. Usually, you would've, but the haste in his actions didn't allow for much conversation.

He had taken a moment to appreciate the view of your pussy, his fingers deep inside, liquid arousal soaking his fingers while he tucked them inside you. The sound alone was vulgar- and it only served to arouse him even more.

He attached his lips to your clit again, and your hands roamed your body, gently squeezing your breasts and running down your stomach to meet his head again. You gave a few approving strokes to his head, moaning softly when he hit a particularly good spot- making your hips jerk up into him. He was relentless, one of your favourite things about him, and observant.

His tongue didn't stop, caressing the same spot over and over, flexing his fingers in the way he knew you loved, until your thighs were shaking over his shoulders and your toes were curling.

"Shit," You exhaled, your abdomen tightening with the beginnings of your orgasm.

"Yeah?" He asked- a derisive question, but it pushed you even closer. "Give it to me, sweetheart," He whispered.

You arched your back, an instinctual response to get him even closer. You came against his mouth, your pussy constricting his fingers, spasming, while pure ecstasy flooded your body.

He knew to go easier on you, to soften his touch, but he didn't want to this time, he wanted to hear you cry out when his tongue made it difficult to think of anything else.

When you began to push his head away, he relented, letting your weakened thighs fall to the bed. You exhaled harshly, wrapping your arms around him as he shifted over your body.

"Turn over," He said, low and raspy in your ear.

Even post-orgasm, it gave you chills. A lick of heat up your spine that just reignited the fuse of arousal.

You obliged, and turned over, with his help, settling on your hands and knees. You heard the undoing of his belt and fatigues behind you, and peered over your shoulder with your prying eyes and a sight too tempting to ignore.

He yanked his briefs down, exposing his cock. Practically pulsating, leaking pre-cum. You felt the head of his cock press against your entrance, a slow, steady glide in until his pelvis was pressed flush against your ass, and you were forced down to the pillow.

You sighed aloud, a heavy, guttural sigh as you relished in the relief of him inside you. You arched your back further, your arms reaching out in front of you to clench the pillow in your hands.

He waited a moment- his head fell back, staring at the ceiling while he took in the heavenly feeling of your pussy; soaked, hugging his cock with silky walls. He shuddered, letting a glottal breath out, pulling back before gliding back in.

He leaned forward, his chest moulding to the arch of your back, and let his free hand reach under to wrap around your throat.

You breathed heavily, waiting patiently for his next move, writhing with anticipation, inexplicably aroused by the large hand squeezing your trachea.

He moved his hips, an upward motion as he pushed himself into you. You gasped softly, and fell into his hands when he was all that held your head up.

"Ah- fuck," He grunted, his voice in your ear.

He continued thrusting into you, his other hand beside your head to hold himself up, and kept himself close as possible.

"Simon," You breathed, a praising sound that made him groan.

"Tell me, sweetheart," He was breathing heavier, already incredibly aroused just from eating your pussy, and knew it wouldn't be long. "Y'like this cock in you?"

You whimpered, broken and weak, nodding mindlessly.

"Yeah, baby, fuck, I do."

He moaned, and the raspiness in his tone made goosebumps appear over your skin. He smelled of gunpowder and that bitter cologne you'd bought him for his birthday.

He rounded his hips, driving his cock into you with vigour, so deep it nearly knocked the wind out of you. He left you trying to catch your breath beneath him, hands gripping the pillow with white knuckles and breathless gasps. He could feel every breath, every inhale, every soft moan that passed your larynx, savouring the way you called his name.

"C-Christ-" He stuttered, his hand easing off your throat to grip your waist with both hands, leveraging himself as he pounded into you. "This cunt feels so fuckin' good, sweetheart."

"You're so deep," You whispered, a strangled sound from your throat as you were pushed against the pillows.

"Fuckin' hell- you want my cum sweetheart?"

"Yes, baby, please," You wallowed, eyes squeezing shut.

"Fuckin' say it," He grunted, his palm coming down across your ass as he bucked into you.

"Fuck," You cried, your teeth clenching. "I want your cum!"

"That's right-" Another low grunt. "Want my fuckin' cum, greedy fuckin' slag."

Your mouth widened in shock; both because of how much it turned you on, and how absolutely vulgar he sounded.

"Oh my god," You groaned.

"You'd let me use this fuckin' cunt, wouldn't you?"

You nodded, a short nod almost unnoticeable with all the motions of your body moving forward with each of his thrusts.

"Just might put a baby in you, sweetheart," He said, his hand moving from your waist to trace up your spine, digging into your hair. He yanked your head back, pulling you up to your hands and knees. "You'd like that wouldn't you?" He was breathless now, his other hand on your hip bone as he forced you up against his chest.

"Simon," You whispered, a plea for relief from the relentless thrusting in your sore pussy. But he wouldn't relent, not until he heard the words from you, begging him to make you a mother.

"Say it, sweetheart."

He was buried against your G-spot with the new position, his fingertips were bruising your hip, his other hand still tangled in your locks as he flaunted his stamina.

"Yes," You rasped. "Yes, I would."

He groaned, not a subtle, soft sound, but an animalistic growl, approval, ownership. He pressed his lips to your throat, his fingers leaving your hip to reach your clit, rubbing soft circles against it.

"You want me to fuck a kid into you? Make you all fuckin' mine?"

You couldn't help the moan that passed your lips, a genuine response to the idea of being pregnant with his child. You knew Simon adored cumming inside you, but never expected it to turn into something so much more. It turned you on, much more than you thought it would.

"Yes, Simon, fuck, yes," You whined, looking over your shoulder.

Soft exhales left your lips as your climax began again, tensing against his body.

He mocked you when he felt the obvious change in your body, your pussy squeezing down on him. "You wanna be used just for this cunt. Just for me, just for my fuckin' kids. That's it, ain't it?"

Your body went rigid, your orgasm rendering you completely unintelligible as you nodded, crying out with a 'yes'. You nearly keeled over, and he let you down onto the bed, now chasing his own climax.

"All this cunt's good for," He grunted. "Tits nice and full, feedin' my kids," A nasally moan, "'M gonna bury all my fuckin' cum in you, sweetheart."

You nodded again, no longer strong enough to respond or react.

He did, with short, sporadic thrusts as he climaxed inside you, gripping your waist with suffocating strength. He let out one last moan, and a deep breath in before he slowly pulled out.

He was fascinated, watching his cum drip out of your pussy. You felt raw- irritated, sore. Then, he slid a finger inside, pushing it back up in you. You sighed, flipping over.

"You want kids?" You said, a teasing smile on your face.

He grinned softly, finally removing the mask from over his head.

"Give us a few years, I'm sure we'll have a couple by then."

"At this rate, yeah."

#cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod mwii #mwii #simon riley #strlingsavwrites #ask strlingsav

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adventuringblind · 9 months ago

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Misinterpreted

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: Fluff and Crack

Summary: She couldn't see what everyone else could. Not until it hits her all at one.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, a whole lotta blushing

Notes: Thanks to the requester for this idea!! Sorry it's so short...

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

It's not like she meant to hate him. She just couldn't see what everybody else was.

Charles is just another person like the rest of them. Yet people still fawn over him like he's been sent from the god's.

At least, that's what she thought growing up. Going through karting and the feeder series with Charles was torture. She was just there, trying to carve her way into formula 1. He had everyone chanting his name, loved by many, the future golden boy of Ferrari.

She'd made it a point to stay far away from him. Simply because she never saw the point of conversing. Definitely not because she is terrified of speaking to people in general.

"Watcha staring at?" Max sidle's up next to her and wiggles her eyebrows. She squeaks out a noise and lets herself calm down from the startle. Leave it to her teammate to know what she's doing.

"None of your business."

"Really? Because it looks to me like you're staring at Charles."

She violently hushes Max. "Shh! Someone could hear you!"

Max rolls his eyes before smirking at her. He looks pointedly at the Monegasque with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Don't you dare-"

He whistles, successfully grabbing Charles' attention. He smiles and waves him over. "You'll be fine!"

She can feel the blush spreading across her face. Her hand slaps Max's shoulder playfully. She moves to make an escape, like she has to be anywhere else but here.

Max grabs her wrist, looking playful, but there is that look in his eyes that says he will force her if she doesn't comply. Needless to say, she sits back down. Her eyes fall in love with the dirty grey of the cement ground.

"Hello you two!" He sounds so happy for this early in the morning. She briefly looks at her watch.

Correction: He's so happy at two in the afternoon. Why is he even happy at this time? Charles, apparently.

"Charlie! We were just talking about you." Max jabs an elbow into her side.

"All good things, I hope. I know I'm not a favorite to some." She can feel his obnoxiously pretty eyes burning holes into her.

Max barks out a laugh, then looks between the two of them. "Okay, I can feel the tension. Which is saying something, since normally I'm the one creating it."

Charles gives a wary look to the female still sinking into herself. "I wouldn't be opposed to lessening the tension."

"Great! I'll send her your way tonight at eight."

"Sounds like a plan."

Charles leaves the two alone finally and she sobs in relief. "Why are you crying? I though you liked him!"

"I do! That's the problem."

~~~~~

Max drags her to some restaurant, sits her at the table with Charles and threatens to ram her off the line if she tries to leave. He followed through with his last threat. She's not willing to risk Christian's wrath for her pride.

She attempts conversation with Charles. It feels awkward and tense. The regret and insecurity rattles around her mind. Why is he even here? He could be off doing other things with people he actually likes.

"Why do you dislike me? I've been wanting to ask you for years so I could apologize for whatever I did."

And.... what? She stares at him in disbelief. Unsure of how to explain that she didn't have an interest in anything but racing until she got to F1 and finally realized how ethereal he looks?

"Didn't know you thought that way!" Charles is glowing.

"Did I say that aloud?"

"Yeah, but it's nice hearing such a compliment you."

She hides her face behind her menu, only to have Charles take it away from her. He reaches further and gently pulls her gaze towards him-

She's going to combust. This is how it ends. Death by forced and prolonged eye contact.

"So, if I asked you out again, would you say yes this time?"

She nods her head yes. A little too enthusiastically.

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https-murdock · 1 month ago

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L i have a thought and would love to see what ur beautiful mind has to say

imagine matt going on a cute little ice cream date with reader (established enough relationship that they've done the deed and all that, but not enough that she knows about his abilities just yet).

it starts out all cute (maybe they've just gone out for dinner and are getting a little sweet treat before returning to the loft) and they each get their own little cones and are just strolling around the streets of Hell's Kitchen, enjoying each other's company. bc reader doesn't know about matt's abilities, she's probably holding his arm as they walk and whispering little warnings about curbs or trash since matt's other hand is occupied by his ice cream and can't hold his cane and he is just melting over how lovely his girl is.

then, matt is just losing his mind because he can hear and sense the suction of reader eating her ice cream cone. can hear reader licking up the side of the cone when some of the ice cream drips down in the nyc heat. hears her humming at the sweetness of the treat as she swallows some. and he can't even let her know how much she's wrecking him bc she doesn't know that yes he's blind but he isn't *blind* so she has no clue whatsoever the effect her just eating an ice cream come has on her poor poor boyfriend. esp bc he knows what that mouth feels like on him. knows how warm and wet it is and is reminded of that when he senses the ice cream melting in her mouth.

some of the ice cream drips down her chin and he hears her giggle slightly as she scoops it up with her finger and sucks off the melted treat, releasing her finger with a slight pop before taking his arm back in hers again. she makes an offhanded comment explaining why she let go of his arm for a moment bc she thinks matt doesn't know why but oh my god he knows and he thinks he's going to combust.

like matt is jealous of an ice cream cone and can't even do anything about his growing desperation beyond practically throwing himself on reader once they get back to his apartment and she is just like "???? what happened to hello, how are you????"

that is all ty for coming to my ted talk

anon thank u 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 i love this idea a lot

i hope we all know what i mean when i say he’s doing that little breath of laugh he does when he’s trying to keep himself under control when he’s listening to her. and the way he just absolutely demolishes her the way the door to his loft is closed.

everyone say thank u lord anon 🙏🏻

#https anons!#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut

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abiiors · 6 months ago

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HI HELLO HI this is a half-formed, fully horny, wedding guest ross concept. i'm not fully back to writing yet but ross in white is a damn good muse!!!!

cw: minors dni!!! smut, finger fucking in a bathroom, alcohol consumption, smoking, typos probably-i wrote this at work

you haven't really met a lot of john's friends yet, that's probably why you don't remeber seeing this handsome stranger across the bar, cigarette dangling between his fingers, a glass of whiskey in his hands that he sips from so lazily.

he's busy in conversation, you're busy gawking at him, wondering how you've never seen him before (and this you're sure of because let's face it, there's no way you're forgetting this man if you'd ever had the chance to talk to him before.) much to your surprise, he's alone--well, his group of friends is there and he seems particularly close with the groom but there's no date in sight. at least you hope not, because you've definitely caught him staring a few times--long, hard, lingering stares that make you feel like you're about to spontaneously combust.

"this seat taken?" he comes up from behind you just when you're think he's too busy socialising. you smile to yourself, throw him a coy smile too.

"not if you're the one asking."

"is that right?" he smirks and settles into the chair. up close he's hotter somehow--the white shirt clings to him in ways that have you drooling. he takes a quick drag of his cigarette and exhales the smoke to one side.

"ross," he introduces himself quickly, "no one told me there would be gorgeous bridesmaids."

you take a sip of your wine and tsk, "'m not a bridesmaid."

"so you're not off limits then?"

"off limits for...?"

he takes a sip of his whisky and leans in, almost like he's about to divulge a secret. then he looks you up and down slowly, gaze landing on your lips. you get the vague sense that he's undressing you in his head, and it sends heat swirling in your gut. "don't pretend like you weren't undressing me with your eyes, darling."

"and if i admitted to it?" you challenge, "what will you do about it?"

ross leans even closer, his breath fanning your face, his fingers are on your wrist, cool from the whiskey and deliciously callused. he draws circles on the skin. "i hear the first floor bathroom is not open to guests."

"is that right?" you mimic him, smirking when he nods.

"we can sneak in though. if you want?"

in one quick gulp you finish your wine and stand, smoothing down your dress that reaches just past your knees. he's up in an instant too, towering over you and so close that you can practically taste the heat radiating off him.

"lead the way," you giggle and he takes your hand in his.

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

the marble edges of the countertop dig into your ass, his fingers dig into your thighs, and yet all of that simply fades to the background when you kiss--hungry and feverish, teeth clashing against each other, your lip caught between his teeth until you hiss and he slips his tongue in.

his hand snakes down your side, effortlessly undoing the hidden zip until you feel cool breeze against your ribs, and then his fingers--his big, warm, rough fingers, tracing the visible skin, leaving goosebumps behind.

hastily you loosen his tie and move on to his belt, fumbling with it until it's almost undone. ross laughs into your mouth.

"so impatient!" he tsks, "is that how much you want me?"

"the undressing with my eyes didn't give it away?" you retort, and finally undo the belt, sliding it out of the hooks and off his waist. it goes flying in some corner of the bathroom, clinks against a wall.

"turn," he pants, and the moment you obey, his hand are on the straps, pulling them down and off your shoulders until the dress falls just below your chest.

"fuck, darling!" he curses at the sight in the mirror--you, utterly breathless with messy hair and swollen lips. your peaked nipples are fully on display now. his eyes turn darker, taking you in hungrily, then he moves.

the moment his fingers close around your nipples, you moan, head thrown back and eyes closed and ass backed into his crotch where you can feel him completely. he's painfully hard and deliciously big and just the thought of him in you makes you clench around nothing.

"oh you are testing me," you grit out, desperate to be touched. his fingers circling your nipples feels good, his hand snaking down your body feels good, but you need more and more and more, you need him until everything other memory in you brain is replaced by the feel of his cock pounding into you.

he laughs, mouth hot on your neck, "what would you like me to do then?"

"touch me!" you hiss.

"like this?" his hand snakes down, bunching up the fabric of your dress until it's lifted up and around your waist. you close your eyes in anticipation, waiting, shivering when his fingers trace the inside of your thigh--up and up and up and---

"oops," ross grins, and rips the flimsy lacy underwear off you in one smooth motion. you gape at him in the mirror, but then his fingers are on you, circling your clit at a delicious pace and the buzzing in your head grows so loud, you forget the stupid underwear and forget the cold marble digging into your hips.

you moan, clutching on to the countertops when your knees threaten to buckle. "yes--god, yes, like that..."

tentatively he dips a finger in you and your breath hitches. ross clearly likes the reaction because a moment later he plunges a finger inside you, rubbing your clit with his thumb, thrusting the finger in and out and in and out until without warning he adds a second and you have to bite on the palm of your hands to stifle your scream.

"fuck, you'll kill me with those sounds you make," he growls in your ear, and increases his pace. you barely care to answer, mumbling something in gibberish, entirely focused on the feel of his fingers dipping in and out of you, of his thumb pressing into your clit and his cock digging into your ass.

heaven...is exactly how you'd describe it. your body agrees too--tensing and tensing until you're panting and barely even controlling the moans anymore. fuck it, it's fine if anyone walks in at this point. you and ross can put on a good show!

"'m so close," you moan, "ke-keep going, shit!"

and he does, his other hand snakes around your hips, holding you in place so he can reach deeper, hit your sweet spot with his long, thick fingers every time. your head spins, overwhelmed, dizzy and---

there's no warning like there usually is, all you know is that your vision goes white, your body feels slack and with a cry you cum all over his hand, holding onto the countertop to stay upright somehow. ross holds you too, dipping his fingers in and out slowly so you can ride out your orgasm. his hand feels wet and slick, your release coating his fingers. he looks like he's enjoying it though...

the moment you open your eyes, he holds your jaw in place, making you look at him in the mirror, them he places his fingers on his tongue, licking and sucking every corner, making you watch the filthy scene unfolding, making you wetter by the minute somehow.

"delicious," he moans, right in your ear. "ready for round two?"

you bite your lip and nod. "ready for round two."

#MINORS DO NOT INTERACT #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #♡: ross blurbs #mdni #minors dni

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soiwj · 4 months ago

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Late Nights At The Office

Kafka x fem!Reader Office Au

My first time writing pls be gentle <3

English is also not my first language, so please correct me on any spelling mistakes!

Request/Ask here

You sat at your office lazily staring at post-its you stuck to the side of your computer screen. Reminding you of deadline after deadline as you sigh of frustration. Before you can continue wallowing in stress and a soon to be burnout, you hear the familiar sound of glossy louboutins walking past your cubicle. Her red-wine colored hair flowing so elegantly through the air as if immune to the damp office atmosphere.

Kafka, the head supervisor at your company, is one of the only reasons you can keep your head afloat during these stressful periods. Through helping you finish a task or guiding you towards the right solution to a problem, she is always the savior when you're most in need of one. You've always felt a magnetic force pulling you towards her. As if her sultry voice wasn't enough, the way she leans into your shoulder from behind you looking at your work from time to time doesn't help either.

You wanted her. No, craved her. But you can not have her. Not as if you'd have a chance anyway. You're sure theres plenty of pathetic sods out there vying for her affection, not like you'd be the first. As you snap out of your thoughts, your work phone rings. "Hey, could you get me some of that new printer paper?" Your leech of a coworker asks you. It's not that you're against helping someone in need. It's just that you're always the one retrieving stuff for people. Its not like they can't get it themselves. You just yearn to please everyone around you to the point you refuse to say no.

As you walk to the supply room smiling at people you pass by, a tall shape forms itself in your peripheral. "Well, hello, seems we're going the same way. Are you looking for some staplers aswell?" She says with a slight chuckle. Even when asking such a simple question, her voice still has you completely under her spell.

"I- uh no, actually, I'm getting some printer paper for jhon," you say meekly. "Jhon up on floor 5? Why couldn't he come down here himself?" You try to explain yourself, defending your coworker at the same time, stuttering over all your words. Luckily, before your words have the chance to drive the course of your conversation, the supply room door comes in sight. You reach towards the door handle, but Kafka beats you to it, opening the door for you, letting you enter first.

The gentle act makes your heart flutter. You shake your head slightly, trying to rid yourself of the butterflies.

The supply room is very small, no bigger than a small New York apartment bathroom. The tightness of the space making you and kafka stand almost flush against each other. You start looking through the drawers full of random office supplies, and you coincidentally find the staplers kafka was looking for. As you turn around to face her to tell her about your findings, you hear a swift click. The sound of a door locking. You look at kafka standing right behind you near the door, almost looking as shocked as you are.

"Are we..?" You trail on. "...locked in here? Yes, I believe so." Kafka finishes the sentence for you as she examines the door. A look of concern, yet her lips painted with a slight smirk. Too bad you're too concerned with the situation at hand to notice. You try to push against the door with all your might while Kafka just observes in amusement.

Before you cause harm to yourself, Kafka separates you and the door by standing in between. Looking right down at you. "I'm sure someone will come find us soon. How will they continue working without staplers." She says trying to lighten the mood.

You're suddenly hyper-aware of how close your bodies are. Her hips almost touching yours, your chin hovering over her chest. Her lips are not far from your face. The tension might make you combust. Her hand brushes yours as she puts her arm on the wall behind you, achieving a more comfortable stance. All the while, you're anything but. Sweating profusely, your hands feel clammy as you do not dare to look her in the eyes.

"You know... I've always wondered what you'd look like from this angle. Never imagined it'd be in a storage room, but nonetheless, who am I to complain about a gift given to me by the heavens." She says with a very evident smirk plastered on her beautiful face as she looks down at you adoringly.

"What..?"

Still not daring to look up, you question her words, trying to process what she just said. "A cute thing like you shouldn't be so surprised. im sure everyone in this office would love a chance to be here with you right now." She whispers in your ear, the words almost sounding dirty in a way you can not describe.

"I've been watching you lately. Stumbling into the office when your bus is delayed again. Your face crunching up when you're frustrated by whatever Excel document you're working on, your unwavering smile when it's lunchtime, and the local convenience store happens to have those little burritos you enjoy eating.

The only thing I can think of during those small moments is that I want to experience them with you. I want to be the one buying you the snacks that make you smile so brightly. I want to be the one relieving your stress during a tough day. I want to be there with you. I want you."

Your mind blancs trying to muster a response as your head is filled with thousands of different thoughts jumbling together into one big mess. Your cheeks redden faster than you can say stellaron as your eyes start darting around in the room.

"Look at me." She demands softly, yet still sounding endearing. The kind of kindness she only reserves for you.

When she notices you're not planning on looking at her any time soon, she holds your chin and tilts it upwards. Even in this stuffy storage room, Kafka looks just as dazzling as ever. To think a woman like that wants to spend time with you. The thought itself is dizzying.

You notice her leaning closer as your chest comes in contact with hers. She pushes you towards the wall as she puts her leg in between yours. "Dinner tomorrow evening. I'll pick you up at 8." She grins as she takes a step back towards the door hearing you mewl at the loss of contact. She takes a copper key out of her pocket and inserts it into the lock. Opening the door to the storage room. She holds it open for you as you step out, looking flushed as ever. She giggles softly as she walks past you. Brushing against your small frame.

After recollecting yourself in Kafka's absence, you start walking back to your cubicle. You notice there being at least 4 staplers in the room. Enough for everyone to use.

You're excited but strangely terrified for tomorrow.

Requests are open!!

Should i make a part 2?

#hsr #kafka hsr #hsr kafka #kafka x reader #hsr kafka x reader #honkai star rail #honkai sr #stellaron hunters #x reader #au #office au #office #god bless jhon what a goat #fem!reader #fem reader #female reader #soiwj

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marthawrites · 1 year ago

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Could you do inexperienced Aemond with an experienced partner

Teaching A Dragon New Tricks

Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 3.2k+

About: You and Prince Aemond have been giving each other eyes for some time now, and he finally makes the first move. After that, you feel comfortable showing him a few things. His drive for knowledge extends beyond books.

Includes: Aemond being a cute noobie (nerd), having an awakening to the magic of women, and explicit sexual content! Featuring male masturbation, vaginal fingering, and fem receiving oral.

Note: Hello lovely reader! My first ever request ahhhhh! This was seriously so much fun to think about and write. It's my first time writing this dynamic. I hope I did your request justice! As always, please enjoy! ♥

The first time Aemond kissed you he almost missed your lips. That’s not how any prince in the storybooks acted – they always knew how to make pretty maidens swoon.

Surely Aemond’s misaim was a jest? Although… you’d never known, or witnessed, him being the jesting type.

You looked up at him wide-eyed and surprised. You held your breath high in your throat, and Aemond must have too, judging by how his nostrils flared. Blood bloomed beneath his alabaster cheeks. His single eye desperately searched yours.

Had he misunderstood all of your shared experiences? Brief and in passing as some of them might have been? Had Aegon told him to “kiss her, brother. Why haven’t you yet? When you do, make sure to hold her throat like this and move your tongue through her mo–” he’d stopped listening at that point, blinking puzzlingly at the mental image of choking you for a kiss. He couldn’t imagine how that’d be enjoyable.

Yet, now he wondered if he should have done exactly what Aegon said.

“I– I’m sor–,” he started, taking half a step back. Embarrassment burned his pride.

You blinked, then, eyes sparkling with some sort of secret amusement. “Aemond Targaryen… dragon prince and rider of Vhagar…,” you said slyly. “Have you never kissed anyone before?”

If he blushed before, he damn near combusted with the absolute ease in which you read him. “Am I that obvious?”

A giggle answered his nervous question. Light, and airy, the sound full of magic like spring-pink flowers twirling in the wind. Were it anyone else you might have turned away with no intention of seeking a second. But, with Aemond? Since becoming a lady-in-waiting for Helaena you’d been smitten by him. You stepped forward, toe to toe with the tall, lithe, sheepish prince, and placed your hands on his chiseled face. “Let’s try that again, silly prince…,” you said before standing on your tippy toes to press your lips to his in a much more well-aimed kiss.

It was that day, in the soft sunbeams of Helaena’s empty bedchamber, that you showed Aemond the art of kissing until both of your lips were swollen. He learned wickedly fast.

After breaking fast it was a ritual for Helaena and her children to spend time in the gardens – rain or shine. Luckily it’d been sunny for a few days and last week’s downpour finally dried from the top soil. During these hours there never seemed to be a dull moment. You were sent off by the kids with nothing but a linen bag and a mission of finding bugs. They were putting together an insectarium and needed any and everything that crawled. It was a fun break. Fresh air and sunshine brought out the natural colors of your hair as it slowly loosened from its careful bun.

Before you knew it you were away from the main crowds and pathways. Insects buzzed in the air; quiet and secluded.

Just as you crouched down, a familiar voice called your name right when a jumping spider inspected your palm. “Shouldn’t you be training, my prince?” You asked as you looked over your shoulder to regard Aemond with your little bug friend.

If he cared about the spider he showed no sign of it. He crouched beside you and gently pushed you onto your back, grinning down at you like the trickster you were learning him to be. Sunlight hit his face and softened his otherwise sharp features. “Not with the sword. I’d rather train other things,” he said in a voice much too huskily. His mouth was on yours. With any luck the spider successfully jumped away and not into yours or his hair. “I haven’t stopped thinking about kissing you since the last time I did.”

For someone who literally just learned how to do that he was really good at it. A soft moan vibrated your lips against his. Your hands trailed up the front of his chest and neck, pushing away a stray bit of hair that tickled your collarbone. “Greedy prince…,” you giggled against his mouth, daring to nip his bottom lip.

“Perhaps you should have thought twice before showing me such things,” he replied. His free hand lifted to carefully lay over your throat; putting to first use the trick he learned from Aegon. Your reaction – arching beneath him – had his pupil swelling. "You like that?"

You nodded with a breathless smile. "Yeah. Not too hard though. It feels good just there," you purred, thighs pressing together as warmth built and collected in your core. The heavy kissing and exploring nibbles felt as if you were making up for lost time; Aemond One-Eye starved of affection. Muscles in your belly tightened and it took all you had to pull away from him, eyes dreamy and half-lidded. "Aemond… I want you to touch me. Please," your voice rasped. Wanton.

He looked at you curiously. "I am touching you," he answered, dipping to rub the tip of his nose against yours.

You fought another giggle. "No, my prince, I mean really touch me." You bent an elbow to lean up on it and carefully grabbed his hand with your other. In a guided trail, you swept his palm from your neck to your thigh and watched his expression all the while. "Have you ever pleasured a woman before?"

Color rose in his face, and even in the midmorning sun his pupil swelled. The strained tightness in the front of his trousers throbbed against where he leaned against you. "No," he half croaked. "Will… will you teach me like you did the other day with your kiss?" He squeezed your thigh with his question, marveling at the softness.

"Yes," you answered with an inward hiss. Gripping his wrist you added, "not here. Anyone could be around. And I am to be with princess Helaena all day. Tonight?"

"Not tonight. Now," he said.

“I cannot just leave her and her children behind!”

Some might not believe it, but Prince Aemond had tiny dimples when he smirked. Dimples. He leaned into the crook of your neck and kissed, then bit, and kissed again. Goosebumps tickled his lips when he said, “good thing the princess is my sister and I’m not obliged to her law.” Without giving you a chance to protest he stood and pulled you to your feet. He guided you back to the main path and paid little mind to bystanders.

“Brother, where are you taking her?” Helaena asked once she saw the two of you – his arm wrapped around your back as if for support.

“I found her off the path. She’s fainted. I’m taking her to her room,” he replied swiftly; the dirt on your back making his lie appear genuine.

Once inside the Red Keep, instead of taking you in the direction of your sleeping quarters, he took you to his. You two were able to sneak inside and latch the door without anyone seeing. You'd been in here before, but never under these circumstances. Excitement fluttered in your core and when his mouth found yours again you buzzed with anticipation. "Someone is eager…," you muttered playfully against his lips.

"Says the maiden who's given into the carnal desires of flesh outside of wedlock," he scolded against the side of your neck, nipping. "You unholy creature."

You gasped at the sensation of his teeth. "You might be surprised to know things aren't as strict among the smallfolk as it is with you nobles," you whizzed in response. "I'm quite glad to be born where I was. You royals are so uptight."

Through the banter Aemond led you towards his bed until the backs of your legs bumped against the edge of it. When you fell backwards with him above you, his silky pale hair like a curtain around your face, you wanted nothing else than to stay there for countless hours. "Are you going to keep babbling or show me how to make you feel good?" His smirk had an edge of darkness and you wondered if he was being entirely honest with you in regard to his experience.

Aemond wasn't lying. Truthfully, he hadn't any experience. That didn't mean he hadn't "accidentally" read about things here and there in sordid library books. And having Aegon as a brother meant he was victim to unsolicited advice and peer pressure often. The books were out of curiosity, whereas Aegon’s taunts were simply annoying.

He had an idea of how things worked. Though, he never had the opportunity to act upon such things.

"Aemond… if you don't start doing something I think you'll drive me positively insane."

Following the passive command, his hand began slowly trailing up your leg. He pushed your skirts up as he did so, allowing the fabric to bunch up until it barely covered your smallclothes. His gaze shifted from between his hand and your face – eager to see your reaction. "Something like this, right?"

Against your will, you arched beneath him and grinned breathlessly. "Yeah," you replied. The scratch of his skin on yours had your core flexing with a need beyond your control. "A little higher still…," you said, smiling.

Shifting his weight, he laid on his side, now, able to look from your face to the space between your thighs that was becoming more and more exposed. The backs of his fingers brushed along your covered mound and you jolted, narrowly missing crashing your forehead to his chin. "Are you okay?"

Blushing, you squeaked, "yes."

"Are you sure? You nearly headbutted me."

"Shh.. shut up!" You laughed, embarrassed. "Gods. Keep doing that, there, feels so good," you said as you pulled your skirts higher up your front. Intentional or not, his teasing made you, somehow, want him even more. "Actually… these are just in the way," you added, tugging your own underwear off.

He watched you with surprise in his eye. He'd never seen this side of you – or any woman, in that fact – and with each passing moment the prince felt an undiscovered part of himself roar to life. He liked it. Pulse drummed in his chest and behind his ears, and he had to steady his hand as he lowered it to cup your bare mound. Breath quickly hitched in his throat. "You're so warm," he whispered, shuddering. The pads of his fingers pressed curiously along the outside of your folds and he bit down on his own lower lip to stifle a sound he’d never quite made before. “And slick.”

You allowed the sound he bit back to flow freely from your throat. “Surely you know how it works…,” you teased, thighs opening more than they already were. “Women get wet where men get hard.” His touch was curious and inexperienced, yet something about it was endearing and made your belly tighten. When he grazed your clit you whimpered, melting into the mattress. “Right there,” you whispered thickly. “Is my pearl. It’s very sensitive and the center of a woman’s pleasure,” you added, voice and cheeks sultry alike.

The front of Aemond’s pants had never been tighter. He turned quickly off the bed to kneel at the end of it, pulling your legs until you were right where he wanted. His attention flickered between your face and that needy space between your thighs; glistening and pink with desire. One hand held you open while the thumb of the other grazed all over your parted slit, exploring. Soft wet sounds accentuated your panting. The pressure of his thumb shifted from firm to light, and he tested different types of strokes, tearing his focus from your cunt only to watch your face for your reaction. “Here?” He questioned, sliding over your swollen bud.

Your hands tightened in his bedding. A moan came from your slackened jaw and you nodded down at him, watching him observe you. “Yes.”

He circled it, slid across it, and stroked along it. The sounds you made shot right to his cock and made his head heavy as if he’d drank too much wine. In tandem with some of his motions he saw the way your little opening clenched and relaxed around nothing; arousal seeping out of you lewdly, pleadingly, driving him to the brink of madness. He throbbed in his pants. Without entirely realizing it, he opened the front of them to let his cock free. He sighed at the freeing sensation. He groaned something in High Valyrian, cuntdrunk at the sight of you spread open so prettily.

"Push a finger in. I want to feel you," you said down at him breathlessly, one of your hands moving to gently cup the side of his head. If you thought him roguishly dashing before, seeing him here and now, knelt and learning the ways of your body, made him tenfold. It was all too much. Aemond Targaryen, despite his virginity, might very well bring you to the height of pleasure.

He did as instructed: thumb slipped easily into you and you both gasped at the same time. He'd never felt anything quite like the sensation of you. Warm – no, hot – slippery, and spongy.

"Oh fuck…," you moaned softly. The hand at the side of his head squeezed into his hair, practically tugging at his ear. "More, my prince, please. Try a different finger and move it around inside me." It was a surprise you could speak so clearly as lust blazed through your entire form.

Aemond slipped his thumb out and replaced it with his index. The moan that elicited from you sent him crazy. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered reading something from somewhere: using one's mouth to get a woman ready for coupling. He hadn't a clue where, or how, or what, but before he could talk himself out of it his mouth was on you. If his touch felt good on your pearl, then surely his tongue might too.

"Oh my Gods..! No.. you don't have to do that," you blushed, fingernails clawing into his scalp as you stared down at him dumbfounded. In your experience men rarely did this to women, and less enjoyed the act of it.

"Does it feel good?" He asked with sincerity, not wanting to hurt you with his inexperience.

"Yes!"

He smirked and went back to it. Tongue and lips were tentative and unsure, as was his finger still pressed into you, but it hardly stopped you from finding both amusement and bliss in it. He licked all over your folds with the flat of his tongue; tang and salt and a hint of sweetness overtaking his senses. He hadn't a clue how he'd gone so long without experiencing this. Remembering what you said about moving his finger, he did just that. He swirled it around between your slick velvety walls and reveled in how you felt wrapped around his digit.

"Mmf…!" You panted, gripping tighter into his hair. "Keep doing that. With your tongue on my pearl, too," you simpered, the low muscles in your belly flipping and tightening.

The young prince was eager to listen and learn. He followed your instruction. He even dared to add his middle finger too, slowly moving and curling them around. You were so wet, and warm, and tight around him. If you felt like this around his fingers he could only imagine what you'd feel like around his cock. He moaned at the thought, lapping your clit with more confidence and enthusiasm.

You were trying so hard to keep your legs open and relaxed for him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. For someone who claimed to never have done this before it still felt wonderful. Any time his mouth would begin to stray away from where you wanted him, you pushed him back where he needed to be. The combination of your gently rolling pelvis, pleasured sounds, and hold in his hair, kept him on track. Shifting your legs around a bit, you slung one over his shoulder. The slight change had him finding a spot along your walls that had you seeing stars. "Right there!" You preened, thighs squeezing to lock him in place.

"Is it too much?" He asked, a little taken back with your sudden reaction to whatever it was he'd been doing.

When you looked down at him you nearly lost it. Your arousal glossed his mouth and he looked, somehow, innocent and wild alike. "Yes! But no… keep going. Please don't stop," you whined, desperate, using your hand still tangled in his hair to guide him back down to you.

Even with his jaw aching for a break, he obeyed. He kept his fingers right there where you seemed to really like it, curling and massaging along a section that felt a little different than the rest of the area. He stayed on your bundle of nerves, too, flicking and lapping and relishing every single noise his attention pulled from you. His free hand pumped along his cock; aching and rigid and feeling like it could burst at any second. He moaned into you. He wasn't going to last.

Pleasure peaked and your thighs squeezed around his head again. "Aemond!" You mewled at the top of your climax, the entirety of your womanhood pulsing and shuddering with release.

He couldn't hold back his own release. Never before had he heard his name said like that or called out like that – never experienced the excitement of a spasming cunt. He spent himself as he groaned into you. The last spills of his seed dribbled down his fist while the earlier, more powerful, ropes already began to soak into his bedding.

Your thighs finally relaxed around him and you gently pushed his head away, too sensitive for more. A sheen of sweat collected on your forehead and you felt heat high in your cheeks. Blushed, panting, and satisfied, you looked down at Aemond with bright sparkling eyes. "I don't believe you. You had to have done all of that before."

Slick coated his mouth and chin. His single eye was black with more emotions than you could read and he looked damn near wicked. "More," be said greedily as he squeezed your thighs; already a man addicted.

What had you awoken in the dragon prince? Your chest rose and fell with labored breaths, eyes communicating more than your mouth was currently capable of.

Just then, a knock on his door broke both of you out of the post-orgasm stupor.

He cleared his throat and said, "what is it?" in only a slightly trembling voice.

"Prince Aemond, you are being summoned to the small council meeting."

Annoyance washed over him and he swallowed it with a sigh. "I will be there shortly."

When no other sound came from the door, he tucked himself away and stood from where he'd been kneeling. "You're lucky, my lady, to be off the hook." He grinned cheekily and self-satisfied. He offered his clean hand to help you up before going to wash the other along with his face.

"There's more I can show you another time, if you'd like," you said as you straightened your garb to return to regular duties – as if Aemond hadn't just given you one of the best, if a bit clumsy, orgasms. "You're a very fast learner."

"We can continue to put that to the test," he said with a dark glimmer behind his eye. His angular features were sly in a way you'd never seen before, and you wondered what sort of things simmered in his mind.

taglist: to be added or removed, please say something ♥

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow and/or reblog and/or letting me know! It would make me vvvery happy ♥ If you have an idea I'm open to hearing requests!

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#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond smut #request #aemond imagine #aemond fic

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kelcemenow · 1 year ago

Text

Drive Me Crazy - Chapter 2.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1661

Warnings Strong language, but not much and a wee bit of flirting.

Huge thank you to the Anon who sent this in! They had such amazing words to say about my writing which I massively appreciate and then to top it off, had an incredible request for me! I only have experience with mechanics in the UK, so I've tried my best with this one! "I just recently got interested in Travis K. X reader stories and wanted to let you know, I read all of yours as quickly as I could. They are so well done and I couldn’t help but laugh/giggle and feel through each word you typed out. You’re doing amazing and I’m so glad to have stumbled onto your page. If you have any space for a request, I’d be curious about what Trav would think about having a military (like fighter pilot) or engineer or mechanic girlfriend. I see a lot of stories with him paired with models/singers/social media individuals (which are phenomenal!) but just wondering how he would be with a more tomboy like girlfriend!"

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

The dialling tone rang loudly in your ear for a few seconds as you wedged the office phone between your head and left shoulder. You typed up a couple of notes on the computer when the other end of the line picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it that Mr Kelce? It's Y/N from KC Auto repairs." You said, checking your notes.

A deep voice laughed, "Hey, yeah it's Travis. You can call me Travis."

"Oh, okay Travis. I had a look at your car and there is a problem with your combustion chamber. You see, vehicles need the right amount of air and fuel to mix and then-"

"Woah woah, you lost me at combustion." Travis said, "Just tell me, is the car a goner?"

You giggled, "No, you just need new spark plugs. It's around $250 including labour."

You could hear him sigh down the line, "Oh! That's fine then, do what you need to do."

"Okay, sure thing. I'll be finished with it by 4pm. Are you able to come and collect around then?"

There was a short silence, "I've got a crazy day. I got a couple of things to figure out first, I don't know if I'll be around."

You checked your schedule in the large leather bound diary in front of you, "Well, I'll be in the shop late working on some other cars, so if you drop by anytime before 7, I should still be here."

"Awesome, I'll stop by!"

"Great, catch you later." You placed the phone back onto the receiver and quickly jotted down in your diary details to remind yourself to replace Travis' spark plugs.

The office door opened and the noises of the shop floor grew increased for a second before they were muffled again as the door closed.

"Hey sport." You felt your Dad's hands on your shoulders, "Your headache gone yet?"

"Not really. I already got two cars to finish up, a service and now these new spark plugs for do for that GMC." You pointed your pen in the direction of Travis' car as you began to write out a worksheet.

Your Dad leant down across your shoulder, "I could do the GMC for you?"

"Dad no, Dr Martin said you had to take it easy." You covered the worksheet with your hand.

He swiped your hand away, "Oh come on, I'm fine! It's spark plugs."

You laughed until you noticed that his face had quickly changed when he caught sight of the sheet, "What's wrong?"

His once rosy cheeked complexion was now a ghostly shade of white, "Travis Kelce...you have Travis Kelce's car here?"

"Yeah, why?"

His eyes widened as he looked towards the shop floor, "His car is in my shop? The GMC, that's Travis Kelce's car?"

Your eyebrows lowered in confusion, "Yeah, he dropped it off this morning?"

"Oh man! Y/N, you gotta let me do it! The boys at the fishing lake aren't gonna believe this!"

"What is going on? Who is this guy?" Your voice was beginning to heighten in pitch.

Your Dad lifted his sweatshirt up to reveal a bright red jersey with the number 87 emblazoned on the front, "Travis Kelce is one of the greatest tight ends the Chiefs have ever seen!"

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your diary for the day.

"Which you would know if you ever watched football with me!" He poked you in the arm with his finger.

You tore off the worksheet from the pad, "If I give you this, will you stop shouting and making my headache worse?"

You Dad carefully took the paper from your hands and gently kissed the top of your head before dancing his way out of the office and onto the shop floor, Travis' GMC waiting in the corner of the garage.

______________________________________________________________

Glancing at the digital clock on the wall, you noted that it was 6.25pm. All of your colleagues had already left for the day, leaving you in the shop by yourself. You preferred working alone but your Dad's business had built up a good reputation in the city for being the best repair shop and it was always busy.

When you were younger, you had always preferred fixing your Barbie's houses to make them better as apposed to playing with the dolls themselves. As a teenager you could always be found in the workshop tinkering with tools and learning everything you could from your Dad. You started helping him in his shop during the summer and when you left school, he took you on and gave you a job. You saved every penny you could and when your Dad needed to take a step back from work, you bought into the business, running it alongside him.

You gazed up at the underside of the Ford that was lifted above you, squinting as the night drew in. The crackled radio played in the background and as you hummed along to yourself, the faint sound of footsteps seemed to blend into the music.

"Um...hello?"

You turned your head towards the direction of the deep voice, a silhouette standing in the doorway of the shop.

You squinted further, trying to make out any defining features but to no avail. "Karl, if this is you trying to scare the shit out of me, you gotta try harder than that." You shook your head and dropped your wrench down onto the floor, the sound of the metal hitting the cement loudly echoing in the vast room.

The figure stepped further forwards, his hands held up, "I'm sorry...it's Travis. I'm just here to pick up my car?"

You felt your cheeks flush red, "Travis? I am so sorry, that was really unprofessional of me."

"Hey, it's all good! Don't worry, I probably shouldn't have lingered in the doorway watching you."

Your mouth twisted to the side, "You were watching me?"

His eyes grew bigger, "Not in a creepy way. But now I've said that it wasn't in a creepy way, it sounds like it was in a creepy way."

You wiped your hands on your towel, smiling slightly as you listened to him struggle.

"I was just...impressed. Like I said earlier, I have no clue when it comes to shit like this." He looked around the room at the various tools and parts that were dotted around.

You slowly nodded your head, "Well, thanks...I guess?"

Travis scratched the back of his head and looked down at his feet, a clear indication that he was nervous. You took the opportunity to really look at him. He was wearing bright white trainers, dark wash jeans and a Louis Vuitton jacket with a white shirt underneath. He was so pristine and you were quite concerned that he wouldn't make it out of the shop without a smudge of oil on him.

"So, my car?"

You looked towards it, digging the keys from one of your many pockets, a couple of bolts coming out with them, "Uh yeah, my Dad took great pride in fixing your car. He's a big fan."

"Oh yeah? Well please, tell your Dad I said thanks!" He smiled before looking around again, "You on your own?"

You sighed, "Yeah, I got a few things to clear up on these babies and then I'll be done."

He unlocked his car and opened the door, pausing for a second before he turned back to you, "Wanna go for a drink?"

Your heart stopped for a beat or two and your chest tightened, a feeling you weren't used to. Men didn't usually ask you out, especially not at work. You didn't exactly make an effort to only be covered in grease all day and everyone knew that your Dad wouldn't be far away, meaning most potential dates kept you very much at an arms length. But here he was, an exception.

"I've still got some work to do." You looked down at your current appearance, "And I might not be down with the latest trends, but I'm pretty sure no one will let me in anywhere looking like this."

Travis smiled coyly, "So, is that a no?"

You winced at his hidden hurt, guessing he wasn't used to women turning him down, "Thanks...but no." Digging into your pocket, you retrieved his invoice, black fingerprints smudged across the paper.

As he reached to take the invoice, his large hand covered yours and you subconsciously held your breath, a fast heat rising to your face.

"No sweat, I might see you around anyway?" He jumped into his car, turning the engine on, "I'll wire you the money for the spark...things."

You nodded in acknowledgement, watching as he pulled away carefully out of the garage and into the night. You unclenched your shoulders and laughed to yourself, turning your attention back to the Ford.

______________________________________________________________

"A package? Who from?" You questioned.

Jordan shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. I didn't open it."

"We never get packages."

You became slightly distracted as Jordan tugged at the bottom hem of his hoodie and pulled it up and over his head, his shirt lifting up slightly to reveal a peek at his toned abs. He threw the garment onto the floor beside him and gazed at you.

"Y/N?"

You blinked, "Uh...I'll go and have a look now."

You furrowed your brows, making your way towards the office and shaking your head on the way, exacerbated at yourself.

On the desk was a small brown package with no indication of who it was from. You ripped open the paper and carefully pulled out the framed photograph. It was a picture of Travis midgame, the ball safely clutched in his gloved hands and speeding towards the end zone. He had signed the corner of the photograph. You turned the frame over to see some slightly messy handwriting on the back.

"For your Dad."

You smiled at his kind gesture.

"Let me know when you want to go for that drink."

______________________________________________________________

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#travis kelce x reader #travis kelce imagine #kelce x reader #nfl imagine #original story #travis kelce fic #travis kelce #travis kelce fluff #nfl fluff #travis kelce smut #travis kelce angst #nfl smut #nfl angst #nfl fic #kelcemenow requests

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daydreamvalley · 11 months ago

Text

October Sunsets (2) - nanami kento

𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧Summary: You accidentally stole Nanami’s phone, unaware about the dire situation he is occupied with in Shibuya.

Contents: Anime-only safe. Angst + mentions of extreme bodily injury & death.

Read part 1

11:36 pm. Way to go. Nanami must think I’m an obsessed freak. One that forces situations to happen, so he’d think about me. You thought to yourself if he didn’t think you were clumsy before, he should now. For the past twenty-two minutes you’ve been goggling at his phone, that had already lost power. Yours, however, could be a saving grace right now. Taking it out of your tote bag you texted Shoko, the only colleague at Jujutsu Tech you were acquainted with. The message was split into multiple inane short texts: Hello. I know you guys are busy right now, but please let Nanami know I’m sorry I took his phone! I promise I only realized, like, right now and-

Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.

Your mother’s contact appeared on your screen, previewing messages that contained videos. She called right before departing to wish you safe travels and the promise of funny videos to help you stay entertained, so you swipe away her texts assuming they were just unfunny skits from somewhere.

Continuing your imploring to Shoko: Please just say that first. That I’m sorry. Also, he can meet me on Monday, November 5th. I’ll return it then fly back to Denmark. Tell him he’ll get lots of pastries and souvenirs! After hitting send, it did register that the last bit of the message was unnecessary, but the nerves of the situation got to you. Going into your mother’s chats, you see an influx of exclamations. “Shibuya is being destroyed!”, “Are you still in the plane?”, “Answer me!!”, “Your uncle sent me this one”, “Please be safe out there, love you”. You watch a low-quality video, hearing your family member’s voice in the background crying out in fear. A plane was being set ablaze mid-air, hurling a loud roar as it dropped from the sky into Shibuya. The tragedy was clear as day, even though the video is taken at night. Highlighting the combusted object. Your hands tremble. Were you safe? Unable to hold the phone upright, you felt like this was wrong to watch. He’s on call, but where? No. stop thinking like that, he’s obviously saving civilians right now. Nanami’s far too competent to be a victim to that destruction. Thumping tortured your head as you catastrophized.

“Miss. Are you feeling ill?” The flight attendant sounded like she was under a body of water. “Hold my hand and follow my breathing.”

The video continued playing, showing a city turning into hell. The lens turned to reveal the shocked faces of people witnessing the horror. It never stopped playing until a pair of hands whisked your device away from a weak grip, then lightly turned your head so you could meet a women’s calm face.

8:00 am, November 5th, Monday, Tokyo. You hug Nanami’s blazer tighter against your layered outfit, when then the breeze enters the cafe. A cold gust sings alongside the crackling sounds of an old espresso machine. Elevating the emptiness and lack of conversation in the room. How could anyone start a conversation? It feels like the moment anyone utters a word; we all expect the events of Shibuya to pour out. No one wants to talk about. At least for a little while. Not while the wound is still fresh. In your peripheral you see the screen of a phone turn on, next to you on the leather couch. The red dusk of the sunset on your friends lock screen includes a notification, telling you its fully charged. You unplug and bring it to your face to have a closer at the photo, but the phone unlocks from facial recognition. Taken aback you immediately turn it off, shutting your eyes. You hold a tighter grip on it, because it’s a reminder of how you aren’t ready.

Not yet.

You decide to lean into the couch, to stay longer at the establishment. The jetlag is kicking in and it doesn’t help that you ran into an unwanted conversation with a coworker when you walked in. The one-sided chat consisting of the only depressing topic everyone is taking part in. It left your coffee cold, and now you needed to rest for a bit. If not, you could walk out of the café without a clear mind. Looking either drunk or sleep deprived. Most likely the latter. The insurance company was next door and the possibility of running into more people is a headache. To call your flight back to the city a miracle, would be an understatement. From October 31st, flights coming in and out of Japan were prohibited, just when you desperately needed to come back home. Only five days have passed since the incident.

For four days, you found yourself alternating between locking yourself up in a Denmark-airport hotel, then running around pleading with the airport’s many front desk’s about when you could leave. Not caring if you’d get fired for abandoning your work trip. Your mothers’ yells across the phone would be a comforting reoccurrence, in which she is begging you to stay in Denmark, since the situation was getting worse back home. For four days, only your mother would call, while you unfortunately entertained the thought of your loved one’s death once you came back. Even as you arrive back, the chaos resumes. No warm hugs from a worried family greeted you.

You colleagues were radio silent, dealing with their own grief. Your mother and uncle were evacuated to a different city. Leaving you with one more fear. No sign of Nanami. Shoko didn’t answer your calls from Wednesday to the early mornings of today, until the dreadful call. The call you had with her just one hour ago, which somehow led you to instinctively catch a taxi to this very café.

Just as you settle into drifting asleep, a ring awakens you. It’s coming from your phone. “Shoko”, displayed on the lock screen, and hesitantly you pick up.

“I can see you from here. I’m crossing the light pole to the café entrance.” Shoko says, as you see her tall figure approach, dressed in a lab coat. She stops outside the door to throw her cigarette into a bin. Chimes can be heard as she walks in. You stiffen. Staying seated on the coach, you can’t help but feel nauseous as she walks up to you. She stops above you, striving her best smile. “So quiet in here. Wish it were like this outside.” She gets comfortable next you on the couch. Making sure to observe the blazer as she continues, “You must have been in disarray; your luggage is here.”

You face her in silence, nodding your head in acknowledgement. The two of you stare at each other, competing to see who will address the matter. Inhaling deeply, you try, “Thanks for meeting me here. Why’d- ‘’

You clear your throat to not get choked up. “No.” You straighten your back to speak clearer, “What were you doing when you called me?”

“Sorry?” Shoko inquires, and you stay silent, reading her eyes. “I was…sitting at the park.” She says pointing in the direction behind her, confused.

“So, you weren’t occupied with something urgent or intense?”

“Not really.”

“You didn’t think to wait for my arrival or ask us to meet somewhere. You were just going to causally call me and tell me that “I’m sorry. Nanami didn’t make it”, hang up on me, then leave me to go with the rest of my day!” You shakily burst out.

Shoko looks at you with widened eyes and observes around the room self-consciously. You two were the only customers in the café, now filling the silence. She places her palm on your shoulder, to ease the tension, but you non-aggressively remove it.

“I admit, you didn’t have to hear it that way. I just didn’t know who to call. Everyone was pestering me. They still are and I couldn’t handle it. I only saw your messages yesterday and the burden of telling you the news was too much. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just…a lot.” Shoko was now tearing up. The pressures of her position were breaking her, as each day passed by, with more wounding alerts of her dying colleagues.

You stand up from your spot. “Let’s talk outside, I’m getting dizzy in here.” You respond half-heartedly.

Shoko follows you into the chill winds hoping for a smoother flowing discussion.

“Please, Shoko. Where is he? I know I’m a non-sorcerer so I can’t even enter your facility, but at least tell me-“

“Even if I could. I can’t let you see that- him I mean.”

“That? Shoko help me out here, please! It’s the least you could do. God, this is so unfair.” You lament to her.

“There’s nothing I can do. He’s- its bad. His lower body is the only remaining part we can recover from Shibuya.” Shoko winces and covers her mouth, shocked by her own blunt words.

You bit your lip as tears marked your face. His lower body. Her mechanical way of describing things made sense in her occupational context, but this was too harsh. With staggered breaths you ask, “Where is he?” You ache as you reiterate. You now know the answer. He was still in there. That hell. It was never a possibility in your mind. Nanami not making it back home. While the world just begun to know about sorcery after the massacre, it wasn’t unfamiliar to you. In detail, he’d go over his workday like it were any other mundane job. The stories of the students he so greatly cared for, the loss of his dearest friend in high school, and all the dangers of the mystique of this world he was in. Never, did you imagine you’d have to worry about his potential death. In his eyes, he is someone who simply strives to do the best he can. You wish he could see himself in your eyes.

Jujutsu Sorcerers are shit. He’d boldly reaffirm that to you with sunken eyebags, every time you two would talk about your workday in the café. Yet, he never left sorcery. Everyday you’d be reassured of how hard-working he really is. That same attitude that you admire in him, is one of the many traits that made you want to be a permanent part of his life. Whether he accepted your affections or not, wasn’t the point, everyone deserves to have such a dependable force in their life. Now, you cannot accept that this is happening.

“I understand him now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hate how the higher-ups do things. What’s happening right now is showing their true colors.”

“You can do unimaginable things compared to most doctors. The ability to reserve techniques, right? That’s what Nanami told me.” You ask her, not expecting a response. Maybe this was a way for you to cope with the fact that even people as powerful as her can’t fix everything.

“Yes. I know there’s nothing I can do to make you feel better. I can’t even begin to tell you why we can’t save the rest of his body right now. I don’t want to hurt you more. I know how much you mean to him, it’s only right that I informed you.”

You chuckle at her words, “The damage has already been done. No?”

She looks to the ground in defeat. Agreeing that nothing was going to assist the emotional affliction.

“You want to know what hurts more? Is that I’ll never know why. You could try to explain it to me, though I doubt you would. Still, I’m too far removed from it all. I don’t want to know who did it, or what.” Wiping your face, you make your back the door, “I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. Take care.” Not looking back, you head straight for the bathroom. Hiding yourself in one of the stalls, you drop down to your knees. One hand on the stall wall, as the other opens the toilet seat while you begin to hurl. His lower body is still there. It’s an unsettling scene. You hurl and cry simultaneously. The chronic exhaustion was making a physical appearance, yet the object of your sorrow was thinking about how tired he must have been. Meeting his end, without getting to grow old, but by the pressures of his sorcery.

7:00 pm, November 12th, 2018, Kuantan, Malaysia. The ocean sends shimmering beams of light into your bedroom. You sit on your bed in a daze, taking in your flat’s perfect view of the ocean’s peaking sunset across the horizon. Now it’s been twelve days since the Shibuya massacre and the beginning of a new era of havoc. Other than frequent check-ins with family, you haven’t spoken to anyone else since your last conversation with Shoko. Most of all, you won’t bother yourself with the current events taking place in Shibuya. This isn’t a retreat. You were abandoning your duties to escape, with the illusion of closure. It made you worse. Your way of grieving is running away to the place Nanami raved on about. Where is the closure?

“Jujutsu Sorcerers are shit.”

His words echo when you think about home, but not in a negative way. You just can’t help but recollect these words because they represent your overall memory of him. Nanami always had this weird way of saying bold and sometimes controversial statements but in a well-mannered way. You miss his politeness. How much of a gentleman he was to you and all women around him. You miss the safety. You loved knowing that your coworkers thought he was boring and uptight, because with you the formalities would drop, and you’d be left breathless from his jokes. You would give anything to hear his dry jokes again. You loved knowing that you saw that side of him. When he was not burnt out by work and had the energy to send you two out and about in town to shop, try food, or take aimless walks in the city. You love him, and he will never know.

I think I’m ready.

You grab Nanami’s cream-white blazer from next to you, to take out his phone. He trusted you enough to be another recognizable face on his device. Claiming he had nothing to hide and whatever he had on it most likely was cleaner than yours. You only used this privilege to take pictures of yourself and make it his wallpaper. Every now and then, those same pictures of you would remain on this lock screen. You think back to when you asked him if he wasn’t worried his sorcerer friends would ask who you are, then he’d reply that they wouldn’t ask, because they already know you. Such memories now cross your mind. That comfortability is now missing.

You used to doubt your importance to him. Having each other’s extra apartment keys and phone passwords was not enough for you. When his reason for these two instances was to ensure you both have someone to depend on in case of emergencies, your mind was clouded with romance. You face the front camera to unlock the phone, revealing a typical home screen. Organized and easy to navigate. Since you’ve been in possession of it you never opened it. Where would you even begin. What was the point. Would you forget him that quickly without his phone? His camera roll consisted of you, screenshots of songs, meals and a substantial number of sunsets. Chime. A reminder displays on his screen. It has two exclamation marks indicating it is high priority. Deciding you didn’t want to go into his apps anyway, you read the reminder:

Send the birthday message on notes tomorrow!!

Tomorrow is your birthday. Without thinking you navigate to the notes. You scroll down completed grocery lists and to-do lists to reach one note titled, “Her birthday plans”. In bullet points he writes: Returns from work trip November 12th. Haneda Airport. Plan A, surprise flowers? Cook dinner for her at my place (might seem pushy if she doesn’t feel that way)?

If Plan A fails, aquarium. Obsessed with stingrays. Early Christmas presents! Christmas plans?

Weeps escape your mouth as you read the notes. These notes started to make you feel less insignificant to him than you thought you before. You didn’t just lose Nanami. You lost a potential future of longer city walks, Christmas dinners, and more nonsense-bred conversations. His relatives probably don’t know what has happened. You may have felt unimportant in the midst of his complex and action-filled life, but this circumstance would force you to introduce yourself to his family in the worst way. You aren’t merely an ex-coworker. You are his dependable companion and friend during an emergency. Those emergencies may be mundane compared to the danger he faced daily, but he still trusted you to follow through.

How would you introduce him to your mother? If he was also merely the ex-coworker her daughter hangs out with. Can she understand this profound grief?

You hang around the note app, noticing one more titled, “For her.”

There is no one else more deserving of delighting in this day than you. You tell me you do not care much for today, which I understand the reasons, but I am grateful for another year of you. Every time you feel like abandoning it all because you’re so tired I want you to remember your birthday. Yes, a reminder of the gift of time. When it all becomes too exhausting for you, there is my door. Waiting for its only other owner to arrive when she’s ready.

We are becoming so much more. I sometimes wonder if I carry this desire of wanting to become more with you, a bit more than you. With the gift of time, I will try to express my feelings better.

You bring ease to those of us around you. You are lovelier and more perfect than tranquil seas. A calming force which the drifting autumn leaves cannot try to compete with.

I love you. Wholeheartedly.

You hug at the blazer on your lap. Staining it with tears. Picking up your cellphone to walk to your bedroom balcony, opening the camera app, you hope. As you take an image of the rosy horizon, you hope. You hope that these memories won’t become such a painful occurrence in the future. With every passing day, signs of a day turning into evening would make it difficult for you to forget him.

The end! I'm sorry like really sorry. I wanted to see a realistic story depicting the aftermath of his death but I couldn’t find any. So I wrote it??

I have a happy story in mind if anyone is up to read it<3

Taglist for the sweethearts who were looking forward to to this: @akstormm @rain-moto @salimahbicharara-comun 💕

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