#the casting was so good like devoured

[artcinemas]

is the got show really that bad? I've only read the books (few as they have been... but i digress) and always thought got was an idiotic adaptation which non-reader fans still liked such as the hunger games movies

it wasn't as bad in the earlier seasons but it became objectively worse during the later seasons (season five onwards). i mean season three and four my beloveds but as someone who read the books after watching the show and then rewatched the show after reading the books...the characters seem different and not cooked properly iykwim. many people will say that grrm didn't publish winds (he hasn't yet) that's why d&d had issues...like no. remember the lady stoneheart debacle? besides even though the characters of colour in the books were subjected to orientalist tropes since the beginning, i feel they were still more fleshed out in the books than the show (*kicks the show dorne plot into hellfire*) they removed and changed so many important characters (bisexual jon snow erasure....a crime), it almost felt seeing a woobiefied fanfiction sometimes. i could go on a huge essay on how the show is messed up but i feel too lazy to write it at the moment.

[mithrilwren]

Finally finished One Piece and I'm in the feels oh boy

[leejenowrld]

seven days of christmas smut

seven days of christmas, seven ways to ruin you—slow and sweet, rough and desperate, teasing and possessive. from tangled sheets to quiet stolen moments by the tree, each night gives you more to beg for, every touch leaving you trembling and wanting more.

lee jeno — snowed in at a remote cabin, you and jeno are left alone with nothing but the crackling fire and the tension that’s been building for far too long. what starts as playful teasing after a snowball fight snaps the moment you’re back inside, the heat between you undeniable. he fucks you against every surface he can find—pinning you to the walls, bending you over the creaking table, and dragging you into the armchair by the fire, his pace rough and relentless. his hands grip tight, his voice low and filthy as he claims you over and over, refusing to stop until there’s nothing left of you but him.

word count — 4.4k words

genre — smut

[ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ]

jung jaehyun — it’s the early hours of christmas morning, the house still and quiet, your kids asleep down the hall, but you and jaehyun can’t resist each other. tangled in the sheets, the soft glow of christmas lights spilling through the window, he fucks you slow and deep, his hand over your mouth to stifle the moans threatening to slip free. every thrust is deliberate, every roll of his hips leaving you trembling as he whispers filthy promises into your ear—reminding you that you’re his, and on a morning meant for giving, he’s the only one who gets to have you like this.

word count — 5.8k

genre — smut

[ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ]

johnny suh — johnny surprises you with a gift—delicate lace lingerie, wrapped neatly with a note that reads, “for later.” when you step into the bedroom that night, wearing it just for him, he’s already waiting, sprawled across the bed, his dark gaze raking over you like he’s ready to devour. “you’ve been so naughty this year,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he pulls you into his lap. his hands roam your body, deliberate and possessive, before he guides you down onto his cock, making you ride him slow and deep. every roll of your hips draws a growl from his chest, his words filthy and unrelenting as he promises to make you pay for every sinful thought you’ve put in his head this year—until you’re shaking, speechless, and ruined.

word count — 6.2k

genre — smut

[ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ]

na jaemin — you find jaemin sitting by the christmas tree after midnight, the soft glow of lights casting golden shadows across his bare chest as he waits for you. he pulls you into his lap, hands gliding up your thighs with just enough pressure to make you squirm, his voice low and teasing as he murmurs how good you’ve been for him this year. his kisses start slow, deliberate, but they quickly turn desperate—clothes pushed aside, your body pressed down onto the soft carpet beneath him. the lights flicker above you, catching in the dark hunger of his gaze as he fucks you hard and deep, his grip firm on your hips, like he’s afraid to let you go. your moans mix with his rough groans, the quiet of the house broken only by the sounds of him taking you apart, whispering that you’re the only gift he’s ever wanted

word count — 5.4k

genre — smut

[ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ]

kim jungwoo — jungwoo teases you all night about being impatient to open your presents early, but when you get to the last box under the tree, all you find is a note that reads, “your real gift is waiting upstairs.” when you find him in the bedroom, he’s sprawled across the bed, shirtless with nothing but a red ribbon tied low around his waist, his smirk equal parts playful and sinful. “go on,” he murmurs, his voice dropping as his eyes darken, “unwrap me.” what follows is him letting you take control, your hands and mouth exploring him as he groans beneath you—until he flips the script, unwrapping you piece by piece and giving you a christmas you won’t forget.

word count — 7k

genre — smut

[ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ]

lee donghyuck — at a crowded christmas party, the air buzzing with laughter and music, you and donghyuck can’t stop locking eyes, the tension between you thick and impossible to ignore. it snaps when he grabs your hand, dragging you into a dark, empty room, the door clicking shut as he presses you hard against it. his breath is hot against your ear, his voice low and filthy as he murmurs all the things he’s been dying to do to you. his hands move with purpose, peeling away your clothes like wrapping paper, unwrapping you as though you’re the only gift he wants. the distant hum of the party fades as he fucks you with rough, desperate strokes, your moans swallowed by his mouth, the risk of being caught only making it hotter.

[ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ]

mark lee — mark insists on “warming you up” after you come in from the cold, wrapped in fuzzy blankets with cocoa still in your hands. he shifts closer, his touch slow and teasing, until his hands are roaming beneath the blanket, pulling soft gasps from you. before you know it, he has you on your knees for him on the living room carpet, the faint glow of christmas lights and a forgotten movie playing in the background. his low groans mix with the soft sounds of your mouth on him, his fingers tangling in your hair as he whispers just how good you are—his perfect little gift.

[ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ]

[lil-munch]

*Holding this character analysis with my two hands*

This... this is beautiful...

WHAT UNDERTALE HUMAN SOUL WOULD THEY HAVE?

[valsverse]

⠀⠀(୨୧) BROUGHT THE HEAT BACK

. .⠀FEATURING⠀⟡⠀ percy jackson, leo valdez, jason grace, luke castellan (respectively) x gn!reader

﹙🏹﹚ in which ：they get jealous. (and it looks good on them) ── masterlist

percy jackson ; percy’s eyes track your every movement as you laugh at something someone else said—a sound that usually belongs to him.

he leans back against the tree, arms crossed, fingers drumming against his bicep in a rhythm too slow, too measured for the thoughts running through his head. across the campfire, you're caught in conversation with someone who seems a little too interested in every word you say, leaning in just a bit too close. the guy’s smile, belonging to a new camper he doesn't quite recognize, is bright, easy, but percy sees the intent in his eyes. it’s the way the his gaze lingers on you a moment too long, the way he leans in as if he’s trying to get just a little closer, as if he thinks he has a shot. percy pushes off the tree, his movements smooth and unhurried, but there’s a coiled tension in the set of his shoulders. he walks over to the group, slipping into the conversation with that casual air that comes so naturally to him, but there’s something different about the set of his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his sides. “what’s so funny?” percy’s voice rings out, deceptively light but edged with a bite that makes the newcomer falter. the camper catches the tone and falters for just a second before recovering with a grin. “just telling them about the time i—” percy doesn’t wait for him to finish. he reaches for your hand, pulling you away before another word can leave the guy's mouth. as you move away from the fire’s warmth, the tension in his body begins to ease, though he remains silent until the murmurs of the campfire fade into the background. “everything okay?” you ask, even though the answer is already etched in the harsh set of his jaw and the tight grip of his hand in yours. percy shrugs, his attempt at nonchalance as he tries to mask his irritation. “yeah, i just—” he stops, running a hand through his tousled hair, the frustration evident in the way he looks back toward the campfire, his gaze a storm of irritation. “i don’t like it when people think they can just—” he trails off, the words left hanging, but you know exactly what he means.

a smile tugs at your lips.“percy jackson, are you jealous?”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes with an air of exaggerated nonchalance, but the embarrassed blush creeping up his neck betrays him. “of him? please.” still, you notice the way his grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly. leo valdez ; you realize he's the jealous type barely three days in. it’s subtle, the way he inches closer as you text a friend, not out of curiosity but a need for attention. “who’s got you so wrapped up?” he asks, draped lazily beside you, lips pulling into a soft pout.

“an old friend. we’re catching up—it’s been a while.” your eyes stay glued to your screen, your smile growing at the messages. his gaze lingers on you, a moment of quiet before he lets out a dramatic sigh and collapses onto the bed, voice heavy with faux despair.

“you’re abandoning me,” he laments, eyes fluttering shut like the thought alone is unbearable. “guess i’ll just have to die.”

“leo, stop,” you mutter, rolling your eyes but unable to fully hide the smirk creeping onto your lips.

“i'm not gonna make it.” he declares, sitting upright with wide eyes, his hand clutching at his chest as if wounded. "any final words for your dying lover?”

you laugh, finally setting your phone aside and leaning in. you cradle his face, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “you’re impossible.”

jason grace ; you’re sprawled on jason’s bed, explaining your favorite character from a new show you’ve been devouring, your eyes bright with excitement. jason, on the other hand, is brooding in the far corner of the bed like a wet dog.

jason slumps on the far edge of the mattress, a moping shadow cast over his features as he listens to your praise. “so,” he interjects, the pout on his lips deepening as you lose yourself in the narrative, “you’re not still caught up on that guy, right?”

his gaze remains fixed on you, sighing in exasperation when you take a second to respond. “seriously, i can’t believe this,” he adds, the words coming out as a half-whine, half-plea.

you glance over at him, observing the childish distance he’s placed between you two, the slight frown tugging at his mouth. “jason, are you really jealous of a character who doesn't even exist?”

after he doesn't respond and attempts to escape your gaze in obvious embarrassment, you laugh and reach out, fingers tracing the line of his jaw with gentle affection, a contrast to his earlier mood. “c'mon, you know you’re my favorite,” you coo at him, your voice a soothing counterpoint to his frown.

jason’s pout gradually fades, replaced by a smile as he leans into your shoulder, his embrace warming. “yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, his voice muffled but sincere. “guess i need to hear that more often.” luke castellan ; luke’s been staring at you for a while now, stretched out on the bed with narrowed eyes, assessing you like you’ve committed some unforgivable crime. “you remember you’ve got a boyfriend, don't you?” his words are lazy, almost drawled out, but there’s a bite underneath that’s hard to miss.

you don’t even bother to look up, your mind drifting somewhere far from the edge in his voice. “what are you talking about?” your voice is absent, your attention elsewhere, which only fans the flames of his irritation.

he lets out an agitated sigh, one of those exaggerated, weight-of-the-world exhalations, and points an accusing finger at the source of his distress. “i don't know. just seems like you forgot.” the accusation lingers in the air like a challenge.

you follow the line of his gaze, your eyes settling on the supposed rival—curled up in utter contentment on your lap, blissfully unaware of the brewing conflict. you snort, the sound half amusement, half disbelief. “luke, he’s literally just a cat.”

“tip his stupid ass over."

you laugh as you shake your head. “are you seriously jealous of your own cat?” the question is more teasing than incredulous, though you can’t help but be a little entertained by his sulkiness.

i’s not really jealousy—more like the gnawing need for attention he’ll never fully admit. with a quick, decisive movement, he scoops up the cat, who wakes with a startled jolt, all sleepy confusion and disgruntled meows. luke unceremoniously deposits him on the couch, far from his coveted spot.

you gasp, half in mock outrage and half in genuine concern. “you woke him up!” but luke’s already sliding into the now-empty space, settling in peacefully. his head finds its way onto your lap, and he looks up at you with an eyebrow raised.

“what?” he says, voice dripping with mock innocence. “i’m the boyfriend here, remember?”

(luke is a certified cat owner idc.)

©valsverse— do not steal, edit, or repost my works. plagiarism is prohibited.

[aestheticanimegirl15]

You want to know someone who would be an absolute menace in the kitchen? No its not Johnny who always is sneaking palmfulls of flour to throw at you or leaving flour marks on your tits or ass. No, it's not Simon who is always hovering around you and manages to stand directly in the way of every counter or ingredient you need. Kyle is actually pretty helpful, handing you what you need or taste testing it in-between wandering touches.

It's Price. Not because of anything that he does but because of what he doesn't do. He just stands there watching every move you make with crossed arms as he smokes a cigar by the only open window in the kitchen. Needless to say, it's irritating. You always tell him that if he is gonna be in the kitchen, the lest he could do is help. But he never dose, he just stands there or sits down at the dining room table like some sort of king and just watches.

Not only does it irritate you, but it's the way that he looks at you that is the real menace of the whole situation. Staring at you like you are a better meal than the one you're preparing. He keeps raking his eyes over you in a way that makes you squirm because you know exactly what he's looking at. It makes you feel like some sort of meek housewife whose only purpose in life is to serve her husband. Which at times doesn't seem like such a bad idea, until it's like this.

The way he just watches you makes a heat bloom in your core, as another one blooms in your cheeks. It makes you squirm as you stir the sizzling vegetables in the cast iron, thighs pressing together underneath the (his) shirt you were wearing. He knows what he's doing too, wearing such a cocky smirk on his lips that makes you not able to decide if you want to smack him or kiss him. But he never acts on the way he's making you feel. Oh no, he waits until after the two of you are done eating.

He knows you won't fight it when he pulls you into his lap once you finish cleaning the table off. The bastard knows how worked up he made you from all his staring. He'll mumble something about desert, and if you actually made one, he'll shake his head

"Not the desert. I'm wanting, sweetheart." He'll reply, and then next thing you know he's got, you splayed out on the kitchen table with his head absolutely buried in your thighs. If it weren't for the fact you just fed him a full meal, you would have thought he was starving with the way he was devouring you, moaning and groaning like he was the one on the receiving end. Mumbling praises about both you and your cooking skills, no matter how good or bad they are. And he won't stop until your conculsing under him while stars dance across your vision. Then you hear the fumbling of a belt buckle and a scrape of a chair across the floor

"Now that I'm full, let's have some fun yea?"

So yea. Out of every one of them, he's the biggest menance, always making sure you're waking up the next day with a sore body and a limp.

[uhzuku]

╰─▸ ❝ 𝐇𝐄’𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 ( 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 ). ❞ ──── 𝐟𝐭. 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀.

𝐬𝐲𝐧��𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: His eyes are hooded, dark with a venomous lust that used to frighten you — but you aren’t the shy lamb sent to slaughter that you once were, are you?

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: jujutsu kaisen | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ryomen sukuna/f!reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 3.49k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: concubine reader, demon king sukuna, sacrificial lamb x vicious monster trope, fem reader, manipulative reader, canon-typical violence, background character death, reader got a death grip on sukuna w the pussy ngl, breeding kink, fingering, sukuna has two cocks bc duh?, throne sex, cowgirl, no condoms, double penetration, accidental voyeurism, minor exhibitionism, creampies, biting, kissing, pregnancy mentions, murder, blood, gore, didn’t think i’d have to say this verbatim ( but after wasted summer ig i must ) but reader isn’t a good person.

𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬: he is so so mean and yet … here i am wanting his balls in my mouth 😔✊

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

The stone flooring is cold against your bare feet, icy and sharp in ways that you used to be able to say you were unused to — but after a handful of years as your lord’s most desired concubine, you’d grown more than used to the endless chill of stone against your soles. 

Only a few short years ago you’d been sent into the mountains to the dusky temple of the demon lord Ryomen Sukuna, a toy for him to fuck then eventually rip apart as soon as he grew bored of you. Bound by the wrists with ropes that had scarred, you were dragged up the mountainside and thrown upon a vast stone table, bound yet again with your hands tugged over your head and your legs spread to opposing corners. Your inner thighs had each been granted one deep slash so blood would begin to flow, and then you had been abandoned there. Alone and in tears, night had fallen faster than you’d been found, and you’d almost felt frozen and delirious when the first shadows of a monstrous figure had caught your eyes. 

He had been a terrifying monster, sporting a vast mouth on his abdomen, two sets of eyes, four arms, and two pairs of legs all connected to a towering frame — all things normally singular about the human form had been doubled, and the owner of such a body had slunk over to you all while salivating. At first you’d feared he’d molest you, then you feared being devoured — but he’d mocked you cruelly and cut you loose before dragging you along behind him by the rope binding your wrists with your slit thighs screaming, your journey ending with him casting you at a half dozen women you later learned to be his concubines, and you’d not left his great stone temple in the mountains ever since. On the contrary, your life had become much easier — you led a life of luxury nestled comfortably on your knees atop a plush pillow next to your lord’s hip, you followed wherever he led you to go, and you warmed his bed and his cock whenever he so chose — which was often. 

Today was one such day, and you desired nothing more than to ready yourself to see the man who clung to you as if he were starved and you were a magicked feast. 

“Off to see the King again?” one of the other concubines, Ino, asks snidely as you loosely drape chains of delicate gold over your skin, and you sigh. Ino always started fights whenever she saw the chance, and you were more than tired of it. Still, a verbal spar was nothing for the King to sneeze at, so he wouldn’t make any attempts to stop it; some days he even found the arguments amusing. 

“Must I really answer your question?” You ask tiredly. “He has called for me—“

“As he does every day,” another concubine, Shouko, snaps. “He never calls upon us anymore, not like you.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you snap back, and in response the bane of your existence stomps forward, smelling of the honeysuckle and melons that grew along the mountainside where you all resided. 

“Maybe if you’d not come here and thrown yourself at him like a common whore, we wouldn’t be in this predicament,” Inko, Ino’s elder sister, snarls aggressively. Her eyes are dark and stormy, and her voice low and angry like a startled rattlesnake. “We all had a proper system before you came and ruined everything — but that’s all you know how to do, isn’t it? Traipsing in here practically naked from your first day and swallowing his cock down like it was what you were born for, then even daring to take away my night as well as Komori’s the following day.” Komori was another concubine, one nearly as bitter as Inko; she, however, chose to ruin what few of your belongings she could rather than spar with you verbally.

It was always the same with them — always angry that your lord doted on you more than the others, that he cooed at you so fondly while growls were occasionally sent their way ( growls you’d never received ), and that jewels and silks were lain reverently across your soft skin as rewards for earning his affections. “Maybe he likes me better for a reason, Inko,” you say coldly, standing your ground. “Maybe he isn’t calling upon you anymore because he’s realized how much of a surly bully you are — or maybe he’s grown tired of your once overused loose cunt.”

The sound of a  loud, harsh slap echoes through the room, followed immediately by startled gasps of shock and your face stinging painfully; as much as you all threw poisoned words through the air like arrows were loosed from an archer’s bow, none of you had ever dared lay a hand on one another. 

Your face burns, both from the pain from the hard slap and from a barely repressed anger, as you turn back from where it had been forcibly swung to the side at Inko’s strike to glare at her. 

“You’ll start being a lot happier with your life when you stop basing it around both mine and a man’s,” you hiss before exiting the makeup room and navigating your way through the halls of Lord Sukuna’s temple before finally entering the throne room. He was listening to a few servants of his describe the look of the lands outside the temple, and what they believed the upcoming winter would offer them, but he brushed them away upon realizing you’d entered. 

“Oh, my sweet treasure,” he purred warmly. “Come closer so I can bask in your beauty as I do every day.”

Obedient as always, you do just that, drifting closer before kneeling before him in acknowledgement of his power. Before you do so, you see the look in his eyes, and it sends a shot of fire to your stomach that you know all too well; his eyes are hooded, dark with a venomous lust that used to frighten you — but you aren’t the shy lamb sent to slaughter that you once were, are you?

“My lord Ryomen,” you murmur in a voice as thick and sweet as honey while just as deceptive as it would be when a part of a trap for flies. He stands, striding down the short set of stairs that led to his throne for you as he did for no other, and in a gruff voice commands you to stand at your full height. You do as told like always, and it doesn’t take long for him to catch sight of your aching face, which was no doubt starting to bruise.  

He gently grabs you by the jaw, careful that his claws do not prick your soft skin as he tilts your head to reveal your cheek to him. “Your beautiful face…” King Sukuna rumbles lowly, his voice an angered growl as he gently tips you by his grip on your jaw to look at the bruising handprint marring your face, and his eyes are as stormy as the sky outside of the temple as thunder booms amongst the clouds. “Who dared do this to you?”

“Inko,” you murmur quietly, then whine, “She called me a common whore and said I ruin everything. It hurt my feelings.”

“She will be punished,” he promises, cupping your face and kissing your forehead fondly in a show of slight sweetness that you knew he showed no other and strove to keep hidden at all times. Typically his words would comfort you, but not today. You were tired of Inko’s behavior, and a week locked alone in a room with nothing but bread and milk was no longer fitting in your eyes. 

You wanted her dead.  

“Fill me with your seed, my Lord,” you beg sweetly, and he groans while grabbing you borderline painfully tight and grinds your crotches together as you stand together in the throne room, allowing you to feel him at half-hardness. “I want to carry your spawn for you, just like you always say.” It was true; Demon King Ryomen Sukuna was a weak man when it came to his almost wicked thoughts of breeding one of his women’s fertile cunts, but he’d not yet filled any of his concubines’ wombs with life. That privilege, you knew, was to be yours alone — and with how desperately you knew he wanted it, you’d get your prize of Inko’s head on a golden plate and he would get his of the instinctual want for an heir before the week was up. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, standing as high on your tiptoes as you can to do so, and as usual he dips down so you can mouth sweetly at his skin, feeling one pair of arms rest at your hips while the other gently cup your face. “Let me ride you on your throne, my king,” you whisper sweetly, pulling your face from his hold and closing your teeth around one of his earlobes, tugging lightly. You both feel and hear the aroused growl leave his throat, and you move to nip at the base of his throat before asking again. “Please, beloved one?” you beg lightly, pressing a kiss to his jaw as he basks in the attention from your lips and your now wandering hands, which bury themselves in his hair in just the way he likes. “I want you to fill me in the way that only you will ever be able to. I desire the honor of bringing you life.”

You’re being dragged to his throne before you know it, your words plenty enough to tip him over any and all edges he had when it came to you, and he’s taking a seat and tugging you up onto his lap with a practiced ease that you both remembered all too well. He grinds his cock up into the crux of your thighs, his already hard length pressing against the place you were always bare for him beneath your skirts so perfectly. It only takes a moment for him to loose his cock from his robes, and even less time for him to press two of the fingers on one of his other three hands into your wet hole, the appendages curling just so inside so as to toy with you and prepare you for the vast stretch of one ( or even both ) of his cocks. 

“F-Fuck — M’Lord, there-!” You whimper shakily, hips bucking into his touch as he presses one callused thumb to your clit and begins drawing harsh circles on it in time with each curl of his fingers. 

“I know, sweet treasure, I know,” He murmurs softly. “I’ll take care of you — gotta get ya’ all nice and sloppy for me, dear one.”

“No more!” You whine impatiently. “Want you in me!”

His eyes are already dark, but they seem to darken even further at your senseless pleading. “As my foolish girl begs,” he says in mock-sweetness, pulling his fingers from your sopping cunt with a wet shlk! and beginning to use what you’d left on them to wet his cock rather than lick them clean like usual. Your heart ba-bump!s in your chest as a nervous shiver courses through you, but you don’t back down — you’d take his cocks and the resulting child of this coupling as well. 

“Oh gods — yes, please-!” you whimper, feeling the way he drags his cock against your slickened slit, and he chuckles lightly before pressing the fat head in. A stuttery gasp falls from your lips as your head does likewise to his shoulders, and you cling to him desperately as you begin to sink down onto him entirely. In what feels like forever ( but is really only a couple short seconds ) he’s fully sheathed inside of you, and you both still for a moment to soak in the feeling of both filling and being full — and the the Demon King decides the time to adjust is up, and begins fucking up into you. 

You bounce on his lap, moaning brazenly like a woman in a whorehouse, and your nails dig into his skin as he uses you like a toy for his own pleasure. Each drag of his thick cock inside you alights a fire in your belly as it always does, and you keen from your place on his lap as all four of his arms rove your body — two palming at your tits, one rubbing cruel circles on your swollen clit, and the third thrown around your waist. 

“Fuck… Fuck…” he moans, biting at your neck, and you whine needily while grinding down on him, trying your hardest to tempt him into forcing his second cock inside. Unfortunately, you doubted he would, considering he was always so cautious not to break his favorite toy ( you weren’t a fool, there was no love in his heart — there remained no heartstrings for you to tug on, only his sensitive cock. ), but seemingly today was an exception as a hand on one of your tits releases it just so he can grab his second length and press it against your sopping wet hole. The thick ring of cream around the base of the cock he’d already filled you with smears across his second as he urges the tip inside, a short scream falling from your lips as it pops in after a long moment of slightly-pained pressure. 

You’re overfull, tears are rolling down your cheeks, but Lord Sukuna just licks them up and begins using your body like the hole to fuck it is, bluncing you brutally on both of his cocks all while still seated on his massive throne. Behind you, you hear the wide doors to the throne room open, but it isn’t until a scandalized cry fills the room that you turn to look while your lord master continues fucking you without a care in the world for the eyes watching. 

“My Lord-? Oh gods, my apologies! I beg your forgiveness, my king!” The hand that had wandered in wails, falling to his knees in subservience at the realization that he’s just walked in on his lord taking his most favorite concubine in the throne room. The sight of both of his king’s cocks sinking so deeply into your glistening cunt had his own single cock twitching beneath his robes, but there was no way in hell he would ever dare to act on such a thing; the last time someone other than the king himself had touched a concubine with their unworthy hands, both had been torn apart in the King’s rage and fed to the carrion birds. 

“Fuck, you’re nothing but my sweet whore, aren’t you?” Sukuna groans deeply, ignoring the man entirely as you refocus entirely on him and the feelings he was forcing upon you. 

“Y-Yes, my king,” you moan shakily, your eyelashes fluttering as an ever-present knot starts to grow tighter in your lower belly alongside the overfull feeling, fueled by a heat that always burns in his presence.

“Cum on my cocks,” Sukuna orders through a moan. “Give it to me, I command you — I want to feel your cunt pulse around me as you come undone.” As he speaks he speeds up the circles he was drawing on your clit, and within moments you’re falling apart around him, crying out in ecstasy as he lets out a demonic roar and oresses himself as deeply inside as he can before emptying his balls. Faintly you register his eyes rolling back as he cums, but you’re too wrapped up in him to truly give a damn about any of it. 

After a few moments he begins to tug you off of his lengths, the muscles in your body just as instinctually unwilling to give them and their stretch up as you are as a natural resistance shows before being overtaken by you clenching down on him. “No,” you whimper, holding him tight. “Mine.”

“Y’gotta let me go, my precious jewel,” he rumbles quietly, and the urge to actually cry fills you and you just cling tighter. 

“No,” you say again, a fresh wave of tears stinging at your eyes. “Don’t wanna.”

A low groan falls from his lips, but he stops fighting you. You barely react as he lifts you, his inhuman strength making most any show of strength possible ( and making lifting you something easily scoffed at ), and you do likewise as he carries you off to his private chambers. A questioning noise falls from your half-chapped lips as he closes the massive open door of the two closed behind him, and he just shushes you before pulling the silk sheets and thick blankets and furs back before placing you on them. He’s straddling you, still stuck due to your clinging, and it takes a brief moment of wrestling with you before he manages to finally pull out. 

A borderline sickly wet noise fills both his and your ears as his cocks are drawn from your needy cunt, and the rush of thick demon cum that follows makes you whine pathetically. He just clicks his tongue at you and tugs on a rope made of golden chord that would ring a bell in one of the servant’s halls and summoned one such person, ordering them to ready your nightly meal ( despite the sun still being up ) so you could eat then sleep at your own leisure. Once the trembling man is gone, he joins you in bed. 

“I hope you meant your urging for me to grant you a child,” he purrs, biting at your shoulder while you press close to him. He pulls away, sitting up on the side of the bed, “Because there’s no going back now — you will carry my seed in your belly until you birth me a child.”

None of this matters to you. You had always planned to birth his first child, had always known that it was what your fate held for you — this moment was not for talk of a baby, no. You wanted your prize. 

“My dearest lord,” you sniffle needily, sliding from the bed on shaky legs and sinking to your knees between his legs, then propping yourself up over your crossed arms on them with a pout downturning your lips. A quickly growing puddle of his leaking cum begins to drip on the floor between your legs. “Please kill Inko — she’s so very mean to me, and all the other concubines are too because she’s been here so long.” Your bottom lip trembles as fresh tears start, and he sighs. 

“But her cunt is so sweet, dear one,” he murmurs, and you whimper and hide your face in one thick, muscled thigh. 

“You said she was loose. Besides, she hit me — I carry your spawn inside of me, and she hit me.” You didn’t have even his cum in you then, much less a conceived child — but you knew how to play the Demon King’s instincts, and the slight angered huff through his nostrils betray the rage simmering beneath his skin. All it would take was the tiniest push further. “It was the face this time, the face you own, but what if she pushes me down the stairs next? I could lose my life.”

Growling fills the air, and you know you've done it. 

“Rest here,” he says quietly, his voice shaking with rage, “Servants will be here to attend to you in a few minutes.”

He helps you up with one hand, half-tossing you onto the cushy bed, then begins making his way out of his private rooms. “Where are you going?” you call innocently, pushing a frightened tremor into your voice. “My lord Ryomen, please don’t leave me — I’m always so frightened without you!”

He stops in the middle of the room; you can see him shaking with anger. “I have business to attend to,” he says through gritted teeth. 

Your eyes glitter. “Come back to me soon, beloved one — I miss you desperately every moment you are away.” 

A grunt is your only response, and he exits the room as servants wheel in your dinner. You curl up prettily in his massive nest of a bed, and you peruse the options he’d granted you eagerly. When he was done, he’d use the excess rage to fuck you again — you’d need to quell what appetite you have now and then some if you wanted enough energy to survive. 

In the distance, furious roaring mixes with shrill, fearful screaming, and you delicately tug apart the roast duck you’d been served as the sounds of more concubines than just Inko being killed fills the temple. Servants cower, and the younger cupbearers whimper, but you just smile softly and hold out your emptied cup. 

“I would like more pear juice, please.”

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[pasukiyo]

Voldemort x malfoy reader where he’s in desperate need for an heir so he ‘does’ the reader over the large dining table with a lot of ‘yes my lord’

BLOODY WATERS

tom riddle/lord voldemort x f!malfoy!reader word count; 2,585 warnings; impregnation, blindfold, restraints, smut smut smut summary; lord voldemort was in need of an heir, so how could she refuse to do the honors for her most generous lord?

 One touch. 

 One touch was all it took for her to break. 

 She saw nothing except darkness, but Lord Voldemort moved behind it, relishing in the fact she was blinded. She shivered when the tips of his fingers grazed over the curve of her shoulder, trailing off when they reached the crook of her neck. With the simplest of touches she was a mess, with the simplest of touches she was trembling, with the simplest of touches she was aching. 

 She couldn’t see the way the corner of Lord Voldemort’s pink lips twitched, the way his gaze mapped out each goosebump that stood erect on her skin. She couldn’t see the way his eyes, dark with a splash of maroon, devoured her, but she could feel them, feel his vision’s hunger as she sat there shivering on the top of the dining table, blinded, and completely nude. 

 “Quite the pretty little pet you are, Miss Malfoy,” his voice murmured lowly, a husk to it that had her pressing her lips and her thighs together. Lord Voldemort’s gaze fleeted down to her legs as they squeezed themselves together, relieving some of the pressure she felt between them. He clicked his tongue at this, blinking back up to where her eyes would be, had they not been veiled away by a piece of black cloth. “Trying to relieve yourself already?” He drew nearer, leaning over her, his breath like smoke rolling over her ear. “Naughty little thing. Open your legs, lest you wish to be punished.”

 His words held power, raised fear within her as well. 

 “Y…yes, my Lord,” she squeaked, lips agape as she panted, spreading her legs once more despite her aching clit sobbing, begging for friction once again. She squirmed against the restraints locked on her wrists, her arms steadily growing more uncomfortable being tied behind her back. But she was determined to be good for him— she refused to let him down. “It won’t happen again, my Lord.”

 Lord Voldemort’s smirk grew wider at her obedience, tilting his head to catch a better look of her quivering chin, at the wrinkle in her brow peeking at him from just over the top of the blindfold. “Good,” he said simply as he pulled away from her, dark tendrils of hair falling over his face, casting a shadow across his skin. He reached out towards her again, this time his fingertips trailing up and down the valley between her breasts, feeling the quakes her heartbeat left behind. 

 She breathed and her chest heaved into his touch, her bottom lip quivering, a plea to just beg him to do something heavy on the tip of her tongue. She bit it back, desperate to please, desperate to obey. So instead, she said nothing, only let herself balance on the brink of bliss.

 Lord Voldemort’s fingers traced a circle around the nipple of her left breast, a gasp stumbling past her lips, her skin warm in his touch’s wake. “We haven’t much time before your brother and the others will be arriving,” he said in a low murmur and her cheeks burned with the reminder. Here she was— tied up and blindfolded, completely bare before her Lord and her brother was somewhere in their family’s manor— not to mention she was sitting completely naked on the table they’d eat their supper on. 

 A flash of shame warmed her cheeks but it was quickly replaced by a different kind of warmth when Lord Voldemort placed a hand on the side of her neck with his hand not on her chest. The pad of his thumb soothed over the base of her throat, lightly pressing down but never applying too much pressure. The lump in her throat bobbed against his finger when she gulped. 

 “So you are going to be obedient while I fuck my heir into you, is that understood?”

 If she wasn’t already soaked, she was dripping now. Her bottom lip quivered once more and a soft whimper escaped, nodding her head in reply, unconfident she’d be able to speak without sounding pathetic. Lord Voldemort wasn’t satisfied with this as an answer however, because of course he wasn’t. 

 “I’m not certain you understand,” he said, his hand creeping up her neck to claw at her chin, his grip tight and firm. “I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you plead for me to give you a child, I want to hear you beg for me to fuck you.”

 Another whimper stumbled past her lips and Lord Voldemort warm grip tightened on her chin, squishing her cheeks. “Please! Please, my Lord, I would be so honored to be the mother of your children. I’d do anything to please you, my Lord, I’d do anything to have you inside of me!” She wailed, her dignity lost and thrown away. She was aware of how pathetic, how foolish she sounded, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when her Lord wanted to give her the honor of being the carrier of his heir, not when her clit ached so much she could just shatter. 

 She of course couldn’t see the way Lord Voldemort’s lips twisted into a smile, but she could only imagine what he looked like as laughter thundered throughout his chest, permeating the dining room. He removed his hand from her face and for a moment, all was silent and all was still. She was panting, breathless as she tried to listen, wondering if he was even still in the room. 

 “My… my Lord?” She dared to call out, growing more frustrated with the restraints on her wrists and the cloth over her eyes. If only she could just see—

 —oh.

 All at once, she was full to the brim and her mouth fell open, a scream ripped straight from her throat, tears salty and stinging her eyes. With a mere snap of his hips, her Lord bottomed out inside of her, the head of his cock reaching a sensitive place so deep within, she was seeing stars. Her toes curled in on themselves and she pulled at her restraints, squeezing her eyelids so tight despite being blind already. 

 Lord Voldemort hissed beside her ear, his breath warm as it loomed over her cheeks, his lips a ghost over hers. If she dared lean in just an centimeter closer, they’d be touching. “My pet is so warm, so tight,” he growled, pressing the bridge of his nose to the crook of her neck and inhaling, taking a deep breath before exhaling back in her face. “So breedable.”

 He snapped his hips against her again, his cock ramming back into that sensitive spot inside of her and she yelped, balling her fists behind her back. Her back was arching and her chest was pressed against his now, one of his palms pressed to the small of her back and the other pressed to the space between her shoulder blades, pulling her in even closer. Still, their lips didn’t meet, despite being so close in distance. He only grazed his mouth against hers, dropping his head to let his breath fan over the delicate skin just below her jaw, sending shivers slithering down her spine. 

 “And to think my heir will have your pure-blood and mine…” he hummed against her jaw, his teeth teasing at her skin there. “…the power will be limitless.”

 He bucked his hips into hers again and tears began to wet her blindfold, a broken sob tumbling past her lips but her Lord, her most generous Lord, collected them with his own, sealing her cry with a kiss. Her tongue stood no chance against his, nor did she even try to challenge him, already willing to give up her entire mind, body, and soul to him. She was practically limp in his arms as he thrusted again and once more, twisting a knot at the pit of her stomach that was already threatening to break. 

 “Hush now, little bird,” he whispered against her lips when he pulled away from their kiss, thrusting again until he set an even and steady pace, his forehead flush against hers. “Soon you’ll be mine and all will be well,” he murmured, their noses brushing together before he slammed his hips inside of her, ripping a meek from her throat. “But just as I said, we haven’t much time. I expect Abraxas and the others will be arriving soon.”

 He was pounding her now and she was dangerously close to coming now, pulling and tugging against her restraints. “My… my Lord!” She cried, wishing she could see him, wishing she could touch him. Lord Voldemort must’ve noticed the way she was rebelling against her restrained and must’ve pitied her, for he was reaching behind her back— his pace never once slowing and the force of his thrusts never once weakening— to undo the knot he’d tied to keep her wrists together. 

 Relieved the moment her wrists were free, one of her hands practically flew to his shoulder, the other reaching to the back of his head to grip at the rich, dark tresses there. Her tears were wet against her cheeks as they managed to slip underneath the blindfold and when she pressed her face into the breadth of his shoulder, they soaked his skin. 

 “My Lord, I’m… I feel so… I feel so close,” she mewled into his flesh as she fluttered around his cock, squeezing him even tighter which only encouraged him to piston his hips harder into her, clawing at the skin on her back, certain they’d leave marks. “You aren’t to come until I tell you to,” he hissed beside her ear, one of his hands venturing up her back until they threaded in the hair behind her head, balling his fist and tugging at the roots. “Tell me you understand.”

 “Yes my Lord!” She gasped, her swollen and aching clit throbbing and her cunt fluttering around him once again. Lord Voldemort slammed against her impossibly harder, his pace so fast she was sure she was slipping between the realms of consciousness and unconsciousness. The room was thick with sex and sweat, the sound of skin slapping against skin permeated and bounced off every wall. 

 Somewhere beneath all the sex, she could make out the very muffled voices of her brother and someone else somewhere in the manor. Only then did it occur to her that her brother had been here the entire time, that it was entirely plausible he could hear them. 

 Before she could even begin to finish her thought, the blindfold was ripped from her face and she blinked through the blurry haze of her vision until the image of her Lord appeared. Even under the dim light of the dining room, she could make out his pale skin, the maroon that circled the black of his pupils, the black tendrils of hair that fell before his eyes. Gods, she could stare at Lord Voldemort all day. 

 And to think she was his. 

 She blinked up at him through tears as he pounded into her over and over again, pushing her closer to the edge, so close to bliss she could practically already taste it. Lord Voldemort stared right back at her, his lids hooded over his eyes, his lips pressed together as he held her close with one hand between her shoulder blades, the other on her cheek, his thumb soothing over her skin and collecting tears. 

 The voices outside the dining room doors were louder and closer now, and she could identify the voices belonging to her brother, Abraxas, and Tiernan Lestrange. She pinched her eyebrows together as she peered over her shoulder towards the door, snapping her head back forward to meet Lord Voldemort’s gaze. 

 “My Lord…” she began, to which he enveloped her lips in a kiss, his teeth sinking down into the plush of her bottom lip. She whimpered as he tugged her lip, leaning away until it slipped from between his teeth, snapping his hips once, twice, thrice. 

 Then, “come for me. Come all over me while I pump you full of my heir.”

 She threw her head back and squeezed her eyelids as she clenched around her Lord’s cock, his palm catching the back of her head and forcing her forehead onto his as he spilled inside of her with a stutter of his hips. His eyelids were closed and his brow was knit as if in concentration as he bucked his hips into hers with particularly rough thrusts, ensuring she was taking every ounce of seed he was giving her, ensuring she was tainted inside and full of his children. 

 She was seeing dots of color in her vision the longer he stayed inside of her, unwilling to move, unwilling to let a single drop of his cum go to waste. She was fluttering around him, her forehead falling down to his shoulder as she panted, inhaling and exhaling to will her heartbeat to slow to a steady pace. 

 Abraxas and Tiernan were even closer now and only then did Lord Voldemort slowly— almost reluctantly— pull away, eyes glued to her cunt as her entrance fluttered and cried with the absence of him, watching the waterfall of their mixed juices slide down her slit. “My… my Lord, it seems as… as though they are on their way—!”

 A silent gasp forced her mouth agape when, with his middle and forefinger, he gathered the nectar spilling from her pussy and dragged it up her slit, forcing it all back inside of her. Her back arched and a moan ripped through her, echoing throughout the dining room and she swore the voices outside the door fell silent. 

 “Can’t let a single drop go to waste now, can we?” Lord Voldemort hummed as he pulled away, reaching forward to press his fingers against her lips. Almost immediately, she welcomed his digits inside her mouth, swirling her tongue over his fingers and swallowing the remnant of their sin. She panted when he pulled his hand away, pulling his trousers back up his legs, buttoning his shirt. 

 She blinked, turning her head side to side, unable to remember where her dress had been discarded through the murky haze of her mind. Fortunately, her most generous Lord had already fetched the black material from the floor, fixing it over her head and soothing the wrinkles with the palms of his hands. 

 For a moment, her heart fluttered as he outstretched his hand for her to take and she did, allowing him to aid her in hopping down from the top of the table. The grip he had on her hand tightened when she wobbled, unable to feel her legs for a moment. Lord Voldemort drew her in closer until their chests were flush against one another, one hand still enveloping hers and the other cupping her cheek, letting his thumb soothe her skin. 

 For a moment, she blinked up at him and allowed herself to be lost in the bloody waters of his irises, wondering if he was hers just as much as she was his. She wondered if this was love, being claimed in such a scandalous yet euphoric way. 

 Lord Voldemort leaned down until their lips brushed against one another and she fisted either side of his shirt, her eyelids fluttering closed as she anticipated his kiss. 

 Then, “you’re mine now. And while my heir grows inside of you, it’d do you well to remember that.”

a/n; finally wrote a tom riddle fic after so long! and it's a request! to the requester, i hope this was what you wanted! and i hope you all enjoy! also a reminder to fill out my taglist form if you'd like to be added to any of my taglists!

TAGLIST

@your-nanas-house

@sallowsarchives

@lyis

@michelle-26

@iamthejam

[prettyboykatsuki]

exception(al) | sunday hsr

𖤓 tags ; afab + gn!reader, established relationship, established d/s dynamic (implied to be 24/7), extremely submissive!reader, soft dom!sunday, shoe humping, oral (m!recieving), cock worship, deep throating, lots of praise / pet names, thumb sucking, cum swallowing 18+

𖤓 wc ; 2.2k

𖤓 a/n ; if you care abt me you won't say a word about this post. okay. alright. takes place in this universe, but not required reading.

𖤓 synopsis ; he'd give you anything you ask for. his one love. his only exception.

If Sunday could use one word to describe you, he would pick the plainest option: obedient.

You're other things. Loyal, desperate, beautiful, adoring. There are other words more well-fitted to your character and better words to describe the way you look through his lens. Ethereal. Charming. Provocative

But above all else, if Sunday had to sum up all of your parts he'd choose to put your obedience on the pedestal it deserves to stand on.

Obedience like yours can't be bought with fear, can't even be bought with manipulation. You have to get lucky to find someone so perfectly, unflinchingly obedient in the same way you are.

The leash Sunday keeps you on, intentionally tight, never appears that way on your throat.

That is to say: you bear the suffocation of Sunday's affection so well, a lesser person would be at risk for taking you for granted.

Not Sunday. Never him, of course. No one knows better how much you deserved to be cherished then him. That's how the cycle between you always goes. You live at his beck and call— his mercy. You're obedient with his whims and patient with his insecurities. Eventually, after some time passes, he'll praise and reward your efforts.

(The truth is, Sunday is always one difficult day away from spoiling you. Showering you in his affection after the thread-bare strands of his patience snap is his idea of letting go. There's few things more precious than how doe-eyed you get when he does.

But, a good owner knows to raise loyal pets - you must let them work towards rewards. He refrains for your sake. Always for your sake.)

Sunday always asks you what you want as a reward. Your requests are usually innocuous. Prey-like innocence in your eyes as you fiddle with the ends of his coat and ask for things like a date together or a bath or matching rings.

Sunday sometimes wants to tell you that's not the sort of thing you really need to beg him for. Sunday wants to tell you everything in his order is also yours.

He is yours, just like you're his. Mind, body, soul—devoured heart and all.

(Later, when Aeons abandon Sunday, he will find contentment in the fact you still belong to him. Even falling through Dreams or chained to hell. Still his. )

He doubts he ever will. He will continue along with rewarding you ask. Anything you want, you can earn.

It's rare you ask him for anything sexual so overtly. You do often beg to touch him and it's rare that Sunday lets you. He doesn't like to indulge too often, lest he lose the control that binds him so tightly.

Your latest request is half surprising. The desire to pleasure him being predictable and your bashful request to rub yourself against the toe of his dress shoes being the surprise.

He could tell at the time that it took all of your courage to ask. Clenched fists at the knees, gaze cast down instead of looking into his eyes, fidgety and uncertain.

It's an easy desire to fulfill and Sunday is, by all means, a loving master. If you want it, he'll will it by any means.

"Are you sure this is what you want, my heart?"

The affection bleeds into his voice as he cast his gaze at you. Bent down on your knees, naked from the neck down with the exception of a heather-blue collar with golden embellishments. You flicker your eyes up to him after he speaks to you, but don't talk.

"You may speak," He hums. He places a hand on your head, reaching down to pet your cheek and scratch under your chin. You preen under the silent doting. "It's your reward today, remember?"

"It's important to mind the rules no matter what."

He thinks about bending down and kissing you with a hand on your throat but keeps his composure. Instead, he pats your head and offers a smile. "That's right. Very clever, my dove."

You're elated just hearing it, staring at him. Pure need paints your expression, eyes wet as you squirm naked underneath him. He meets your look patiently, expectantly.

"Use your words."

"My reward," You swallow thickly. "Is it okay if I have?"

"Of course," He appeases your anxiety with a hand cupping your chin, thumb running your lower lip. "Do as you please."

You always wear your heart on your sleeve but it's times like this he finds it most impactful. Excitement radiates off of you in waves, shaky hands fumbling with his slacks. Your fingers are shaking as you unzip them slowly. Each step you take to get him undressed, you look up at him and wait for him to nod. Always obedient.

You get him partially undressed, each step slow - before you permit yourself to pull the rest of his clothes down. His cock springs free from fabric confines as you tuck the band underneath it. He hitches a breath trying not to lose his composure.

"You're hard," You observe in awe. He laughs breathlessly.

"Of course," He tells you staring down at where his cock cast shadow over your face. "It's you, after all."

The praise makes you wide-eyed. You mutter some kind of thank you that he smiles at gently. He can't help but be entertained by how you assess him. You've seen it before, a few times - yet you're awestruck. Every movement is tentative despite all of his encouragement. You mostly stare at it.

"It's alright. Take what you want." Sunday tells you, like it's some sort of gift. You treat it as such.

He feels his stomach tighten as soon as your hands fist the shaft of his cock. You frown a little. "It's really okay?"

"Yes," He hums, suddenly feeling aware of every nerve in his body. Spurred by his approval, Sunday merely watches you. He's fascinated, in his own right.

You're shaking with want by the time you move to do anything.

You stick your tongue out of your mouth tentatively, eyes transfixed on the tip so eagerly it makes his chest feel tight. Sunday is more familiar than most with desperation, but yours he knows like the back of his hand.

And Aeons, don't you look so desperate? The warm wet slide of your tongue is messy as you run it from base to tip, spitting gathered saliva on the tip with each go. It's clumsy, too desperate to count as a kitten lick and too practiced to count as virginal. It falls somewhere in between, like watching desire mix with your perfectionism.

He adjusts himself slightly. He tugs on the leash in your hand to pull your closer until you're wrapped around his leg, cock pressed against your cheek as he pushes you down by the shoulder. You squeak suddenly at the sensation, too enraptured with his cock to remember the other half of your request.

"I won't help you," He hums, teases - something he rarely does. You nod, not expecting it. You never are and it endears him.

There's parts of him that couldn't understand that this is what you wanted. You begged him for it but it felt unfathomable before now.

Your longing for his cock down your throat, in your mouth is so obvious it makes him waver. It's not something he gets used to. You slide your tongue all over his cock, drool giving your skin shine as you wet it over and over not even taking it in your mouth. Just spitting and licking like you're trying to remember every inch with your mouth and burn it into your memory.

Blissed out with your eyes nearly lidded shut, he can feel you rut your soft cunt over the point of his dress shoes over and over all the while.

It's interesting to affirm all the ways you feel pleasure. Sunday knows you let to put something in your mouth. He's fond of the habit - opts for cum soaked gloves or his own tongue to fulfill the urge for you.

This is an extension of your baser desire. Still, still - you do it with remarkable enthusiasm. It would almost feel torturous if you weren't so thorough. You remember points of pleasure on his cock. Along the veins, underneath the glans.

When the arousal starts to floor his system, you dip your tongue messily into the tip - precum staining your saliva with a pale white.

It moves you further along. You open your mouth up all the way, staring as you hollow your cheeks around the shaft of his cock with impressive ease. Fluttering your eyes shut, you hold onto his thigh and ease yourself as far down as you can go.

Your throat is wet and wanting for him. Over eager even with all the patience you try to demonstrate.

A thought passes by him as he watches you do it so expertly. The warm, slick cavern of your mouth accommodates him perfectly. No teeth, just throat and spit and drool. The corners of your lips flood with saliva as you take his cock in, breathing through your nose.

"Have you been practicing? To do this?"

You jolt, suddenly embarrassed. But you don't move to pull yourself off of his cock. Instead you stay for several moments, stretched throat - nose pressed into the thin hair above his cock and breathe him, humping his dress shoes like you're in heat. When you look up, he gets the confirmation he wants.

He's impossible endeared by you.

There's something strange in that it seems you relax after making it down. Heat stricken, swallowing his cock, chasing animalistic pleasure - truly content as your whole body begins breaking out in an aroused shudder. He can feel your chest against his leg, hardened nipples evidence of your arousal. Your wetness shines his shoe till it's reflective.

When you find you can no longer hold it and breathe, you pull back - a filthy slurping noise resulting. The tip sits on your tongue afterwards as you hum. It's lewd and filthy, not something he thought he'd be so interested in.

But it's you, after all.

Sunday admires you. How wrecked and lustful you look. How excited you are from something like this. An extension of your loyalty to him, down to bone.

He'd underestimated you, somehow. His mistake. When you pull off, before you go back down - he hooks his thumb into his cheek. His voice is thick with desire. The arousal is painful in his stomach as it ties in knots, cock twitching at the sight of your spit-soaked face.

"What do you want?"

You look at him confused before something seems to cross your mind. He encourages you. "Tell me,"

"Cum down my throat," You offer, debauched beyond his understanding. "Please."

Fuck. He takes in a breath.

"If it pleases you, dove," He says, then pets you affection as you go to deep throat him again. He decides to praise you. He can't think of anyone who would deny how sincerely you've earned it. "It feels good. You're thoughtful, hm? I'll return the favor ten fold after, like always."

You make a strangled noise as his cock hits the back of your throat again faster. You're sucking hard this time, quicker - your hand massaging his balls as you do. You hold his gaze the entire time even when you gasp for air, nose running. You're still perfect somehow, doe-eyed and innocent to him despite yourself.

"You're beautiful," He tells you and means it more than anything. Means it as you swallow and suck on his cock like it's everything you could ask for, means it as you hump against his shoes and stare up at him with crushing reverence.

Beautiful, perfect, the sweetest thing he's ever felt in his life. His most obedient possession. His from top to bottom, skin and bone and mind and body. Everything in Sundays possession - wholly his.

He pets your cheek as you move back and forth slowly, doing it properly. Bobbing your head back and forth, slow and smooth and deep with each motion until you feel comfortable enough to go rhythmically without gagging in excess.

You suck with such fervor he's inclined to believe you feel more pleasure than he does. Muffled whimpers and whines as you chase your own high. Sloppy at both ends.

Sunday lets himself slip. He moans - moans your name, soft and sweet and watches your whole body go alight at the reaction.

He can feel you cum before he can see it, the wet pulse of it and the sound of your high pitched whine.

It makes you cum, hearing Sunday express that. So he lets go, just for you, like always and watches tears fill the corner of your eyes like it's the happiest you could be.

Obedient thing you are, so tender - sweeter than all things in the world. Sweeter than a a dream. The thought makes his body lurch. His hips thrust this time and you let him with ease, shaking as Sunday lets himself fuck your throat a little harder.

"Gonna cum for you, sweet thing," He says, holding you close as he bottoms out again. He puts a hand on the back of your neck to hold you steady.

Sunday groans, shudders as an orgasm rips through him something irreparable. He cums hard, and you swallow all of it like it's easy despite how far he is down your throat.

He stays like that, catching his breath until he's ready to pull off. A long thick trail of saliva follows, drool dripping down against the hotel room floor as you leave your mouth open to show you swallowed it all.

Your expression morphs into fucked out pleasure, voice hoarse as you smile. "Thank you,"

You're his exception, Sunday thinks. If he's to deviate from structure, order, routine - it'd be only for you. He wipes the spit from your chin as he bends down to kiss your forehead.

"You made me feel good and did exceptionally well," He murmurs, soft and sweet. You melt under the touch, under the praise. "I love you,"

You smile happily. "Me too. I love you,"

"Now get up," He says, stroking your skin. "My turn, hm"

[r3starttt]

STAY SOFT

PAIRING: Hunter! Ellie x vamp! reader

CW: blood. fighting. oral. knife play. unfinished, hurried, horribly written, I WILL DO IT PROPERLY AND DECENT LATER ALRIGHT

SUMMARY: you're obsessed with each other. and alone!

TAGLIST | KINKTOBER: @s4pphic-myth @levilvrr @girlkisser168 @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworlddd @softlikesilk-chiffon @grey-jedi12 @slut4ellienabby @roos4lm4 @elliezlils11utt @1-800-fantasy @ellieswifee232 @roos4lm4 @rob1nbuckl3ys @abbys-muscles @0court @dinakisser @lott6i

| ELLIE TAGLIST: @ilovetaylorrr @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @aouiaa @chlobearsworld @crispers @bruhhtsukjf @twopeoplee

Blood glistened through your pearly teeth as a guttural moan escaped the man’s lips. You feasted on him, ravenous, devouring his neck without mercy, your fangs drinking deeply from his veins.

He thought he’d finally get to feel your body, to sense the curve of your hips in the intimate closeness that had filled his mind since the moment he first saw you. His grip was firm and leading, but unsteady, and the urgency in his touch felt—was—disrespectful.

Your laugh was captivating, almost like a siren’s song—an immaculate melody that echoed men’s worst desires. When you hummed against their skin, lips just inches away, it drove them mad. With your flawless skin, soft hair, and those eyes holding something dark and mysterious, men were too drunk or too lustful to notice or care. Red or not, it didn’t matter to them. Each time you danced for them, held them close, and led them into some shadowy corridor with your soft voice, you’d ask them to share—did they do this often? They’d always say no, swearing you were the only one, or the forever one.

With women, it was different. You’d hold them gently, push their neck aside, and kiss their tender skin. Sometimes, you imagined men might feel this way about you, and the guilt would almost fade. But when you were feeding on men, you realized how different it truly was. They didn’t submit; they gripped. They didn’t murmur; they shouted and commanded. They didn’t seek eternity like the women did—they sought to drain you, leave you discarded. Women, on the other hand, would quietly thank you with soft whimpers. If they were too weak, you’d look into their angelic eyes, see their pretty lashes flutter, and kiss their last breath away with your cold hands.

Men? They would curse you to hell—if they had the chance.

This one, though, wasn’t your usual prey. He was cruel, harsh, and nasty, and the way he treated her—it sickened you. So you begged for his attention, holding him against the wall the moment you had him alone, sinking your fangs into his vile neck. His sweat, dirt, and alcohol assaulted your senses, lingering on your tongue, teeth, and skin until it was all washed away by his blood. Even that tasted sour.

“Look at me,” you commanded, casting a sharp glance at his fading form. You dug your nails into his cheek, nearly tearing the skin. His eyes, glazed with alcohol, barely registered the pain. He was too weak to fight, but even if he tried, your strength far outmatched any human's. You sneered at his mustache, disgust evident on your face.

“Hey…” you hissed, your fangs glistening in the dim light. He obeyed with a pathetic whimper.

“Good boy,” you taunted. “You like being called that, don’t you?” You laughed as blood dripped from his cheekbones, down his neck, soaking your hand and his filthy clothes.

“Fucking—” he tried to gasp out his last breath, but before you could finish him off, a dagger pierced your body.

The pain was unreal. It wasn’t the sharp agony you inflicted on your victims but something deeper, burning and itching as it spread through your veins. The scream that tore from your throat was inhuman, loud enough to make the walls tremble. The man fell limp beneath you as you clawed at your own skin, trying to rid yourself of the unbearable sensation.

Footsteps echoed, heavy boots against the concrete. A quiet, almost smug “got you” drifted through the air. You forced your eyes open, vision blurred, but you saw her—a woman dressed in black, her face obscured by metal, weapons strapped across her body, a dagger in one hand and a blade ready in her pocket.

A gunshot rang out. Your arm ripped open, burning more fiercely than any bullet wound should. Your eyes flashed red, pupils dilating with a rage that surpassed anything you’d ever felt toward a man. But before she could come any closer, you vanished into the shadows, slipping from her grasp.

Ellie groaned, glancing up at the dark night, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. She lived for you, craved you more than any man ever could. Her mind was as twisted and perverted as a man’s, driven by a selfish desire to own you, to hear you scream her name in agony and hang you on her wall like a prized trophy. She wanted to see the eternal fear etched on your face.

She longed to touch you—just once. If she never captured you, someone eventually would. Her lips parted in a quiet curse as she crouched over the dead man’s body, searching his pockets for anything of value. She found nothing but alcohol, cigarettes, and a few worthless coins. Maybe it was time to quit, become a full-fledged alcoholic—not like she wasn’t halfway there already.

You, the elusive vampire of this small, forsaken town, were her obsession. You were the only reason she kept going, the excuse for her drinking, her nights in underground bars, and her constant hunt. If she caught you, she’d have everything—money, fame, recognition. That’s what every woman wanted, wasn’t it? To be seen, to be known. Ellie was no exception. She had nothing but the hunt and the little money she earned, most of which went to booze or was stolen by the men in her life.

She didn’t hate you, though. She didn’t even want you dead. She just wanted to possess you, to have something that was truly hers, to see her name carved into your skin.

You didn’t hate her either. You understood women—all of them. You knew their desires, their cravings for what they couldn’t have. It wasn’t wrong, but you knew many of them would never get what they wanted. Killing them was a mercy, a twisted proof of love. But you wouldn’t die for them. Not that you could anyway.

You had seen Ellie before, days prior. She was at a bar, sitting beside you with alcohol in hand, staring blankly at the wall. She fiddled with a bracelet, glancing at it over and over, until her thoughts drowned in the liquor. When she finally left, your heart had broken the next night when you found her curled up on the street, hugging herself for warmth. You hid her money, moved the alcohol out of sight. Men would take advantage of anything that moved. You protected her before you knew who she was.

Then the rumors spread. She was hunting you? Your ego swelled, but she didn’t try as hard as the others. Not like the men who occasionally came after you, men you easily dispatched. But Ellie gave you something no man ever could: fear. And it was delicious, as satisfying as any blood.

If she ever killed you, it would be worth it—to die in her arms. A woman would claim her place without her own death involved. You had nothing to lose, but why make it easy? You weren’t used to pain—not like this.

Once, you had loved.

Now she rests somewhere in this town.

You’ve never dared to go near her grave. It would be disrespectful. She was the one victim who didn’t die by your choice but by mistake, by love. It was dangerous, and it was the only time you ever felt regret, any real pain. You can still feel the scratches she left on your skin, the way she held onto you, hoping to be saved—but you didn’t.

-

She’s merciless. She doesn’t just kill—killing is too simple, too vague, reserved for those who want it quick and clean. Williams shares that distinction with you: she murders. She takes her time, studies her prey, follows silently in the shadows. When she strikes, it’s deliberate, calculated, and brutal. There’s no safety, no mercy in her actions. She makes sure her victims feel it—the pain, the horror. You can hear the screams, the desperate pleas for life, and you can feel the warmth of their blood soaking into your hands. Their eyes, wide with terror, stay with you long after it’s done.

It’s almost admirable, really, to witness a human capable of such atrocities. What money can drive someone to do, you suppose.

Williams is staying in a small, rundown house. A family lives there—large and struggling. The man of the house is gentle, more so than the rest. Williams got lucky with her choice of refuge, but they barely have enough to feed themselves. Children seem to appear with every turn of the seasons, as if the universe—or God—was intent on making life harder for them. A cruel kind of providence, giving just enough for survival, but never enough for comfort.

Ellie wakes up most days around four in the morning, haunted by nightmares. If she’s too drunk or lucky, they’ll wake her at two instead. She drifts back to sleep when her body allows it. On those rare mornings she wakes feeling halfway rested, she showers, though only every other day. She pulls on her boots, layers herself in worn clothes, and hides beneath the massive hood of her coat. The children have seen her a few times, though they keep their distance. Once, the youngest girl, barely old enough to walk, approached her and offered a small cup of milk. It wasn’t much, and it certainly wasn’t good, but Ellie accepted it anyway.

She starves herself as long as she can, holding off the hunger until it gnaws at her insides. That’s when she heads to the woods, and that’s where you’ve seen it—the way she hunts. Whatever animal she can catch, she grips it with ruthless force. Her once-gentle hands turn harsh, unyielding as the creatures scream in terror. They hiss and writhe, but she doesn’t care. She silences them swiftly, consumes whatever she can, and moves on.

For her, there’s no room for sympathy, no room for mercy—only survival. And somehow, that made you feel a strange compassion for her. Even when her touch was harsh and painful, when she haunted you with the sole purpose of owning, hurting, and killing you. Her steps sent fear racing through your veins, her hands struck your skin with cruelty, and her bullet tore into you, leaving you weaker each time. Her belongings, her weapons—they were all designed to burn you alive, to inflict endless pain. Even with every bloody, messy encounter, every vicious fight, where her blade threatened to pierce your skin, and her gun was always aimed at you, it was impossible not to admire her.

She never stops until she has you. She wants you just as much as you want her. It's a twisted obsession, mutual and consuming. Your hisses send shivers down her spine, her bites stir a hunger in you, not for flesh, but for something deeper. You can hear her heartbeat as if it were your own, the steady thud of her boots on wet ground, her breath catching when she knows she's close. You notice how her sweat gleams on her skin, how the freckles on her face fade beneath the flush of red that colors her cheeks after every fight or a night spent at the bar.

And Ellie? She loves everything you give her, even when she's the one taking, using you as her excuse. She loves the thrill of being caught in your grasp, the scratch of your nails on her skin, a reminder that she's alive and has something left to fight for. She loves the drunken moments when she sees you, even if she's too intoxicated to act, when she watches you from afar, helpless as you disappear before her eyes. She loves the chase, the dirt, the failed attempts to capture you. She loves that you fight back. She loves that it never ends.

-

The forest was a living maze, dense and impenetrable, devouring every sound. The air felt heavy, suffocating beneath the thick canopy, where the moonlight barely dared to enter, casting only faint ribbons of silver along the narrow path. Ellie had been tracking you for days, her desperation mounting with each passing hour. This was her last chance. Your fangs were buried in the tender flesh of what had once been a small bird, no more than a brief indulgence, a fleeting snack before the real prize.

You sensed her before you saw her—her presence was a ripple through the stillness. The faint echo of her boots seemed closer than they were, her breath uneven, laced with quiet mutterings as she spoke to herself. The scent hit you next: human blood, sharp with adrenaline, soaked in determination. She was close.

From the high branches, hidden in shadow, you watched her with quiet amusement. She moved with careful precision, every step calculated. The bow slung over her shoulder bounced lightly with her movement, and at her side, a switchblade caught a gleam of moonlight. Tonight, she wasn’t just hunting—she intended to finish it. The way she carried herself told you everything. She needed to end this. She needed to end you.

But you were ready for her. If all went as planned, you would make her task far easier. If it failed, she would get what she had been hunting for so long—her victory, and you. But if it went as you had envisioned—no more than a hasty thought formed when you first saw her step into the woods—you would claim what you desired most. You would give her a reward, one that would last forever.

With deliberate slowness, you brought your fingers to your lips, wiping the blood with your thumb, though it did little to clean the stain. You took your time, running your tongue over your sharp fangs, savoring the last traces of blood. The small body of the bird lay beside you, its once-beautiful brown feathers now scattered, broken by your touch.

A crack in the distance shattered the stillness, and before your mind could react, your body moved instinctively. There she was, as you had expected—clad in that familiar black coat, boots sinking into the soft earth, and her white blouse, filthy and torn, revealing the delicate lines of her clavicle beneath the grime. Her hair was a mess, pulled into a careless bun, stray strands framing her face, damp with sweat. She was armed—too armed, really, for the task. The blade at her side would have been enough, or so she had assured the man whose house she’d passed through. The arrows, the extra gear—they were to frighten the "creature," to keep herself from being caught off guard.

But now, you were closing in, slipping through the trees and onto the soft grass, your movements silent. She was right there—just within reach, waiting for you.

William's breathing was steady but strained, her focus on you- yet elsewhere as she moved cautiously along the narrow path, her back exposed—vulnerable. Her grip tightened around her blade, her steps slow and deliberate, but she hadn’t noticed you yet. Not yet. Her eyes swore to see you, hear you, but it was just the leafs and the hunger for you, she needed to catch you this night. The moon was bright enough to lighten the path and the ambience was quiet enough to hear and distinct any atrocity, any anomaly- you.

Pale skin beung hit by the breeze while it guided you through the underbrush like a shadow, silent, swift, steps and tones attuned to the rhythm of the forest. The woman's heartbeat was loud in your ears, a steady thrum that guided your every step. Her scent guiding you. You could practically taste it.

It was moved silently- your body through the brush, the pads of your feet barely disturbing the soft beneath you.

Her silhouette was clear now—taut muscles beneath her worn clothes, hair falling loose from the messy bun at her neck. You could see her weapon at the ready, but her pulse was vulnerable, beating steadily just beneath the surface. It betrayed her how calm yet unsteady she was. When she'd attack her grip would be stiff- not now.

The feet of your own guided you to pray from behind, not even the rustle of leaves betraying your presence. The hunger thrummed in your veins, not just for her blood but for the chase, the fight. Feel her teeth sink into your skin, her nails digging and her blade itching. Hear her scream and groan- Your hand reached out, fingers barely brushing the fabric of her coat.

In an instant, you were upon her. One hand clamped over her mouth to stifle any cry- quickly bitten as you'd prevented. the other gripping her wrist, forcing the blade from her fingers. Her body tensed immediately, muscles coiling as she struggled against you, twisting with a ferocity you admired.

She wrenched her head to the side, managing to break free from your grip, her body spinning around in a blur of movement. Her eyes locked onto yours, shining and with a dark undertone, wide and wild with adrenaline, her chest heaving as she swung her fist. You dodged her aggressive.

Her lips a cacophony of atrocities and profanity against you while her body hit yours and fought to free from your grip- which left bruises with its every touch.

“Stop following me ,” you hissed, voice low and breathless. Without missing a beat, she reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh, her eyes a determination instance- a mirror of your soon death. You barely had time to react as she lunged at you, the blade aimed at your chest.

And it digged, not enough to pierce but to harm, to make a hole in your clothes and taint them with a beautiful red- unhunmman- unlike any blood Ellie had ever seen. Your skin, as tender and soft as it tasted, it was harsh and strong, and along your force impossible to fight, to kill.

You sidestepped her attack, but the edge of the blade now nicked your arm, then to your face. It made you hate her for an instance. A thin line of blood runing on your skin. The pain was sharp, it burned. Your mouth opened wider than any human could. fangs peeking through as if about to spit the venom to her eyes, you hissed- a cry of pain that hurt her ears and left her blind.

The tip of your nails caressed her freckled skin, covered by the black of her clothes which got ripped with the force with with you caught her and slamed her against the nearest tree, her strength no longer serving her to protect herself. The switch of her blade hurting so much and so deep it made you feel blind and feasty. You almost let go.

The impact rattled through her, but she didn’t falter. She moved with deadly precision, slashing at you with the knife, each strike faster than the last. All on your thighs who seemed to be unpierfecul.

Your fangs slipped through your massive wide mouth, your slick tongue sticking out. It was long and burning. You gave a taste to her neck before digging your fangs into her neck.

The grip with with you held her and trapped her became so sofocating, so allurong she dropped the blade. As if a twosted venom had run through her veins and made her weak.

It clattered to the ground between you, forgotten as your hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head back just enough to expose her throat. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, everything slowed—the pounding of her pulse, the warmth radiating from her skin, the fear that flickered in her eyes despite her resolve.

She bucked beneath you, every muscle in her body straining to fight, but you held firm, your gaze fixed on hers, your breath mingling with hers. Her chest heaved beneath you, her eyes blazing with fury.

She bared her teeth, straining against your hold, she growled, holding on her pain.

"Not fighting back?" you mocked her, a tone grotesque and meant to dizzy her even more. You felt the warmth runing down your cheeks, down your arm and legs, everywhere where her blade had cut, where the dagger had attempt to pierce. As it was minimum scratches, the blood seemed endless in your body, a perfect contrast with the tone of your skin.

You were fierce, more than you'd like it to be. But she wouldn't stay still, her fingers holding onto you to push you away, her feet fighting as you choked her more and more. as your fangs sucked deeper into her skin, opening her skin, leaving her weak and dizzy. "Fucking bitch-" she hissed in pain, her nails digging into the skin of your arms, attempting to push you. Fingers then tangling into your hair, pushing you back with fierce. "You're no better than a man, I see" your fangs pierced your bottom lips, your mouth not drenched with her blood as your eyes grew darker, a weird pupil and red on them. You looked insane, a look that caused her discomfort.

But you didn't care, your hair getting caught on her fingers as she insisted on gripping and you insisted on piercing her skin and sucking her life.

For a moment, you admired her resolve. Her heartbeat hammered in your ears, her skin warm beneath your touch. You loosened your grip just slightly, giving her a chance to fight back, to keep the dance going. But she was too weak for that, too afraid to fight back for the first time in her life.

“Go on,” she struggled to speak, daring. “Finish it.” Ellie’s breath hitched, her eyes locked on yours. Despite the fight, despite the blood and the bruises, there was something else in her gaze—something raw and unspoken. The tension between you was thick, almost suffocating.

“Do it,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, daring you.

But you didn’t. Not yet.

"I thought you wanted me" the words echoed against her skin. Your nails now going down on her skin, riping her coat open. Your other hand trapping her neck against the tree. She knew better at this point, if she attempted to move it'll be suicide.

"You dreamed of me, didn't you..." Your voice was strangely comforting, too quiet for her own good. Williams felt like she'd already died. "Don't you wanna-" her breath chocked at your grip and her sudden movement "rest for once- be with her?" Her laugh was mocking, painful. It changed something withing you, and anger you haven't felt in years. "And you, Williams? don't you want to see him?" but you knew how to attack as well.

It was a matter of threatening some people, the vulnerable drink women who've been with Ellie in late nighrs at the bars- A drunk woman who had nothing to loose but all to win was more vulnerable than else. And she herself had allowed a see through of her brain to you, with that obsession she craved to much. All these years alive haven't been in vane, you knew better.

Her face dropped in disgust, a madness that was uncomfortable to see. Scrunched nose, pouty lips, freckles cheeks covered now in sweat, her pupils dilatation and he rfacr showing all the pain now turned into mad.

"Let me do you the favor..." you whispered with that same soothing tone, your nails piercing on her neck. Now dripped with the blood you've sucked out of her and the holes you were digging. "Please?" you leaned closer, pressing a hovering kiss over her lips.

She cried- Ellie Williams cried. The salty of it almost burning the skin of your fingers wrapped around her suffocated neck.

“Look at you,” you whispered, your voice soft, an intimate taunt as you admired the fragile beauty of her surrender, her pulse fluttering like a moth beneath your touch. And as her strength ebbed, her gaze held yours, already resigned.

"Tell me you don't want me, and I'll let go..." Your murmur made her groan. Ellie had betrayed herself and others- she was far too gone to deny herself one last chance, one opportunity to do it all again.

You pressed burning kisses on her throat, quickening to collect her blood and taste the salty of her skin. Her uncovered clavicle gentle beneath your touch. The tip of your fingers held the dagger on your hands, feeling them burn in a blinding pain. Your eyes met hers, barely making it to move. The dirt painted your knees and the fabric of your clothing.

Ellie- catching her breath and her struggling to keep herself standing, either her blurred teary eyes, met your gaze. Her eyebrows furrowing in pain.

She watched the small smoke of your skin at the touch of the dagger, your hisses of pain- It didn't elict the pleasure she dreamed of. Her breath was ragid and unsteady, horrified by the sight on instance.

She took the blade withing her fingers, showing the sharpness to you. Her body felt on the floor. next to you- and your eyes followed.

The tip of it digged into your neck. Your eyes teary with a pain no human could endurance. Her eyes showed so much hate, and you would've loved if she killed you. You'd loved to be hers, for her to have and admire each day, for her to be happy for once and all.

"Let go" she saved her blade on her back pocket, taking the dagger off of your hands. You hissed in pain- relieved. "Take me." Her words felt like the warmth you've been craving on for years and years, billions of them. It was cruel really, but you craved it. You've missed her, the woman you once loved- and this was as if the universe had heard your prayers. She was back again, for the story to repeat itself.

And it turned something in you, whose eyes turned into beast-like. Your fangs guided you close to her. "Why won't you just kill me, Williams?" your nails cupped on her skin gently. "End this... take what you want."

"I'm offering you the same thing" your jaw clenched, heartbeat unsteady for a small second- not supposed to happen. "We'll still die anyway." you scoffed at her words, taking her body with gentleness.

Your lips were cold against hers, as if sucking on her life through the kiss. Her hands were quick to get rid of the thin fabric covering your body.

Her body stood up gently, cupping your face with her hands. Your movements were harsh and sloppy, hungry.

What you've craved for ages was In front of you, to take for once. And you didn't hesitate on doing so.

Your tongue lapping at her pussy with no doubt, looking at her pretty face. Ellie gasped, holding the sides of your head as she looked down on you, as if guiding you with the eyes. As much as you craved to kill each other and own the other, the connection you shared was almost tangible. An undeniable aura bigger than any love a human could ever experience.

The blood of your hands drenched on her white blouse, undoing the messy tangling of it with your nails. The revelation was so pure, so tender. Her hardened nipples properly displayed for you to touch.

The palm of your hand rested between her breats, feasting on her pussy with eyes closed, admiring each beat of her heart. You could sense every gasp, every breath, every unsteady inch of her skin as if it was yours.

A whine escaped your lips, thrusting your tongue into her tongue, savoring the wet of her pussy. Your fingers gently cupping her tits, making small circles over her nipples with your thumbs. Then moving them down the sides of her pretty stomach, sensing every inch of skin, scratching every scar on her stomach, drenching it with her own blood.

spit pooled down her folds, your fingers massaging the sides of her thighs, behind her to cup at her ass and then to her inner thighs, scratching at the skin there to then play with the sides of her pussy to keep the pleasure intact while your lips got occupied with her inner thighs.

Your lips kissed over her clit. Her stomach tensing at the sensation, so sensitive it almost hurt. the small kisses around her folds slowly growing into a gentle sucking.

at each lick and kiss on her pussy, her hips would buck into your face and her fingers would tangle harsher onto your soft hair, almost scratching at your scalp. She was whining, it was quiet but oh so pretty.

You shoved your face deeper, teasing her drenching hole with your middle finger, almost scissoring her folds while your tongue sucked on her puffy clit. One of her hands came to cup at her own nipples, almost crying to feel more.

her eyes struggled to look back at you. A puppy-like look on her face: gentle furrowed eyebrows, freckles covered in a brush of red. she looked so pretty like this.

Within each thrust of your fingers inside her, bubbly words would gently hit into your ears while abusing- teasing her creamy hole. She tasted sour, a good mix between sweet and salty, nothing you haven't fantasized with.

Your tongue savours every inch of her. Licking, sucking, kissing her arousal. Teasing it with her fingers and tongue. Your fingers curl inside her so perfectly, and she clenches around you. Her lips let out quiet hiccups and blabers, all small pleads and promises. Ellie is already yours.

Her name falls from your lips as quiet prayers. Over and over again. Her arousal grows to fill your mouth deliciously. Too overwhelmed by her pretty voice, her hands on your hair, her hips looking for more, thighs chocking you- your whines overlap into a sloppy wet rhythm. Her bodh searched for more friction, pulling you closer into her Pussy, rubbing herself desperately while your tongue sloppily licks over her cunt.

Your fingers get sucked in by her sliky hole. faster and faster until you can feel it as if your own- you taste it right after.

She's yours, forever to take and you're hers forever to own.

[notsoangels]

❝ OFFICE AFTER HOURS

pairings　choi seungcheol x f!reader

genres　 smut

warnings explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, dom/sub, strong language, cum eating.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ© NOTSOANGELS 2024.

something about a late-night office encounter with seungcheol, where feelings run high and boundaries fade, leading to intense and passionate moments . . .

the office was dim, the soft glow of a desk lamp casting shadows on the walls. seungcheol looked up as you entered, his eyes narrowing slightly. you closed the door behind you, heart pounding in your chest.

“why are you here?” he asked, his voice steady but curious.

taking a deep breath, you walked towards him. “please. make me feel good. no one else can like you,” you whispered, standing before him, your voice trembling with need.

a slow smile spread across his face. “you finally admitting you need me?” he said, pulling you onto his lap. his hands gripped your waist, firm and possessive. “such a good girl, coming to me.”

his touch sent shivers down your spine. he slid his hands under your skirt, fingers brushing your panties before slipping inside. “already so wet,” he murmured, sliding a finger into you. you gasped, a jolt of pleasure coursing through you.

“cheol,” you moaned, your hips moving against his hand. his thumb found your clit, rubbing it gently, each touch sending waves of sensation through your body.

“tell me what you want,” he said, his voice low and commanding, eyes locked onto yours.

“you,” you breathed, your body trembling. “only you.”

“that’s right,” he said, adding another finger inside you. “only i can make you feel this good.”

he pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean. “taste yourself,” he said, pressing his fingers to your lips. you sucked them clean, eyes closing as the taste filled your mouth.

seungcheol stood up, lifting you onto the desk. he unzipped his pants, freeing his cock. “open your legs for me,” he ordered. you obeyed, revealing your wet pussy. he positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with the tip.

“please,” you begged, your hands gripping the desk, needing more.

“such a needy little thing,” he chuckled, pushing inside you slowly. the sensation made you gasp, your body arching towards him.

he started to move, each thrust deep and deliberate. “you feel so good,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips. “so tight, so perfect.”

you moaned, the pleasure building with every movement. “cheol, i’m close,” you gasped, your body shaking with anticipation.

“come for me,” he urged, thrusting faster. “show me how much you need me.”

with a cry, you came, your walls squeezing around him. seungcheol followed, filling you with his cum. he pulled out slowly, watching as his cum dripped from you.

“clean yourself up,” he said. you dipped your fingers into your pussy and brought them to your mouth, tasting both of you.

“good girl,” he praised, pulling you into a deep kiss. “remember, only i can make you feel this way.”

he didn’t let go of you. instead, he lifted you back onto the desk, spreading your legs wide. “we’re not done yet,” he murmured, his eyes dark with desire. “i need to taste you.”

you shivered at his words, your body already aching for more. he knelt between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. he licked a slow, deliberate path from your entrance to your clit, making you gasp.

his hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he devoured you. he sucked on your clit, his tongue flicking and teasing, driving you wild. your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

“cheol, please,” you whimpered, your body trembling with need.

he hummed against you, the vibration sending shivers through your body. he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot. you cried out, your hips bucking against his face.

“you taste so good,” he murmured, his voice husky. “i could do this all night.”

he didn’t stop until you were a quivering mess, your body shaking with another orgasm. he licked you clean, his tongue gentle and soothing. when he finally pulled away, his lips were glistening with your juices.

“you’re amazing,” he said, standing up and pulling you into another kiss. “i don’t ever want to let you go.”

your heart swelled at his words, your body melting into his. “i don’t want you to,” you whispered, holding him close.

he lifted you off the desk, carrying you to the couch. he laid you down gently, his body covering yours. “i want to be inside you again,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “i need to feel you.”

you nodded, your body aching for him. “please,” you whispered, your legs wrapping around his waist. “i need you too.”

he entered you slowly, his cock stretching you perfectly. you both moaned, the sensation overwhelming. he started to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, driving you both closer to the edge.

“cheol,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back. “i’m going to cum again.”

“me too,” he groaned, his pace quickening. “cum with me, baby.”

with a final thrust, you both came, your bodies trembling with pleasure. he collapsed on top of you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“next time,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, “don't make me wait.”

you smiled, your heart racing. “i won’t,” you replied, feeling a thrill run through you. “i’ll always come to you.”

[sarahisslytherin]

duty and honor.

cregan stark x tyrell!reader

summary: it has been decided. you are to wed the young lord stark. you know little of him or the north but will do your duty. this, however, does not release you from your worry of how the union will go or how you will settle into your role as lady of winterfell. luckily, cregan takes it upon himself to make you feel at home.

contains: fluff, people rooting for a bedding ceremony.

a/n: i am so in love with this man i need to be restrained.

word count: 2k

The carriage rocked on the road to Winterfell, your ocean blue gown ruffling as it did. You tried your best to ignore the wild beat of your heart in your chest, tried focusing instead on the growing pines that passed your window with increasing speed. Your mother sat at your side, a stoic presence that soothed you somehow. You took her hand in your own, and when she looked at you you didn’t have it in you to mask your utter fear. 

“You will be alright, child.” she sighed, bringing that same hand up to cup your cheek. “Lord Stark is a good man. I know you will be far from all that you know, but surely you will grow to love your new home as well as your betrothed.”

When you finally came to a halt outside its gates, you felt your heart drop to your stomach. You clutched your mother’s hand like a frightened babe when they drew open. The courtyard was full of expectant faces you knew you would eventually commit to memory. The townspeople were out and about, young rosy-cheeked girls squealing with delight as they spotted your carriage. Their soon-to-be Lady was within it, and you could only hope when the time came that you would not fall short of their expectations. They watched keenly as you stopped before them one final time, and you prepared to be devoured by hungry, prying eyes. You tugged on the fur lining of your cloak as your mother stepped down from the carriage. You quickly followed suit.

Indeed, you could feel their glares cutting clean through you. You had known enough ladies and lords to know they were searching for faults and virtues to remark upon as soon as you were out of earshot, but there were so many faces you could not focus on a single one. 

Instead your gaze swiftly fell upon the mountain of a man that was the young Lord Stark. His chestnut locks fell in such a manner that they delicately framed a rather rugged face, on which a scowl seemed to be permanently etched. But this was to be expected. It was common knowledge that smiles were rare amongst Northmen. Though winter was still months away, he was already cloaked head to toe in furs, an uncommonly large sword strapped across the broad expanse of his back. 

“Lady Y/N, welcome to Winterfell.” he rasped, his voice quite gravelly and masculine for so young a man. You offered him a small curtsy in return, but couldn’t quite muster up the agreeable smile your mother had asked you to perfect on the way here. You tried your best not to gawk as you took in the ancient castle, trailing behind Lord Stark as he strode through Winterfell’s stony halls. The biting cold of the north left your bones as you approached the hearth in the Great Hall. 

You listened as your mother exchanged pleasantries with members of Lord Stark’s court, though your eyes did not leave the dancing flames and glowing embers.

“You’re a long way from Highgarden.” he said as he came to stand beside you. His accent was harsh, the vowels flat and words clipped, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t find it somewhat pleasant to your ear.

You turned to regard him. Gods, he was beautiful. The fire cast his features in a golden hue, the color returning to his cheeks. He was a sight to behold, powerful and perhaps even fearsome, but in this moment so soft. You wondered what your future with him would look like. Would he take a liking to you? Would he hate you? When you eventually gave him children, would they take after their mother or father? Would it be a life worth living?

“Yes, my Lord.” you sighed, rubbing your hands up and down your arms. “A long way indeed.”

The muted ivory of your gown made you appear one with the snow of the Godswood. Your hair was unbound, save for the intricate braiding around the crown of your head. Only the moon’s and torches’ light showed you the way to the weirwood tree. Your father swiftly came to your side, looping your arm in his. He offered you a gentle caress along your icy cheek, a solemn look about his face as if watching a spring rose being sacrificed to the unforgiving cold of winter. Wordlessly, you began to walk.

Despite the North’s fame for brutal winters and even more brutal people, you couldn’t help but marvel at the quiet beauty of the Godswood. So still was it, that you could have sworn you felt its ancientness in your bones, could feel every ring of age around each tree stump. Snowflakes danced on their way down, coming to land upon strands of your hair. It was then that you saw him before the weirwood, his lips drawn into a thin line. He was covered in dark furs and a cloak, his hands clasped behind his straightened back. 

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” The words were spoken by a family ward. 

“Y/N of the House Tyrell.” your father replied. “She comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” 

You watched as Lord Stark approached, towering over you. You hoped you would grow accustomed to it, to him. You held your breath when he spoke. “Cregan of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” 

You dared to look up, to meet his gaze. You found nothing but gentleness in them. “Who gives her?” Your father spoke his name. And now the ward asked you the question. 

“Lady Y/N, will you take this man?”

You could feel the overbearing weight of watchful eyes, of held breaths and keen ears. But Cregan’s eyes hadn’t left yours, determined to hold your gaze. You could have sworn a flicker of joy shone in them when you gasped out. 

“I take this man.”

Cregan offered you a shy curl of his lips, then took your hands in his. You noted that they were far smaller in comparison to his weathered hands as he led you to the trunk of the weirwood tree. Its face provided you with some strange comfort. Perhaps the gods would heed your prayers. Perhaps they were watching over you as you both knelt before the trunk. Silence fell upon the Godswood as the wedding party prayed. No sooner had the moment passed that you and your now husband rose to your feet. Cregan’s large hands reached around you to gingerly remove your cloak, a golden Tyrell rose embroidered upon it by your mother. 

You shivered as the cold crept into your body, but were swiftly covered once again, this time in a Stark cloak, the wolf sigil stitched boldly enough for all to see. And just like that, it was done.

It was the first time you had seen him smile, truly smile, since you had arrived at Winterfell. From where you sat at his side on the dais, the entirety of the Great Hall stretched out before you. Jovial music filled the hall, and you watched the merry faces of Cregan’s men as they helped themselves to the wedding feast. Their chatter echoed on the stone walls, and for the first time since you had left Highgarden, you felt somewhat at home.

“Has Winterfell begun to grow on you, wife?” Cregan’s husky voice came from your left. When you turned to meet him he was wearing a boyish smirk. He was playing. You didn’t suspect the Wolf of the North had it in him.

“Well, it may be a while longer before that happens.” you sheepishly admitted, struggling to hold his intense gaze. “But I know I will come to love it.”

“Aye.” he said. “I know it will never be your true home, but I promise you I will do all in my power to make it the next best thing.” He placed his large hand atop your own, taking your palm and squeezing it gingerly. You were thankful for the gesture, and couldn’t ignore the flush of your cheeks that resulted from it.

“You’re timid.” he observed, only causing you further embarrassment. “It’s quite charming.”

“You may very well be the only person who finds it to be so. Even back home my soft temper has been known to irritate others. Most times people can barely hear me when I speak. I find it easier to keep to myself and observe.” you confessed. “I truly must grow a thicker skin if I am to survive amongst the wolves.”

“You won’t survive.” Cregan stated matter of factly. You whipped your head toward him with wide eyes at that, not prepared for what he would say next. “You will thrive.”

You felt your muscles loosen up once again, offering him an incredulous laugh.

“I am perfectly serious, my Lady.” he went on. “You will rule the North at my side.”

“I hardly think I am equipped to rule such an – unruly people, my Lord.” you tried to mask the nervous tremble of your hand as you brought your wine to your lips.

“Cregan.” he rasped. “Call me Cregan.” You nodded, eyes crinkling above a smile. He leaned in, as if he were about to tell you a most precious secret. “Sometimes all a beast truly needs is the touch of a gentle hand.” 

You backed away to meet his eyes. They held nothing but truth in them. Nothing but honor. But your moment was soon ended by the clamor of the wedding party. The men began to holler, whooping and howling in unison. “Time for the bedding!”

You had anticipated this, and you now braced yourself for the unpleasant experience of being hauled to a bed with Cregan. You had always known your first time would be like this, and though you loathed the idea, you could not alter tradition. It was a surprise to you when Cregan rose from his chair, planting his large hands on the dinner table before he spoke.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, but there will be no bedding ceremony tonight.” he bellowed out through the hall in a voice so commanding it was an effort not to shrink in his presence. “And I won’t hear any complaints about it. It’s too lovely an occasion to taint with a brawl.”

The men did their best to mask their disappointed groans as they returned to their dinner. You weren’t quite sure what had prompted Cregan to make such a decision. Did he not like you the way you had hoped? Perhaps he thought you fit to rule by him, to be a figurehead, but not someone he could ever desire in earnest. He must have read the emotions as they crossed your face, because he quickly took his seat beside you again. 

“Are you well, my Lady?” he asked. You merely nodded in response. He gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your gaze towards his. “When you wish it to happen it will be just the two of us, husband and wife. No prying eyes or ears.”

Warmth bloomed in your heart at the words. It was as if he had quieted the growing storm in your mind with only the touch of a hand. A gentle hand.

“You are a man of honor, Cregan.” you said resolutely.

He only smiled in return as he brought you in closer, finally pressing his lips to yours. The touch sent sparks down your spine. It was in that moment you knew that spark would soon fan into a flame a thousand northern winds could not snuff out.

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @spxllcxstxr @lovemesomevesey @shemisseshome @themissgreen24-blog @siriusement @kingdomzeldaquest @gayfordabae @slayis4ever

[fangdokja]

In the world of the dead, he was the only thing keeping you alive—and tearing you apart.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor x Reader

♡ Oneshot. #1

♡ Word Count. 886

The world had gone to hell long before he found you—a blight of rotting corpses, the stench of decay clinging to the air like wet fabric. He’d watched cities crumble, mothers devoured by children, lovers split apart by jaws that once kissed. Humanity reduced to a desperate scramble for survival. He’d survived because he was better, stronger, smarter. Not like the others. Not like you.

The first time he saw you, it was through the jagged slats of a broken-down shack—you, filthy, trembling, a pathetic little thing clutching a rusted knife like it could keep the monsters at bay. You didn’t know it then, but the real monster wasn’t outside that door. He let you run, let you think you’d slipped away. He liked the chase. Liked watching your frail little body collapse from exhaustion after days of running. He followed your trail of broken twigs, discarded scraps, bloodied rags. You bled so easily. It excited him.

When he finally cornered you, it wasn’t with the blunt savagery of the infected, but with the calculated precision of a predator. His voice was honeyed, deep and soothing in a way that made your legs quiver despite the terror clamping your chest. “Easy, little one,” he murmured, stepping closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over your crouched form. “I’m not here to hurt you.” A lie, but you didn’t know that yet.

You screamed when he grabbed you. Oh, how you screamed. His hand clamped over your mouth, thick fingers swallowing your cries. “Shh,” he cooed, dragging you against his chest. The muscles there were hard as steel, his arms unyielding as they pinned you to him. “You’re safe now. No more running. No more fighting. Just be good for me.”

You fought, of course you did, but he liked that about you. Liked the way your nails raked against his skin, the fire in your eyes even as tears streaked your dirt-smeared cheeks. It made breaking you all the sweeter.

The place he kept you was dark, damp, a bunker carved out of the earth’s rotting guts. Chains rattled when you moved, the heavy metal cuffs biting into your wrists and ankles. He made sure you couldn’t escape. You’d tried once, crawling like a desperate animal through the narrow tunnel he left unguarded. He found you before you reached the surface. You still remembered the taste of dirt and his boot on your back as he dragged you, screaming and sobbing, back to your prison.

“Disobedient,” he’d called you, his voice like a father’s scolding a wayward child. Then he’d smiled, and that smile was worse than any snarl. “But you’ll learn.”

The days blurred together. He fed you, bathed you, kept you warm with his body when the nights grew cold. “You’re mine now,” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “No one else will touch you. No one else can. They’re all dead, you know. Out there in the dark. In here, it’s just us. Forever.”

Sometimes he was tender, brushing the hair from your face, pressing lips to your forehead like a lover. Other times, he was cruel, tightening his grip around your throat until you saw stars, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as if he wanted to devour you whole.

“You’re so fragile,” he murmured, running a calloused hand down your trembling arm. His fingers stopped at your wrist, pressing just hard enough to feel the thrum of your pulse beneath the paper-thin skin. “So easy to break. But I won’t let you. I’ll keep you safe, even from yourself.”

When you cried, he mocked you for it, his laughter echoing off the stone walls. “Tears won’t save you, my little prey. You’re mine, whether you like it or not.” And yet, when your sobs subsided into quiet sniffles, he cradled you against his chest, rocking you like a child. “Good girl,” he’d croon, his hand stroking your hair. “Good, obedient girl.”

Escape was impossible. He made sure of that. Shackles bound you when he wasn’t there, and when he was, his watchful gaze never left you. Those eyes, sharp and calculating, missed nothing. You learned to fear the tilt of his head, the narrowing of his gaze when you stepped out of line. His punishments were swift and brutal—a backhand that left your cheek throbbing, a hand around your throat until you gasped for air.

And yet, there were moments when he was almost kind. When he brought you clean clothes, when he stroked your cheek and murmured promises of a future where you’d thank him for saving you. “You’ll see,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling purr. “I’m the only one who can love you like this. The only one who will.”

The infected were the least of your worries. The true horror lived in the man who kept you alive, the man who smiled as he reminded you that you belonged to him, body and soul. You learned quickly that resistance was futile. He thrived on your defiance, twisting it into something dark and intimate.

And every time he whispered in your ear, every time his hands claimed you, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—he was right. That in a world gone mad, there was no escape. That he was your salvation. Your damnation. Your everything.

[citruswriter]

A Sign From God?

Listen with me! ↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

Warnings: Religious themes, noncon, fem reader, fem terms, Reader is Christian/Catholic, oral (f! receiving), dirty talk (???), church sex, desecration of religious site (???), overstimulation, size kink (???), kidnapping (???).

Monstertober/Yantober Prompts: Local Folklore/Fate

Pairings: Male Rougarou Monster x Fem Reader

You were a devoted thing. Always going to church, always studying your Bible, always paying tithes. As a child you always when to church camp and as an adult you became baptized. The older you were however, the more the church seemed to call you in more and more, demanding to give more of yourself to God Almighty.

You found yourself wondering if you should become a nun. And that's how you ended up in your local church in the dead of night, on your knees and praying to God.

"Please God. I feel torn. I want love. I want a husband. But I also feel called to the nunnery. Please Father, I don't know what to do. Please. Give me a sign." You prayed, bowed over the stairs that led up to the podium. It wasn't long before you heard a growl.

Your breath caught in your throat at the noise as the animalistic growl ripped through the cathedral. Your body stiffened and you felt your blood run cold as the predatory noise made you very much aware that you were not alone in the church.

"You wish a sign from God?" A voice came, the sound of it low and gravelly, his Cajun accent thick. "I'll be your sign." You felt a figure loom over your body as you trembled in fear. You felt a large clawed hand grasp your skull with ease and force it down to the ground as he licked his jaws.

"Such a pretty little thing." His voice came, wolf jaws sniffing over your body, tongue sneaking under your tongue to lap at the skin of your thighs. You shudder and tremble in fear, but despite what you wanted, your body responded differently. You felt heat pool in your core, tears welling in your eyes as you body called to the sin despite your heart trying so hard to cast your cares on God.

"I can smell your fear, little girl. You afraid of the big bad wolf, cher?" He taunts and he presses his snout up your skirt and To your inner thigh, hot breath fanning over you and adding to the heat of your core before he lets out a raspy laugh. "Maybe it's less fear than it is... arousal. Maybe you're afraid I'll devour you whole... but maybe that's also what you want."

You let out a whine of protest, tears starting to spill from your eyes as he lapped closer to your cunt before his spare hand tore your panties away, claws shredding the fabric and flipping your modest skirt up to expose your cunt to the cold air of the cathedral.

You yelped and tried to close your legs but his hand kept you firmly spread out for him, a low predatory growl leaving his maw and making you freeze in fear once more again before his long canine long lapped at your slick cunt, making you whine out. Whether it was in protest or pleasure, you weren't completely sure.

He continues to lap at your cunt, licking at your clit and lipping it inside you, trying to drink more of your sweet nectar as you whine and keen on the stairs. He seems almost feral, not being able to get enough of your sweet cunt as he eats you out like a man starved. You gasp as you start to feel a knot form in your gut, your orgasm cresting within you. The beast seems to notice you too, giving an almost puppy like whine as he presses his tongue onto you harder, working harder to get you to orgasm on his tongue.

You try hard not to, to stave off your orgasm, to not give this sinful beast what he wants but its all in vain as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. You cry out as you cum, you nerves kind of feeling as if you bit into a star as the beast laps greedily at the sweet honey you released.

"So fucking good." He rumbled and you give a small strangled noise as he continues to lap again. "Again." He growls out, lapping at your cunt once more, trying to get you to cum once more on his tongue once more, loving the way your pussy juices tasted.

You moan out with overstimulation, tears streaming down your face as he works your sensitive cunt with with lycan tongue. You sob and moan as he laps at you greedily, working you to another orgasm.

It doesn't take long for that familiar knot to return. You let out a strangled noise as he presses harder to drive you over the edge once more, desperate to taste your sweet cum once more.

You cry out, sobbing as you're forced to cum once more. Your vision blurs and your ears are ringing from the intensity of your orgasm. Your whole body trembles as you're kept in the position, the man lapping happily at your cunt like he was a puppy who just got his favorite treat.

Eventually you feel his tongue retreat and you give sigh of relief as your poor cunt is given a moment of rest. But large clawed hands splay themselves over your hips and sides and you feel him shift. Your blood runs cold.

You feel his cock nudge at your entrance but before you can protest he thrusts forward, spearing you on his cock and stuffing you full as he shoves his large throbbing cock into your sopping wet cunt. You cry out, giving a strangled moan as he stuffs you full and stretches you out. It feels so good and you feel so guilty. Like you've sinned.

He growls and snarls as he starts to piston in and out of you, wasting no time with setting a brutal pace in you. It took you a bit to shove through the pleasure and hear his muttering. "You asked for a sign from God. I am your sign from God. You are mine now, little gir. My mate. My everything. We are bound together. Bound by fate. My beautiful fated mate. God has chosen you to be my wife."

You can't believe what your hearing. You would have retorted, told him he was wrong, crazy even. But the way his cock was fucking you on the floor of the cathedral kept you from speaking anything legible. Only slutty moans and keening whines left your throat as he drills into that wonderful spongy spot deep within your velvet walls.

You start to panic when you feel his hips stuttering but shows no sign of pulling out. You weakly squirm but he keeps you firmly in place, one of his hands dropping to rub you already abused pearl once more. You cry out once more, loud noises being ripped from your throat as he tries to drive you over the edge once more, this time with him.

You scream as you cum once more, shuddering as the man lets out a vicious snarl and shoves his cock as deep as he can, pumping a large load of cum into you. You both pant heavily as the two of you attempt to climb down of your orgasms. Eventually he pulls out, cum spilling from your pussy and onto the cathedral's floor.

You collapse onto the floor, whining softly as everything hurts. Moments later, the large beast scoops you up but your vision is too blurry to really make out much. But you do hear him. He's returned to his rambling. His deranged muttering about how you're his fated mate. Fate brought you together. God led him to you to take you.

Finally he's no longer alone.

Ik, ik. It's late. Shoot me.

This one was actually kind of special to me bc I'm Cajun and I don't see a lot of representation when it comes to my culture so it was nice to share a piece of my culture with all of you guys!

Taglist: @ozzgin

[anantaru]

DAY 27 — PRAISING

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — neuvillette, dainsleif, xiao, zhongli

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, praise kink, i missed writing lovey dovey stuff, love sick characters, slow sex and very cute, petnames used: love, darling

𖧡 — NEUVILLETTE

the desire emanating out of neuvillette whenever he made love to you never caused this much of an arising storm deep inside of him, it has never been this violent either— because listen closely now, when he took in your hot heaves that lingered over his rosy cheeks, the want for you consumed him in one quick bite, it transformed him.

at this moment in time, when becoming one with you, when feeling your warmth radiate across his skin had created an almost unbearable emotion totally unique and new to him, stubbornly manifested itself innermost his heart and lungs where it cannot, for even a second, be cast aside or the man will simply fall apart.

"ah— you're beautiful," he whispers into your skin, his fingers admiring the curves of your body, "you're incomparable," and it was welcomed, when neuvillette slid his mouth over your jaw and mouths the wet spots, his hips falling in tandem with your core jolting up to meet him halfway, "—you're spectacular, my love, my darling," as he slowly, curves one palm against your cheek, eyes slowly meeting big and bright, looking empty but revealing so much when he held you close.

"you are breathtaking."

his eyes devoured you again, you can feel it, taste it and sense it when his hips increased, and so did the buzzing slaps of skin colliding against skin— while unsurprisingly, eliciting a sweet noise from you when he surges his body against yours more passionately, his hips working in a steady, slow rhythm so that he was sure he could indulge in all of you, his cock snugly pinned inside of your warm body with the mass of muscle in your walls engulfing him entirely as neuvillette groans into your lips in trembling.

your passionate love— it could set the world aflame, burning like an uncontrollable wildfire, consuming everything in its path and whenever he found himself in your innocent embrace, your spine arching up at him when your frame holds onto the twitches of overstimulation, he found solace and a dwelling haven from the entanglement of his past in the purest, most innocent kinds of loves.

𖧡 — DAINSLEIF

"i love you today, tomorrow, and i will love you forever,"

"—and your heart is mine, mine, mine," dainsleif's mind blanks and for the very first time in his life he could say that he had madly fallen in love with another human being— and he flips back and forth between astonishment, nervousness on not knowing on how to tackle those new emotions and then playfulness, before running back to astonishment again.

but the man loved the view in front of him right now, he would love to capture it with a camera or visualize it before storing it into the deepest parts of his brain. dainsleif cannot stop himself from placing pleasure on you, to say the least, and how your spine bend ever so sinfully when he had you on all fours and smoothly guided his length in so you could feel and taste him— with your ass perked up until his fingers roll over the skin to rest against the hot flesh to keep you close.

for a moment, he drapes himself over your body, his tongue warm and slick against your shoulder, "i wish i could look at you right now," he admits, and everything he did felt good on your body, nothing could compare to the sensation whenever he made love to you.

forevermore, it would always overwhelm your body and guide you towards a sweet rhythm of his hips leisurely rocking back and forth against your plush ass.

but he couldn't stop, so he utters, yet not before nibbling on your skin once more, "—watch how your face changes," and granted, dainsleif could fulfill his own wish in the blink of an eye, yet he prefers to stay in this position for now, for some reason he had become utterly obsessed with it, or how well you clenched down on him or your squealing hiccups that fell on deaf ears every time he shoot his dripping erection back inside.

dainsleif just needed it all, yearned for you his entire life, because the love between you had manifested itself into nothing short but eternal tenderness and warmth, even transcending through space and time.

𖧡 — XIAO

"you're welcome to always stay here, if you so wish,"

xiao whispers to you in a frail note that a swirl shudders down your spine, his voice remaining soft and encouraging with his warm kisses all planted on top of your forehead as he slowly grinds himself into your heat— this time, not upraising the tempo but rather focusing on nudging his tip over the smarting segments battered on your walls.

"and when you call my name," he pauses, "it is you and me."

as you saw it, this moment in time seemed to have stopped rotating, entirely held back to a stand still, the dimly lid bedroom adept with hot, shielding air that accompanied every action like that of being trapped inside of a hot summer day inside a loop, with the difference being that the humidity was surprisingly comforting, soul touching and the transition in your traces had become almost unbearable— with xiao taking his good time with you, your palms reaching over to cup his face while his mouth parts, subtle grunts and breathless moans lingering around him.

xiao would always cherish the bittersweet moments with you, his beautiful princess, thinking that your laughs and kisses together were limited, and it frankly wouldn't even matter on how many times you would attempt to make him aware that you'd never leave him in a million years— a darkness had still continuously altered his mind.

regardless of such, in under a dime xiao had you breathless under him, the air feeling stubbornly hot when he gyrates his hips into your cunt with his body pressed tightly against yours, guiding his cock skillfully in and out as he slants forward and breathes in the little sobs and cries that spill from your pouty lips.

𖧡 — ZHONGLI

"speak to me, love,"  zhongli voices his unwavering need against your pouty lips as his warm pants wrap around your skin with ease, "tell me how it feels," and his voice was so unbelievably reassuring that you're instantly convinced to cry out his name with pleading eyes, his warmth heavy and suffocating between your thighs and making you feel so good.

"i love you," you hiccup sweetly, taking his face in your hands as you squeal a little at his obvious, quite sizable shaft reaching in and out of your ribbed walls, the sound of your pussy splitting apart was deafening as his length was beginning to shine with your arousal, the position providing enough relief to leave you vulnerable and speechless.

"my love," zhongli breaks his words over two broken groans, "my heart will always call out your name, you're beautiful," and something about this current situation was so sensual, so personal and erotic that you felt as if someone squeezed your lungs together, your mind solely focused on what was going on where you were lining up together, namely that sweet and punctuated pressure between your legs, how deliciously good it felt the more he filled you up.

your love was so soulful, intertwining your spirits in an unbreakable bond, it's crazy and zhongli cannot even fathom on how lucky he was to experience this after all of his suffering. he went on, nudging his erection around the walls of skin and branding himself on it— your thighs, as a result, closing around him as he fastens his sensual grinds.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[lilasamaaa]

Ignorance is bliss | Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre | Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

Word count | 3K.

Warnings | Brief mentions of sexual activities, panic attack, Max and reader get in a fight.

Summary | Max and you have been dating for several months, and everything is going well. Except when paparazzi start chasing you for no reason. Is your boyfriend hiding something from you?

Author's note | This was requested by @butterflyexe ! Thank you lovely for the great idea! I tweaked it a bit though, so I hope you like it! I loved writing this piece but again, sorry for the crippling angst lmao 🥲 Not proofread as usual, oopsie

The doorbell of your apartment rings, and you leap off your couch, opening the door and throwing yourself into your boyfriend's arms.

"Oh, wow," Max says, pressing a kiss to your head. "Did you know it was me or do you throw yourself into the arms of everyone who rings your doorbell?" he adds, laughing.

"Of course I knew it was you," you reply, laughing too. "I've been waiting for you all week. And I noted that your flight was landing an hour ago, so it lined up," you explain, taking his hand and leading him to the couch, where you both sit down.

Max looks tired, the bags under his eyes casting blue and gray shades on his pale skin. He moves to lie down on the couch, resting his head on your thighs, closing his eyes.

"How was the work trip?" you ask, playing with his hair.

"It was great," he finally replies, opening his eyes and meeting yours. "Quite tiring, but interesting. It was nice to, erm. See my colleagues again," he says.

"I still can't believe your company paid for the trip all the way to Australia," you whisper as Max closes his eyes again under your caresses. "If I had known the automotive industry required you to travel that much, I would have applied for the job."

Max doesn't respond, simply taking one of your hand in his and gently stroking your knee with the other.

"You must feel so out of it with the jet lag..." you continue, concerned. "It's a good thing they gave you a few days to rest. When are you expected back at work?"

"Not until next week," Max says, playing with the rings on your fingers.

"And you said you're going to Japan after? That's such a weird ass schedule," you say, making him laugh. "I feel like you travel more than most influencers... Or even athletes," you state, making him open an eye.

"Perks of the job," Max says before planting a soft kiss on your lips, and standing up. "Can I borrow your shower?"

"Of course! You know the way," you wink at him, heading towards the kitchen. "I'll fix us something to eat in the meantime."

Sitting at the small table in your kitchen, illuminated by a few candles and the lights of the city outside, Max devours the plate you placed in front of him a few minutes ago. You silently observe him, both fascinated by the man before you and disturbed by a thought that has plagued you in his absence.

"I've been thinking," you start, making your boyfriend look up.

"Yeah? Tell me," he says, covering your hand with his.

"How come I've never been to your place?"

Max stops chewing, his light eyes fixated on yours.

"I didn't know you wanted to?" he replies, brows furrowed.

"Well I've never asked to, but isn't that how it usually works in a relationship? Once at mine, once at yours?"

"I'm sorry," Max replies. "I didn't realize it was important to you."

You suddenly feel guilty and squeeze your boyfriend's hand, giving him a warm smile.

"Forget it, sorry," you say, getting up to rinse your plate. "That was stupid. You're right, we're fine here."

After dinner, you and Max settle on the couch again, watching some show on Netflix. When you notice Max fighting against sleep, his eyelids heavy and his breath short, you grab the remote before turning off the TV. The sudden silence jolts him awake, and you laugh before pulling him by the arm and leading him down to your bedroom. You make a quick stop in the bathroom to remove your makeup and brush your teeth and, when you come back to the room, you find Max fast asleep under the covers. The sight is endearing. You press a kiss on his forehead before settling next to him, your cold body against his already warm one.

The next morning, you wake up alone in a cold bed. A familiar smell tickles your nostrils, and you make your way to the kitchen, your eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Good morning!" Max says, already dressed up, and looking much fresher than yesterday. "I made us breakfast."

"Wow, that's so sweet of you," you say before sitting at the table, taking a hot pancake from the plate in front of you.

"I'm sorry for falling asleep so fast yesterday," your boyfriend starts again. "To make it up to you, I'd like to take you out to lunch."

The offer takes you by surprise, and you stare at your boyfriend, mouth agape. It's been five months since you started seeing each other. Five months since you bumped into him by chance at the Monte Carlo casino while you were out dining with friends. Five months of being inseparable, but also five months of very limited outings. Max travels a lot for work, and you don't necessarily have the means to go out regularly in Monaco. Most of the moments you share therefore take place within the four walls of your apartment, and you're thrilled to get some fresh air with him for once.

"You seem happy," he says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"I am!" you say, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Where are we going?"

"What about Nobu?" Max says.

"What? Max, that's way too expensive," you reply, furrowing your brows.

"It doesn't really matter, given I'll be the one paying."

"No way," you say. "We're splitting the bill. And I'm not paying three grands for some sushis, as delicious as everyone claim they are."

"They really are. So please, let me do this for you. Just this once? I can afford it," your boyfriend says, making you frown.

His words remind you that you don't know what your boyfriend does for a living. He's talked to you about cars, mechanics, but you're having trouble understanding what kind of job in the automotive industry requires so much traveling around the world. A job that apparently pays very well, given the restaurants he frequents. Realizing there's no point in arguing and not wanting to pick a fight with Max, you simply nod, lips pressed together. However, you're counting on one last point to escape the pricey restaurant and hopefully eat elsewhere. Somewhere more affordable.

"Well, if you insist," you finally say, popping a strawberry in your mouth. "I doubt we'll get a table for noon, though," you add. "I heard you have to book months in advance."

"Don't worry about that," Max says, stroking your cheek. "I need to stop by my place real quick before, can we meet there?"

Two hours later, you're sitting at one of the finest tables at Nobu, facing the sea. The fuck just happened, you think, watching your boyfriend immersed in the menu with a raised eyebrow. How? Before you have time to question it further, a waiter brings two champagne flutes and a bottle in a Nobu-stamped ice bucket to your table before hurrying away, thanking you two profusely for coming.

"Did you order this?" you ask Max, making him look up.

"No, I didn't. That's so kind of them."

"What the actual fuck, Max?" you snap, eyes wide. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" your boyfriend asks.

"Did you somehow not notice how everyone's been bending over backward for us since we walked in? I think the waitress behind you hasn't taken her eyes off us for the past thirty minutes. And since when do they bring champagne to people who haven't ordered anything?" you say with a worried look. "Are they confusing us for someone?"

"Why are you so worried?" Max asks, giving you a look that's meant to be reassuring but just looks uncomfortable. "Just enjoy the moment. And the view."

You sit back in your chair, biting the inside of your cheek. Something isn't right. You can feel it. Max adjusts one of his hair strands, and the sleeve of his shirt slips down slightly, revealing a watch you've never seen before. It takes you a few seconds to recognize the model, and when you do, your heart skips a beat.

"Is this a new watch?" you ask, trying to act nonchalant.

"What? Oh, yeah. Bought it in Melbourne."

"You casually bought a Rolex Daytona?" you ask, tilting your head.

"I didn't know you knew about watches," Max says, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

"You don't need to know about watches to know that this model costs almost a hundred thousand euros," you say, eyes boring into his.

The tension at the table has risen a notch, none of you uttering a word. As an anxious waiter places several plates in front of you, you glance around, suddenly realizing something you hadn't noticed before, absorbed in your conversation with your boyfriend.

"There's no one here," you say, still looking around. "It's noon on a Saturday, and the restaurant is empty."

Max sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I know," he finally says, carefully meeting your gaze. "I wanted us to have some peace."

"What? What did you do?"

"I've privatized the restaurant," he says.

"How did you do that?" you ask, unintentionally raising your voice.

"I paid," Max simply says, grabbing a sushi.

"How much?"

"Several thousands!" Max almost shouts, making you wince. "What's up with all your questions?"

You're completely lost. You don't recognize the man you've been seeing for the past five months. The man who comes to your place by foot, usually in sweatpants, who spends evenings watching Netflix with you. Taking baths with you. Passionately making love to you. You have no idea who this new man is, covered in expensive clothes and accessories, on whom all heads turn and who raises whispers as he passes by.

"Who the fuck are you?" you simply ask, feeling your eyes start to water.

"Baby," Max says, finally realizing how uncomfortable and lost you are. "Please, can we just enjoy the meal? I'll answer all your questions at your place. I'll explain everything, but please. Let's not make a scene," he implores.

You swallow hard, staring at the ceiling to dry the tears in the corners of your eyes. For the rest of the meal, Max talks, telling you about his trip, about his life. You politely answer the few questions your boyfriend asks you, remaining silent the rest of the time. You don't even have an appetite anymore, having swallowed three sushi pieces before your stomach threatened to turn.

At the end of the meal, Max slips a credit card into the folder that a waiter has placed on the table, then adds three hundred-dollar bills. Tip, you think. More than what I earn in a day of work. The price of discretion, probably. The waiter leaves with the folder before coming back, and just as he's about to ask for something, Max shots him a look that makes him close his mouth. Your boyfriend thanks the young man before walking around the table, extending a hand that you grasp to rise as well. You thank the still-empty restaurant staff, giving them a genuine smile despite the anxiety twisting your stomach. Max opens the door for you, and you walk out on the street, thanking him.

For a moment, you curse yourself for forgetting your sunglasses at home, as the Monaco sun blinds you instantly. You blink in surprise, but your blindness persists as Max grabs your wrist and pushes you behind him. You try to open your eyes, but flashes keep assaulting you, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that they're coming from huge cameras pointed just inches away from your face.

"Max?"' you ask with a high-pitched voice, starting to panic.

Max turns around, pressing you against him and covering your eyes as he guides you through the screaming crowd. People push you in all directions, pressing against you, touching your arms, your face, crumpling your clothes. Screaming. At first, you can't make sense of what the voices are shouting, with all your senses being overwhelmed. But suddenly, you hear it. Max. They're screaming his name. Max looks up, and a new series of flashes burn your retinas as your boyfriend holds you even tighter against him, one arm around your shoulders.

"I'm so sorry," you hear him say among the voices.

"What's happening?" you ask, panting.

And, then, you feel it. The panic attack. Even though you've never experienced one before, you immediately understand what's happening to you. You recognize the signs. Your legs give way, and you have to cling to Max to keep from falling to your knees. Your heart rate and breath quicken until they're suffocating, while tears stream down your cheeks.

"I can't breathe," you croak, so weakly that you're not even sure if Max heard you.

"Hang on, baby," your boyfriend says, still walking. "We're almost at the car."

The flashes continue, and so do your tears. Max grips you as tightly as he can, shielding your face, lifting you halfway to help you walk. After a few seconds, the longest of your life, you hear a car door open, and Max gently pushes you into his car before closing the door and jumping in. He wastes no time in starting the engine, cutting through the crowd, disappearing into the alleys of Monaco.

You don't say a word. You're unable to speak. Unable to breathe. Still trembling. Crying. You don't realize it, but Max struggles to tear his eyes away from your body, which seems so small, so battered at this moment. He doesn't speak either, biting his lips until it draws blood. He hates himself. He knows he'll regret making you go through this for a long time. But now, all he can do is explain. Lay all the cards on the table. Something he should have done a long time ago.

The journey seems to last an eternity until you catch sight of a gigantic building, and Max drives into an underground parking. He parks the car and rushes out, opening your door, helping you out. You're still in shock, and Max supports you as he guides you to an elevator. A few seconds later, after twist of his keys, you find yourself in a vast penthouse overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. You don't even have the strength to ask questions anymore. To ask where you are. You sit down on the large couch, wiping the tears from your cheeks. Trying to calm your breathing.

Max watches you, standing at the foot of the couch. Bewildered. Not even daring to come close to you. The two of you stand in silence a few moments, until he finally speaks.

"I know it won't fix anything. But I'm truly, sincerely sorry."

You don't reply, head low. playing with the rings on your finger.

"I owe you some explanations."

No reply.

"I'm a Formula 1 driver."

You finally look up, and the mascara streaks on your cheeks squeeze his heart in the worst way.

"I should have told you earlier. I should have warned you, but I couldn't. With you, I discovered normalcy. Anonymity. I discovered what it was live to have an ordinary life, away from the hustle, the stress, the constant judgment."

"So you knew how precious it was," you say, squinting your eyes. "And yet, you chose to expose me to all of those things."

"I hadn't planned for it to happen. I didn't want it to happen. I tried."

"I can't do this," you reply, feeling fresh tears roll down your cheeks.

Seeing you cry again, Max sits on the couch, pulling you close to him as another sob shakes your body.

"Why?" you ask, crying. "Why did you let me fall in love with the person I thought you were?"

Each of your words, each of your sobs break his heart a little more, but he takes it. He knows your anger is justified. Deserved.

"Because I loved you too. And I didn't want this to stop."

"You lied to me," you say between two sobs. "I trusted you. I trusted you so much."

It's too much. Even for him. A tear runs down his cheek. Max wipes it away angrily.

"If you never want to see me again, I understand. I'll come get my things. I'll erase your number. I won't stand in the way of you living a normal life, of finding love with someone normal. You deserve the best, even if it's not with me."

You hate him.

You despise him for having been himself, his most vulnerable self, with you. For charming you with his awkwardness, his foreign accent, his somewhat strict manners. You hate him for being the perfect man for you. You hate him for making your heart beat so strongly. But above all, you hate him for building your love on a lie, on fragile foundations doomed to collapse and sweep you both away in the wreckage.

"I hate you," you sob, making his heart stop. "And I hate myself even more. For not being able to let you go."

"Baby", he says, moving to kneel in front of you. "If you give me this chance, a chance to rebuild everything with you again, I swear that nothing will ever happen to you again. I won't let anyone near you, anyone touch you. Not even a glance. I will rebuild everything around us. We'll be untouchable. Indestructible."

One month later.

"Are you ready, baby?" Max asks, meeting your gaze. "Once I post it, there's no going back."

"I think so," you say, biting on your fingernails. "Let's get this over with," you add, sitting on his knees while the driver presses a kiss to your neck, softly stroking your leg.

"Okay. Let's do this."