niyah

18+ | poc express yourself don’t repress yourself °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[jimmysfingers]

—about me

hellooo!! my name is niyah I go by she/her pronouns and I’m eighteen years old :D my current hyperfixation is jack oconnell (it doesn’t seem to be going away..) SOO I mainly just write for his characters! my only exception is writing for like s3 & s4 cook because of his age BUT I will write for s7 cook

I LOVE horror movies so most of my writing contains horror elements!

I do take requests! just nothing with like..piss and shit and throw up and farts and like rape and icky stuff I’m not comfortable with :/

some of my favs!!

𖤐 fav movies: nosferatu (2024) an american werewolf in london, the witch, possession, bully (2001) house of 1000 corpses, secretary, gummo, eyes wide shut

𖤐 fav shows: game of thrones, house of the dragon, a knight of the seven kingdoms, sharp objects, american horror story, skins uk, euphoria

𖤐 fav music artists: ethel cain, nicole dollanganger, yung lean, kate bush, pj harvey, lalleshwari (katie jane garside) the 1975

DNI: homophobic, racist, transphobic, proshippers, tcc, minors, pro-isreal, pro-ice, maga, everything along these lines. just don’t come on my page being weird please!! and zont be messy because i will respond back

interact: jack oconnell fans HEYYYYY, freaky media enjoyers, ethel cain fans, horror movie fans, animal crossing players, period piece enjoyers, COOL PEOPLEEE

masterlist

jimmy crystal

god doesn’t love you, not like I do.

angels of porn.

patrick sumner

the woman who cried wolf.

oliver mellors

he’s already in me.

james cook

pray for love in a lapdance.

[tact1calnecr0mancy]

hey dude. yeah your girl's fine she's just been dramatically roaming the halls in a white dress. occasionally she poses against a gothic window to soak in the moonlight. not sure where she got the candelabra, or when she redecorated. she's got a neurology appointment soon for the, uh, seizures and sleep walking. but we're keeping an eye on it. no, no, it's fine, enjoy your business trip. lmk how you enjoy eastern europe. i hear it's beautiful this time of year.

[baratheonpilled]

duncan the tall / tempest by ethel cain

[jimmysfingers]

URGGHHHHHHH I need to write again ive had a patrick sumner x possessed wife reader in my drafts for so long

[jimmysfingers]

PRAY FOR LOVE IN A LAPDANCE

ˋˏsummary: cook gets a new job at a strip joint after a friend put in a good word. It wasn’t necessarily part of his plan, but neither were you.

LISTENED TO THE ANORA SOUNDTRACK WHILE WRITING THIS!! I had fun with this it’s supposed to be a little silly I’m trying to be kinder to myself when writing let’s clap #activeeramaybe

✧warnings: MDNI 18+, drugs (cocaine, etc.) drug dealing/trade, strip club setting, sexual content, public/semi public sex, unprotected sex, riding, dirty talk, creampie, #bush

Cook’s gotten fucked over all his life really, this was just another add-on to all the shit thats gone down.

After the whole Louie fiasco, Cook decided that he wasn’t going back to Manchester. Cook was gonna do what he does best: keep running.

And that’s exactly what he did.

Now, he’s doing the same thing he was doing in Manchester—running drugs. Except now he’s in London, bigger scale. He’s working in some shitty corner store, ringing people out or secretly selling the weed the store had when someone asked for it.

“Alright, that’s half an ounce.” Cook murmured as he moved out the back of the store, a baggie of weed in hand. He leaned forward against the counter. “That’s—seventy three pounds.”

The customer paused as if he thought Cook was taking the piss, “Seventy three?” He was an older gentleman with excessive hair gel and an unnecessarily tight shirt and pants on. A proper douche.

Cook just waited as he stared at him, absentmindedly playing with the bag.

The man scoffed but still opened his wallet, thumbing through his notes before holding out the proper amount.

Cook stood up straight again, grabbing the money from the man and tossing the bag towards him, “Cheers.” The man said something under his breath that Cook didn’t hear as he opened the door, the bell on the top of it jingling before stopping as he shut the door.

It was quiet, aside from the music playing inside the store. He took a breath in, moving to riffle through the money the man handed him before opening the register to put the notes inside.

The bell jingled again.

“Sorry, we’re about to close.” Cook continued sorting out the money.

“Cookie!”

He finally glances up at that and sees one of his mates Jonathan walk in.

He gives a short nod, “Jonno.”

Jonathan moves to the counter, leaning down against the surface. He’s got that look on his face, that Jonno look. Which means he’s definitely got some bullshit to say. “Look, mate, you won’t believe this shit—” He’s already laughing as he continues, “‘ve got a new job, and I’m the luckiest man alive.”

His eyes flick back up towards Jonno, “Yeah?” He closes the register, “Where?”

“Y’know that place a few streets down? Shakers?”

Cook pauses, furrows his eyebrows, “..That strip joint?”

A wide smile spreads across Jonno’s face as he snaps. “Bingo.”

For a moment, Cook’s silent.

He lets out a short laugh, “You’re kidding.” But Jonathan’s already shaking his head, “Nah, mate, ‘m dead serious.” He leans in a little closer, “Look, the owner’s not just running some trashy strip joint. He’s in the drug business, and ‘m dealing for him. He wants more dealers so..” He gestures between the two of them.

Cook blinks, shaking his head with a scoff, “..Nah, nah man. ‘M alright.”

He did not want to get involved with another drug lord—he’d learned his lesson and seriously couldn’t afford to repeat mistakes he’s already made.

Jonno’s smile faltered at Cooks words, he made a face, “What? Why not?”

He shrugged, “Because I’m not doing that shit again, ‘m not.”

“Cook!”

“No.”

“You’ll make what, ten? No, five—okay, like, three times the amount of money you make here.” His voice took on a more convincing tone, “Cook, come on, you know I wouldn’t fuck you over.”

Cook took in a deep sigh, running a hand over his face. He didn’t know if he fully believed him on that, but something made him blurt out, “Alright, fuck it.”

Jonno’s smile was even bigger than it had been before, “Really?”

He nodded with a light scoff, “Yeah, yeah I guess.”

Jonathan clapped, “Let’s make some fuckin’ money then.”

Cook felt like the music was pulsing through his brain.

Shakers was dark besides the pink and purple strobe lights that flickered sporadically. It was pretty packed inside, men were sitting in booths with girls, or sitting at the bar, or in front of the three main poles where three topless girls were already dancing. The strong smell of perfume and sweat lingered as Cook moved deeper into the club with Jonathan.

He brushed past a few girls walking past holding the hands of men they were taking into private rooms, he kept his eyes forward as he followed Jonno.

If Cook had gotten this job a few years earlier, he would’ve already had one dancer on his arm and another between his legs. But he wasn’t like that anymore, not really.

His thoughts were interrupted when he got shoulder checked.

That’s when he turned and saw you.

You were in a sparkly bra and thong, the clingy material leaving little to the imagination as you passed by him, looking back once with a smile. For a moment the bumping music stopped, and all he heard was the click of your heels as you walked away. The strong smell of your fruity perfume lingered, instinctively he inhaled.

He was broken out of whatever daze you put him in when Jonno finally pushed open a door, inside sat the guy he was telling Cook about—Danny, the owner the club.

He was slouched back in his chair thumbing through notes, his big calloused hands sorting them in separate piles. He was a big guy, balding at the top of his head with prominent wrinkles on his face—so, what cook wasn’t expecting.

He didn’t look up at the two of them, continuing to do what he was doing as he took a drag of the cigarette he had sitting in the ashtray.

Cook glanced over at his mate, waiting for him to say something.

Jonno cleared his throat, gesturing with a smile. “Danny, Dan, Dan the man. Hey.”

He finally looked over at the two of them, not amused in the slightest. He took one look at Cook. “You don’t work ‘ere.”

“Nah nah, this is my friend James I was telling you about. Remember?”

Danny’s eyes went back to Jonathan. He sniffed, “..So you’re just goin’ about telling people about my business, is that it?”

And for a moment, Jonno looked panicked. “No—no, sir I was just—” he swallowed, “..Cook won’t spill.”

“He won’t, huh?” He sat up a little straighter in the chair, taking another deep inhale of the cigarette. This time, he really took in Cook’s appearance, the trainers, his button up t-shirt hidden beneath his jacket, “You with the cops?”

Cook shrugged, “Don’t think so.”

Danny hummed at that, taking a final drag of the cigarette before putting it out, “..Alright, I trust Jonno a little bit.” He quickly pointed a finger, shaking it for good measure, “But if you two screw me over, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

“Won’t let you down, Danny. Promise.” Jonathan said with a smile.

Surprisingly, Cook doesn’t hate working at Shakers.

He was doing what he did best, except not just with weed like at the corner store—more, powdery substances. The men that came into the club? Fucking lived for the shit, Cook wouldn’t try it, maybe he would’ve in the past, but now? He was trying to stay alive. So, he continued just selling it to any man who asked, or gave it to the dancers when their high-spenders asked for it.

The dancers were all pretty nice to him. Not to be cocky—but Cook knew he was a pretty boy, knew girls liked him, and his cock. But he didn’t try anything with any of them, ‘cause one: it’s not a priority right now, and two: he didn’t want to get his balls cut off by Danny.

He wasnt necessarily interested in any of the dancers, except you. You both always seem to end up around eachother anyways.

Cook was leaning against the bar, absentmindedly tapping his hand against the counter to the beat of the music playing, watching some of the girls on stage. Then heard that familiar clicking and chewing of gum.

You were walking towards him, hips swaying with every step in another little set on—something pink and lacy, tits and ass practically hanging out, but that was the point wasn’t it?

“Hey Cookie.” You said teasingly as you leaned in close beside him, brushing some of your hair over your shoulder, “..Guy over there wants to have some fun.”

He looked over to see the man in question. Some posh twat with an expensive watch on and a half chud already in his pants. He grabbed a baggie full of something powdery, putting it in your hand. His hand brushed against your manicured fingernails. “Good luck with that one then.”

“Thanks.” You murmured, your glosses lips pulling up into a smile.

He gave a short nod, “Mhm.”

He’s seen you on stage, the way the attention is immediately on you as soon as you walk up to that pole, batting your eyelashes and smiling at the men holding money out. It wasn’t that type of smile, it felt genuine, reserved for him, almost.

He also could’ve sworn you looked him up and down.

But he couldn’t think about it too much because you were already walking away with the man, grabbing his hand and taking him to the private rooms. Cook’s eyes instinctively went down to your ass, before he seemed to realize what he was doing and straightened up. Focus Cook. You want to keep your balls.

Apparently that’s not enough to stop him, because for the first time in a long time, he’s going after a girl.

Cook’s good with women, alright? He’s had enough experience with them to know the signs of when a girl wants a piece of the Cookie Monster. He was ninety nine percent sure you wanted him back. The looks, the touching, the eye fucking.

It was late when he was walking out of the club, the big sign outside flickering faintly. That was when he saw you and stopped. The real you for the first time.

You were in just a dress covered up by a jacket, your purse in your hands. You were bare faced, none of that glittery eyeshadow that you wore on stage. “..Where are you going?”

Was this a set up?

He slowly started moving towards you again, his hands in his pockets, “To my car, that you’re in front of.”

You were quiet for a moment as you chewed your gum, a slow, side-to side movement. “..’ve got some leftovers from that guy.” Inside your bra you pulled out the little baggie, a small amount of the powdery substance was still inside. “..Wanna have some?”

Cook contemplated for a moment, before shaking his head, “Nah, not really.” He sniffed, putting his hands in his pockets, “Don’t really mess with that stuff.” Anymore.

Your perfectly shaped eyebrows raised, “Pussy?”

He felt himself smile faintly as he shook his head, “Stuff kills, don’t it?”

You smiled back at him, “..Well, if y’dont want to it—” You tucked the baggie back into your bra, letting the silence linger for a moment. You looked him up at down, your eyes lowered.

Gave him the look, another sign you wanna shag.

“Maybe we could..” A shrug. “..Have fun in your car instead?” A tilt of your head.

Oh yeah, Cook is in.

“Oh yes—fuckin’ ride my cock, just like that—” His back is pressed flat against the backseat of his car as you bounce frantically up and down on his cock, his body jolting back and forth against the seat.

“Yeah? You like that? Oh my god—fuck!” You tried laugh, but it quickly breaks off into a moan as his cock presses deep inside your pussy. It’s hot in the car, your damp hair beginning to stick to your face and back as you moved your hands to rest on his chest, dragging yourself over his cock.

“Fuckin’ right I do, god—” He responds back through clenched teeth, listening to the wet slap of skin against skin. His eyes shut for a moment before reopening to watch his cock disappear inside of you. “Been waiting for this since, shit—I saw you.” He manages to push himself up into a sitting position, keeping you on his lap as his hands move under your ass, helping you slam down onto him.

“Yeah? Thinking about my pussy?” You smiled, grabbing his face between your manicured fingers as he nodded his head, “Yeah.”

“Thinking about what it felt like?” You kept moving, your voice becoming more breathless as that knot built in your stomach.

“Yes.”

“What it tastes like?” Your tongue slid over his ear and he whimpered, “Oh fuck, yes.”

You stopped after a moment, your legs burning. “Fuck your cock into me, come on, baby.” You managed to choke out, and he did, holding you up as he started to sloppily ram into you from underneath and you screamed.

“Oh my god, yes! Keep going, don’t you stop—don’t you fucking stop, or I will kill you.” You crashed your lips against his, your mouths barely meeting as you moved wildly on top of him, your cherry flavored lipgloss smearing all over your faces. His pubic hair brushed against your clit with everytime you pressed your hips down against his.

Cook’s brain was fried at this point, all he could do was focus on shoving his cock in and out of your tight pussy, he was mumbling at this point, “Please cum on my cock, please—I want it, want you squeezing me please.”

“Yeah? You want me to cum?” He was nodding as he looked at you, pounding into you faster as he blabbered on. Your hand was already moving down to your clit, frantically circling the bundle of nerves, “Oh, you’re gonna make me cum, you’re gonna make me cum on your cock—Fuck!” Your whole body shook as you felt yourself gush around his cock, your vision going white as your pussy clenched around him.

His cock twitched inside of your pulsing walls, his movements growing faster as he tried to reach his own orgasm, “Fuck—grab my balls, grab my balls—”

And you did, your hand reaching between the two of you to massage the heavy weight of them, and that was all it took before he cried out, stilling inside of you as thick spurts of his cum coated your inners walls.

He immediately slumped back against your chest, your sweat slicked bodies pressing close together in his small car as you ran your fingers through his hair—instinctively, his mouth came down to press open mouthed kisses against your shoulder. He was softening inside of you.

It was quiet as you both caught your breath, before he blinked, seeming to realize he came inside of you, “..Oh, shit—‘m sorry, wasn’t even thinking.”

“No—it’s fine, it’s fine.” You were able to mumble out, pushing yourself up to brush back your sweat slick hair out of your face. You smiled. “Cookie.”

“Hm?”

“You have my gum.”

“Oh.” He finally seemed to realize he did infact have the small wad of bubblegum inside his mouth, “D’you want it back?”

But you just let out small giggle, pressing your head into his shoulder as your shoulders gently shook, and he found himself laughing too, a genuine thing.

[jimmysfingers]

hiii I loved your oliver mellors fic!!!

HIII and I love YOU!

[jimmysfingers]

Hi could you please write more about oliver mellors. I loved the fic you wrote. 🩷

HII and THANK YOU SM! I will definitely write more about oliver bc i love him cutiepop maybe it’ll be a pt2 to what I already wrote

[jimmysfingers]

PLEASE put your fic under a readmore if you’re going to put it in the main tags i am so sick of scrolling and scrolling through a fic that im not even reading to get past it. It’s common courtesy

DIDNT know this was a thing im new to posting on tumblr :P added readmore #gotcourtesy

[jimmysfingers]

THE WOMAN WHO CRIED WOLF.

ˋˏsummary: you noticed your husband’s strange behavior, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what it actually was.

this has literally been in my drafts gou for GOD KNOWS how long but like need jack in a robert eggers film stat

✧warnings : MDNI 18+, DARK LIKE HORROR THEMES, graphic violence & gore, blood, injury, animal death, body horror, monster creature sexual content, rough sex, oral (fem. receiving), biting, creampie, #BUSH

He went missing again.

Oscar had been a gift from Patrick after the two of you married. You frequently let him roam around outside, because most of the time, the tabby cat would return just a few hours later. He didn’t this time. A week passed, still no return.

With a heavy heart, you grabbed the bowl filled with cat food off the porch, you hoped it would lead Oscar back home. The door creaked as you opened it and slipped back inside, moving back towards the kitchen.

“..He still hasn’t come back.” You murmured as you emptied out the bowl into the trash.

“He’s somewhere out there.” Patrick sat at the table in his chair as he read from his book, his reading glasses perched on his nose. he didn’t look up at you yet.

Patrick sighed quietly, taking off his glasses and placing them on the table. He turned to face you, giving you his full attention. “I think, you’re worrying yourself too much about it.” It was quiet for a moment, he continued, “Oscar always wanders off for a few days and comes back.” His gaze was unwavering as he took you in, his voice going softer, “You know this.”

You finally looked away from the window and back at Patrick. You spun your wedding ring on your finger with a soft whisper of, “..Perhaps you’re right.”

For a moment, the gentle drops of rain and the trees tapping against the windows was the only sound in the small kitchen as he watched you. He sat up fully in the chair, holding his hand outwards, “Come here.”

You stared at his outstretched hand for a second, before moving across the kitchen and placing your hand in his. His large hand wrapped around yours, pulling you closer towards him so you stood between his legs. He brought your hand towards his face, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to your knuckles. “..He will come back." Another kiss.

Your heart fluttered as you watched him, gingerly pulling your hand out of his, “..I do hope you’re right.” You let your hands rest on his face instead. His eyes closed and he let out a soft sigh at the feeling. Instinctively, he leaned into your hands as they gently scratched through his beard, just holding each other close for a moment. After a moment you did pull away, moving around the kitchen as he sat back again.

He ran his hands over his trousers, looking back up when he heard the gentle thud of something on the table. A bowl filled with broth and some other vegetables, what caught his attention was the meat inside of it. “What’s this?”

“Something last minute.” You turned to grab cutlery for both of you.

He went quiet as he stared at the soup. It was as if it was as if everything went hazy besides the bowl in front of him, he could feel his ears started ringing—an intense feeling washed over him, something unexplainable. As the smell of the soup hit his nostrils, he felt the bile rise from the back of his throat. He gagged as he stood, his chair dragging across the wooden floors as he moved away from the table, covering his mouth.

The sound immediately made your head turn, your brows furrowing as you moved towards him, placing a grounding hand on his back, “Patrick, are you alright?”

He moved towards the water pitcher as he poured a generous amount of water into a glass. Taking a deep breath he nodded, “I’m fine.” His answer was gruff. He drank the water quickly, then exhaled. “..I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m just..not feeling very well, love.”

That was an understatement. For weeks now Patrick had been acting strange. He’d be more irritable recently, then it was the food, then the unusual amount of hair growth in..all areas (you’d noticed when he was changing one evening, not that you were complaining.) Leaving in the middle of the night was a recent development, but you were no fool, you knew he was doing it. Some nights you could feel him slip out of your shared bed and close the door behind him, you just didn’t know what was wrong or what he had been doing.

It wasn’t as if he would tell you anything either. Patrick had always been quieter, more reserved, not that you minded of course. You knew the things that he’d been through, but even then sometimes you’d wished your husband would just open up more.

You placed a placating hand on his shoulder, “..Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need anything? I can grab that medicine from the cabinet if you’d like—“

“I told you I’m fine!” He practically growled as he stepped away from you to lean his hands against the table. Instinctively, your hand pulled away from his shoulder, resting back down on your dress as you tried to ignore the small pang in your heart.

The room was silent besides the ticking of the clock in the hallway. After a moment, you’d heard Patrick sigh, running a hand over his beard as he murmured softly, “..I’m sorry love, I—“ He turned his head slightly, “I didn’t mean to lash out like that, I’m very exhausted.”

Your hands fiddled with eachother, “..I know.” You said quietly, looking back up at him and putting a small smile on your face. you still didn’t move closer.

He nodded once, before standing up straight and taking a deep breath, “I’m going upstairs.” He moved out of the kitchen.

It was silent in the room again, you knew not to follow right away—another time you might’ve, but at this moment you knew your husband just wanted to be alone for a couple minutes. You quietly moved downstairs, moving to empty out the uneaten bowls outside before moving back into the kitchen to put the porcelain into the sink. You finally moved back upstairs.

As you slowly opened the door, you’d noticed Patrick was turned on his side asleep in your bed. He was asleep, or at least looked to be. With gentle steps, you moved towards your wardrobe, starting to take off your dress with much effort. Usually, Patrick would’ve helped you with the complicated process of helping you rid of all the layers underneath your dress. But, you could do it yourself, not as quickly.

Eventually you were able to slip into your nightgown and place all of your things back into your wardrobe. You lifted the covers and moved into bed beside Patrick. Recently the house had been cold in the evening, so you moved in close to him in hopes of some of his warmth seeping into you. Time mixed together as you drifted off, your face pressed into your husband’s back.

A loud clatter interrupted your sleep.

You shot up at the sound. Your hands pulled the blankets closer towards your chest, “..What was that? Patrick? Patrick—“ The spot beside you was empty, Patrick had left again.

“..Patrick?” You called out again, not as loud as you would’ve liked it to have been—it came out as more of a squeak. Another loud sound from downstairs.

If Patrick was beside you he would’ve held you closer and told you it was just the house itself. The house was somewhat old and noises were a frequent thing coming from the walls or floorboards. But this wasn’t a sound from the home, it was something else.

Your hands reached towards the bedside table for the box of matches. With trembling hands and a few fails, the flame finally caught and you grabbed the candle.

You were mindful of your steps, keeping them light as you moved down the stairs, holding onto the candle tightly. Everytime you moved down a step the wood creaked and you winced.

“Patrick?” You hissed as your feet fell onto the carpeted floor at the bottom of the stairs. A crack of lighting made you jump. The wind and rain had gotten stronger, rattling the windows. There was another clatter, your head whipped towards the sound. It was coming from the cellar.

You never went down into the cellar in fear of what may be down there: bugs, rats, cobwebs. The mere prospect of going down into the cellar caused your already pounding heart to increase even more. But something was down there.

The door made a long creaking noise when you opened it. You stared down at the darkness. For a long moment you tried convincing yourself that when you’d walk down those steps nothing would be there. Or, that you would wake up in your warm bed and your dear husband would be beside you telling you it was ‘just a nightmare.’ Yes, that’s exactly what would happen.

Except that was not the case.

Your heel hovered over the first step before stepping down. The steps were cold, you could feel your breathing getting quicker. With each step the smell of the cellar filled your lungs—the smell of mildew and humid air. But there was another strong scent too, something foul, something that shouldn’t have been down there. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth as you gagged, tears immediately pricking at the corners of your eyes. It was the strong smell of decay, and of blood.

Reaching the last step your eyes moved around the cellar—that’s when your eyes caught the crouched figure in the corner. Although you had a candle in your hand, it was still quite difficult to really see what or who it was, you’d have to get closer.

You held the candle out further as you inched closer. Your eyes could just makeout a head of dark brown hair and the pale skin of someone’s back. Thin and thick scratch marks were littered across the skin, whoever it was seemed to be naked. The smell of blood became more apparent as well as an unnerving wet sound.

That was when you realized this wasn’t just some man.

“..Patrick?”

The wet-fleshy sound stopped and his head slowly turned.

His usually styled hair was tousled and damp as it stuck to his face. His entire beard was drenched, covered in blood and thick drool that fell to the stone floor beneath his feet. In his hands, he held something—intestines were hanging out of it’s stomach, a fistful of them in Patrick’s large hand. The fur was speckled black and white. You could’ve recognized that pattern from anywhere.

Oscar.

Before you could even cry out, the sound of shifting and cracking made you jolt as you tried your best to keep your grip tight around the candle still in your hand. “..Patrick? Patrick—“

He practically roared as he fell forward onto his knees, his hands clenched into the ground. The feeling of helplessness washed over you as you could only watch in horror as his bones shifted and cracked underneath his skin, dark, fur began to grow from out of his spine, spreading across his whole body—causing even more agonizing pain.

It finally stopped, your breath hitched.

His eyes found slid up to meet yours from the floor again, gods those eyes—so familiar and yet so different. His now clawed hands dragged against the floor, leaving thin white scratches in the stone as he dragged himself towards you.

“..Patrick, no—Patrick.” Your voice trembled as he got closer, until you felt a sharp stinging on your hand. The candle’s wax had melted onto your fingers. On instinct your hand recoiled back and the candle landed flat onto the floor. The room would’ve been pitch black if not for the small window in the cellar, the moonlight shining through it.

Your breathing was ragged as you stared at him, he looked as if he wanted to rip you apart—which would’ve felt impossible a few days ago, this was Patrick, your husband.

Perhaps that’s why it kept you from running back up the stairs and locking the cellar door tight, because despite the fangs and claws and fur, it was still Patrick.

“..Patrick, it’s—it’s me.” You tried for a gentle tone, but he was still moving closer. “You remember me don’t you? Oh, you must.” That did not seem to be the right response, he moved from off of his legs to stand tall in front of you, his chest rising up and down.

Something deep inside of you made you want to reach out and touch the dark fur covering his chest. But you hadn’t moved, yet.

His head tilted lightly, inside of his mouth—you could see each sharp tooth, the teeth that could oh so very easily rip out your throat if he wanted. But he didn’t do anything yet, perhaps Patrick did recognize you even in the state he was in.

He inched even closer and you closed your eyes. You could feel the warm press of his breath against your cheek and that metallic scent of blood, a thick rivulet of drool dripped down his chin. His clawed hand was moving up the front of your nightgown, the movement somewhat gentle.

A hot rush moved through you as his big, clawed hands traveled over your nightgown. In this very moment, fear may have been the last thing on your mind—perhaps it was the adrenaline. But that couldn’t explain the dampness you’d felt forming between your legs.

He was breathing heavily through his nose, before his hand suddenly moved and wrapped around your jaw.

You gasped softly at the feeling, it wasn’t forceful or rough, he just slowly tilted your head back. The blood from his hand smeared against your jaw and cheek. He pressed his nose against your pulse point as he inhaled deeply. You could hear a low rumbling sound from the back of his throat.

“..Yes—yes, it’s me. Patrick.” You coaxed, moving your head forward slightly to catch his eye. Then you felt the slick, slimy press of his tongue against your skin as he dragged his tongue from your collarbone to your upper jaw and you shuddered as goosebumps started rising on your skin and your cunt started getting wetter.

With trembling hands you moved to unlace the front of your nightgown, keeping your eyes on him—he hadn’t looked away, his chest still heaving with deep breaths.

You let the nightgown slip off of your body and into a pile on the ground. The cold air immediately made you shiver, your nipples hardening.

Before you could even really react two large clawed hands covered your breasts, squeezing at the soft skin and prodding at your nipples. You sucked in a sharp breath, trying to keep yourself still as you stared at him. Your eyes followed the thick string of drool that dripped from his mouth and onto your chest, sliding down your body.

You grabbed his hands in your trembling ones, gently guiding them down your body. You could feel the sharp edges of his claws graze drag down your body before finally reaching the tuft of hair between your legs, sliding his fingers between your damp folds.

Patrick seemed to falter for a moment, even in the state that he was in. His gaze was locked down on where his hand was, he could smell your arousal clearly.

“..Please, Patrick.” The sound of your voice brought his attention back to your face, his eyes darting quickly back and forth over your face. Although your husband was not fully himself, he was still aware enough to know who you were. He slowly dragged his hand back up your body, the blood on his hand leaving small streaks as he trailed his hand up, before stopping at your mouth. Instinctively, your mouth opened, your tongue flicking out to lick at them. You moaned softly at the taste, a mix of your arousal and the heady taste of blood.

“..Please.” You gave him the best look you could muster, your lips pressed against his fingers—anything to keep Patrick from tearing you apart right here.

And it seemed to be working.

He let out a low growl before he was picking you up and pinning you down against the damp stone floor, knocking the wind out of you for just a moment. You stumbled slightly as you tried to sit up, before his hand wrapped around your ankle and you yelped. He pulled you back towards him as he moved onto the ground above you, you could feel his cock pressing against your thigh.

His claws dug into the skin your thighs as he pulled you forward, pushing your legs back, “Patrick wait—oh!” But you were cut off when his head moved between your thighs and you whined.

His tongue moved across your pussy in frantic strokes, the foamy, thick spit dripping from his mouth mixing with your arousal. Your hips bucked around his mouth and you let out a squeak as you felt his sharp teeth brush over your clit, the feeling soothed away by the circle of his tongue over the bud—before taking it into his mouth.

“Oh! Oh gods, Patrick—” You mumbled out, moving one hand to grip at the damp strands of hair on his head, the other fumbling to press against the blood slicked floor beneath you. His movements were feral, as if he was trying to completely bury himself in the taste and scent of you. Instinctively, your hips began to buck up against his mouth, the coarse hair of his beard creating a delicious friction against your pulsing bundle of nerves. Your orgasm was rapidly approaching and all you could do was whine and squirm underneath your husbands mouth.

You knew that he could feel you getting close and he redoubled his efforts. The ground beneath you was wet with your juices, blood, and the spit from his mouth, yet this didn’t stop Patrick. You could hear him growl faintly, but nothing could’ve prepared you for his tongue sliding inside of your entrance, pushing and prodding at your inner walls.

“Oh my god!” Your orgasm washed over you suddenly and you cried out, your thighs clenching tightly around his head as you rode out your orgasm, pushing at his head when he continued licking at your cunt.

He finally pulled away, a thick strand of saliva connecting his lips to your cunt, before it broke away. His beard was drenched and his eyes were dilated. His hands tore into the remnants of his pants, ripping off the fabric completely.

Your insides clenched as your eyes followed the thick trail of hair that lead to his cock.

It stood proudly against his stomach, precum coming out the rosy tip in small spurts. It pulsed once, twice. Patrick had been a gifted man to begin with—but now, his cock looked almost intimidatingly big. You swallowed thickly, but didn’t ignore the way your clit pulsed at the sight.

He dragged your thighs to rest around his hips, which, you quickly surrendered to, moving to wrap your own arms around his back. The swollen tip of his cock pressed against your entrance and you squirmed.

And then he pushed inside of you and your brain melted.

His tip stretching inside had been enough, but now Patrick was fully inside, and the feeling was overwhelming. He hadn’t even given you a moment to adjust as he started to slam into you.

Intercourse with Patrick had always been a slow and gentle process. Your husband was ever dutiful when it came to you and your pleasure, putting it before his. A stark contrast to the rough fucking that you were receiving right now, this was hardly Patrick at all—just some savage beast taking what he wanted from you.

And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not with the copious amount of pleasure you were experiencing in this moment.

You were flushed, head was thrown back with your hair in disarray around you, and your stomach and chest were heaving desperately as you were being pounded into with a force that was inhuman. “Oh, oh yes, Patrick, please—” You could barely even focus in the moment, not on the gorey scene around you, or the feeling of his sharp claws digging into the sensitive skin of your hips as he moved you back and forth, the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of his cock dragging in and out of you and his balls wetly slapping against your ass after every thrust.

You could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching as his cock hit your cervix with every deep stroke. Deep, vicious growls came from Patrick’s clenched fangs, some of the drool dripping from his mouth and onto your breasts.

When the tip of his cock brushed against the sensitive spot inside you one more time, you shattered around him and screamed.

You clenched around his cock as he continued thrusting into your spasming walls, eyes rolling into the back of your skull. Your hands fumbled to find the fur on his back, digging into it as you pulled your trembling body closer to him.

His pace didn’t falter as he continued rocking into you, but you felt him twitching inside of you, a telltale sign of his impending orgasm.

“Please, give it to me—I want it, please, please, my love—” You babbled, the skin of your back scraping harshly against the rough floor beneath you. All of your senses were overpowered by the raw pleasure your husband was giving you.

And within a few more thrusts, you felt hot, thick spurts of his cum fill you completely, some overflowing and creating a creamy circle where his cock connected with your cunt.

You were finally able to breathe again.

Then Patrick’s mouth sunk into the skin just above your nipple and all you felt was the pressure and searing pain. His jagged fangs sunk in deep into your skin, tearing right through your flesh. Blood immediately spurted from the wound. You screamed.

But nobody heard you from inside the cellar. Of course they hadn’t.

If a passerby did hear it, they might’ve just mistaken it for a drunken person.

It was just another person fooling around at night trying to scare people, that was all it was.

[jimmysfingers]

kind of spicy??

— he’s already in me

you’d been visiting mr. mellors cabin more frequently, wanting to escape the suffocating place that was the wragby estate. it was a good place to run off to, the cabin was surrounded by greenery and the pheasants that were able to roam around. it was comforting, freeing, almost. the quiet company of oliver was also a good thing.

though you had no idea that the rugged gamekeeper who worked for your husband was skilled at drawing.

you wandered off to the cabin a few mornings ago, planning on checking on the pheasants or picking some of the flowers that grew nearby. instead, you discovered a journal.

it was a worn but well-loved book, the edges of some of the pages frayed and stained. curiously you opened it, and inside the pages were filled with drawings. most of them were sketches of varying things, plants, flossie, and a woman you could only assume to be oliver’s ex-wife who he had spoken briefly about.

“I didn’t know you could draw?” you continued flipping through the pages as you spoke, your eyes scanning over each illustration.

“..aye, m’lady.” he responded gruffly from where he stood nearby, mending the fence, “..used to do it a lot more. but, just stopped after some time.”

you just hummed in response. it was silent for a moment, before you turned your head to face him, “..they’re lovely, really.”

oliver paused at his task, finally looking back at you. he seemed surprised, “..really?”

you nodded, “really.” he just nodded lightly, turning back towards the fence. your fingers ran over the pages, bringing it closer to your face to examine each drawing carefully. you bit your lip, hesitating for a moment, before finally speaking, “would you draw me?”

he stilled again, turning to look at you. for a long moment, the two of you just regarded eachother, “you want me to draw you?”

the way oliver said it, you’d think you had asked him to do something much more than just draw you. your next words were soft, “..If you would, yes.”

he hesitated, as if he was weighing his options, before finally replying. “..alright.”

and that is how you ended up back inside oliver’s home.

he was already sitting down, twisting the pencil in his hand. he sat in a chair he’d pulled up beside the couch. he was waiting for you to finish.

you were standing near the couch, back turned to him. carefully, your fingers moved over the buttons on your dress, shrugging the material off when it loosened. you hadn’t worn a slip underneath, you wouldn’t need it anyways.

the dress slid onto the ground and into a pile at your feet, leaving you naked besides your stockings. you stood still for a moment, before finally turning to face him.

he looked up when he noticed you turn around. he hadn’t completely froze or turned red, his eyes just wandered over your entire form, lingering on your shoulders, your legs, your face.

he blinked once, before clearing his throat as he adjusted in the chair, “..you can, uhm, lay down. on the couch.”

his voice seemed to break you out of whatever spell you were in “oh, yes, right.” you moved to sit back on the cushions, the soft material conforming to your body’s natural curve. you pulled the pins holding up your hair, letting it fall down your shoulders. your eyes fell on your wedding ring wrapped around your finger, something made you take it off and place it on the table beside the couch. it felt as if a weight was lifted off your shoulders.

“..alright, just, lie back, yes, like that.” he murmured softly as he watched you get into a position. you rested your arms on top of the couch, twisting your torso towards him, stretching out your body, “..like this?”

“aye, stay like that. don’t move.” he leaned back slightly, adjusting the pencil in his grip as he grabbed the book. your eyes slid down to his fingers, watching them closely. if you imagined hard enough, you could almost feel them moving across your body. you swallowed dryly, willing away the thought as you attempted to hold still.

his eyes flickered back and forth between your body and the paper infront of him, it was quiet in the cabin besides the crackle of the fire and the sound of his pencil scraping against the page. he lightly furrowed his eyebrows as he focused on drawing your body, shading the soft curve of your breasts, the shadow going down your navel, the tuft of hair between your legs.

it was just you, and oliver, and the sun streaming through one of the cabin windows. it was strangely intimate.

everytime oliver looked up at you, you couldn’t help but smile lightly to yourself. “..do you do this a lot, mr. mellors?” you paused, shifting your hips, “draw the women of the men you work for naked?”

you swore you could see his lips curve into a small smile, but it was quick, “no.” he glanced up, before focusing back on the drawing, “just you.”

the sentence alone made your heart pound faster than it already was, you stayed quiet and his pencil just resumed it’s movements, the strokes quick and sure.

after a few minutes had passed, oliver exhaled as he moved to stand. “..alright, done.” he carefully ripped the page from the book, before holding it out to you.

you sat up from the couch and took it from his hands, your fingers gently brushing against eachothers while doing so. and when you saw the drawing, you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you. it perfectly encapsulated your very being.

the detail had almost taken your breath away. the soft lines of your face, the curves of your torso, your hands, the smooth lines of your legs, he even drew your birthmark. something about the immense detail put into it made you feel like for the first time in months, you were actually being seen.

you shook your head, gently running your fingers along the drawing, “..this is—wow, I—“ at this point, you were breathless. you finally looked up at him, “..this is perfect, thank you.”

he nodded his head, his eyes moving from you to the drawing, “..yeah? you like it?”

“yes, yes! of course I do.” you huffed softly, feeling the smile spread across your face. “..truly, this is—amazing.” you were staring at yourself on this page, everything laid bare, not just physically you, but emotionally.

oliver stared at you for just a moment longer, his eyes drifting back down to your body for a moment, before clearing his throat, moving back over to where he was standing before. he looked outside, seeing the sun starting to set, “..I suppose you should be getting back, my lady.”

his words broke you out of a daze, and that was when you seemed to remember you were still naked, your skin tingled, “..oh, right.” you stood quickly, gathering your dress from where it sat on the floor.

he didn’t look at you while you changed back into your clothes, as if he hadn’t already memorized your naked body. “I’ll walk you back.”

[addict3dangel]

[rigorwhoretis]

[jimmysfingers]

wip teehee :P

[heleruin]

Nosferatu

[heleruin]

[jimmysfingers]

mdni 18+

— angels of porn

(THIS WAS SOMEHWTA RUSHED AND NOT MY BEST SO IM SO SO SORRY GUYS!!)

sir lord jimmy crystal liked the control he had over the jimmie’s. they were his fingers, and they always did what they were told.

jimmy had a firm grip on the scruff of all of their necks being saint nick's son himself.

right now, he sat in front of the dingy mattress as the bed creaked and groaned under the weight of jimmy shite and you—one of his most prized fingers out of them all. you, were getting a gift, and jimmy crystal? was there to watch.

"..i know, i know, lass. feels good, doesn't it?" jimmy drawled with a smile, all of his perfectly grimy teeth showing as he leaned back in his chair. his eyes darted back and forth between you and jimmy shite.

the sound of flesh against flesh echoed in the small room as jimmy shite thrusted into you from behind, the wet slap of his balls hitting your clit with every thrust, he groaned as he grabbed your head, pushing it down against the mattress, you swore that you saw butterflies.

jimmy crystal's ring clad fingers gripped the crotch of his tracksuit pants, gingerly pumping his cock through the fabric. "tha's it, lass. feel it. ye see what ye can get? when ye listen? thank yer lord. fer allowin' ye both to do this."

you could only faintly hear jimmy shite respond, too focused on the feeling of his gummy tip brushing against your cervix, but after a light slap against your face you responded, “..thank you—ah, sir, feels ‘s good, thank you—” your words were slurring together at this point. the room was starting to morph together, your hair was starting to stick to your damp face, and more importantly, you knew you were gonna come soon.

“i’m gonna come—can i? can i please, sir?” you whined, lifting your head from the mattress to focus your eyes on jimmy crystal, practically begging for any type of reassurance.

he stays quiet as he continues watching you, his eyes flickering between you and jimmy shite—who is just as equally as fucked out as you.

jimmy sighed as he leaned further back in his chair, moving his hands away from his cock. he knew that he could tease you, because he knew you wouldn’t cum, not without his permission.

after a few seconds, he smiled and nodded, “..you can come.” and that was all it took.

jimmy shite thrusted deep into you one more time and your pussy clenched around him tight as you practically screamed, your slick gushing around his cock as you shook.

“..fuckk, yes, tha’s it, good girl.” jimmy groaned, his eyes locked on your pussy as it fluttered around jimmy shite’s cock. shortly after you came, you felt jimmy shite slide out of you and his cum dripping down onto your back.

after a moment of silence—you heard the creak of the floorboards. slowly, you opened your eyes, seeing your lord standing in front of you. “..did a good job, lass.” he murmured, his hand coming up to wipe some of your sweat-slicked hair away from your face, you just lifted your head, looking up at him with pretty little smile.

you knew that this wasn’t gonna be the last time this happened, and you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. because you knew that afterwards, jimmy would be there.

[jimmysfingers]

thinking about writing again!! GELP ME

cuckold jimmy crystal

munch patrick sumner

Voting ended onFeb 14