This story is based off the idea from the lovely scrumptious_chowder on TikTok. Please go look at her videos and bless her for this idea
This story includes: smut, smoking blunts, creame pies, daddy kink, shotgunning, and a sexy ass uncle Sunkuna.
"You are so fucking cute!" You said as you bounced a babbling baby Itadori on your knee. You liked this little kid, but his fucking uncle should be the one watching him.
Sukuna Ryomen.
Itadori's uncle and your friend of years. His crazy ass was currently too preoccupied in whatever the fuck was on TV rather than watching his nephew who he barely sees anyway. You turned your head to look at him sitting next to you on his couch.
"Shouldn't your ass be the one watching him?"
Without even looking at you he spoke. "You seem to be having fun with him. He don't need me."
You sucked your teeth. "That's not the point, Kuna. This is your nephew. Your brother dropped him off so you could spend time with him, not me."
Sukuna just shrugged one shoulder, eyes still glued to the TV. He was slouched back against the couch, legs spread wide in those grey sweats that sat low on his hips. Black tee hugging his chest and arms just right. The tattoo sleeves on both arms were on full display, dark ink curving over muscle every time he moved even slightly.
And he smelled...lord.
Whatever cologne he had on was doing too much. Too much to you atleast. Something spicy that kept floating your way every couple of seconds. You tried not to think about it.
Tried.
Baby Itadori grabbed at your necklace with his chubby little fingers and yanked, pulling your attention back to him. "Ow, hey, little man, that's not for you." You gently pried his hand off the chain and he let out the most dramatic whine. His little face scrunched up and his bottom lip poked out.
"See, now you got him started," Sukuna muttered from beside you.
"Excuse me? I got him started?" You shifted Itadori on your lap so he was facing you, bouncing him again to calm him down. "If you would actually hold your nephew for more than two seconds-"
"I held him when he got here."
"For like thirty seconds, Sukuna."
"That's still holding him."
You gave him the flattest look you could manage. He finally turned his head to look at you and had the nerve to smirk. That lazy, cocky smirk too. His eyes dropped to Itadori for a second, then back to you.
"He looks happy with you. Why would I mess that up?"
"Because he's your family, fool."
Sukuna exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite, and turned back to the TV. You rolled your eyes so hard you thought they'd get stuck. This man was ridiculous. Fine as hell, but ridiculous.
You'd known Sukuna since college. Met him at a house party sophomore year when he'd bumped into you and spilled half his drink on your shoes. Instead of apologizing like a normal person, he'd looked down at your feet, looked back at you, and said, "Those were ugly anyway." You'd cussed him out for a solid minute and he'd just stood there grinning. Been friends ever since, somehow. That was about six years ago now.
Six years of being around this man's face, his voice, his everything. Six years of pretending you didn't notice the way his jaw looked when he clenched it, or how his hands were big enough to wrap around your whole thigh. Six years of keeping it cool, keeping it friendly, and swallowing down whatever the fuck it was that sat in your chest every time he got too close.
Itadori started babbling again, slapping his hands against your thigh. "Da da da da-"
"Oh, you trying to talk now?" You leaned your face closer to his. "Say auntie. Aun-tie."
"Ba!" He smacked your cheek with his whole palm.
"Close enough." You kissed the top of his head, his little tuft of pink-ish hair tickling your nose. Kid had the most interesting hair color. Sukuna's phone buzzed on the coffee table and he reached for it, glancing at the screen. "Jin said he's on his way."
"Already? It's only been like two hours."
"That's two hours too long." Sukuna set the phone back down and looked at Itadori with this expression that was almost affectionate but mostly tired. "Love the kid. But he's loud as fuck."
"He's a baby. They're supposed to be loud."
"Nah, this one's different. He's got some lungs on him." Sukuna stretched his arms above his head and you caught a peek of skin where his tee rode up. Dark ink curving beneath his navel, a sliver of tan skin, the waistband of his boxers just barely visible above the sweats. You looked away real quick.
Not quick enough, apparently, because when you glanced back his eyes were on you. Just looking. Not saying anything. That smirk was gone but something sat in his expression, something warm, maybe, or just observant.
You couldn't tell.
"What?" you asked.
"Nothing."
"Why you looking at me like that then?"
"I can't look at you?"
"Not all weird like that, no."
He let out a low laugh. A real one this time, not that half-exhale thing he did. It rumbled out of his chest and you felt it in yours. "You look good with a baby on your lap. That's all."
Your face got warm. You bounced Itadori a little harder than necessary. "Boy, shut up."
"I'm just saying-"
"And I'm just saying shut up."
He raised his hands in surrender, still laughing under his breath. You couldn't help the smile that crept onto your face even as you tried to kill it. Itadori, sensing the energy shift, started bouncing himself on your knee and squealing like this was the greatest moment of his little life.
"See, now he's riled up," Sukuna said, nodding at the baby. "That's on you."
"He's having fun!"
"He's about to start screaming."
"No he's not, he's fine. Aren't you, baby?" You held Itadori up in the air and he kicked his little legs, giggling. "See? Happy."
Sukuna just shook his head. "Don't come crying to me when he starts losing it."
You ignored him and kept playing with the baby. You held Itadori against your chest and swayed a little, rubbing his back in circles. He grabbed a fistful of your hair this time, and stuffed some in his mouth before you could stop him.
"No no no-" You tugged it free gently and Itadori's face immediately crumpled. Lip trembling. Eyes watering. Oh no. "Oh shit. No, baby, it's okay-"
Too late.
The wail that came out of that tiny body was nuclear. Itadori threw his head back and screamed with everything he had, face turning red, tears popping out of nowhere.
Sukuna didn't even flinch. Just tilted his head and looked at you. "Told you."
"Shut the fuck up and help me!"
He sighed like you'd asked him to move a mountain, but he reached over and plucked Itadori right off your lap with one arm. One arm. Like the baby weighed nothing. He set Itadori against his chest, big hand covering the baby's entire back, and leaned into the couch.
"Chill," Sukuna said. Not to you. To the baby. And the crazy thing was, Itadori actually started calming down. The screaming dialed back to a whimper, then to a hiccup, then to nothing. The baby just buried his face in Sukuna's chest and went still, his little body rising and falling.
You stared. "How the hell did you do that?"
"I'm a good uncle." Sukuna's voice was lower now, almost soft. His hand moved in a slow circle on Itadori's back and the baby's eyes were already drooping. "When I wanna be."
Something about seeing this giant-ass man hold a baby like that with his tatted arm wrapped around the tiny body, his face relaxed, his voice quiet, it did something to you. You cleared your throat and looked at the TV.
"Yeah, well. Maybe you should've been holding him the whole time then."
"Maybe."
The doorbell rang about twenty minutes later. Itadori had fully passed out on Sukuna's chest by then, little mouth open, drooling on his uncle's black tee. Sukuna looked down at the wet spot forming on his shirt.
"This kid, man." He shook his head but there was no real annoyance in it. He looked at you. "Get the door for me?"
"Now I'm the one doing stuff?"
"My nephew is sleeping on me. You want me to wake him up?"
You narrowed your eyes but got up anyway, stepping over to the front door and pulling it open. Jin stood on the other side with his car keys in hand. Itadori's dad looked a lot like Sukuna, same bone structure, same height, but with a warmer face and softer eyes. Where Sukuna had a damn attitude most of the time, Jin was gentle. Easy to talk to.
"Hey, Y/n!" Jin smiled wide. "How's my little man been?"
"He was an angel. Just fell asleep like five minutes ago." You stepped aside to let him in.
Jin walked into the apartment and spotted Sukuna on the couch with Itadori knocked out on his chest. His whole face lit up. "Look at that. Uncle of the year."
"Fuck outta here," Sukuna said, but there was no bite to it.
Jin walked over and carefully peeled Itadori off Sukuna's chest. The baby stirred, made a small noise, then settled right back into sleep against his father's shoulder. Jin was already pulling a little blanket from the diaper bag slung over his arm, wrapping it around the sleeping baby.
"He eat?" Jin asked.
"Yeah, Y/n fed him earlier," Sukuna said, sitting up and stretching. "He had some of that mashed pea shit."
"The organic ones?"
"Man, I don't know. Green stuff in a jar."
Jin laughed and looked at you. "Thanks for actually taking care of him."
"Somebody had to," you said with a pointed look at Sukuna, who flipped you off without turning around.
Jin lingered for a few minutes, leaning against the arm of the couch while Itadori slept on his shoulder. He talked about work, something about a new project at his engineering firm, and asked Sukuna about some fight he'd apparently gotten into at the gym last week.
"It wasn't a fight," Sukuna said. "Dude was talking shit and I corrected him."
Jin sighed. "You're gonna get banned."
"Then I'll find another gym."
You sat in the chair across from them, legs tucked under you, watching the brothers go back and forth. They had this dynamic that was entertaining. Jin trying to be the responsible one, Sukuna not giving a single fuck. It was funny because underneath all the attitude, Sukuna actually did care about his brother. He just had a weird way of showing it.
After a few more minutes of catching up, Jin adjusted Itadori on his shoulder and grabbed the diaper bag. "Alright, let me get this little man home before it gets too late. Y/n, always good to see you."
"You too, Jin. Drive safe."
He headed for the door and Sukuna got up to walk him out. You heard them exchange a few more words in the hallway, something you couldn't quite make out, then a laugh from Jin, before the door shut. The lock clicked.
And just like that, the apartment was different.
It was weird how fast the energy shifted. A minute ago there was a whole baby here, conversations happening, that comfortable group atmosphere. Now it was just you and Sukuna and the TV casting blue-white light across the room. The kitchen light was on too. That warm yellow glow spilling from around the corner. The rest of the apartment sat in low shadows.
Sukuna came back into the living room and dropped himself onto the couch like his bones were made of concrete. He groaned, tipping his head back against the cushion, eyes closing.
"God damn. I love that kid but I'm tired."
You laughed from the opposite end of the couch, your legs stretched out in front of you on the cushions. "You barely did anything."
"Emotional labor." He cracked one eye open. "That's still labor."
"You so damn dramatic."
He closed his eye again and sat like that for a second, just breathing. Then he leaned forward, reaching for the coffee table. You watched his hands as he pulled out a small wooden tray, a baggie, a pack of wraps, and a lighter. He set everything up methodically, arranging it all within arm's reach, and leaned back again.
"You want one?" he asked, already splitting the wrap down the middle with his thumbnail.
"You rolling me one?"
"Wouldn't have asked if I wasn't."
"Then yeah."
He started working. His fingers, long, tatted across the knuckles, moved in such an intoxicating way. He broke the weed up, letting it crumble between his fingertips onto the tray, separating stems without even looking. He picked up the wrap and loaded it, tucking and rolling in a smooth motion. There was something about watching him do this. His brow furrowed just slightly, tongue dragging along the edge of the wrap to seal it. Just his tongue. Just the tip of it, running slow across the paper.
You almost moaned at the sight of it.
You shifted on the couch and pulled your eyes away. Behind you, well, behind Sukuna, really, his radio sat on the little bookshelf against the wall, playing low. He had it playing even before Itadori left. Your shocked the baby could even sleep through the music.
Sukuna finished the blunt and set it on the tray. Started rolling a second one.
"That one's yours," he said, nodding at the first.
"Thank you."
"Mhm."
The apartment felt smaller now. Or maybe not smaller, just more... concentrated. With the TV on low volume and the music layered over it, with the kitchen light being the only real light source, everything seemed to shrink inward. Like the room was pulling in on itself, leaving just the couch, just the two of you.
You were sitting on the opposite end of the couch with your back against the armrest, legs stretched out along the cushions. Your toes were maybe a foot from his thigh. You were in your leggings and an oversized crop top that showed a strip of your stomach when you shifted. You could feel your lip gloss still intact, you'd reapplied it while Jin was here out of habit.
Sukuna finished rolling the second blunt and brought it to his lips. He lit it, cheeks hollowing as he took the first pull. Smoke curled from his mouth when he exhaled, and the smell mixed with his cologne in a way that went straight to your head.
He took another pull and his eyes finally found yours. Just landed on you. No particular reason. No lead-up. He was just looking. And you were looking back.
You didn't look away from him and he didn't look away from you and for a few seconds neither of you said anything.
Your foot moved. Barely. Just a small shift of your leg that brought your toes against the side of his thigh. Touching him through the thin fabric of his sweats. You felt the warmth of his skin underneath.
You didn't pull away.
His eyes dropped to where your foot rested against him. Stayed there. Then came back up to your face. That smirk appeared, but different this time. Not the cocky one from earlier. This one was slower. Lazier. His eyelids were low, pupils dark, and the blunt sat between his lips trailing a thin line of smoke.
His free hand came down. Fingers wrapped around your ankle. Just held it. His palm was warm and big, his grip loose but intentional. He just held you there for a second, thumb dragging one slow circle against your ankle bone while he watched your face. Testing. Waiting to see what you'd do.
Your breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. You didn't move away. Didn't say anything. Just looked at him with your lips slightly parted and your heart thumping behind your ribs.
Then he pulled.
One smooth motion. His hand tightened around your ankle and he dragged you toward him across the couch cushions. Your back slid down from the armrest, your body closing the distance between you until your legs were practically in his lap. Your ass was against his thigh. Your legs bent over his.
"Sukuna—"
He took the blunt from his lips and tapped the ash into the tray on the coffee table without looking, eyes still locked on yours. His hand didn't leave your leg. It just moved. From your ankle, up over your calf. Slow. His palm slid over the curve of your shin, the inside of your knee. Fingers tracing along the inside of your thigh through the leggings. Each inch of movement felt like it lasted a full minute. You could feel every single one of his fingertips.
Index finger.
Middle.
Ring finger.
Pinky.
And thumb.
Your chest rose and fell faster than you wanted it to. You tried to play it cool but your body was doing its own thing. Heat was spreading from wherever he touched you, pooling in your lower stomach and between your legs. Your thighs tensed under his hand and he noticed, of course he noticed, and his smirk deepened.
He brought the blunt back to his lips. Inhaled. The cherry glowed bright for a second, then dimmed. He pulled the blunt away and held the smoke in his chest, eyes on you the whole time. His hand was still on your inner thigh, fingertips inches from where your pulse was beating the hardest.
"Open your mouth," he said. Low. Almost a whisper.
You did.
You didn't even think about it. Your lips parted and your chin tilted up and you just opened. For him.
Sukuna leaned in. Close. His face right there, inches from yours. You could see every detail of his face. From he sharp line of his jaw, the tiny scar above his left eyebrow, the way his lashes fanned when he looked down at your lips. His mouth hovered over yours, your lips grazing eachother, and then he exhaled.
The smoke poured from his lips into your mouth. It was addictive. Intoxicating. It was making your head spin and your thighs clench from how sexy and intimate this was. You breathed it in, tasting it, tasting him underneath it. The smoke filled your lungs and you held it there while his eyes stayed on your mouth.
You exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting up between your faces, and neither of you moved back. He was right there. Right fucking there. His nose almost touching yours, his breath on your lips. The blunt was still in his other hand, forgotten, burning down.
"Been needing to do that," he murmured.
"The shotgun?"
His thumb traced a circle on your inner thigh. Higher now. Dangerously high. "Nah. Get you this close. I've been playing for too fucking long."
Your body felt like it was vibrating. Every nerve ending was awake, every sense dialed to maximum. The music was still playing behind him but it sounded far away now, like it was coming from a different room. The only thing that you felt right now was his breath on your skin and his hand on your thigh and the shrinking space between your mouths.
"Then stop playing," you whispered.
You didn't even recognize your own voice. It came out breathy, wanting, different from how you usually sounded around him.
His eyes flickered. Something shifted behind them, something that had been kept locked away, maybe, or held back on purpose. He closed the gap.
His mouth landed on yours and your whole brain went blank. His lips were warm and full and he kissed you like he'd thought about exactly how he wanted to do this. Like he'd planned every angle, every movement. His bottom lip dragged across yours, pulling at your gloss, smearing it, and he tilted his head to deepen it. You felt his tongue trace the seam of your lips and you opened for him again, letting him in.
He tasted like the blunt. Earthy and sweet. His tongue moved against yours, unhurried, licking into your mouth like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. Your hand came up to his jaw on instinct, fingers curling along the bone, pulling him closer. A sound escaped you, and his grip on your thigh tightened in response.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, which wasn't that far away at all. His eyes were barely open, looking at you from under his lashes, and his lips were slick with your gloss.
"Shit," he breathed. "Your lips are fuckin' soft."
You couldn't even form words. You just pulled him back in.
The second kiss was harder. Messier. His hand left your thigh and slid up to your waist, gripping, pulling your body into his. You twisted on the couch until you were half in his lap, your chest against his, your hands fisting the fabric of his tee at his shoulders. He kissed you deep, tongue and teeth, his bottom lip caught between yours, then yours caught between his. He bit down just enough to sting and you gasped into his mouth.
"Mm." The sound he made vibrated against your lips. His other hand, the one that had been holding the blunt, reached blindly for the tray and set it down. Both hands free now. Both hands on you. One on your waist, one sliding down to your ass, palming it through your leggings, squeezing.
"Fuck," you breathed, arching into him.
"Yeah?" His voice was right against your ear now, lips brushing the sensitive skin just below it. "Tell me what you want."
Your fingers dug into his shoulders. "I want you to stop playing with me."
He laughed right into your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, then his lips, open-mouthed, wet, traveled down the column of your throat. Kissing, tasting. His tongue flicked against your pulse point and you full-body shuddered.
"Nah," he said between kisses. "I waited too long for this. I'm taking my fucking time."
His hands gripped your hips and lifted you, effortless, like you weighed nothing, repositioning you so you were fully straddling his lap. Your knees sank into the cushions on either side of his thighs. The new position put you right on top of him and you could feel..oh god, you could feel him.
Through his sweats, through your leggings. He was already hard, the print of him straining against the fabric, and he was big. Like noticeably, ridiculously big. He was so big that it made your eyes go wide and your breath stutter.
His hands settled on your hips and he rocked you forward. Just a little. Just enough to drag you against the length of his clothed dick. The friction sent a zap straight through your core and a moan slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it.
"Ahhh-fuck, Kuna."
His jaw clenched. His fingers dug into your hips. "Say that shit again."
You rolled your hips on your own this time, grinding down against him, feeling every inch of him through the layers. "Kuna… shit…"
"Just like that." His head tipped back against the couch and his throat was exposed, the long line of it, the tattoos crawling up the side. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. His eyes were barely open, watching you on top of him, watching your body move. "Look at you. Riding me and I ain't even inside you yet."
Your clit was throbbing.
The friction from your leggings and his sweats wasn't enough, it was too much and not enough at the same time. You could feel how wet you were getting, the slickness building between your folds, starting to seep through the thin fabric of your panties. You ground down harder and a strangled noise came out of him. It was like half a groan,and half a growl. It literally made your pussy clench around nothing.
His hands slid from your hips to your ass. Both palms. He squeezed, hard, spreading your cheeks apart slightly, pulling you tighter against him so you could feel the full imprint of his dick against your center.
"Kuna-mmm-" Your nails raked down the front of his chest through his tee.
He sat up, bringing his face to your neck again, biting down on the spot where your shoulder met your throat. Not gentle. You yelped and your hips bucked and he groaned against your skin.
"Take this shit off," he said, tugging at the hem of your crop top.
You pulled it over your head and tossed it somewhere behind you. Your hair fell around your shoulders and his eyes dropped to your chest. You were wearing a simple black bra, nothing fancy cause you honestly weren't expecting this to happen. But the way he looked at you made you feel like you were wearing something worth millions. His gaze traveled over the swell of your breasts, the s/c of your skin, the way your stomach curved into your waist.
"God damn." He said it under his breath, almost to himself. His hands came up from your ass to your sides, sliding up your bare skin, thumbs tracing the undersides of your breasts through the bra. Your nipples were already stiff, poking against the fabric, and when his thumbs brushed over them you sucked in a breath.
He looked up at your face. Your lips were swollen from kissing, your gloss completely ruined, and your eyes were half-closed. He reached around and unclasped your bra with one hand, like it was nothing, like he'd done it a million times, and you let it slide off your arms.
Your breasts fell free and his whole expression changed. His eyes darkened. His tongue swept across his bottom lip.
"Come here," he said, and before you could move he was already pulling you forward, bringing your chest to his face. His mouth closed around your left nipple and you arched your back, a whimper escaping that you couldn't have held in if you tried.
"Ohhh-mmm-" Your hand flew to the back of his head, fingers gripping the short hair there.
He sucked. Hard. His tongue swirling around the peak before his teeth caught it gently, tugging. Then he switched to the other one, giving it the same treatment. It was wet, sloppy, and noisy. You could hear the sounds his mouth made against your skin and it was doing things to you. Your hips were moving in his lap on their own, grinding against him in slow, desperate circles.
His hand came down on your ass. Not soft. A full slap that cracked through the room and made you jolt forward with a gasp.
"Ah!"
"Keep moving like that," he said, mouth still on your breast. Another slap. Harder. The sting bloomed hot across your skin and mixed with the pleasure until you couldn't separate them. "Wanna feel you on my dick."
"Fuck, daddy-" It slipped out. You didn't plan it. The word just fell from your lips like it belonged there and the reaction was instantaneous. Sukuna's entire body went rigid underneath you. His mouth pulled off your breast and he looked up at you with something in his eyes that made your stomach drop in the best way.
"What'd you call me?"
Your face was on fire but you were too turned on to be embarrassed. You rolled your hips against his print again, feeling him twitch underneath you. "Daddy."
His hand came up to your throat. Not squeezing. Just resting there. His thumb pressed against the hinge of your jaw, tilting your face down to his.
"Again."
"Daddy."
He kissed you so hard your teeth almost clashed. Both his hands went to the waistband of your leggings and started yanking them down over your ass. You had to lift up on your knees to help him get them off, and it turned into this whole thing. Him pulling, you wriggling, the leggings getting caught on your ankles until you kicked them free. You were left in just your panties. Black lace. Already soaked through.
He looked down between your bodies and his jaw tightened. He could see it. The dark spot where you'd been leaking through the fabric, the way the lace clung to you, outlining everything, the shape of your pussy lips, the way they were swollen and puffy from how turned on you were.
"All that for me?" His voice was strained.
"Been like that since you grabbed my ankle."
His thumb hooked into your panties and tugged them to the side. The air hit your bare pussy and you shivered. He looked down at you, really looked, and the sound he made was guttural. Your lips were s/c, pretty, slick and glistening, wetness coating everything. Your clit was swollen, peeking out between your folds.
"Prettiest fucking pussy." His thumb slid through your slit, from bottom to top, collecting wetness. Slow. So fucking slow you thought you might lose your mind. When he reached your clit he circled it once and your thighs trembled on either side of him.
"Ohhh my god-please-"
"Please what?" He circled your clit again. Barely any pressure. Enough to make you feel it but not enough to satisfy anything. "Use your words, baby."
"Touch me. Fuck...please just touch me-"
"I am touching you."
You whined. Literally whined like a brat and he grinned before he pushed two fingers inside you without warning.
"AHHH- shit!" Your hands slammed down on his shoulders and your back arched. His fingers were long and they went deep, curling upward on the first stroke, pressing against that spot like he already knew exactly where it was.
"There she is," he murmured, watching your face twist. "That's what you wanted, huh?"
His fingers pumped in and out. Slow but forceful. Each thrust made a wet, lewd sound that filled the room
Your pussy was squelching, slick, the sight was fucking obscene. You could hear how wet you were and it made your face burn.
"Listen to that shit." He pulled his fingers almost all the way out and pushed them back in. The noise was filthy. "This pussy is soaked. Been thinking about me, haven't you?"
"Y-yes—fuck—yesss—"
"How long?"
You could barely think. His thumb found your clit again, pressing and circling while his fingers worked inside you. Your walls were clenching around him, pulling him deeper. "Long...a long time- mmm-"
"How. Long." Each word punctuated with a curl of his fingers.
"Years—oh shit—fucking years, Kuna—AHHH—"
His free hand slapped your ass again and the combination of the slap, his fingers, and his thumb on your clit, sent a wave through you that made your vision blur. You were riding his hand now, hips rocking, chasing it, not caring how you looked or sounded.
"That's right. Ride daddy's fingers. Just like that." His voice was low, rough, and right in your ear. "Feel how tight this shit is? How am I gonna fit?"
The mention of his size, the implication of what was coming, made you clench so hard around his fingers that he groaned.
"Fuck, baby. You hear yourself right now? This pussy is talking."
She was.
Every stroke of his fingers produced another wet, sloppy sound. Your juices were running down his hand, dripping onto his grey sweats, leaving a dark spot on the fabric. You couldn't even be embarrassed about it. You were too far gone.
He pulled his fingers out and you almost cried at the emptiness. He held them up between your faces, his index and middle finger coated and shiny, strings of wetness connecting them when he spread them apart.
"Open."
You opened your mouth and he slid both fingers onto your tongue. You tasted yourself and sucked his fingers clean while looking directly into his eyes. His chest rose sharply. His dick twitched against your bare pussy and you both felt it, the heat of him against your exposed, swollen lips.
"You're nasty," he said, pulling his fingers from your mouth. But the way he said it wasn't an insult.
"Put it in me." You weren't asking. Your hands went to the waistband of his sweats and started pulling them down. He lifted his hips to help and when his dick sprang free, you felt your throat go dry.
Jesus Christ.
He was big. Not just big, this man was gifted in a way that should be studied. Long, impossibly girthy, with a slight upward curve. The head was dark and swollen, already leaking. Veins ran along the underside and light hair above it. Your hand barely wrapped around it when you gripped the base and he hissed through his teeth.
"Shit—"
"How the fuck is this gonna fit?" You stroked him, your small hand moving up his length, thumb swiping over the tip to spread the pre-cum. He was so warm in your palm. Pulsing too.
You had that effect on him. Just you.
"We're gonna make it fit."
He pulled your panties to the side again and gripped his dick, dragging the tip through your slit. Up and down, coating himself in your wetness, nudging against your clit on every pass. You bit your bottom lip so hard you thought you'd break through.
"Mmm—just put it in—"
"Nah. I told you." He notched the head at your entrance, pushing just barely. Just the tip. Stretching you open around the widest part. "I'm taking my time."
Your mouth fell open in a silent moan. He pushed in another inch and the stretch was, god, it was a lot. Your walls were fighting to accommodate him, clenching and releasing, and you could feel every ridge, every vein, you thought you were gonna cum right then and there.
"Relax for me." His hand came up to cup your face. Thumb stroking your cheek. "Look at me, baby. Right here."
You met his eyes and he pushed in further. Inch by slow inch, filling you so good that it made your toes curl against the couch cushions. Your mouth hung open, small breaths and whimpers falling out of you with every bit he gave you.
"Oh—oh fuck—ohhh my god, Kuna—you're so fucking big—"
"Take it." His voice was strained. The muscle in his jaw was ticking. He was holding back, you could tell, trying not to just slam into you. "You can take it, baby. Almost there."
When he bottomed out, you both went still. You were sitting fully in his lap with every inch of him buried inside you and you felt so full you couldn't breathe. Your walls were stretched impossibly tight around him, fluttering, adjusting. You could feel him in your stomach, or at least it felt like it.
"Fuck," you whimpered. "Fuck fuck fuck."
"Yeah." His forehead dropped against yours. His breath was ragged. "I know."
You sat like that for a moment. Just breathing. Feeling each other. Then you rolled your hips. Tiny, experimental. And the moan that ripped out of you was embarrassing.
"OHHH—daddy—"
"Mmm—shit..." His hands locked on your hips and he guided your movement. Slow rolls, back and forth, his dick dragging against your walls with every motion. The friction was indescribable. You were so wet that each stroke was smooth despite how tight the fit was, and the sound, god, the sound of your pussy taking him was pornographic.
Wet. Sloppy. Loud.
"You hear that?" He gripped your ass and pulled you forward hard, grinding you down on him. "That's all you, baby. This pussy is creaming on me already."
You looked down between your bodies and sure enough a ring of white was forming at the base of his dick, your cream coating him every time you rose up. It was filthy. It was hot.
You started bouncing. Lifting yourself up on your knees and dropping back down, taking him deep every time. The slap of skin was obscene as your ass was hitting his thighs, the wet sucking sound of your pussy gripping him, and the creak of the couch under the force of your movement.
"AH—AH—AHHH—fuck—daddy—mmmm—" Your moans were out of control. You couldn't keep them in. Every downstroke hit something inside you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.
Sukuna's head fell back against the couch. His abs were tight under his tee, his hands bruising your hips as he helped you bounce. "Ride that shit. Just like that—fuck—this pussy is so goddamn tight-"
He sat up suddenly, wrapping one arm around your waist, and flipped you. Your back hit the couch and he was on top of you, between your legs, still buried inside. The new angle made him sink even deeper and you choked on a moan.
"OHHH—"
He didn't give you time to adjust. He pulled back and drove into you,hard, and your whole body jerked up the couch.
"FUCK!"
"Yeah?" He pulled back and slammed in again. The sound was filthy. "That's what you wanted?"
"Yes—yes—oh my god yes—"
He started fucking you.
No other word for it. Deep, rough strokes that had the couch rocking, had your tits bouncing, had your hair splayed across the cushion while you grabbed at anything you could. You grabbed his arms, his shirt, even the couch itself.
His hand came up to your throat again. This time he squeezed. Just enough to make everything sharper. You could feel every inch of pleasure. You felt the fullness of his dick and the sound of his hips snapping against yours.
"Look at me," he growled. "Don't close them eyes."
You forced them open. His face was right above yours, sweat beading at his temples, and the look in his eyes was feral. There was no other word. He was watching your face crumble with every thrust and getting off on it.
Every tear.
Every moan.
Every flutter of your eyelashes.
"You look so pretty taking this dick." He thrust harder and you screamed. Literally screamed. "Let the whole building hear you. Who this pussy belong to?
"AHHH—DADDY—OH MY GOD—YOU KUNA!"
He slapped your thigh. Hard. Then grabbed behind your knee and pushed your leg up toward your chest, folding you, opening you wider. The angle changed and suddenly he was hitting your g-spot on every single stroke and you lost it.
"I'm—I'm gonna—KUNA—I'm gonna cum—"
"Cum on this dick." He didn't slow down. If anything he went harder, the sound of skin slapping filling the entire apartment. His thumb found your clit and rubbed frantic circles. "Give it to me."
It hit you like a freight train. Your whole body locked up, your back arched off the couch, thighs shaking, walls clamping down on him so hard he grunted through his teeth. You came with a scream that didn't even sound like you, your pussy pulsing and gushing around him, making the wettest, sloppiest sounds as he kept pumping through your orgasm.
"Ohhh fuuuuck—that's it—fuck—" He was close. You could feel it in the way his strokes got sloppy, the way his rhythm faltered. His face dropped into your neck and his hips slammed into you three more times, before he buried himself deep and came with a groan that vibrated through your entire body.
"Fuuuck—" The word dragged out of him, broken and raw.
You both lay there. Heaving. Drenched in sweat. The TV was still on. The music was still playing. The kitchen light still glowed warm and golden.
Sukuna's body was draped over yours, his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His arms were on either side of your head. Your legs were still wrapped around him and he was still inside you, softening now but neither of you moved to separate.
Your hand came up and ran along the back of his neck. His skin was damp. He made a small sound, content, almost, and nuzzled deeper into your throat.
"Kuna," you whispered.
"Mm."
"That blunt is still burning on the tray."
A beat of silence. Then he laughed. He lifted his head just enough to look over at the coffee table, where the blunt he'd set down earlier had indeed burned down to a nub, ash scattered across the wooden tray.
"Shit." He looked back at you. His eyes were soft. Sleepy. That usual sharpness gone, replaced by something you'd never seen on him before. Devotion. "That's your fault."
"How is that my fault?"
"You put your foot on my leg."
You grinned. "And you grabbed my ankle."
He kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then your lips, lazy, slow, tasting like weed and you.
"Roll another one?" you murmured against his mouth.
"Give me five minutes." He dropped his head back into your neck. "I can't feel my legs."
You laughed, wrapping your arms around his broad back, your nails tracing light lines over his tattoos through his tee. The music played on as you lifted your head to ask a question. "So what are we now, Kuna?" The light from the kitchen cast long, golden shadows across the living room floor as he closed his eyes, sighing. "Together. Problem?"
"Not at all."
And somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized that six years of pretending had just come crashing to an end on this man's couch.
hello hello! This may or may not be quite a bit so it’s okay if you don’t wanna do this! :3
So it could be a Jean x reader, a Reiner x reader or Jean x reader x Reiner (it don’t really matter which one you do:) )
it’s a modern day setting Jean/Reiner are cowboys in some random ahh middle of nowhere where town and reader is this hot shot shark lawyer (gender neutral reader so all can enjoy) and they’re in town to visit some family. They’re very strong in the sense that they won’t just leave their life for some country man and at first they are very off put by all their cowboyness and country charm. Reader is used to being in control of a court room a meeting or anything (very high class fancy lawyer vibes) but over time the boys get used to them and they get used to them.
eventually falling for eachother reader doesnt want to give up their career for some guy and doesnt wanna leave the city
This could have smut in it (that’s up to you!), but mainly fluff if that’s okay!
im so sorry if this is long, I hope you like it :3
I could definitely write this. I was thinking maybe fluff for this one for sure
I have a story idea but yk idk if it’s too weird or freaky so feel free to not do this!!
So the reader is like a ceo at a company yk super bad bitch vibes and Nanami is her secretary and he’s secretly DOWN BAD for her so he literally brings her flowers and stuff like making sure her coffees always hot, basically he’s trying to prove his love to her but in a subtle way cause he knows it’s unethical etc. If you’re not comfortable with writing smut it can be super fluffy then!
Synopsis: As a lounge singer, you see many captivating faces in the crowd, but none are as captivating as the man with the green eyes. He always watches from the far back, making your knees weak
But what happens when he finds you after the curtains close?
Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, strangers to lovers, vampire!eren, vampire bites are an aphrodisiac, mutual pining, scent kink, blood kink, blood sucking from neck, implied masturbation, oral fingering, handjob, Exhibitionism, spit, Dacryphilia.
Word count: 12,483!
The air in the lounge was warm tonight, smelling of spilled gin, expensive perfume, and the ever-present cloud of cigarette smoke that hung just below the gilded ceiling. It was just part of the scenery, like the worn velvet of the booths or the soft gleam of the brass foot-rail along the bar.
Low light from frosted glass sconces cast long, shifting shadows across the room, accompanied by the murmur of conversations. At a corner table, a group of men in tailored suits argued over a poker hand. Near the stage, a woman in a feathered headband laughed with her friends.
It was another Friday night at The Pixis Palladium, full of the same kind of people with the same kind of wants.
A drink, a game, a distraction.
You stood in the narrow space behind the crimson stage curtain, your right foot tapping on the dusty floorboards. You could hear the band finishing their last instrumental number. The number even had a few couples up and swaying. You took a slow breath. You were adorned in a deep red number with a drop waist and delicate beading that caught what little light there was back here. Your fingers went to your hair just to check.
It was pinned up in careful waves, a few artful curls escaping to frame your face. The makeup girl, Sadie, had done her usual magic, giving you a cupid’s bow lip and smoky eyes that made you look enchanting.
“Five seconds, doll,” a stagehand whispered. You nodded.
The music faded. The master of ceremonies, a portly man named Arthur with a booming voice, stepped into the spotlight’s white circle.
“And now, the voice that turns our whiskey to honey, the lady who makes our hearts beat a little faster… give a warm welcome to our own songbird!”
The applause was polite, punctuated by a few whistles from the usual hecklers near the front. You smoothed your hands down your dress. A smile, one you’d practiced a thousand times in the mirror, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes, settled on your face. You pushed through the heavy curtain.
The light was as blinding at first but after you blinked just a few times, you could see better. You smiled as you walked to the center of the stage, your low heels clicking softly. You lifted a hand in a small wave, your eyes scanning the crowd as they always did, taking in the blurred faces in the dark beyond the stage lights.
"Sing for us dollface!"
"Come on pretty lady!"
Out of all the mens voices and whistles, your eyes immediately looked up and just a few seats back.
And then you found him. Like you always did now.
He was seated at a small round table for two near the back, far from the busiest part of the room. But the shadows didn’t seem to cling to him. His silhouette was as clear as the bright moon in the sky. He sat with one arm draped over the back of the empty chair beside him.
In his other hand, he held a glass of something dark. Whiskey, you guessed. His hair was dark and brushed back from a strong, handsome face. But it was his eyes you always found first.
Green as fresh spring grass, as emeralds pulled from the earth. They stared at you from a table midway back, positioned perfectly in your line of sight.
Your smile faltered for just a heartbeat before you locked it back in place.
There you are.
The man with the green eyes. He’d been coming for months. At first, you’d noticed him because he was so still. Everyone else fidgeted, talked, drank, laughed. He just watched. And he watched you. It wasn’t a leer, not like some of the men who came to see the “girl singer.” It was just so focused that it managed to make your skin prickle every single time.
You turned slightly to nod at the bandleader, Mr. Hoover. He gave a little nod back, his fingers poised over the piano keys. You turned back to the audience, finding those green eyes again. You let your gaze rest there for a second longer than you would with anyone else.
His eyes were just so hauntingly captivating.
A corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction.
You opened your mouth, and the first notes of “Ain’t Misbehavin’” came out. The band slid in perfectly behind you. You let the music take over, swaying gently with the beat, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the microphone stand. You performed the song, hitting the notes, putting in the little shrugs and winks the audience expected. "I'm saving my love for you."
More whistles and dog shouts erupted from the crowd.
Your eyes roamed the crowd, making brief contact with a smiling couple here, a nodding older gentleman there. But your attention, like a compass needle, kept swinging back to the back table.
He hadn’t moved. He brought the glass to his lips and took a slow sip. His eyes never left yours. Not when a man at a nearby table let out a loud guffaw at a joke. Not when a waitress passed right in front of his table, blocking his view for a moment. His gaze was a fixed point. You feltlikeas if he was touching you.
It was unnerving.
It was exhilarating.
It made you put a little more ache into the song. As you sang your eyes met his, and for a wild second, you felt like you were singing the words directly to him. Seemed as if you were.
During a particularly soft bridge, you saw him take another drink. This time, a drop of the dark liquid escaped the rim of the glass and traced a path down his lower lip, over the faintest shadow of stubble on his chin. He didn’t seem to notice at first, his eyes still locked on you. Then, with a slow, agonizing movement, he lifted his thumb and wiped the droplet away. His eyes finally broke from yours, glancing down at his thumb. He brought it to his mouth and sucked the whiskey off it, his gaze sliding back up to meet yours as he did so.
The action was mundane, but something about the way he did it, almost made you gasp, but you were a professional.
The rest of your set passed in a blur of melody, cheers, and hoots. You finished with an upbeat number, “I Can’t Give You Anything But Love,” blowing a kiss to the audience as the applause swelled. You gave a final bow, your eyes sweeping the room one last time. He was clapping, slowly, three times. Just three. Then he set his glass down, before licking his lips.
You retreated behind the curtain, the cacophony of the lounge muffling as you heard Aruther walk up to speak again. Your heart was beating a little too fast.
“Knocked ‘em dead again, honey,” Sadie said, passing you with an armful of costume hangers. She winked. “Especially that tall drink of water in the back. I saw him looking. Hell, everyone saw him looking.”
You managed a laugh, but it sounded breathy. “He’s just a regular.”
“Some regular,” she said, her voice dropping. “Kinda gives me the creeps, but damn if he isn’t pretty to look at.”
You didn’t answer, just made your way to the small, cluttered dressing room you shared with two other girls. You sat at your mirror, staring at your own reflection. The slightly smudged eyeliner, the red lipstick still intact. You unclipped your hair, letting the waves fall around your shoulders with a sigh.
The night came to an end as it always does. Sounds if the men stacking chairs, cleaning glasses, and the band packing up their instruments. You changed out of the beaded dress, hanging it carefully, and pulled on your own clothes as the other women, Historia and Pieck left the dressing room with sweet goodbyes. "See you all next time."
You slipped into your simple white-colored blouse, a black skirt, and stockings. Finally, you shrugged into your maroon coat. The collar and cuffs lined with soft, creamy fox fur. Perfect for the cold.
You said your goodbyes, poking your head into various rooms. “Night, Arthur.” “See you tomorrow, Jimmy.” You found Mr. Pixis in his cramped office, going over the night’s receipts with his spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
“Heading out, my dear?” he asked, looking up. His eyes were always so kind. He made sure that everyone was treated with respect at his establishment, especially the women.
“Yes, sir. Good night.”
“Walk quickly,” he advised, as he always did. “It’s a strange world out there after dark.”
You nodded, with a smile. “Always do.”
Pushing open the heavy brass and glass door of the lounge, you were consumed by the chill of the night air. It was a clean, free of smoke and multiple types of perfume. The street was quiet, most of the legitimate businesses closed for the night. A single, sickly yellow streetlamp cast a weak circle of light on the damp pavement a few doors down. You turned left, starting the eight-block walk to your boarding house.
Your heels echoed on the sidewalk, as you pulled the fur collar tighter around your neck, your gloved hands buried in the pockets. You were used to this walk. You’d done it a hundred times. But you never liked it. The shadows between buildings seemed too deep. Every alley mouth was a gaping black maw.
Dangerous it was.
About three blocks in, you heard it. A soft, shuffling sound from behind you, like a shoe scraping over grit.
You froze for a second, your ears straining. Nothing. You shook your head. Just a cat. Or your imagination. You started walking again, a little faster.
Shuffle-scrape.
It was closer this time. And it wasn’t a cat. It was the sound of footsteps trying to be quiet and failing. Your heart jumped into your throat. You didn’t want to turn around. Turning around meant seeing what was there. Your pace quickened to a near-jog. Your boarding house was still five blocks away.
Shuffle-scrape. Shuffle-scrape.
They were keeping pace. Matching your speed. The sound was directly behind you now. Panic lanced through you. You broke into a full run, your purse banging against your hip, your breath coming in ragged gasps that fogged in the cold air. You dared a glance over your shoulder, trying to see a shape in the dark.
A stalker from the lounge?
That killer that had been on the loose?
It could be anyone.
You didn’t see the person in front of you until it was too late.
You slammed into a chest, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. You stumbled backward, sure you were about to hit the hard pavement.
Strong hands shot out and caught you by the shoulders, stopping your fall effortlessly. The grip was firm but not painful, the fingers long and surprisingly elegant-looking against the dark wool of your coat. You looked up, gasping for breath.
And you found yourself staring into those same piercing green eyes.
He was even more striking up close. The dim streetlamp caught the angles of his face. The beautiful line of his jaw, the straight slope of his nose, the dark sweep of his brows. His lips looked soft as silk and as pink as rose. His mouth was set in a concerned line.
He also smelled so good.
Deliciously so.
“Are you all right?” he asked. His voice was lower than you’d imagined it would be, but nonetheless captivating. His hands were still on your shoulders, holding you steady.
For a moment, you were speechless. You just stared at him, your mind trying to reconcile the man from the shadowy lounge with the man holding you up on a dark street.
“I… I’m sorry, sir” you finally stammered, your voice shaky. You took a step back, and his hands fell away, leaving your shoulders feeling strangely cold. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I heard… I thought someone was following me.”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes moved from your face. He looked past you, down the dark stretch of sidewalk you’d just run from. His gaze was just like how it was at the lounge, focused. It was a hunter’s look. He stared at a particular patch of deeper shadow between two brick buildings, his body perfectly still. He didn’t blink. You watched him, clutching your purse to your chest, your own fear momentarily forgotten in the strangeness of his concentration.
After what felt like a full minute, he blinked once, slowly, and looked back down at you. His eyes softened, the intense scrutiny replaced by something more gentle.
“It’s too late for a woman to be out alone, miss” he said simply. His voice held no judgment or malice. He gestured down the street with a slight tilt of his head. “Are you headed far?”
You swallowed. “Just to Acacia Street. The boarding house there.”
“May I accompany you?” he asked. He didn’t smile, but the offer seemed genuine. He extended his arm slightly, not quite offering it to take, but presenting the option. “It would put my mind at ease.”
Every warning you’d ever heard, every bit of common sense screamed at you. Don’t go with strangers. Especially men you don’t know. Especially men who stare at you for months and then appear out of nowhere on a dark street. But another part of you, a part exhausted by fear and still humming from the adrenaline of the chase, looked at him. He’d caught you when you fell. He hadn’t tried to grab you or hurt you. He’d just… asked. And those eyes, now that they were on you again, held nothing but safety.
Your caution wrestled with your desire to not walk the last five blocks alone. The memory of the shuffling footsteps decided it.
“Okay,” you said. “Thank you.”
You didn’t take his arm. You fell into step beside him, leaving a careful foot of space between you. He nodded, understanding, and began to walk, matching his longer stride to yours. The silence was total, broken only by the synchronized sound of your footsteps. The air felt colder now. You were focused on the man beside you, of the way his shoulder occasionally brushed the sleeve of your coat.
He walked with a kind of liquid grace, his movements completely silent aside from the tap of his fine leather shoes on the pavement. You found yourself glancing at him sideways, studying his profile. He seemed utterly unbothered by the quiet.
And breathing beautiful in the moonlight.
After a few blocks, the tension in your shoulders began to ease. The footsteps were gone. The street seemed less menacing with him beside you.
“You have an incredible voice,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice didn’t startle you, it was actually the complete opposite. It was like smooth molasses filled your ears.
You looked at him, surprised. “Thank you, sir”
“How does one acquire a voice like that?” he asked. He looked straight ahead as he spoke. “Training? Or were you simply born with it?”
You shrugged, a little thrown by the question. “Born with it, I guess. I sang in church as a kid. Never had lessons or anything.” You paused. “My mom said I was singing before I was talking.”
He turned his head to look at you then, a soft smile touching his lips. “A beautiful gift,” he said. “To bring such a sound into the world. It’s a rare thing.”
The compliment was so direct, so unadorned, that you felt your body starting to heat up. You looked away, focusing on the cracks in the sidewalk. “It’s just a job.”
“It’s more than that,” he said quietly. “I can see it when you sing.”
You didn’t know how to answer that. So you just kept walking.
Finally, you turned onto Acacia Street. Your boarding house was halfway down the block, a tall, narrow building with a faint light glowing in the front parlor window.
“This is me,” you said, stopping at the bottom of the three stone steps leading to the front door.
He stopped beside you, turning to face you fully. The weak light from the parlor window barely reached him, outlining him in soft gold. “I’m glad you’re home safely miss,” he said.
You stood there for a moment, suddenly feeling awkward. You should just say goodnight and go inside. But you felt a pull, a need to acknowledge this bizarre yet intriguing encounter. You stuck out your hand for a handshake. “Thank you, Mr… I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
He looked down at your gloved hand, then back up at your face. He didn’t take your hand to shake it. Instead, he reached out and gently turned it over, so your palm faced downward. His touch through the soft leather of your glove was a faint. Without breaking eye contact, he bent at the waist. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to the back of your gloved hand.
It wasn’t a dry peck. He held his lips there for a full two seconds. You could feel the softness of his mouth, the slight pressure. A shiver ran straight up your arm and into your core. You had to bite your lip from how tender it was. His lips were warm. They felt dangerous. They felt like sin.
His eyes met yours as he kissed your hand, his lips finally pulling back. He straightened up, but he didn’t let go of your hand. He kept his fingers lightly around your wrist, his thumb resting on your pulse point. He looked up from the spot he’d kissed, his green eyes finding yours. They seemed to drink in the streetlight.
“Eren,” he said, “You may call me Eren, if you’d like.”
You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. Your pulse was hammering under his thumb, and you knew he could feel it. The feeling of his mouth on your glove was better than any kiss you have had with a man.
“Eren,” you repeated, the name felt perfect on your tongue. You managed a smile as you looked up at him through your lashes. “What a lovely name. I'm Y/n."
He returned the smile, a little wider this time, showing a glimpse of white teeth. He finally released your hand, and you let it fall to your side, as he locked his eyes on yours again. "Your name is...intoxicatingly beautiful."
This man was dangerous. That voice, the looks, the gaze. It was enough to have a woman throw their panties at him, no man has ever held your attention like this, and yet, you had to go inside.
“Goodnight,” you whispered.
He simply nodded, a single, graceful dip of his head. “Goodnight.”
You turned, fumbling in your purse for your key. Your fingers were trembling. You found it, fitted it into the lock, and pushed the heavy door open. You stepped into the foyer, your cat immediately coming to wrap its furry body around and inbetween your legs. You paused, your hand still on the door.
You had to look. You had to see if he was still there.
You turned around, leaning back out the door.
The bottom of the stone steps were empty. The sidewalk was clear. You scanned the street, left and right. Nothing. No retreating figure, no shadow moving away. He was just gone. As if he’d never been there at all. As if the whole walk, his hand on your shoulder, his lips on your gloved hand, had been a vivid dream conjured by the night air and your own fear.
You stood there in the doorway for a long minute, staring at the empty space where he had stood. The chill from outside was beginning to seek inside your home, causing your cat to run towards your living room area, but you didn'treally feel it. All you felt was the lingering warmth on the back of your hand, and the realization that the man with the green eyes was now a man with a name.
Eren.
You finally pushed the door closed. You leaned back against the wood, and clutched your chest. The night was over, but something, you knew with a certainty was that, this will not be the last time you see him.
The weeks that followed that first encounter passed in a blur of music, smoke, and those green eyes.
Eren became a regular fixture, not just at The Pixis Palladium, but in your life. He started showing up everywhere. At the corner store where you bought your weekly groceries, somehow appearing in the produce section just as you were selecting apples. Outside the boarding house on Sunday mornings when you left for your walk in the park. At the library where you sometimes spent your afternoons off, reading romance novels in the back corner.
It should have been unsettling. It should have sent every warning bell in your head ringing. But instead, you found yourself looking for him. Anticipating his arrival. Your heart would do this stupid little jump whenever you spotted that dark hair and those devastating eyes.
The conversations started small. A comment about the weather. A question about what you were reading. But they grew. You learned he had a taste for jazz, that he’d traveled extensively though he never quite specified where, that he had an opinion on everything from politics to poetry. He was educated, well-spoken, and had this way of listening to you that made you feel like every word you said mattered.
And god, could he talk. His voice alone was enough to make your thighs clench together. But the things he said, the way he said them, always walking this razor’s edge between proper and provocative. He’d compliment the curve of your neck and make it sound like he was discussing architecture. He’d describe the way you moved on stage and somehow make it feel like he was touching you with his words alone.
More than once, you’d excused yourself to the bathroom after a conversation with him, your underwear embarrassingly wet, your body buzzing with want. He was a gentleman, always. But there was something underneath, something dangerous that lurked behind those eyes and that smooth voice. Something that promised he could be very, very ungentlemanly if given the chance.
Tonight was different though. The city was on edge, well it had been for a while now. Three more people had gone missing in the last fortnight, all last seen in nightclubs or on their way home from them. The papers screamed about a possible serial killer, a “Jazz- Age Jack the Ripper.” The laughter at The Pixis seemed forced now, the applause thinner.
Your friends from the lounge, Sadie and Pieck, were especially jumpy. After your Friday night set, the three of you were changing in the dressing room, accompanied by none other than quiet anxiety.
“I don’t like it,” Pieck muttered, struggling with the clasp of her necklace. “My pa won’t stop telling me to quit. Says it’s not safe for a girl to work nights.”
“It’s never been safe,” Sadie snorted, wiping off her stage makeup with cold cream. “But now it feels…even scarier. I keep looking over my shoulder.”
You were feeling it too, but you hated to see some of your favorite girls so down.
“We should go out,” you said suddenly, turning from the mirror. “Somewhere loud. Somewhere bright. Let’s go to The Sapphire Room. They’ve got that new swing band. We’ll dance until we can’t think.”
Sadie’s eyes lit up. “You know, that’s not a half-bad idea. I’ve been wound tighter than a clock.” Pieck hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. But we stick together. No wandering off.”
“Perfect" you said, a real smile touching your lips for the first time all night.
You chose your dress with care. It was a new acquisition, a sinful indulgence from a second-hand shop that specialized in clothes from fallen society girls. Orange-brown silk, shot through with golden threads, beaded with tiny amber crystals. It was a body-con garment that clung to every curve, with a ruffled hem that swished around your mid-thigh. It was not a dress for a lady. It was a dress for a woman who wanted to be looked at. You paired it with silk stockings, T-strap heels, and left your hair down in loose waves.
You looked like a sunset distilled into a woman.
The Sapphire Room was a different from The Pixis. It was bigger, brighter, bawdier. The air vibrated with the blare of trumpets and the pounding beat of a full swing band on a raised platform. The dance floor was a swirling mass of bodies, men in suits, women in fringe and sequins, all moving in a frantic, joyful release.
You lost Sadie and Pieck to the throng almost immediately, swallowed up by eager partners. So much for Piecks plan, but you didn’t mind. You let the music get inside you, let it move your hips, your shoulders. A man in a pinstripe suit appeared in front of you, his face flushed with drink and good cheer. He didn’t ask, just grabbed your hand and pulled you into the whirl."Let's go pretty lady."
You laughed, letting him spin you. The dress swirled around, the beads catching the light. It felt good to move without a microphone in your hand, to be just another body in the crowd. Another man cut in, then another. You became a prize to be passed around the floor, a flash of orange-brown silk in the sea of black and navy. You smiled, you danced, you let their hands settle on your waist, your back.
You were spinning away from the third man feeling a bit dizzy and breathless, when you collided with a chest that you had come to recognize along with his scent.
Sandwood. Old books. Rain. And underneath it all, something metallic.
Your hands came up, palms flattening against the fine wool of his jacket. You looked up.
Eren. His green eyes were like chips of stained glass under the spinning lights. He wasn’t smiling fully, just a little smirk. His expression was intense, focused solely on you. “Fancy meeting you here,” you said, your voice coming out a little breathy.
“I go where the music is,” he said, his voice low enough that you had to lean in to hear it over the band. His hands came to rest on your hips, his fingers spanning the curve of them through the silk. They were warm. Almost hot and it was making you feel hot too. “And I had a feeling you’d be where the music is.”
“You followed me,” you said.
“I was in the neighborhood,” he said, a ghost of a smile finally touching his mouth. “Saw you through the window. Couldn’t help myself.”
The song shifted to something slower, a bluesy number with a sensual beat. The dancers around you melted into closer embraces. Eren didn’t ask. He simply pulled you against him, one hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you flush to his body. You could feel every hard plane of him. Your breasts were crushed against his chest, your stomach against his. Your head fit perfectly under his chin.
“This is dangerous,” you murmured into his collar. You could smell his skin and oh how it feels like you feel under a spell.
“I know,” he breathed into your hair. “I don’t see you moving away though, huh?"
You started to move with him. He was a good dancer, leading with subtle shifts of his body. You let him guide you, your bodies swaying as one unit. His hand on your back crept lower, one singular finger going agonizinly slow down your back before he rested his whole hand on the swell of your backside. A shiver racked your entire body. You turned your head, so your lips were near his ear.
“People are watching,” you whispered.
“Let them,” he whispered back. His breath was warm against your ear.
If he was gonna be bold, so could you. You turned in his arms so your back was to his chest. His arms wrapped around you, crossing over your stomach, holding you tight against him. You could feel his form against the base of your spine. A soft moan crawling its way out your throat.
“Yeah,” he groaned softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You feel that don't you? That’s all for you. Has been for months.”
You arched your back, pressing yourself more firmly against him. His arms tightened. One of his hands slid up from your stomach, over the silk covering your ribs, stopping just shy of your breast. His thumb stroked the underside of the curve through the fabric. Your breath hitched.
“Eren…”
“Tell me to be a gentleman and I’ll take my hands off you. I’ll walk you back to your friends and say goodnight.”
You didn’t say a word. You turned your head, catching his gaze over your shoulder. You let him see the want in your eyes, the raw, unguarded hunger. You’d hidden it for weeks, but you didn’t hide it now.
His hand finally closed over your breast, palming it fully. The silk of the dress did nothing against his touch. You could feel the heat of his hand, the slight roughness of his palm. He squeezed, gently at first, then with more pressure. "Shit..." You closed your eyes and moaned just a bit into his ear. Your nipple that he had been twisting was now peaking painfully against the fabric, and you bit your lip to stifle a much louder moan from the sight.
His other hand slid down from your stomach, over the front of your dress, his fingertips pressing against the silk covering your mound. You gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder. The music was still pounding, people were still dancing all around you, but the world had narrowed to the space where his body met yours.
“We need to leave,” Eren whispered into your ear. His voice was ragged. “Right fucking now.”
You nodded, unable to form words. His hand left your breast, grabbed your hand, and he was pulling you through the crowd. You followed, your legs shaky, your core throbbing with every step. You caught a glimpse of Sadie’s surprised face as you passed, but you didn’t stop. You pushed through the packed bodies, past the bar, and out into the night.
The street was quieter, the jazz a muffled thump behind the closed doors. You were both breathing hard, clouds of vapor forming and vanishing in the lamplight. He still had your hand in a tight grip.
He led you down the block to where a beautiful black Packard was parked, its long hood gleaming under a streetlamp. It looked expensive, that must come with being rich. He opened the passenger door for you and you slid in, the smooth leather of the seat cool against your bare thighs where the dress had ridden up. He closed the door, walked around the front with quick, long strides, and got in behind the wheel. The engine growled to life with a turn of the key.
He drove fast, his eyes on the road. You watched his profile, the way his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. You reached over, tentatively, and placed your hand on his thigh, massaging it a bit. The muscle there was taut as a steel cable. He glanced at you, his green eyes glowing in the dark of the car.
“If you keep touching me, I’m going to wreck this car,” he said, his voice tight.
“Then pull over,” you heard yourself say. The words were out before you could think them through.
A low sound came from his throat, almost a snarl. “Not a chance.”
He kept driving, leaving the bright lights and crowded streets of the city center behind. The buildings grew farther apart, giving way to larger estates shrouded in trees. Finally, he turned onto a long, private drive lined with old, gnarled oaks. At the end of it stood his house.
It was exactly as you’d pictured in your wildest, darkest imaginings. A tall structure of blackened brick, all sharp angles and pointed arches. Gothic spires clawed at the night sky. It was beautiful in a way that made your stomach flip, like looking at a sharp knife. He parked in front of the heavy wooden door and killed the engine.
He got out, came around, and opened your door. You took his offered hand and stepped out, your heels sinking into the gravel. He didn’t let go of your hand. He led you up the wide stone steps to the door, unlocked it with an old, ornate key, and pushed it open.
Inside, it was dark and cavernous. The air was cool, smelled of old stone. He flicked a switch, and a chandelier high above sputtered to life, casting a dim, wavering light over a grand foyer. A wide staircase curved upwards into shadows.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. He was still playing the part of the host, but the act was paper-thin. You could see the tension in every line of his body, the barely-restrained need.
You shook your head. You were done with pretending. You turned to face him, reached up, grabbed his face, pulling his mouth down to yours.
His lips were soft, just like you remembered from the touch on your glove, but they moved against yours with a hunger. You opened your mouth to him and his tongue plunged inside, tasting of whiskey and something awfully metallic. You moaned into his mouth, your hands sliding from his jacket to tangle in his hair. It was as soft as it looked.
He walked you backward, his mouth never leaving yours, until your back hit the cold stone wall next to the staircase. The impact jarred you so much you broke the kiss for a second. You were both panting. His eyes were wild, his pupils blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of green and a string of saliva connecting both of your tongues.
“Upstairs,” he managed to say. “Now.”
You didn’t need telling twice. You took the stairs two at a time, him right behind you, his hand on the small of your back as if he was afraid you’d vanish. The hallway upstairs was dark, but he seemed to know exactly where he was going. He pushed open a heavy door and pulled you inside his bedroom.
It was large, dominated by an enormous four-poster bed with dark velvet hangings. A fireplace held cold ashes. Books were piled on every available surface. Moonlight streamed in through a tall, narrow window.
The door clicked shut behind you. You were on him again in an instant, kissing him roughly, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor. Your hands went to the buttons of his waistcoat, fumbling in your haste. He helped you, tearing it open, sending buttons pinging across the wooden floor. His shirt followed, ripped open down the front. You ran your hands over his chest. His skin was pale, almost luminous in the moonlight, stretched tight over hard muscle. He was perfect.
You kissed him again, your tongue sweeping into his mouth. And that’s when you felt them. The sharp points.
You froze. Your tongue had glided right over them. Two elongated canines, sharp as needles.
You pulled back, breaking the kiss with a wet sound. Your eyes flew open. You stared at his mouth. His lips were red and wet from your kiss. He wasn’t smiling. He was watching you, his expression unreadable.
“Eren…” you whispered.
His eyes began to shine. Not a trick of the light. They literally glowed from within, a eerie emerald light. “Surprise,” he said, his voice a low rasp.
Before you could react, he moved. It was too fast for a human. One second he was in front of you, the next you were on your back on the giant bed, the velvet covers soft beneath you. He was on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. His weight was immense.
He lowered his head to your neck. You felt the warm puff of his breath against your skin. He inhaled deeply, his nose tracing the line of your jugular. Something had been bugging you ever since you met him. He was always so gentle yet so mysterious. Mostly out at night.
“I knew it,” you breathed, more to yourself than to him.
“Knew what?” he murmured against your skin. His lips brushed the frantic pulse there.
“That you were different. Dangerous.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “Dangerous is one word for it.” He licked a stripe up your neck, from your collarbone to your ear. You gasped. His tongue felt like fire. “You’re different too, you know. From the others.”
“Others?” You tried to twist, but he held you easily.
“The women,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. His mouth was right by your ear. “The ones who go missing. The papers have it all wrong. It’s not a man with a knife. It’s a man with fangs.” He kissed just below your earlobe. “Most of them… they’re just food. A quick drink in an alley, a body dumped in the river. Easy. Forgettable.”
His free hand came up and cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. His glowing eyes were terrifying, beautiful. “But you… I saw you that first night. On that stage. You shone. Like a fucking beacon. I couldn’t just take you. I had to have you. All of you.”
His confession should have horrified you. It shocked you. But it also sent a flood of heat straight to your core. You were wet, so wet you could feel it soaking through your silk panties. The monster had chosen you. Not to kill quickly, but to… to what?
“My latest prey,” he whispered, nuzzling your neck again. “But I don’t want to just drain you dry. Not yet. I want to taste you. I want to fuck you while I drink from you. I want to feel you cum on my cock while your blood is on my tongue.”
The filthiness of his words, the raw, graphic hunger in them, made you whimper. Your hips bucked up against him involuntarily. You felt it, his erect dick, still confined in his trousers, press against your center.
“You want that too,” he observed, his voice smug. “I can smell it on you. The fear… and the want. They’re mixing together. It’s intoxicating.”
He shifted his weight, releasing your wrists. Before you could move, his hands were on the straps of your dress. He pulled them down your arms in one rough motion, baring your torso to the waist. The beaded silk pooled around your hips. The cold air hit your skin, making your nipples harden instantly. He stared down at your breasts, his glowing eyes full of a reverence that was completely at odds with the things he’d just said.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth.
You cried out, arching off the bed. His mouth was hot, his tongue rough as it lashed over the sensitive peak. He sucked, hard, drawing the flesh deep into his mouth, his fangs scraping delicately against the areola. The combination of him being a threat and searing pleasure was dizzying. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same torturous attention, biting and sucking until you were squirming beneath him, your fingers clutching at the velvet bedspread.
“Please,” you heard yourself beg.
He lifted his head. His lips and chin were slick with your scent, with his saliva. “Please what?” His hand slid down your stomach, over the silk of your dress bunched at your hips, and cupped your covered up pussy between your legs. You gasped, your eyes rolling back. He pressed the heel of his hand against your clothed clit. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart."
“I want you to bite me,” you blurted out.
His eyes flashed brighter. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Do it.”
A grin spread across his face. “Ofcourse, sweetheart.”
He dove for your neck again. This time, there was no preamble. You felt the piercing pain, twin points of exquisite pressure breaking your skin. You gasped so hard it felt like the air was caught in your throat. For a second, it was just pain.
Then it changed.
A wave of pure pleasure washed over you, so intense it bordered on pain itself. It started at the point where his fangs were buried in your flesh and radiated outward, a molten heat that flooded your veins, pooled in your belly, made your toes curl. Your back arched violently off the bed. A long, broken moan was torn from your throat.
He groaned against your neck, the sound vibrating through out your entire body. He was drinking, swallowing, his throat working. And with each pull, another wave of that impossible pleasure crashed through you. It was an aphrodisiac. Ofcourse. Your mind went blank, white noise and fireworks. You were grinding yourself against his hand, which was still pressed against you, desperate for more friction.
“Fuck,” he snarled, pulling his mouth from your neck with a wet pop. Blood, your blood, smeared his lips, dripped down his chin. His eyes were blazing. “You taste… fuck.”
He kissed you, hard. You could taste your own blood on his tongue. It should have been disgusting. It was the most erotic thing you’d ever experienced. You kissed him back greedily, sucking on his tongue, licking the blood from his lips.
He broke the kiss, breathing raggedly. “You’re mine now,” he said, his voice guttural. “You understand that, don't you?"
In that moment, swimming in the haze of blood-loss euphoria and lust, you didn’t care. “Yes,” you panted.
He finally moved his hand from between your legs to yank at your dress, pulling it and your stockings down your hips and legs in one frantic motion. He tossed them off the side of the bed. You were left in just your silk panties, which were soaked through, a dark patch visible even in the dim light. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and ripped them off you, the sound of tearing silk loud in the room.
They were one of your good pairs but you didn't give a shit right now.
He stared down at your naked body with a ravenous gaze. He leaned down and kissed your stomach, licking a path between your legs. You tensed, expecting his mouth on your dripping, plump cunt, but he didn’t stop. He kissed the inside of your thigh, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin, then bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make you jump and cry out.
“So responsive,” he muttered against your flesh. His fingers moving slowly against your dripping folds. His fingers moved slowly against your dripping folds. They traced the outer lips, slick with your wetness, the pads of his fingers barely touching you. He was mocking you. Drawing out the moment, making you wait. You whimpered, lifting your hips off the bed in a silent plea for more pressure.
"None of that," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against the skin of your thigh. He pressed a kiss to the bite mark he'd left there, then returned his attention between your legs. His fingers continued their maddening exploration, sliding up and down your slit, gathering wetness, but avoiding the spot that ached for him. He parted your lips with two fingers, exposing the glistening, flushed pink flesh within. Your pussy was swollen, the hood of your clit visible and sensitive to the cool air. You were completely bare, having learned long ago that hair could complicate things, could hold a scent you didn't want lingering.
He blew a cool stream of air across your exposed core. You shuddered, a full-body twitch that made the velvet covers rustle. "Fuck, Eren, please," you begged, your voice cracking.
"Please what?" he asked, his tone conversational, as if he were asking about the weather. He dragged a single fingertip from the bottom of your slit all the way to the top, circling your clit once, so lightly it was torture. "You have to use your words."
"Touch me. Fucking touch me properly."
He chuckled. "As you wish."
His middle finger dipped inside you, just the tip, breaching your entrance. You gasped. Your inner walls clenched around nothing, desperate for more. He withdrew it, then pushed back in, a little deeper this time. In, out. A shallow, teasing penetration. You could feel the drag of his finger, the wet sounds it made. "Yeah, moan just like that." He added a second finger, stretching you slightly. The stretch was good, but it wasn't enough. He kept the pace slow.
He was doing this on purpose.
"Look at you," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "So wet. So needy. I've barely touched you and you're soaking my hand."
You turned your head to the side, embarrassed by how exposed you were, how desperate. But he wasn't having it. His free hand came up, grabbed your chin, forced you to look down at him. His eyes were still glowing, that eerie green light making him look otherworldly. "Watch," he commanded.
You obeyed. You watched as his fingers disappeared inside you, then reappeared, coated in your slick. "Aghh, fuck yes, yes." He pumped them in deeper, curling them slightly. When he found that spot inside you, that bundle of nerves that made stars burst behind your eyelids, you cried out. Your back arched, your hands fisted in the velvet. "AAGH!"
"There it is," he said with a grin. He stroked that spot again, and again, his fingers moving faster now. The wet sounds grew louder, obscene in the otherwise silent room. Your thighs began to tremble. He added a third finger, stretching you wider, filling you more. The sensation was overwhelming. His thumb found your clit, pressed down on it in small circles, so much so you could feel the roughness of his finger going over your clit before getting slicked with your wetness.
"Oh god, oh fuck, yeesss" you panted. Your hips were moving of their own accord now, grinding down onto his hand, meeting each thrust of his fingers. The pleasure was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach. He was watching you with rapt attention, his mouth slightly open, his fangs visible. He licked his lips at the sight of you.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Ride my fingers. Take what you need. Don't stop till you had your fill."
His fingers moved faster, harder. The sound of your wetness was filthy. You could feel it running down, wetting the sheets beneath you. It was making you dizzy. "Oh yes. Oh fuck yes!" His thumb rubbed your clit in tight, fast circles. The combination was too much. You felt the orgasm building, felt it racing toward you like a train. Your inner walls started to flutter around his fingers.
"Eren, I'm-I'm gonna-"
"Come on, songbird" he growled. "Cum on my hand. Let me see you clench around these fingers."
You shattered. The orgasm ripped through you with such intensity that you screamed. "Eren aghhh!" Your body convulsed, your pussy clenching around his fingers, gripping them tight, just like he asked. But, he didn't stop. He kept pumping them in and out, kept circling your clit, drawing out your climax until you were sobbing, tears streaming down your face from the intensity. He was such a bastard. And that turned you on even more. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, each one leaving you more wrecked than the last. "Shit, baby yes."
Finally, it subsided. Your body went limp, boneless against the bed. He withdrew his fingers slowly. You felt empty without them. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought his hand up to his face. His fingers were glistening, dripping with your release. He held your gaze as he slipped them into his mouth, one by one, sucking them clean. His eyes fluttered closed, and he moaned like he was tasting the finest wine.
"Fucking delicious," he murmured when he'd licked every trace of you from his skin.
Something in you shifted. The post-orgasmic bliss began to fade, replaced by a different kind of hunger. You sat up slowly, your breast exposed to the firelight as you sat up straight. Eren watched them move for a second before he locked his eyes on yours again. Curiosity began to flicker in his glowing eyes. You crawled toward him on your hands and knees across the bed. He was still mostly dressed, his shirt torn open, his trousers tented obscenely at the front. You straddled him, settling your bare, wet pussy against the bulge in his pants.
He hissed, his hands coming to your hips, massaging them tenderly. "What are you doing?"
You didn't answer. You started to move, rolling your hips, grinding yourself against him. Even through the fabric, you could feel how hard he was, how big. The friction against your sensitive clit made you gasp and lean your head back for a moment. "Oh fuck," You braced your hands on his shoulders and moved faster, chasing another high.
Your folds gliding across the fabric making it wetter and wetter. It was so erotic and addicting to look at, you even brought your fingers to your mouth, coating them in saliva, before bringing them down to rub at your clit.
"Fuck," he breathed, his grip on your hips tightening. He was watching your face, watching the way your mouth fell open, the way your eyes glazed over. You leaned forward, bringing your face to his neck. You inhaled deeply. He smelled incredible. That sandwood and something like coffee, but underneath it, something richer. Copper.
Blood.
You licked a stripe up the column of his throat. His pulse was there, fast beneath his pale skin. You opened your mouth and let your teeth glid across his neck for a moment. "You smell so good, Eren." He groaned, his hips bucking up against you. As you did the same letting out a moan right next to his ear. You took your hand and brought it to the other side of his neck, whispering again.
"I'm a bit thirsty too."
You bit down, not hard enough to break skin. Not yet. You sucked at the spot, leaving a mark. Then you opened your mouth wider, positioned your teeth right between his shoulder and neck, and bit down hard.
Your fangs sank into his flesh with ease.
Eren went rigid beneath you. His entire body locked up. "What the, oh fuck!" He was stunned to say the least. He couldn't stop himself from bucking up into you harder. Grabbing at your backside and spreading it as you drank his blood.
Its been a while since you had blood like this. This rich, this delectable, this addicting. "Mmm."
You pulled back slightly, blood flooding your mouth. His blood. You swallowed, then slowly licked the puncture wounds, feeling them begin to close already. You smiled down at him with a wicked grin. You knew what you must look like. Your bottom lip smeared with his blood, your eyes probably glowing now too, that telltale amber light that came with feeding.
"Surprise," you said, throwing his own word back at him.
His eyes were wide, shocked. His mouth opened and closed, no words coming out. You could see his mind working, trying to process what had just happened. You ground down on him again, reminding him of where you were, what you were doing.
"There is no way" he finally managed.
"A girl has to wat right?" you said. You leaned down, licked another stripe up his neck, tasting the remnants of his blood on his skin. "Did you really think you were the only monster in this city?"
"The missing people," he said, the pieces clicking into place. He didn't look scared or angry, he looked impressed and turned on. "You're the one thats been killing recently,huh?"
"Mhm," you confirmed. You sat back, still straddling him, still moving your hips in lazy circles. You could feel your cunt gripping at nothing. "The men mostly. And some women that piss me off. " You tilted your head, regarding him with amusement. "That night you found me, when I was running? I knew there was someone there." You ground down on him harder, causing him to moan and smack your ass in return. You moaned before speaking again, keeping your hips grinding against his clothed cock.
"I knew. I knew some bad man was chasing me. I made my prey think I was helpless. Works every time. They always want to play hero, but then you showed up and interrupted my meal."
"Jesus Christ," he muttered.
"Not quite," you said with a laugh. You reached between your bodies, started unbuttoning his trousers. "You wanted to eat me. I'm here now." You looked deep into his eyes as you brought your thumb to your lips to wipe his blood off and brought it to his plump pink lips.
He smiled before taking your thumb into his mouth and sucking the blood, his blood off of it. You leaned down and whispered. "Undo me, Eren."
Something snapped in him. You saw it happen, saw the shock morph into something hungrier. His hands went from your hips to your ass, gripping hard enough to bruise. "You're fucking insane," he said.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not at all, sweetheart. Its hot as hell."
You freed him from his trousers, pulling his cock out. It sprang up between you. A nude pink at the tip. It was beautiful. Long, with veins running along the shaft, a slight curve that you knew would hit all the right spots. Precum was already beading at the slit. You wrapped your hand around it, gave it a slow stroke, It was so damn hard, not to jump on his cock right now. He was hot in your palm, rock hard. He groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. "Mmmm fuck baby."
"You've been thinking about this," you said, stroking him again. "Haven't you? All those nights watching me sing. You were thinking about fucking me." You were teasing, licking up the side of his dick for a moment.
"Every goddamn night," he admitted through gritted teeth. "I'd go home and jerk off thinking about you. About bending you over that piano. About making you scream my name." Oh, he was obsessed. You loved the kind of man who could only see you, it made you clench again.
"Dirty boy," you purred. You ground your wet pussy against his cock, coating him in your slick wetness. The head of his dick bumped against your clit and you moaned. "I want to...fuck you so bad right now." You were so wet, so ready. You could just sink down on him right now, take him all the way inside. But you wanted to draw this out. Wanted to make him suffer the way he'd made you suffer.
You kissed him, pushing your tounge into his mouth and just exploring. He kissed you back just as roughly, his hands roaming your body, squeezing your ass, your breasts, your waist as you continued to slid your wet fold on his dick. "Mmm!" He moaned against your mouth as he slapped your ass. You bit his bottom lip, drawing blood before sucking on it and catching his eyes. "You taste so good, Eren." He growled into your mouth, retaliating by biting yours. The pain was exquisite.
You both took turns sucking on tounges, or biting lips as your hands traveled over eachkthers bodies. Everything about it was just invigorating.
You pulled back, breathless. You looked down at him. His hair was a mess, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and bloody. He looked completely debauched and you loved it. "I want to taste you."
Before he could respond, you slid off him, off the bed. Your knees hit the floor, the plush carpet soft beneath them. The fireplace across the room had ignited somehow during your activities, maybe Eren had done it, or maybe it was just the heat between you both, and firelight danced across your skin, painting you in shades of orange and gold.
Eren sat up, moved to the edge of the bed. His legs spread, his cock jutting up between them, still hard and leaking. You settled between his thighs, looking up at him with those doe eyes you use. "You want me to put this dick in my mouth?" His eyes were locked on yours, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "Yeah...suck my dick, sweetheart."
You leaned forward, licked the underside of his cock from base to tip. He tasted like musk and skin, it left you even more wet, your wetness soaking the carpet. He hissed, his hands fisting in the sheets. You did it again, slower this time, tracing the thick vein with your tongue. Then you took the head into your mouth, sucking gently.
"Oh fuck," he groaned.
You hummed around him, the vibration making him twitch. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, creating suction. You could only fit about half of him in your mouth before he hit the back of your throat. You pulled back, took a breath, then went down again, trying to take more. Saliva pooled in your mouth, dripping down his shaft, making everything slick and messy.
You pulled off with a wet pop, looked up at him. His eyes were glowing brighter now, his fangs fully extended. He looked feral. You smiled, then spit on his cock. The glob of saliva slid down his length. You wrapped both hands around him, started stroking him, using your spit as lubricant. You twisted your wrists with each upstroke, paid special attention to the head, rubbing your thumb over the sensitive spot just beneath it.
"Goddamn," he panted. His hips were moving now, fucking up into your hands. "That mouth. Fuck."
You leaned down, took one of his balls into your mouth, sucking gently while your hands continued their work on his cock. He groaned, one of his hands coming down to tangle in your hair. Not pulling, just holding. Grounding himself. You switched to the other one, gave it the same treatment, then licked your way back up his shaft.
This time when you took him in your mouth, you didn't hold back. You relaxed your throat, pushed past your gag reflex, and took him all the way down. Your nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base. You held there for a moment, swallowing around him, feeling him pulse in your throat. Then you pulled back, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock.
You did it again. And again. Each time taking him deep, each time coming up gasping and drooling. Your eyes were watering, your jaw aching, but you didn't care. You loved the way he fell apart, the way his thighs trembled, the way he moaned your name like a prayer.
"I'm close," he warned, his voice strained. "If you don't want me to come in your mouth, you better-"
You took him deep again, sucked hard, and felt him explode. His cock pulsed, hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat. You swallowed it all, kept sucking, milking him through his orgasm. He was moaning, a long, low sound that vibrated through the room. When he finally stopped, you pulled off, licked him clean, then sat back on your heels.
He was staring at you like you'd just performed a miracle. His chest was heaving, his skin flushed. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at him.
"Holy shit," he breathed.
You stood up, but before you could say anything, he was on you. He moved with vampire speed, grabbing you, lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically as you yelped in surprise. "Oh you're eag-" He kissed you, hard, cutting you off. You could taste yourself on his tongue, just as he could taste himself on yours. His cock, still hard despite having just cum, pressed against your entrance. "Mmmm, holy..shit!"
You ground down against him, coating him in your wetness again. "Its not even in me yet and I want to cum." The stimulation made you both moan into each other's mouths. He walked you backward, then sideways, navigating the room by memory. Then you were falling. Your back hit the bed, the velvet covers soft beneath your skin. He came down on top of you as his weight pinned you down.
He reached between your bodies, grabbed his cock, positioned it at your entrance. You felt the blunt head pressing against you, beginning to stretch you open. Your breath caught. "You got it baby. Deep breathes." He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was intense. He was bigger than his fingers, thicker, and you felt every bit of him as he filled you. "Aaagghhhh fuuuuuck!"
"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned. "So fucking tight."
You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "Don't stop," you panted. "Don't you dare fucking stop."
He bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. You were completely full, stretched to your limit. "AAGGHH YES!" He stayed there for a moment, letting you adjust. You could feel him pulsing inside you, could feel your walls clenching around him. Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, and slammed back in.
You screamed. The pleasure was blinding. He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with abandon. The bed shook with each thrust, the headboard slamming against the wall. The sounds were obscene and so fucking good all at the same time. Skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your pussy taking his cock in further into your gummy walls, both of your moans and gasps.
"Yeah, little songbird. Sing for me."
He grabbed your wrists, pinned them above your head with one hand. His other hand went to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there. His hips pistoned, driving into you over and over and over again. Each thrust hit that spot inside you, that sweet spot that made you see stars, made your mind go blank, made you shiver and tremble.
"That's it," he growled. "Take it. Take my cock."
"R-right..there!"
He obliged. His grip on your wrists tightened, his hand on your throat squeezed slightly, cutting off just enough air to make your head spin. He fucked you like he hasn't fucked in decades, each thrust driving you up the bed and the headboard intk the wall. You were going to come again. You could feel it building, faster this time, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter.
"Come oooooonnn," he urged. "Cum on my cock. Let me feel that pussy, baby."
You came with a shout, your body convulsing beneath him. Your pussy clamped down on his cock, milking him dry, or so you though. Yet again, he didn't stop. He kept fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging it, making it go on and on until you were sobbing. "Eren...baby please- I- I..."
But he wasn't done. Not even close.
He pulled out of you suddenly, flipped you onto your stomach. You were still shaking from your orgasm, but he didn't give you time to recover. He grabbed your hips, pulled them up so your ass was in the air. Then he was inside you again, slamming in from behind.
This angle was even deeper. You buried your face in the pillows, muffling your screams. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, using them as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with each thrust. He watched as your ass bounced and recoiled with every thrust. The sight was a sight to behold. The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy was loud in the room and was making you wetter every second.
He leaned over you, his chest against your back, his mouth at your ear. "You feel so fucking good," he panted. "So. Fucking. Good. Keep taking this dick."
You turned your head, trying to look at him. He saw the challenge in your eyes and grinned. He slowly pulled out, feeling your tight hole try to cling to it. He smiled before flipping you onto your back again, then drove back inside in a maddening pace. This time he hooked your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. The new angle made him hit even deeper, made you feel impossibly full.
"Look at you," he said, his voice rough. "Look at you taking my dick. Fuck, you're beautiful like this."
You were drooling, you realized. Couldn't help it. The pleasure was too much, your mind had gone blank. All you could focus on was the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, ruining you. Your eyes were glowing, you knew. That amber light that came when you were feeding or feeling intense emotion.
Eren noticed. His grin turned predatory. He leaned down, his hair falling into his face, creating a curtain around both of you. "There she is," he murmured.
He bit into your neck again, in the same spot as before. You screamed, the combination of his fangs in your flesh and his cock in your pussy sending you into another orgasm. This one was different, more intense, bordering on painful. Your entire body seized up, every muscle locking. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
He drank from you as he fucked you, swallowing mouthfuls of your blood. The aphrodisiac effect worked both ways. You could feel it flooding through him, making him harder, making him fuck you with renewed vigor. His thrusts became erratic, losing their rhythm.
He pulled his mouth from your neck, blood dripping from his fangs. "Whose pussy is this?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.
"Yours," you gasped.
"Say it again."
"It's yours, Eren. My pu- pussy is yours!"
"Mhmmm."
He changed the angle again, somehow finding a way to go even deeper. His balls slapped against you with every thrust, the sound vulgar and perfect. He reached between your bodies, found your clit, rubbed it in fast circles with two fingers as he pressed down. You were going to cum again. How many times was this now? You'd lost count.
"Sing for me," he commanded. "Sing like you do at that lounge. Let me hear that pretty voice scream."
You did. You screamed his name as another orgasm tore through you. "Errreeeennn!" You screamed until your voice went hoarse, until your throat was raw. He kept fucking you through it, kept rubbing your clit, drawing it out until you were thrashing beneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation.
"Don't run from it," he growled, holding you in place. "Stay right here. Let me keep fucking this pussy."
You were crying now, tears streaming down your face. It was too much. Too good. Your body didn't know whether to chase the pleasure or flee from it. "I can't," you sobbed. "I can't take anymore." You were thrashing a bit, your heels digging deeper into the bed.
"Yes you can, sweetheart" he said firmly. "You can take it. You're going to take everything I give you."
He shifted again, pulling your legs off his shoulders, pushing them wide, opening you up even more. He leaned over you, his face inches from yours, his hair creating that curtain again. His hips snapped forward, each thrust making your whole body jolt.
"Look at you taking this dick," he said, his voice full of wonder and lust. "Fuck, baby. You're sucking me in like this and you wanted me to stop?" He started moving faster and faster as you leaned your head back and screamed his name. "Eren fuuuuuuuccckkk!"
He smiled and laughed as he began to get louder. "Yeah baby, sing for me."
He sat up slightly, grabbed your hips, and really let loose. He pounded into you with everything he had, the bed shaking so hard you thought it might break. Your breasts bounced with each impact, and he couldn't seem to look away from them. He leaned down, took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard you though he might draw a bit of blood. You arched into him, your hands flying to his hair, holding him against you. "Yes, aghh baby please."
He bit down on your nipple, his fangs piercing the sensitive flesh. You screamed again, the pain mixing with pleasure in a way that shouldn't make sense but did. "Yes, yes, yes!" He drank from you there too, just a few mouthfuls, then moved to the other breast, gave it the same treatment. You were covered in bite marks now, marks that would heal by tomorrow but for now made you look thoroughly claimed.
"I'm close," he grunted, his rhythm stuttering. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum." You could feel him rearranging your insides as your drool trailed down the side of your mouth towards your scalp. "I..I..I..."
He held your waist, his fingers making mark in your skin as he leaned down towards your ear, his breath tickling your skin. "Use those words, sweetheart." You swallowed as he continued to pound deeper and deeper into to your aching cunt. "Cum..inside..."
"Yeah, you want me to fill you up, watch my cum eack out your wet pussy, huh?" You didn't say anything, couldn't do anything but moan and gasp. That seemed to make him want to go harder. As he drove into you faster, your vison became hazy.
Your brain was nothing but fog.
You've never felt anything like this in your life. He grabbed your chin, licking away your drool before whispering against your lips, "I said use your words, songbird. You want me to cum inside your cunt?"
You somehow found your voice, even if it was small. "Yes." He smiled against your lips as he moved faster, his balls slapping against your in-between your legs. You were crying getting louder as he reached into the deepest part of you, making you jolt a bit in the air. "Holy fuck yes!"
That pushed him over the edge. He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and came with a loud moan of his own. You felt him pulsing inside you, felt the hot flood of his release coating your walls. It triggered one more orgasm in you, smaller but no less intense. You clenched around him, milking every last drop from his cock.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting, covered in sweat and blood and other fluids. Your heart was racing, your body completely spent. He was still inside you, softening slowly. You didn't want him to pull out yet. You wanted to stay connected like this, joined together.
Eventually, he rolled off you, pulling out with a wet sound. You both hissed at the loss. You laid there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Your thighs were trembling, your pussy was sore and used, it would heal soon but, damn. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, running down the inside of your thighs and onto the bed.
Eren propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you. He reached between your legs, gathered some of his release on his fingers, making you jolt a bjt as his finger tips brushed across your clit.. Then he brought them to your lips. Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, sucked his fingers clean. The taste was salty, bitter, but nonetheless delicious. You licked between his fingers, making sure you got every drop and making sure you kept your eyes locked on his.
"Jesus," he muttered, watching you with dark eyes.
You released his fingers, smiled up at him. For a long moment, you both just looked at each other. Your glows were fading now, eyes returning to their normal colors. The room was a mess. The sheets were soaked with various fluids, pillows scattered across the floor, the headboard had left dents in the wall. You both looked like you'd been through a war.
It sure as hell felt like it.
After a few minutes, you found your voice again. Stronger than the last time. You looked over at him, your hair laid out on the mattress below as you spoke. "How long have you been a vampire?"
He laughed. He flopped onto his back beside you with a grunt as he sighed and put a hand under his head, looking up at the ceiling as the light from the fireplace made weird shadows. "About sixty years." His head turned to look at you as he spoke in a whisper now. "And what about you?"
"Seventy-three," you said. "Turned in 1857."
"1867," he confirmed. He turned his head to look at the ceiling again before looking at you once more. "And you've been hunting in this city how long?"
"Two years," you said. "Yo-"
"Three."
You chuckled at that and placed yohr hand on your chest before letting out a sigh. "And we never crossed paths until six months ago."
"Funny how that works." He laughed just the same. You both laid there silently listening to the wood in the fireplace burn as you were trying to catch up. You turned onto your side, your hair falling to the side of your face and tilted your head ever so slightly. He mirrored your position. You reached out, traced a finger down his chest, following the drying blood smears. "What now?" you asked.
He caught your soft hand in his, brought it to his beautiful pink lips, and kissed your palm. "Now I think we might have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
His green eyes met yours, and something in them made your breath catch. "I don't think I can let you go." You sat there stunned for a while before sitting up and over him, letting your hair fall over both of your faces. You whispered with a smile.
an. this is for my baby Mika!!! It's her birthday and she was also the one who gave the idea to write this! I swear she's turning me into a Jean girlie lmaoo. but happy birthday boo @aizawash0e
cw. reader has locs(i never see that in fics),shy!reader, southern!reader, southern!jean, farmhand!jean, reader is a virgin so... cherry popping lol, p in v, oral(fem. receiving), jean is a thot, condomless sex(never condone that irl), MDNI 18+
“You better leave that boy alone, [Y/N],” Your father had said when he caught you staring at the farmhand. Jean Kirstein. That boy had a reputation. Known for his handsomeness and southern charm. He had women throwing themselves at him left and right and he had no problem taking advantage of that. In the small, conservative town you lived in, being promiscuous was something heavily frowned upon and Jean was the embodiment of promiscuity. Your daddy was strict. All your life you’ve been holed up in this ranch. Only ever leaving for school and now that you're an adult and still helping out your daddy, you only leave for market runs and other errands. Being sheltered became a problem. You’re grown now, and grown women notice a man like Jean. And so what if it bothers your dad? You both will be fine. Yet still, you feel the need to hide your attraction to Jean. You tell yourself that it’s to keep your daddy’s mouth shut.
“I’m not even thinking about him, Daddy,” You huff, going back to picking apples. Trying to make yourself look busy. Your father doesn’t totally believe you, but for his own sake he lets it go with a hum before heading inside.
Once your dad is out of sight, you glance back at the stables where Jean is moving bales of hay. His muscles flex as he neatly stacks the bales. His white wifebeater sheer from him sweating so much. Every ridge and curve of his abs obscenely on display. You’ve never seen anything like it. He’s so masculine you just can’t look away. You hurry to finish picking the apples. You head inside to the kitchen, set the basket of apples on the counter, make a pitcher of ice water and grab a glass. You have to interact with him. Even if it’s as simple as giving him a glass of water. Before walking out the door, you double check yourself. Your locs are in two braided plaits and your favorite sundress you sewed yourself is draped nicely over your curves. You nod to yourself before heading outside.
You walk towards the stables, the pitcher and glass in hand. Jean sees you coming and grins to himself. Your little crush on him is so obvious. It’s cute and he likes the attention, especially from you. You’re a sight for sure and he’d be a fool to not see it. He just knows your dad would get his shotgun if he found out that Jean even looked at you. You were forbidden, and Jean liked that more than he should.
“That for me, Sweetpea?” Jeans questions smoothly with a lazy grin. You smile at him, bright and warm, and nod. You pour him the water and give him the glass. He takes it from you with a soft thank you. He takes large gulps of the ice water, his Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow. You watch in awe. He’s just effortlessly handsome. From his shaggy brown hair to his scruffy yet neat facial hair. His flirty eyes and kissable lips. His charming smile. You were obsessed. A droplet of water escapes the corner of his mouth. You watch as it runs down the sharp line of his jaw to his chin before he wipes it away. He smirks as you stare at him, caught in a trance. “Sweetpea, you okay?” He asks, waving a hand in front of your face. You blink rapidly as you come back to yourself.
“I’m fine,” You squeak out, pouring him more water. He grins only wanting to tease you more.
“You sure? You seem flustered. Maybe it’s the heat,” He says and before you can protest he takes off his cowboy hat and places it on top of your head. You blink and his glass is pressed against your lips. “Sip,” He commands, not harsh but still strict enough that you immediately take a sip of the cool water as he tilts the glass. He holds eye contact with you, biting his bottom lip as he stares. Your stomach fills with butterflies and you can’t look away. He hums and grins. “Better?” He questions, pulling the glass away from your lips. Internally, you’re freaking out because you’re pretty sure that was an indirect kiss.
But you nod, softly smiling as you whisper a quiet “Yes,” He smiles back at you. There’s a pause, everything goes still and quiet as you both stare at each other. You wonder if he feels it. That pull and fluttering feeling you always feel when you see him. You want to say something. You want to smash your lips against his like in the cheesy romcoms that have become your guilty pleasure. You can’t move though. It’s like you’re stuck in this quiet with him. He doesn’t seem to mind it. He just keeps staring at you with that boyish smile. Finally, you will yourself to say something. As soon as your lips part though, you’re interrupted by your father calling you from the house. You flinch before quickly turning to look. You see him standing on the porch and you swear you can feel his glare.
“Coming, Daddy!” You call back, quickly taking off Jean’s hat, basically shoving it into his chest and taking the glass from him. Gripping both the pitcher and glass tightly, you move swiftly back to the house. Jean clutches his hat to his chest as he watches you with amusement before getting back to work.
-
You had slowly but surely learned how to sneak around to be with Jean. Jean liked you following him around like an eager puppy while he did work around the ranch. You talk and talk, and he just listens as he works. He flirts with you during his breaks and enjoys watching you squirm and grow flustered. You’ve even started baking sweet treats for him. He finds you unbelievably sweet.
Today, you made sure to complete every task and chore that needed to be done at home before grabbing the basket full of cookies you baked for Jean. You double check to see that your daddy isn’t looking for you before heading outside to find Jean. You head over to the stables where you find Jean working on something outside on a ladder.
“Hi, Jean,” You say, craning your neck to look up at him. He doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s you.
“Hey, Sweetpea. You got more treats for me?” He questions. He’s focused, his jeans dirty and the toolbelt he’s wearing makes his waistband sag a little on his hips. The waistband of his boxers showing. You find it a little erotic so you look away.
“Yeah, I did. I made cookies this time,” You say, staring down at the grass. He hums before starting to climb down the ladder. Once he's down, he turns to you and wipes his hands on his jeans. He smiles as he takes in your appearance. A casual soft blue maiden dress, your locs down, with a scarf the same color of your dress wrapped around your head. Your lips are glossy with your favorite lip combo. Your brown skin glowing in the sunlight.
“You look as sweet as these cookies, Darling,” Jean says, taking your hand to spin you around.
“Thank you,” You giggle. His smile only widens. You offer him the basket. He eagerly takes one and bites into it. He groans as the sweet, soft cookie hits his tongue.
“Sweetpea, I swear these damn cookies are magical,” He mumbles, shaking his head as he chews as if the flavors have offended him.
“That good?” You ask. He only nods, already grabbing another cookie before he even finishes the first one.
“You’re distracting me. I gotta finish fixing this,” He sighs, hurrying to finish the cookies in big bites. When he’s done, he climbs up the ladder and continues on whatever he was doing before. You sit down and watch him. You’re quiet today not having anything to talk about. You just bask in his presence, enjoying every second you get to spend with him.
A few hours pass before Jean finishes. You hear him let out a breath making you look up. He gets a few steps down the ladder before his foot misses the next step causing him to fall. He lands on his back with a thud, knocking the wind out of himself. He wheezes and you gasp before scrambling towards him.
“Jean? Are you okay?” You question, helping him sit up. He nods trying to regulate his breathing. You’re worried, checking and making sure he didn't bust his head open.
“I’m fine, Sweetpea. It wasn’t that far of a fall,” He reassures despite being slightly breathless. You stand, helping him stand up as well.
“Come on, let me make sure you’re not concussed,” You say, guiding him towards the house. He follows, but not without reassuring you that he feels fine. Still, the two of you end up inside. You grab an icepack and give it to him. He holds it to the back of his head as you check him for any possible injuries. He chuckles at your concern and you look up at him. “What?” You question, eyebrows furrowing with confusion.
“Nothing, you’re just real cute, [Y/N],” He drawls with that signature smirk. You chuckle softly, a little dismissive. Jean’s smirk widens to a charming smile. “Don’t laugh, I’m serious. You’re beautiful,” He says. You shake your head.
“You must’ve hit your head pretty hard,” You tease, he laughs, low and smooth. It makes your heart sing.
“I’ve always thought you were beautiful… since high school,” He says the last part with a softness that makes you want to swoon. He might as well have hearts in his eyes with the way he looks at you.
“You… noticed me in high school?” You ask. He nods without hesitation. You shake your head in disbelief. “But you-”
“Slept around a lot? Yeah, I know. I let the attention get to my head.” He pauses. You see him thinking. His leg bounces as if he’s anxious but the rest of his body language doesn’t give him away. “Sweetpea, after being around you for some time. I realized that I'm real fond of you… in a way I've never experienced before. I never had to sleep with you to realize that I wanted you. Sure, you’re beautiful… sexy even. I’ve always thought that. But you’re so much more and I want to know all of that more… if you let me,” He confesses. Your eyes are wide in shock. You hadn’t expected the confession. You don’t know what to say, your heart is beating so fast. You can’t help it. You let yourself have your cheesy romcom moment and you kiss him. A gentle yet firm press of your lips against his.
You’re excited, thrilled that this is happening. Jean drops the icepack and grabs you by the waist to pull you onto his lap. You gasp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. He adjusts, laying you down gently on the couch. His lips trail kisses down your neck and you moan softly. Your hands find his shoulders pushing his back slightly. He looks down at you slightly panting.
“My daddy. He could walk in here at any moment,” You whisper. Jean lets out a sigh. He’s not annoyed, just impatient.
“Sweetpea, I’ve been tiptoeing around your old man long enough. I don’t give a damn what he sees,” Jean mumbles. You can’t argue with that, but you still hesitate. Jean notices, so he cups your face in his large, calloused hands. “I promise to be quiet. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” He reassures, you nod. This is your chance and opportunity to do something rebellious. To do something that you actually want. Not what’s expected of you.
“Okay, I just have never done this before,” You admit with a small sigh. Jean smirks.
“What? Never had sex while your daddy was home?” He questions, a devious chuckle rumbling from his chest. You place your hand on his chest and look up at him. You’re serious as you repeat yourself.
“Jean, I’ve never done this before,” His face falls before his eyes widen.
“Oh,”
“Yeah,”
“You sure you want to… I can wait a little longer, Sweetpea. I just don’t wanna rush. Maybe I should take you on a proper date first…”
“Are you… nervous?” You question with a soft laugh. Jean scoffs.
“What? No, I just… am being considerate, Darling. Let’s at least do this in your bedroom,” He says. You grin.
“You were just saying you’ve been waiting too long,” He sighs at that.
“That was before you told me you were a virgin. I’m not taking you on the couch, Sweetpea,” He says firmly. You playfully roll your eyes before sitting up. You lead him to your room and you realize this is really about to happen. Jean seems calm though, his expression unreadable as he stares you down. “You’re absolutely sure you want to do this, Sweetpea?” He asks, stepping closer to you. His large, calloused hand cups your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin. You nod but, that’s not good enough for him. “Use your words, Baby,” He drawls, his voice deeper, huskier, and embarrassingly sexy.
“Yes, I’m sure,” You reply, feeling the atmosphere around you change. His energy is different, you can’t quite put words to the shift. He slowly kisses you, taking his time. You hum softly against his lips, following his lead. He pulls you closer with his free hand on your waist. You’re basically melting in his hands. He smirks against your lips then starts trailing kisses down your neck. He starts nipping and sucking on your skin. You let out a soft moan. Jean only gets hungrier. Every kiss, every bite, growing more passionate.
“Fuck, I need you, Sweetpea. You got me fucking starving,” He groans, his hands all over you. “Can I? Lemme taste you. I promise you’ll love it,” He whispers, desperation bleeding into every word. You can only nod, panting softly as he slowly works your dress off of your body. The fabric falls and Jean groans. “So fucking beautiful,” He mumbles, quickly tugging his shirt off and guiding you to lay on your bed. You’re in awe of him like this. Something about the fact that he finds you so appetizing is so arousing. He kisses down your body. His kisses are soft and openmouthed until he reaches your cunt. He pulls back slightly to spread your legs properly and he gasps. You panic a little at the sound, thinking something is wrong.
“What?” You ask, looking down at him between your legs. His eyes never leave your pussy and he doesn’t answer you right away. He only locks eyes with you as he licks a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moan, your back arching.
“She’s pretty,” Is all he says before completely diving in. His tongue slowly swirls around your sensitive clit. Your body shudders as you whimper. Your fingers tangle in his hair softly tugging on his strands.
“Jean,” You whimper, the pleasure is overwhelming. It’s nothing you’ve ever felt yourself. It’s so much better. His tongue works your swollen bud like the most precious pearl. So precise and gentle. “Fuck, I can’t,” You whine rolling your hips against his face. He lets you whine and writhe a little before soothing you.
“Shhhh, yes, you can, Sweetpea. Lemme make you feel good,” He mumbles right against your cunt. The vibrations from his voice humming against your clit making your thighs tense and twitch. He chuckles and sucks your clit into his mouth.
“Fuck!” You cry out. He sucks and laps at your clit before rubbing his middle finger up and down your entrance. Your body jerks and trembles as you whine and moan. Your brain melting until you’re a babbling mess.
“I know, Sweetpea,” He coos soothingly. He finally pushes his middle finger inside of you. Your walls, tight and slick around his digit. He sucks on your clit a little harder to distract you from the stretch of adding his ring finger.
“Please,” You whimper, unsure what you're pleading for but knowing you need it. He somehow knows too, because he slowly thrusts his fingers in and out of your cunt while his tongue flicks your clit. Your grip on his hair tightens. Jean lets out a groan, his fingers searching and searching until… “Oh fuck!” You scream. His fingers find your sweet spot. He grins at your reaction and focuses on that spot that has you seeing stars. You’re dripping down his fingers, babbling and whining loudly. Your legs tremble as he sucks on your clit again. His fingers still massage your spot. You feel it, the coil in your lower stomach growing tighter and tighter. It’s so much more intense. Like you might burst from the pleasure. You just can’t hold it. You unravel, your entire being trembling as you cry out. Jean moans detaching his mouth from your clit and letting you ride out your high with his fingers.
“Look at you, Sweetpea… such a good girl,” He praises. Your hands fall to your sides as you pant. You're sprawled beneath him. He chuckles, carefully pulling out his fingers. “You okay?” He asks leaning up to kiss you. You nod as he pulls away.
“I’m fine,” you rasp out.
“You want to keep going?” He asks his hands rubbing up and down your waist soothingly. You nod quickly. “Words, Sweetpea,” He reminds you. You smile a little.
“Yes, I want to,” You respond with a small giggle. At that he stands undoing his belt and jeans. They fall with a soft clink and thud. He pulls his boxers off and your eyes widen. His dick springs free. He’s hard, his tip flushed pink and glistening from leaking precum. He’s big, thick and at least eight inches. If he notices your stare he doesn’t say anything. Only climbing onto the bed with you, hovering over you again. His hands grab the plushness of your thighs and guide your legs to wrap around his waist. His lips find yours again. You sigh into the kiss immediately relaxing. His tongue pushes into your mouth and you moan.
“Been dreaming about this,” He mumbles, parting from you only slightly to grip the base of his cock. He drags his tip through your folds slowly, groaning lowly. You whimper and Jean just can’t take it. He’s trembling, trying his damn hardest to be patient. Reminding himself over and over what you mean to him. How he wants to make this special, not just some hookup.
“Jean,” You huff. His eyes snap open. He hadn’t realized he had closed them. “Hurry up, please,” You say. He chuckles a little.
“Okay,” He breathes, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead as he slowly starts to push into your wet, tight heat. He moans. A slightly pathetic sound but you’re too wrapped up in the burning stretch of his dick to make fun of him for it. He stops about halfway to let you adjust. His thumb finds your clit to rub slow circles on it, soothing whatever discomfort you feel. You whine.
“Jean,” Your voice is breathless. His free hand cups your cheek. He makes you look at him. His eyes are intense. He’s captivating.
“Breathe, baby,” He mutters before rolling his hips slowly. His thrusts get deeper and deeper until he bottoms out. You’re gasping, He feels so deep inside of you, like you can feel him in your stomach. His hips don’t stop. You can’t stop whimpering. Eventually, your whimpers turn into moans and his grinding turns into pounding thrusts. Your hands all over each other, bodies moving together as if you were one. It’s hot, intimate. Too much yet, not enough all at once.
“So good… fuck,” You sob. His eyes stay glued to where you’re connected. You're creaming all over his shaft. It’s filthy and he just can’t stop looking. Both of you lost track of how long you’ve been at it. It doesn’t matter, neither of you want this pleasure to end. He’s sweating, giving his all, and you take it greedily.
“Such a good girl, look at this pussy taking me. She loves it,” He growls. His hand tangles in your locs and he supports your head so you can watch. You whine, Your walls clenching tighter. His thrusts get rougher, chasing the pleasure. “Fuck, you like that, Baby?” He grunts.
“Yes! Yes, I love it, Jean!” You cry out, your toes curling from the pleasure. His thumb finds your clit again and he rubs it in quick circles, wanting to push you towards the edge. Before you know it, tears well in your eyes. You're so close to that powerful release you can taste it.
“Cum for me, Sweetpea. Been so good for me. You can do it, Baby,” He encourages, his thrusts grow sloppy. He’s getting closer and closer to his own release. You sob, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your orgasm washes over you and you scream. Your walls milk him for all he’s worth as your body trembles. Your orgasm is so intense your ears ring. After one last stuttering thrust, Jean pulls out, stroking himself swiftly as he groans, his cum painting your stomach in warm, sticky ropes. You both pant as you come down. He leans down to peck your lips, using his clean hand to wipe your tears.
“You okay, Sweetpea?” He whispers, you nod and kiss him back. He smiles. “I still want to take you on a date,” He says with that signature boyish grin. You laugh softly.
“Okay, Jean,” You say, unable to stop smiling at him. He chuckles softly stroking your cheek before getting up to get something to clean up with. He returns with a wet washcloth. He wipes you down gently.
“Come on before your daddy starts searching for us. He’s gonna find us like this and shoot my ass” Jean chuckles, helping you up. You both get dressed. Sharing giggles and soft kisses the whole time. Heading downstairs Jean goes out to go back to work. You hear your father yelling at Jean about going missing for some hours. You and Jean share a knowing look as you pass by, continuing on like it never happened.
dividers by: @thecutestgrotto
This is my original works do not copy
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