Five am and the sun wasn't out yet and the streets weren't flooded with cars and people on their way to their destinations yet.
Inside the apartment the silence was replaced by a soft buzz, full of love but still sleepy.
The only light inside came from the bathroom, were Brian and you had been in silence for at least five minutes, hugging, leaning in each other, the dream state humming lowly under their skin still, not wanting to face a day that had not even begun, too comfortable in the warmth that existed in the apartment to separate.
You were the first to let him go, letting your arms fall to your side, but with your body still leaning against his, face nuzzled on his bare chest, breathing on his natural odor mixed with the fabric softener of the sheets were you both were tangled just minutes ago.
Brian leaning against the sink with his face nuzzled in your neck, whining stuff you can't comprehend. Feeling his beard scrath lightly your neck, your remembered why you were there at ungodly hours of the morning.
"Amor, se te va a hacer tarde, otra vez" you said in a soft pich, not wanting to burst the bubble of comfort around you both.
He whinned something while trying to hide even depper in the juncture of your neck somehow, his beard causing you to giggle lightly, laugh vibrating against his heart.
With a final breath against your skin he separated himself from your skin, looking directly at your eyes, still drowsy with sleep, soft smile and soft caresses from his hands on your waist under your t shirt, his t shirt.
Without breaking eye contact with you, he passed you the shaving cream, you had told him he looked good with his beard a little bit overgrown, the word was sexy if we were to be specific, but he insisted in at least leave it trimed.
You put a little cream on your hands, carefully spreading it over his beard until it forms enough foam, again, without looking away, he pass you the rake and a new razor blade, looking at you attentively, you start laughing, because, can't he look other way?
"Deja de mirarme porque si no no voy a poder rasusrarte" you said with an almos shy smile, holding his face by the chin, ready to start shaving him. "No puedo" he said with an even bigger smile, giving you a little pinch on the waist, making you jump and screaming his name a little, pushing his shoulder in a playful manner, he just hold you tighter.
He was gonna be late to the training again and the both of you knew it, and didn't care, not when he was holding you like that, not when you hold his face with such care to not hurt him, not with his eyes full of love looking directly at you.
ĖŹā”ÉĖ ā Content belongs to @st-444-rgirl @st444rgirl-service @st444rgirl-life. I do NOT allow plagiarism, mofification or translations of my works on other platforms.
SYNOPSIS: You meet Brian late at the club after another chivas win.
CONTENT WARNING(S): fluff, drunk people, a little bit of teasing, Puppy love!Brian, not proofread.
A/N: HELLO, sorry this is a short one girlies, will be posting the requests later tonight in order in which they were requested, so please be patient with me. This is your reminder that my request are OPEN, anyways, thank u so much for reading, enjoy! Endlessly yours, stargirl.
Y/N'S POV
1:15 am
I was at the club in the afterparty of the Chivas team, the last match ended in a complete win 2-0 for the red and white herd, winning by a gol from the player who was becoming one of the favorites, Brian Gutierrez.
Talking about him, it has been aproximately 20 minutes since i feel his gaze on me, even when dancing surrounded by a lot of people, i could feel his gaze burning on my body.
Through the past months we had some interesting interactions on instagram, and tiktok, i always found myself checking my notifications just to see his profile forty something seconds after i posted the most random stuff, or his only emojis comments he leves in my pictures, or just the reactions on my stories.
Even when having all of this interactions through social media, i think this is the first time we have ever seen each other in person, im pretty sure we had seen each othe for at least five minutes after a match, but i never stayed around for longer, so tonight, there was something extra in the air, and he seemed to know that too.Ā
BRIAN'S POV
I was already a little tipsy, it was only fair after the winning of today's match, having started the afterparty a little erlier than usual, which was probably a bad decision considering she was here, a few meters from me in the dancing floor looking like a goddess with the way the light in the club was shining on her.
Armando commented earlier before the match of the posibility of her being here tonight, hate to say that he was right, now i have him by my right nagging my ear off of "i told you so".
She always left me on seen, the most i could get from her were likes to my messages and comments, nothing more. But now we were both here, i know she knew i was looking at her, but honestly, how i couldn't? she was there, dancing, existing and stealing my breath away without even knowing, she didn't have to even try, that's the effect she had on me.
"You already look like she has you on a leash, and she doesn't even know bro" interrumpts Armando on his side, can he not see i got my attention in more important matters?, i pushed him from the bar, looking how he laughs his ass off, then i looked to the dance floor again, only for me to find her gaze already on me.
Felt the push forward, didn't have to look knowing it was Armando fucking with me again, then another voice joined the conversation, there was Diego suddenly at my left, a cuba on his hand, "that's the chula you are stalking?" which inmediately sent Armando in a fist of laughter, i just rolled my eyes, earning a laugh from Diego, but we all fell silent when we saw her approaching the bar with a calmness that scared the shit out of me.
I turned to my right, looking for some kind of help, just to find those two bastards gone, looking up, she was even more closer than before, and suddenly my drink and the floor of the club looking hella interesting.
I saw her getting comfortble just one stool away from, catching inmediately the bartender attention, i could feel her gaze on me again, i took another sip of my drink and turned around to see her.
Y/N'S POV
Seeing him, at the bar all alone made me think that maybe this was the night to meet him, i was sober enough to have a conversation, he seemed okay but a little tipsy, maybe that will loosen up the tension that suddenly plagued the club.
I asked for a tequila sunrise just for the fun of it, sitting myself pretty on the stool, moving my hair out of my collarbon because if was doing this, i was gonna do it fucking right. I turned to my right to see right at his face, with those piercing eyes, i could only smile while sipping my drink, murmuring an almost shy "hi".
BRIAN'S POV
I was completely ruined, and she fucking knew it, she looked divine just like that. Smiling like she knew the power she holded over my head. Hearing her voice like honey, the only thing i could say was "you look pretty tonight" and she started laughing right in my face, i could feel something warm spreading from my neck to my face, she smiled "just tonight?"
Felt cold and i almost yelled "NO!, I i mean not just tonight, you're pretty everyday, i mean, i don't see you everyday, i just know-" before i could continue trying to explain myself she took my arm and told me it was fine.
We fell into a pretty much uncomfortable silence, "you watched today's match?" "nice match today huh" we said at same fucking time, if this wasn't a signal from God that we were meant to be togheter, i dont know what i was. I smiled hearing her laughter, she had the type of smile where you could see her happiness in her eyes. I couldn't help it, she looked extremely soft, had me wrapped around her little finger, she seemed to suddenly looked at me better, locking eyes without a phone screen in between, this was starting to feel so real. "Brian omg, you're sooo tipsy" and i swear, on my life i couldn't help it, "maybe, but tomorrow i'll be sober and you'll be even prettier than tonight" that seemed to take her off, i could see how her face reflect some surprise, but also something softer underneath, now it was my turn of watching her turn red, she lowered her head, and i knew it was now or never, oportunitys like this, like on football matches, appeared on rare ocassions. I took two steps forward and lifted his head from her chin, brushing her hair away from her face and behind her ear, "chula, look at me", it took her a second to lift her gaze and for me to saw the complete vulnerability and sincerity in her e/c eyes.
"i'm gonna say somethig because i don't know if i'll feel as brave as now tomorrow", i took a breath and then "Go out with me, like a date" and then, just to not see like one of those typical males i added "please bonita".
Y/N'S POV
He had those yearning eyes, so soft, so warm but mostly, full of honesty. I didn't know what to say, but something about him, and the way he said please bonita with the eyes of a puppy waiting for someon to play with him, i felt something warm in my chest and a whole zoo on my stomach. "Yes" i smiled and inmediately saw him breaking in such a childish smile full of hope.
Felt his hands on my waist and he leaned against my head, i close my eyes and felt him smile, and as if the whole club wasn't vibrating with music, i cross my hands behind his neck and started swaying with him, letting myself be embraced by him. I mean, children and drunk people always tell the truth, no?
ĖŹā”ÉĖ ā Content belongs to @st-444-rgirl @st444rgirl-service @st444rgirl-life. I do NOT allow plagiarism, mofification or translations of my works on other platforms.
A/N: A little gift porque de repente me mandaron como 20 request perense tantito madres santas, y mĆnimo como 10 asĆ puercotes, no juzgo hermanas anyways, since iāll probably take more time writing I thought of leaving you girlies some hc with you know, some visuals jiji. Endlessly yours, stargirl
Brian looking at you through the mirror, taking you from the back and forcing you to watch yourself come undone
You interrupted his game sesion with Armando, so he makes you work for it
Brian comes home from training with just too much stamina
This is just so so so him
Rubbing ur clit while pounding in you
Sending him videos while heās out of the city, humping the teddy bear he got you so you feel less lonely
Mornings before training with the team š¤
Fucking you after he find out you werenāt wearing panties during the team dinner
My boy just looooves that ass
He likes when you get all impatient so you take what you want from him
Just a quickie? Heās always down to take you on the backseat of his car, youāre so sweet following orders!
Munch Brian! Munch Brian! Munch Brian!
He wants the cookie so effing bad
How can he say no when you ask him to touch you down there?
BONUS:
You couldnāt decide between Brian or Armando, so them being the really good friends they are, canāt break your heart making you decide, so why not both?
Brian and Armando always know the way to get you to relax after al looong day
News says you three are just friends, but are you?
SYNOPSIS: Reader tries to sleep when thereās a massive blackout and his neighbor results to be a cute water colored eyes boy
CONTENT WARNING(S): creo que nada, a little bit cringey, bad bad bad, a little suggestive, not proofread
A/N: Q onda Reinas, aquĆ ando de regreso y les traje este fluff cortito y equison, voy a estar posteando el resto de fics programados durante la noche/maƱana ya q se pasaron de verga con los request JAJAJAJ y me estĆ” tomando mĆ”s tiempo de lo que esperaba. Endlessly yours, stargirl.
Being a mexican worlwide pop star had its ups and downs, like being able to travel the world and staying in the best hotels all inclusive, even when she was unable to enjoy of the al inclusive things, since most of the day she was out, going to an interview, recording a videoclip, then to photoshoot and another photoshoot after, but what she loved the most about this hotels was the bed, somehow hotels always have the best fucking beds, even whit her bed back at her apartment whit her queen beed, and five thousands threads sheets, she alway slept better in hotels.
But she wasnĀ“t the only important guest, earlier in the day she saw a group or boys doing too much noise at the lobby, they all had jerseys but she didnĀ“t really knew about football, but she did care about the group in the lobby, especially about the blonde one, he was tall, almost anyone in the group were tall, but he had watercolor eyes and an almost shy aura to him, cute.
Sadly, now at night she couldn't sleep, because she was in the city of Monterrey, for a series of concerts the next few days, and Monterrey being Monterrey had a fucking massive blackout, and the nights in the north of Mexico are hot as fuck.
She was already ready for bed, hair freshly washed, clean sheets, a face mask on, and she was about to read a book on her bed when all the lights when off. In a try to make the hot weather a little more berable she opened the doors of her balcony, in hopes of the fresh air will help her sleep a little.
An hour passed and she was still turning in her bed, the sheets stick to her skin making her feel clamy, hot and bothered, so in a last try to refresh herself a litle, she took one of the chairs out on the balcony to at least watch the sky in hopes of getting lull to sleep. Humming to herself, she heard strange noises that seemed to come from the room next door, there was nothing else to do, so she decided to take a peak, a little one, and what she saw took a little of her breath out.
A pretty blonde guy. Without a shirt on the balcon next door. The cute one from that morning in the lobby. Weird how the destiny worked, huh?.
She tried to pull the chair so he doesn't see her, but with her bad luck, the chair made a scraching noise, so loud it even startled herself. She inmediately looked to her right to finde the prety watercolor eyes startled as much as hers. She gasped and let a little giggle, because how can this be more awkward? "Buenas noches" she murmured with an akward smile, hoping she embarassed herself enough already. She saw him get redon the face,looking down, murmuring a greeting back before going back inside his room.
"Yo, osea si, querĆa decir que..." he looked at her just to find her gaze already on him, with a bringht smile and kind eyes, "Te esta afectando el calor gĆ¼ero?"
They keep talking for a while, with both their bodies leaning against the railing on the balcony, sometimes there were silence, but comfortable ones, he told her about the upcoming match they had, and she told him about another interview she had the next day. Even with the thickness of the weather that night, between those balconys an interaction felt fresher than any rain day.
"ĀæPuedo?" before she could think of what was he asking for she nodded a little shy and smiled when she feel him getting closer to the point of their beaths mixing. She fel his lips brushing her, soft, almost as shy as him, felt his toungue gently licking her inferior lip, she parted her mouth to feel the hot ness of his toungue invaiding her mouth and caressing gently her insides, making her feel something soft in her belly and down in the middle of her legs. She was the one to break the kiss for air, he brushed the hair out of his face, and kissing her again.
They separated to breath, he smiled at her and asked "podemos salir? maƱana o cuando quieras?" with a shy smile and a certain sparkle on his eyes, before she could answer, the light came back with a gentle buzz, they looked around to see how slowly every room in the hotel became alive with light, they could hear the happy screams from the other rooms, they looke back to each other and smiled
"Por que no vienes a mi habitacion?" she said with a mischevious smile that Brian tough rivaled the moon, the she add, "Y te dare una respuesta a la cita por la maƱana" she walked back to her room just to turn to look over her shoulder "Āæque dices bonito?" and walked inside.
It's too much to say, soon she heard 3 knocks in her room, knowing some watercolor eyes were waiting for her right outside the door.
ĖŹā”ÉĖ ā Content belongs to @st-444-rgirl @st444rgirl-service @st444rgirl-life. I do NOT allow plagiarism, mofification or translations of my works on other platforms.
HEY GURLLL, okay so i was thinking like a threesome between brian and hormiga, but the plot is not like the typical having your boyfriends friend fuck you, but more like you three are best friends and while being drunk shit happens yk š , and itāll also be cool if like the story is in english but theyāre dialogue in spanish, ANYWAYS LOVE YAAAAA
CONTENT WARNING(S): Drunk!sex, cream pie, spit, dacryphilia, pnv, sex without protection (ponganse condon viejonas), dom!Brian, dom!Armando, soft!Armando, pet names, not proofread, MINOS DNI
The night had stared as any other the last weekends, y/n will say something in the group chat about being thirsty, and not even 5 minutes later Armando wil be there to support her decision of going out for drinks, even if they had been at clubs at least 6 times the past month, Brian will tease him saying he is a simp, but ultimately agreeing to go out with them, like always.
After going back and forth choosing wich clubs they'll be going tonight, who'll be driving, and Y/N making the boys give their opinion on her 6th outfit of the night, the three of them were on their way to the club, listening to Y/N's playlist blasting on Armando's car, about to have the night of their lives.
Arriving at the club, slowly but surely the drinks started to flow with a firts round or shots, followed by a tequila bottle and another one. Armando danced with Y/N, spinning her around, and laughing with her in the middle of the dancefloor with Brian always looking from the bar, never one to dance. Armando ultimately left her on the dance floor, knowing she'll be fine and were just vibing to the music, coming back to Brian at the bar and while they'd talk a little bit over the music, they both find themselves looking at her on the dance floor.
Armando almost jump from his stool at the bar, only to be held back by Brian, who also stood up, finishing first his drink, puting the vase down "Aguanta, deja que nos busque" and as if his words went straight to her ears, she started looking at the sides, suddenly too aware of her surroundings, till she finally look at the bar, to see her two boys already walking to her, Brian with a hevier step than Armando.
To which Armando, with the soft voice of someone talking to a kid "Vamos a tu depa, ahĆ podemos seguir tomando" which was enough for y/n to keep walking even faste to the entrance of the club, making Armando hold her hand even tighter in fear of her tripping on her heels.
Back at y/n's apartment, she kick of her heels, thrpwing her bag on the kitchen counter and before sitting herself on the couch, she throws her head back "Armandoooo, puedes traer unas copitas y un vinito del refri? pleaseeee baby" looking back around and missing the way Armando's face bloomed with redness up to his ears.
Brian came closely behind her, sitting on one extreme of the couch, letting her throw her legs over his laps, finding himself inmediately caressing her legs.
Soon Armando appeared with the wine glasses and the bottle, passing her one, Brian one and setling himself right by her side, leaving her leaning against his chest and her legs still on Brian's lap.
"y/n obvio que probabilidad, nomas somos 3 para el nunca nunca, ni al caso" said Brian with a low laugh, Armanddo laughed too almost inmediately "si, como si no supieramos todo del otro y/n"
"Okay okay sabelotodos, que probabilidad hayyyy, de que Armando se fondee la copa?" they counted, resulting in Armando chugging his wine glass while Brian and y/n laughed at him
So she kissed him,Ā slowly but surely at first, Brian after the initial shock, hold her by the cheek deepening the kiss, breathing into it till y/n started laughing breaking the kiss, looking at each other when Armando's voice breaked the momento "Apoco si? que probabilidad hay de que me beses a mi y/n?" she started laughing again, but whitout a word she leaned towards him, caressing his face and leaning her other hand on his chest, Armando saw her face and knew he was fucked, like really really fucked. He closed the distance and kissed her first, taking advantage of her little gasp to caress her inside with his toungue. Y/n started to let little mewls out of her lips, feeling Armando grab her by her hips and sitting her on his lap. They hear'd some rustle in the room, separating to see Brian looking at them, rolling up his sleeves, locking eyes with Armando.
Her legs parted instinctively as Brian sinks to one knee between them, his hands on her thighs, pushing the fabric of her already short dress up inch by inch while Armando started to nuzzle his face on her neck, kissing and looking down at Brian "MĆrala" murmured against the skin of her neck, "tan linda, no?"
Brian didn't respond, instead, his hands opened up her legs even more so he can fit his big form between her legs, traicing slow circles with his fingers his way up until the reached the damp fabric between your legs, making her, without meaning too, let a soft moan out. Armando hummed pleased with the view, sliding down one of his hands to the neck line of her dress, cupping her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple.
"Te quiero dentro Brian, pleasee" Brian didn't let her finish, sucking on her clit until her thighs tremble, and Armando slips her off her dress, leaving her bare between the both of them, he rolls one nipple between his fingers, dipping his head to lick over her breast making her whine while closing her eyes.
"MĆrame" Brian says, with his eyes half lidded and focused, hair messy as he slides two fingers inside making her whimpper, back bowing, hole clenching around them, Armando laughs feeling her hand slip under his boxer and stroking lightly his tip, "Haces los ruidos mĆ”s bonitos y/n" he said, before he started to hump against her ass, his cock pressing hot and heavy, watching Brian devour you, who looking up to her says "Buena chica, que ruidosa que eres", which only worked to intensify the sounds leaving her mouth and her desperation for more.
Brian stands up from his place between her legs, grabbing her by the hips and making her stand up, signaling Armando to stand too, he turns her around, pushing her down on the couch on her knees, ass presented, putting her hands in the back rest "sujetate de aqui y no te mueves" instructed Brian, she look to the front, to see Armando already without his shirt and right on time to take his pants off, feeling a little slap on her ass from Brian. Behind her she could her the almost obscene metalic click of Brian's belt, feeling a caress in her hair, she looked up to se Armando stroking slowly his cock infront of her face "Hola bonita" he smiled and she did too, tipping her chin up, excited for what was to come, "abre tu boquita amor", she did as he told her, tongue flat and he slides in, filing her mouth to the max, making her breath through the nose, and moan aroun the shaft, hearing Armando exhale sharply through his nose, hands sliding into her hair to guide the rhythm.
Behind her, Brian lined up, one hand gripping her hip hard, the other spreading her open, looking the wet mess he'd done to her seconds before, he pushed in with one long and steady thrust, her back arching with a muffled cry vibrating against Armando's dick.
"Mierda" Brian curses "estas super apretada mi amor, aunque jugue contigo un rato" he breathed shakily "hace cuĆ”nto querĆas esto, hm?", she doesn't answer, she can't, mouth full, but as an answer, she pushes her ass back against him, clenching and trembling, he groans, hips snapping forward, harder, going into a butal pace that rocks her into Armando's lenght .
ArmandoĖs cock past your lips until the head hits the back of her throat, filling her eyes with tears, she gags sofly, swirling her tongue under the prominent vein on his dick, Brian thrust drives you forward on Armando's dick again and again. The three find a rythm without speaking, Armando pulls and Brian pushes, seesawing her between them until her whole body is shaking.
"Dios" Brian growls, fingers digging deeper into her hips, watching the way her throat works around Armando "MĆrala, te toma como una natural Hormiga" he said to him as he starts to thrust deeper, balls slapping against her clit with every snap. She whines against Armano's cock, drool slipping down her chin, Armando thightens his grip on her hair, fucking her mouth while Brian riles her, who pulls out just enough to slap back again.
Armano slides off her mouth for her to gasp, strings of spit connecting her lips to his tip, "Usa tus palabras mi amor, dinos como se siente" while Brian still pounding her pussy difficults her words, between whimpers she says "Tan llena, no pares", Brian slams deep from behind, taking one of her hands from the couch to put it in her clit, he leans towards her ear and commands "Tocate", she does as he tolds, body rocking, back arching throat and cunt stuffed to the brim.
Armando's thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that slipped free, "dĆ³nde lo quieres?" he says with a soft voice underneth, thrusthing deeper in her mouth, chasing his own release, Brian, catching the change in the rythm as he speeds up determined to make her cum first. "en mi" a pause "los dos" she said, they looked at each other, decissive as she started to speed the movement on her fingers circling her clit in an almost desperate manner, moans incresing the vibrations on Armando's dick, he groans as his hips start to falter.
She cums first, tears down her face, gripping the couch and almost falling forward if not for Brian holding her back, her body spasmming and her pussy clenching, feeling herself trembling, Armando shots his load in her mouth, throwhing his head back witha groan of her name, slidding out and watching his cum mixed with her spit dripping to the floor.
Her moans become louder as Brian speeds up searching for his realease, feeling her clench around him and with a final snapof his hips, he shot his cum inside her, letting out small whimpers and letting himself lean over her back, trying to catch his breath. When he finally pulls out, seeing his seed slip out of her pussy, he pushes his cum back inside with his fingers, leaving a little pat over her pussy. He sits righ beside her, bringing her down with him, letting her relax on his chest while caressing her chest and kissing her shoulder.
ĖŹā”ÉĖ ā Content belongs to @st-444-rgirl @st444rgirl-service @st444rgirl-life. I do NOT allow plagiarism, mofification or translations of my works on other platforms.
SYNOPSIS: Brian se pone celoso cuando alguien mĆ”s te hace reĆr
CONTENT WARNING(S): Fluff, un poquito spicy, hay una agresiĆ³n mĆnima contra Mateo jajaj, inseguridades, etc. medio triste si le pones mucha atenciĆ³n. NOT PROOFREAD
A/N: Hello girlypops, anon gracias por tu pedido! Tarde pero seguro alv, Espero que te guste, tome bastante libertad en hacer lo que se me dio la gana JAJAJA es q no especificaste como querĆas que terminara o asĆ, pero equis espero que te guste aunque fue un poquis corto. Endlessly yours, stargirl.
Brian se habĆa convencido a sĆ mismo que sus Ćŗnicos malos habitos eran ir a dormir tarde y pasar demasiado tiempo jugando videojuegos con Armando.
Y desde que habĆa empezado a salir contigo podĆa casi jurar que todos sus malos habitos habĆan terminado, hacĆa caso en los entrenamientos sin pelear mucho, no se enganchaba en los problemas, comĆa y dormĆa mejor (pese a las horas, ya que lo obligabas a tomar una siesta por las tardes), y sobre todo era mĆ”s feliz.
Lo cual hacĆa mĆ”s raro el dolor en el pecho y la sensaciĆ³n de hormigueo en las manos, aĆŗn mĆ”s raro que fuera durante un entrenamiento. Y jodidamente raro que se sintiera asĆ cuando veĆa a Mateo acercarse a donde estabas sentada en las gradas esperando que acabara el entrenamiento.
Volteo inmediatamente hacĆa las gradas solo para ver la peor imagen posible. Tu riendote recargada del hombro de Mateo y Mateo, dios Mateo estaba mĆ”s rojo que el uniforme.
Y por una vez, le iba a hacer caso a la hormiga, caminando decicidido y rĆ”pido hacia las gradas, escucho como lo llamaba el entrenador, comentando algo como que si no regresaba en ese momento le tocaban lagartijas despues del entrenamiento, todo cayĆ³ en oĆdos sordos para Brian.
El Ćŗnico objtivo claro en este momento era averiguar el chistecito de Mateo.
Cuando estaba lo suficientemente cerca, se dio cuenta que incluso estabas tomando aire entre las risas, perfecto. CruzĆ³ miradas con Mateo el cual inmediatamente bajo la mirada y se removiĆ³ en su asiento. 'Si, date cuenta de tu lugar' fue lo que pensĆ³ Brian al estar finalmente enfrente de ustedes dos.
"Amor, Āæya acabaste?" lo volteaste a ver con una sonrisa que rivalidaba el brillo del sol, mirandolo con tu ojos color e/c, mirandolo como si el colgara la luna y las estrellas. Tu siempre tan linda, pero este no era el momento.
"Lo siento preciosa, pero venĆa por Mateo" volteo a verlo a el de nuevo, aĆŗn mirando el piso "te habla el entrenador" la voz le saliĆ³ mĆ”s golpeada de lo que querĆa, pero lo peor apenas venĆa.
Preparandose para empujar hacia enfrente, Mateo levanto la mirada y Brian al ver que se la estaba aguantando, tronĆ³. Fue la gota que derramo el vaso. Se dejo ir hacia en frente, con mĆ”s fuerza de la necesaria, cuando quiso echarse hacia atrĆ”s ya era demasiado tarde, Mateo salĆa disparado hacia el otro lado, solo alcanzĆ³ a ver cuando ya estaba tirado en el suelo. Se escucharon varios jadeos, un "no mames wey" y un "ya fue el Mati".
Inmediatamente se acercaron algunos a auxiliar a Mateo junto con el entrenador, Brian murmurĆ³ por lo bajo un "no le paso nada", volteando a las gradas te viĆ³ de pie, asustada tal vez, con tus manos en la boca y supo que era suficiente. Camino hacĆa ti, escuchando a Armando llamarlo pero no se diĆ³ la vuelta, tomo tu bolso con un simple "VamĆ³nos" y empezĆ³ a caminar al estacionamiento sin importarle si lo seguĆas o no.
Finalmente llegaron a la torre de apartamentos, de igual manera que al salir del entrenamiento, tomo tu bolso, abrio tu puerta y espero a que salieras, con su mano libre te tomĆ³ de la cintura guiandote suavemente hacia el elevador, dentro se atrevio a mirarte por el espejo, podĆa ver tu semblante un poco menos preocupado, pero aĆŗn asĆ veĆa el amor con el que lo mirabas. Una vez dentro del departamento sabĆa que era hora de enfrentar las cosas.
Escucho tus pasos al acercarte, y luego sintiĆ³ tus manos al rededor de su cintura y tu cabeza apoyada contra su espalda, sintiĆ³ tu respiraciĆ³n y entonces se dio la vuelta para abrazarte de igual manera. Sin soltarte se dirigiĆ³ al sillĆ³n, dejandose caer de manera que quedaras sentada sobre su regazo, se sparĆ³ un poco solopara esconder su rostro en la uniĆ³n de tu cuello y tus claviculas, inhalando profundamente hasta que sintiĆ³ que podĆa mirarte de nuevo. SintiĆ³ tus manos peinando su cabello hacia atrĆ”s, masajeando su cuero cabelludo con tus uƱas.
Brian sintiĆ³ que de pronto la habitaciĆ³n se hacĆa mĆ”s chica y el calor avanzaba por su rostro, cuando no contesto de inmediato, solo sonreĆste mĆ”s, cerrando los ojos y besando su frente. Brian juro que verte asĆ de feliz era su propĆ³sito en la vida. De pronto sintiĆ³ como besabas su mejilla, cerrĆ³ los ojos y tus labios estaban sobre sus parpados, su nariz, la otra mejilla y los labios cuando comenzĆ³ a reĆr contigo. "SĆ³lo no apartes tus ojos de mĆ" murmurĆ³ regresando un poco a la inseguridad, peo no le diste tiempo de pensar mucho mĆ”s cuando lo jalaste del cuello de su jersey a tus labios.
Que ridĆculo habĆa sido, hace menos de una hora estaba dispuesto a arrastrar a Mateo de regreso a la cancha y ahora te tenĆa encima de el, rĆendo y besandole el rostro. Que ridĆculo y que afortunado era.
"Tienes que pedirle disculpas" dijiste apenas separandote de el, 'uh?' "con Mateo", Brian resoplo apretando su agarre a tu cintura. "Amor, pero" "Sin peros Brian, lo asustaste", suspirĆ³ un momento para responder "okay, pero maƱana, dejame estar aqui hoy".
Tomandote de la cintura te recosto sobre el sillĆ³n, separandose corriĆ³ a su habitaciĆ³n y en tiempo record regreso con una de sus camisas que sabĆan que te gustaban. Tomandose el tiempo para ayudar a desvestirte y poniendote la camisa sobre tu cabeza con una gentileza que solo hablaba desde el amor. Una vez cambiados, se recostĆ³ sobre tu pecho, deslizando una mano por debajo de la camisa y sobre tu piel calida, sĆ³lo dibujando cĆrculos en tu abdomen.
Finalmente ahĆ se dejĆ³ respirar libremente, con una de tu manos jugando con su cabello y la otra rascando su espalda. "Te amo" susurrĆ³ en tu pecho. "Te amo" podĆa escuchar la sonrisa en tu voz.
MaƱana se disculparĆa con Mateo. Y su relaciĆ³n superarĆa celos tontos y mĆ”s. Iban a estar bien. Con es paz y amor renovado se permitiĆ³ descansar en tus brazos.
ĖŹā”ÉĖ ā Content belongs to @st-444-rgirl @st444rgirl-service @st444rgirl-life. I do NOT allow plagiarism, mofification or translations of my works on other platforms.
LoverboyBrian! who brings you flowers before every date. He'd go up to six stores looking for something he considers you'll think cute. If the stores doesn't have any, he'll bought a bunch of different flowers and make you one himself.
LoverboyBrian! who sends you tiktoks of any cute animals together with the caption "somos"
LoverboyBrian! who kisses softly, like he doesn't wanna scare you off, even though he knows you'll never run from his touch.
LoverboyBrian! who didn't hold your hand when you guys first started dating, too nervous and scared you weren't going to like it, when you ask'd him about it even his ears got red, with a shyness you have never seen on him, he confessed to feel a little nervous about holding your hand, and being even more nervous you wouldn't like it, you laughed at him and just took his hand.
LoverboyBrian! who loves spendin time with you! showering him in love and soft touches after a long matchday.
LoverboyBrian! who only answers your texts, he's the most dry texter ever and to everyone, even leaving on seen the official Chivas groupchat for days, he has his phone on dni 24/7, only allowing the notifications that come from you, the minute you text him he's inmediately responding.
LoverboyBrian! who looks for you everywhere before a match, craving, needing, demanding good luck kisses. "Ya" "Uno Ćŗltimo y ahora si ya" before kissing you again. And again.
LoverboyBrian! who makes playlist for you with very especific titles and moments to be played at, each and one of them dedicated and inspired by oddly specific topics, like the way the sun shine through your hair, or how you laugh when you think no one's hearing you.
LoverboyBrian! who blushes while looking at his phone screen when you update him about your day with a selfie. He definetely saves them on a folder in his gallery.
LoverboyBrian! who says to hate watching romcoms, and reality tv calling them trash tv, but the moment you put on Acapulco Shore season 7 or 10 things i hate about you for like the eleventh time, he's getting you snacks, your favorite fuzzy blanket and cuddling with you on the couch. The next morning when Piojo mentions something about la casa de los famosos and Brian makes a comment about it everyone is looking weirdly at him, becaus how tf did he knows that?
LoverboyBrian! who when asked about you in interviews just giggles and try to answear another question even while tripping over his own words, the whole press room laughs at him.
LoverboyBrian! who showers you with gifts, even when he's on the other side of the country, suddenly you'll get a text that there's something for you at the lobby, it could be a new bag, some books you've wanted for a while, the shoes you saw once at the mall, and all at random times.
LoverboyBrian! who can't sleep when you're not there, taking with him one of your pjs that still smell like you more often than none.
LoverboyBrian! who always tries to keep you in bed with him on his days off, pouting even when you tell him you're just going to pee. Waits for you still with a pout on his mouth, lifting up the covers for you to get in, pressing you under his body and murmuring somethin about you being mad at him for leaving him all alone in bed.
LoverboyBrian! who's petnames for you include: amor, baby, babylove , Ɣngel, mi sol, mi tesoro, and honestly it can get as silly as calling you Mi pedacito de cielo as long as it has "MY" at the start.
LoverboyBrian! who enjoys the height difference more than he should, loving the way you have to look up to him when talking, or when you need help reaching something, loving how you have to stand on your tippie toes to kiss him.
LoverboyBrian! who sends you pics of random stuff he saw through the day that remind him of you, like a stray cat, a heart shapped leaf, a cute poster on the streets, a silly loking cloud, you name it.
LoverboyBrian! who remembers every tiny detail you mention to him, casually mentioning to you your apointments, if you have something to do that day, if you need to go pick up something, and he for sure will listen to every single story you tell him, even if it's the same story you've talk about it 2 or 3 times, he'll listen putting the same attentions as ever and engaging in the conversation.
LoverboyBrian! who has you saved in his phone as "Wifey šš¤"
ĖŹā”ÉĖ ā Content belongs to @st-444-rgirl @st444rgirl-service @st444rgirl-life. I do NOT allow plagiarism, mofification or translations of my works on other platforms.
CONTENT WARNING(S): porn w/o plot, spit mention, p in v, unprotected sex, sexual toys, etc MINORS DNI
A/N: HELLOOO, girlll, Iām having so much fun this World Cup, Iām just here for the pretty boys, also, I plan to write more about him, and Armando and Acevedo, but I wanna know if I should post in Spanish too, or stick with the English versions, also, my request are open! Feel free to ask, even if you donāt find who you want in my who I write for list, you can still send a request and I will consider! Okay thatās it, endlessly yours, stargirl.
AFTERCARE (what they're like after sex)
Brian is so so SO gentle with you, even if its like twenty something minutes after you're finished he will be still worshipping your body, pepering kisses along your face, neck, collarbones and the flushed peaks of your breasts, just nuzzling lika a cat there, breathing in your natural odor, and the whole scent covering the room by the mix of your activities. Will clean you after a while, quietly brushing his mouth against the soft skin on the inside of your thigh, nipping his teeth gently and a little playful on your flesh, making you giggle a little, just for you to look down and find him already looking at you with the softest smile, closing his eyes in complete bliss when you brush his hair out of his forehead, then placing wet kisses on his way up to your lips. He only separates from you to get you one of his tshirts for you to sleep in and a pair of panties, theng going to get you water and a little snack if you are feeling hungry. After doing all that, will probably put something on the tv just for the background noise, just to tuck you in his arms, with his head over yours and just whispering nonsense to you while caressing your back under the t shirt.
BODY PART (his favourite body part on himself and on his partner)
On you, my boy is on his knees praising your lower half, don't get him wrong, he pretty much loves every inch of your body, but if he has to choose, from your hips to your toes, he whorships your legs, and when i say on his knees, i mean ON his fucking knees, he wil often take his time down in that area, nipping and licking at your skin, dont be surprised when the morning after the most of the hickies are there. On the other hand, on himself i think he will go for his eyes, his nose and his hands, stay with me here. He looves loves the way you squirm in your seat with just one look from him, he loves how his eyes can be so expessive for you and only you, and his hands, he just likes how he can manouver you and move you around, he will 100% alway have a hand on you, in your lower back under your top, on your hips, on the inside or your thighs, on your neck... anyway, about his nose, you know how doja cat said she liked men with big noses? yeah, that.
CUM (anything to do with cum)
Sorry not sorry, but inside, my man doesn't like the idea of cumming in your face or something just like that, often thinking its kind gross, definitely inside, if he can't he will probably just make a mess on your ass or just outside your lips, the ones down there. A BIG fan of creampies, and pushing the remainings of his cum back inside with his fingers, likes to see you desperate and pushing your hand down to your pussy just to see your little fingers spreading his cum in your pussy, loves when you lick it of his own hand. Fucks you before matches, cumming inside and force you to put back on your clothes and go back to your seat in the stadium, so he can look up to you during the match and smile to himself, say he plays better like that, his words, not mine.
DIRTY SECRET (a dirty secret, duh)
He fantasizes about fucking you in the locker room and one of the guys spying on you both, only a fantasy though, he'd be crazy if he let someone else watch you like that. He's too possessive to let anyone else watch what is meant for his eyes only, though the tought of showing everyone who you belong to is pretty tempting.
EXPERIENCE (how experienced he is? does he know what he is doing?)
He defenitly knows what he is doing, though he can be a little clumsy in the start of your relationship, blaming on the nerves. Brian has had a few girlfriends over the years, but trust me when i say the relationship with you is different, the level of commitment and the way he thinks of you being made for him. He insists on taking his time to explore and know your body, learning what makes you shiver, and what makes you close your eyes so hard you start to see stars. Very confident in getting you comfortable and getting you to your climax before even thinking of being inside of you.
FAVORITE POSITION (the positions Ariana sing ab)
Okay hear me out, doggy, my man Brian is an ass and thighs man, through and through, honestly, any position where he can take you from the back, personal favorite, having you lay face first in a mating press whit his whole weight on top of you, just slightly moving your head to the side so he can still kiss you. Also anything in front of a mirror with you on all fours, forcing you to look at yourself and making you force yourself on the lenght of his dick, letting you control the pace, only for him to watch you get what you want, get so desperate on his cock for him to snap, grab you by the hips and pound into you, watching you come undone in the mirror.
GOOFY (is he more serious in the moment or jokes around tye shit?)
He can be giggling and joking softly with you during foreplay, between kisses and taking off both of your clothes, but the moment you look up to him with just your eyes, being so needy and so vulnerable, all laugh dies, he is completly in the zone to just give you what you want, to take care of you, and trust me that this man takes your pleasure really seriously, there is no way he can get distracted when he haves you like that, with your hair a mess, your pupils blown looking at him, panting and letting those pretty sounds of your mouth, you better believe sex with you and the aftermath is the most comfortable he ever feels, he's a 100% focused on you and only you.
HAIR (how well groomed he is down there? does the carpet match the drapes?)
Brian is a man of routine, so he pretty much has the habit of trim himself regularly, has a really pretty happy trail, his hair down there is a little darker than the one in his head, he's trimmed enough that it doesn't get in the way, but its defenitly there.
INTIMACY (how is he during the moment? romantic aspect)
He will ask you every fucking time for permisiion before doing anything, even if its something that he knows you will like, he likes hearing it from you, so believe me when i say he's pretty talkative during the deed, always wanting to know if he is doing good fo you, and how good you feel, because ife he knows something where he can improve trust me he's giving his all in making you feel seen, loved and cherished. And of course he thinks asking makes everything 10 time hotter, "can i kiss you here?" "preciosa, look at me, use your words" he'd say with his head between your legs, pawing at your soaked entrance, looking directly you. He's a hugeee sap for you, always reasuring you with litle kisses to your hands intwertined while trying to control himself to not be too rough with you, wanting to have your eyes on where you both connect saying "chula, mira abajo"
JACK OFF (masturbation headcanon)
He'd definitly used to jack offmore often when he recently arrived with Chivas, off of pure frustration and the pressure in showing others his ability and his value to be there. But now that he is with you, you can say his right hand is taking a much deserved rest. Honestly he'd much rather have you when you are there, but if you have to be separated for away games, he ask you to talk him through the phone while touching himself, also will ask you to take your last pj with him, or a pair of underware if he's feeling naughty.
KINK (one or more of their kinks)
He goes crazy at the idea of watching you pleasure yourself, especially without your knowledge (dont worry, he's big on consent tho).
ALSO, big on seeing you rub yourself on ANYTHING, humping a pillow, or a teddy bear he got for you, oh and when you rub on his thigh, with your hands tied behind your back, watching you thow your headd back, looking so desperate to get off, hearing how your mewls become higher the closer you are to your climax, just for you to rest your head on his shoulder, panting trying to get air in your lungs, you feel his hands stroking your back while you shiver, hearing him say how good you did for him, trust me he is gone gone.
Watching you cry while he is pounding on you, looking at your pretty face, and somehow find you even more prettier when you are crying on his cock from pleasure. Loves, loves, LOVES spitting in your mouth btw.
LOCATION (favorite places to do the doooo)
Bro is horny all the time, you will ask "what? not here" everytime he looks at you with those yearning eyes, only for hime to smile like a devil saying "yes here, amor", though he loves the comfort of your bed, loving to take his time with you, he does have a soft spot for the backseat of his car, just the idea of the reduced space, and the fog on the windows, he also swears the acoustic in his car lets him hear your moans and whines even better.
MOTIVATION (what turns him on, what gets him going)
Girl, have you seen Brian? he's shameless af, there isn't much that you have to do to get him going, though one of his favorite turn ons is seeing you wearing something of his, a t shirt, one of his collars, a hoodie, even if you throw on a pair of his boxers, seeing you walk around the apartment like that gives him an inmediate hard on. Also, he is a fan, like big fan of your voice, especially if your are annoyed with his teasings, loves the power and dominance that cames from you in those times.
NO (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)
Nothing that can hurts you, and he'll NEVER share with you with somebody else. The most he'll do is a spank on your ass if you're being bratty, pull your hair or manhandle you on bed, he is against of the idea of even pretending to hurt you.
ORAL (preference in giving or receiving)
Remember what i said about him liking his nose? it's for this exact reason, Brian could go down on you for hours, my man is a munch, he just loves how you feel around him, working you with his toung, nose, index and middle finger going in and out of you, toungue full on lappping at your clit, nose rubbing againtst your entrance, only pulling apart to watch your hole clench around nothing, just to dive back in. He'd pull your clit into his mouth, sucking gently, drowning the room in the sinful sounds, mixed with your own pleas for more and Brian's moans sending vibrations through your core. I think that clearifies his preference, but dont get me wrong, he loves the sight of you on your knees, pawing at the bulge on his pants, looking at him with those pretty eyes, or kissing your way down his chest, pulling down his pants and kissing over his happy trail, just licking his skin sents shivers through his body, but he just loves more the feeling of your legs around his head, and your hands running through his scalp while you push his face right where you want him.
PACE (are they fast and rough?, or are they slow and sensual?)
One thing that we know for sure it's that he makes sure to prolong the pace as long as YOU need. He's usually eager to make you cum multiple times, but in those occasions where you're particularly driving him crazy with ypur attitude, he fucks you in a frensy. But most of the times, he fucks you with devotion.
QUICKIE (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Not really a fan of quickies, the only time he considers them its when he's havinga rough time, it can be between trainings or after a preety bad match, where he'd pull you to the closest shower, closet, or even the locker rooms, putting a hand over your mouth to try and be as silent as posible, though he knows the next time he sees his team someone is going to be messing with him. He prefers always being able to take his time with you.
RISK (does he take risks? down to experiment?)
I see Brian as the type to randomly come you on a monday training before leving for training, with a shy smile, a redness crepping up his neck and soft eyes, asking you "amor, can i try tying you up? like, you know, to the bed i mean, if you want to try that too, of course, you can even tie me too after" looking at you with hopful eyes. He's definitely up to try anything you suggest tho, at least once, always eager to learn and to please you, at the end he will always talk to you in hopes of hearing your backfeed, and your feelings towards whatever you decide to try.
STAMINA (how many rounds does he go for? how long does he last?)
Football player, does that ring any bells? He can go 3 to 4 times, though im gonna say he usually settles for 2 or 3 if he's feeling greedy on some nights. He's the type to make sure you cum at least 2 times before he lets himself relief in you. Will take breaks if you need them, always moving around your needs and your comfort, though his recovery time is pretty small he will always take his time to prepare you for him. I see him as the type to give you a massage after he's done with you.
TOYS (anything to do with toys)
One single ocassion he walked on you plesurring yourself with a vibrator, seeing you lying on the bed, legs wide open, a hand pushing the vibator in your thight hole, with your fingers drawing circles on your clit, hearing the unholy sounds leaving from your mouth, whines mixed with Brian's name, that was enough to send him over the edge, since then he will often ask for you to take your toys out, even going as far as buying you a pretty blue blug, loving to use it when you shake your ass against him, rubbing yourself against the bulge of his pants, loving the expressions you make when he is pushing the plug in you, already with his cock inside of you.
UNFAIR (how much does he like to tease)
Bro, he fucking teases the shit of you, have you seen his face full of mischief? and he doesnt even seem remorseful watching you squirm in your seat during the dinner whit the whole team, he's shameless as if his hand isn't going up your legs under your dress. You just know, when he approches you from the back, in a public place, you know that in no time you will be dragging him out of there or viceversa.
VOLUMEN (how loud is he, what sound does he make)
At the start of your relationship it was kinda difficult for him to be loud in bed with you, you have to reassure him, and it doesn't take too much for him to start being more loud with you, because he is already vocal with you, even more in bed than in public, especially when he founds how much you clench around him when you hear his whimpers and grounts in your ear, you adore hearing him come undone, the tone his voice takes when your walls squeeze around his dick, wanting to milk him dry, the way his breath hitches in his throat, and the sigh he lets out along your name.
WILD CARD (random headcanon)
So fucking down to record with you, as long as you are comfortable with you. Has a whole fucking carpet on his phone (blocked obviously) with pictures and photos of you, loves to look at them when you are away for long periods of time.
X RAY (let's see whats under those pants)
Long but not too girthy, i will say like 7.5 inches to 8 inches, girthy enough to make you feel full but not nough to stretch you to the point of pain, slightly curved to the left, a prominent vein on the side, hex: 83394A
YEARNING (how high is his sex drive?)
HIGH, like really high, my boy is obsessed with you, he makes sure you're fully aware of how you make him feel, he yearns for you, and it's painfully obvious for everyone including you, you try to act like you don't notice, but you can always feel his gaze devouring you.
ZZZ (how quickly he falls aslepp afterwards)
He usually waits for you to fall asleep first, which honestly doesn't take long with how much he tires you, but he does fall asleep quickly after, the post sex brain fog makes him feel very relaxed, goes to bed holding you as you fall asleep, though he takes his time lulling you to sleep with soft kisses.
ĖŹā”ÉĖ ā Content belongs to @st-444-rgirl @st444rgirl-service @st444rgirl-life. I do NOT allow plagiarism, mofification or translations of my works on other platforms.
Summary: (AU - Remmick survived the juke joint.) Itās 1964 and youāre an artist who decides to draw the handsome stranger who keeps turning up at your door every night.
A/N: I wanted to borrow an idea Iāve seen used with Astarion from Baldurās Gate 3. I love love love the idea of an artist drawing the face of a vampire who hasnāt seen their reflection in God knows how long.
Remmick Masterlist
āHold still,ā you ordered, āI donāt wanna mess this up.ā
āThis aināt gonna hurt, is it?ā Remmick said playfully.
āIt will if you keep moving,ā you shot back, only half joking. āEyes on that horizon, boy.ā
āYes maāam,ā he drawled out, rolling his eyes lightly. He tilted his chin in the direction of wherever horizon meant. Although his tone was sarcastic, a grin curled at the ends of his lips.
The night air was crisp. It was the beginning transition of spring into summer where the days warmed the skin like an embrace from a loved one but the nights remained cool like a reminder of their absence. The town had eased into sleep around you.
You thought the best thing about living out in the middle of nowhere was that there was no light pollution. Despite the dark, the sky was alight with hues of deep purple and blue like an ocean dotted with pinpricks of multicolored stars. In school, they taught you the names of each and every constellation that rotated with the seasons.
You found him right under Polaris. You had been awake after losing track of time. You were locked into your paintings so intensely, you didnāt see the sky turn. The ashtray was loaded with burnt out cigarettes, remnants of smoke curling in the warm glow of the single lamp glowing on the end table. You kept the window open to air out the smell, the soft trickles of a sad guitar playing through your stereo speakers filtering through the pane.
He stood at the end of the dirt path that served as your driveway, hands in pockets, curious, as if he were contemplating going up and installing himself into your life. You werenāt going to get a say in when or how.
You turned down the record as he got closer.
āThereās no need to do that,ā he said, hands stretching out in the open air, āI came up here to ask what you was playinā is all.ā His blue eyes pleaded innocent.
āLonnie Johnson,ā you stated, an edge to your words.
He hummed low in his throat. āShe sure knows how to play.ā
āHe,ā you corrected, āLonnieās a dude.ā
āH-He,ā the stranger repeated, āHe sure knows how to play.ā A beat of silence strung between you awkwardly. He shuffled his feet underneath himself. āYou wouldnāt mind if I sat and listened, wouldja?ā
You chuckled to yourself. A strange white man asking you if you minded if he sat and listened to your records in the dead of night? Your eyes took a precautionary glance over where the trees met the boarder of your land for any sign of unsavory movement.
āYou alone?ā you asked finally. He nodded his head. You pursed your lips, weighing your decision in your mind. You turned on your heel, away from the window. You crossed to your record player, moved the needle to the beginning track, and turned the sound up a little louder.
You met the eyes of the strangerās once more. His features reflected his gratitude. He leaned against the strong post of the porch landing and closed his eyes, taking in the music.
You shook your head. What a weird man.
He kept finding his way to your home every night after sundown.
āWhatcha got spinninā tonight?ā heād ask you without fail. Youād tell him anything from Etta James to Freddie King and heād happily sit his ass down on your porch no matter who poured through those speakers.
Some nights he came with some 45s he thought you would like.
āThe guy on guitar has to be one of my favorites from this decade,ā he said, pushing the small disc into your hands. To be honest, you thought his music tastes were a little too old. Nothing he gave you was dated past the forties. But still, you admired the gesture. In return, you gave him a more modern musical education, opening his ears to the sounds of the 60s. He was floored the first time he heard Hendrix.
āFind a new favorite guitar player, did ya?ā you teased.
It was nice having him to share your nights with. He didnāt make too much of a fuss; didnāt ask for anything to eat or drink, despite your offerings. He was perfectly content listening to your music and asking questions about your art. He praised the paintings, kept saying they belonged in the Louvre rather than hidden in this small town. You shooed away his compliments like water off a duckās back but you couldnāt stop the blush creeping into your cheeks.
One evening, you decided you were gonna join him out on your porch. Armed with your drawing pad and a tin of charcoal sticks, you rocked yourself gently on your porch swing with your big toe. You had tucked yourself into an oversized crochet blanket, preserving your warmth as you waited for the sky to dim. You had the radio on instead of playing a record to save yourself from having to leave your seat. The tinny voices crackled over the sounds of the crickets singing.
āEveninā Remmick,ā you called when you saw him crest your driveway. He told you his name some nights ago and you kept it on your tongue whenever he was near. You just liked the way his face lit up like Christmas whenever you said it.
āYou waitinā for me?ā he asked, a hand pressed to his chest.
āSure looks like it,ā you replied. He crossed over to your place on the swing but leaned against the post of the porch landing instead. āYou aināt gonna sit by me?ā
Remmick jolted like he touched an electric fence. āI didnāt know you were offerinā.ā
You scooched over to make room for him and patted the empty space. āI donāt bite,ā you winked. A smile tugged at his lips as if he were keeping down a really good joke.
The swing groaned under his weight. Your heart flip-flopped at the proximity of him. His brown hair curled at the base of his neck, grown too shaggy. His face was pocked with unkempt whiskers and a white scar cracked the left side of his cheek. You wanted to trace that scar with the tips of your fingers.
His blue eyes watched you carefully. Watched for any indication that his nearness was offensive somehow. He kept himself small, not daring to brush your skin. He moved as if you were on fire and he was trying very hard not to get burned.
āYouāre gonna be my muse,ā you declared.
āThatās the first time Iāve been called that,ā Remmick smirked, āWhat do I gotta do?ā
You picked up a charcoal stick and told him to face forward, keep his eyes on the dirt path ahead. The charcoal scratched the surface of the paper, debris crumbling onto your lap.
Santana crooned over the speakers on your radio lying on the kitchen counter inside. Remmick shifted under the weight of your presence.
āI think I like your music better,ā he mumbled.
You breathed out a small laugh without looking up. āYouāre too kind. Your taste isnāt too bad either. You just got an olā soul.ā
Remmick pursed his lips. āYou could say that.ā
āDid you grow up here?ā you asked softly.
He shook his head. āNo,ā he sighed sadly, āYou?ā
āNope. I moved out here a few years ago.ā
āHow come?ā
āJust wanted a change. The city was too loud.ā Your eyebrows knit together in concentration. Remmick took this moment to steal a look at you.
Your eyes flicked up at him through your eyelashes. The tips of your ears turned crimson. āEyes forward, Pretty Boy.ā
āPretty Boy?ā he tossed the name around his mouth like a shiny token. You bit your lip to keep from saying much else.
You twisted the length of your charcoal stick to match the angle of his nose before copying it onto your page. His shoulders slowly began to relax. His hands brushed down his thighs, right where your knee almost touched him. He curled his fingers as if to check that they were still operational.
āCan I look yet?ā he asked tenderly. His pinkie stretch precariously, bridging the gap between you two. You could feel his nail ghosting on your bare skin. Your heart leapt into your throat, the lightest of touches already turning your nerves into an inferno.
āJust gotta work on the shading,ā you replied meekly. He nodded, correcting his head. His finger never dropped. He began to soothingly stroke your knee back and forth, keeping time with the new song that played. It tickled you.
It was harder to concentrate now. From the briefest of looks, you noticed his jaw clenching and unclenching, chewing on words he almost felt ready to say. And what would those words be? What could he possibly say to make your heart race any faster?
To ease it along, you pushed your knee further into his touch. Remmick inhaled sharply in response. He closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to melt.
āOkay,ā you said after a while, āI think Iām done.ā You pressed the pad of paper to your chest before revealing it slowly to him. He cradled the pad in his calloused hands like it was a newborn.
āHoly shit,ā he breathed, āThis is me?ā He asked the question like he wasnāt sure what he looked like.
āItās a rough sketch,ā you admitted, āIf I gave it more time, I could clean up the lines and be more precise with the shadows.ā
āWhen did I-?ā he wondered under his breath. His fingers brushed the hair curled around his ears to the hair on his chin, trailing all the way to the scar that marked him. His brow furrowed as if remembering the fresh wound marring his face and the blood and pain that came with it. He covered it fully with his hand, ashamed to have you look upon it any longer.
āHowād you get that?ā you asked tentatively.
His eyes tore reluctantly from his portrait. āI, uhā¦ā he paused, āThe war.ā He locked back onto the sketch, studying it as if he hadnāt seen his own face in centuries.
āIsā¦ Is everything okay?ā you whispered. You gently pressed yourself into his side.
āYes,ā he murmured. He straightened his back and finally met your gaze again. āYeah, everythingās good.ā
āYāknow, you can tell me if you hate it,ā you chuckled, trying to make it light. āDonāt gotta spare my feelings.ā
āNo, I love this! I loveā,ā he started. āYou did an amazinā job.ā
āYou can keep it,ā you said. Your hands met his and you lightly pushed the drawing pad against his chest. You leaned into his space, your touch lingering on his. Your thumb rubbed the side of his hand, returning the gentleness he showed you. Remmickās lips parted slightly, exhaling a shallow breath.
āThank you,ā he spoke. His voice frayed like he hated that he broke the silence. You smiled softly at him. Your fingers reached and stroked the angry crevasse on his cheek.
He looked so fragile being held. His eyelids fluttered as he bathed in the warmth of your hand. He winced like it hurt but his head leaned into you instinctively. A soft trembling sound slipped past his lips.
āYou are a wonderful muse,ā you said. You leaned in and planted a delicate kiss on that scar. He dipped his head slipping past your ear before nuzzling in the crook of your neck. You gathered him into your arms, wrapping the blanket around his broad shoulders. Your fingers stroked the relaxed curls of his dark hair. His arms lifted with difficulty, still unsure if he was allowed this much, and rested around your waist. When you didnāt fight him, he pulled you in closer. You began to hum along to the song that wept from the radio.
The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was the steady rocking of the porch swing on the light breeze and the feathery trail of kisses tied with promises of everlasting happiness.
(Psssst, yāall should also check out the amazing fanart inspired by this fic made by the wildly talented @virtual-111)
summary: you've never let him in. Not once. And still, every night without fail, he comes crawling back to your doorstep. Thirteen centuries old and rotting with want, Remmick worships you from the porch, drooling thick onto the floorboards, begging for permission to taste. And you? You watch. You love the power. Love the ache in him. Love the way he weeps when you deny him again and again.
But the night you finally say come ināhe breaks.
Now that heās inside, heās never leaving. Not quietly. Not gently. And not until he crawls all the way inside you and makes a cathedral of your skin.
wc: 5.4k
a/n: based off this prompt that blew up!! It's been exactly one month since I released my first Remmick fic Mercy Made Flesh so it felt fitting to release something today, as a thank you for the tidal wave of love and support I've received since!! Seriously it's insane!! So, as a further thank you, I'm hosting a giveaway for followers here if you're interested, as a way to give back to all of you <333 thanks to @ddlydevotion for finding the photo refs for the banner!! and thanks to Liz @fuckoffbard for once again beta reading for me!! credit to Diana @hyoscyxmine for the photo of Remmick she initially edited <333
warnings: vampirism, blood kink, obsessive behavior, feral begging, oral (f! receiving), sub!remmick, somno-adjacent sleepiness, religious undertones, predator/prey dynamics, begging kink, worship kink, voice kink, monsterfucking, marking, blood drinking during sex, degradation, dark romance, possessive partner, crawling kink, aftercare, bite kink, creampie, power imbalance, bodily fluids (drool, blood, etc), control kink, manipulation by omission, mildly blasphemous themes
likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated, please enjoy!!
Masterlist
You've never let him in. Not once.
And still, every night without fail, he shows up like clockworkābarefoot and bloodstained, wife beater stained and torn, revealing a sliver of lean muscle beneath, reeking of smoke and obsession.
Slouched on your porch like a dying dog, scratching at the threshold with dirt-caked nails, mouth open and drooling thick, almost foamy, like hungerās rotted him from the inside out. His voice is raw from begging. But tonight? Tonight heās feral.
You've got one leg draped over the door frame, robe hitched up just enough to taunt, a cool glass of iced tea sweating in your hand while he writhes just inches from your feet.
āYou cruel little thing,ā he rasps, drawl dragging slow and syrupy, his tongue catching on the words like they hurt.
āYāgonā make me crawl again, huh? āCause I will. Iāll fuckināāIāll get on my belly like a damn animal, just for a taste. Just for a breath of you, sugar.ā
His jawās slack, saliva roping down his chin, staining the porch dark beneath him as he grips the floorboards hard enough they creak.
āLet me in,ā he whimpers, voice cracked and desperate, eyes blown wide.
āPlease, IāI caināt stand it no more. I caināt fuckinā breathe without you. Let me in. Iāll behave. Iāll worship you. IāllāIāll starve if you donāt.ā
Your just watch him, tilt your glass.
āYou've lived thirteen centuries, and you're on your knees for a girl in a nightgown?ā
He nods, drooling harder, trembling.
āYes maāam. Iād beg for thirteen more if it meant youād finally say the word.ā
You donāt answer him at first.
Just lift your drinkāslow, lazy, like the heat has made you sun-warmed and lethargicāand watch the ice swirl against the cylindrical sides. Your lips part only enough for a sip, sharp and cold on your tongue, as his voice frays at the threshold like an unraveling thread.
The porch groans under his weight when he shifts, mouth still hanging open, chin wet with the thick rope of saliva thatās already puddled beneath him. He doesnāt even wipe it away anymore. Doesnāt flinch at the indignity. If anything, he leans into it. As if the sloppier he gets, the more beastly and broken, the closer heāll be to what you want.
Not human. Not civilized. Just yours.
Your bare toes flex against the doorframeāpropped up, exposed, painted peachāand his breath stutters when he sees them. His jaw works open wider like he might sink his teeth into the wood instead, like heās fighting the animal thing in him that wants to bite something until it bleeds.
āYou gone quiet, sugar,ā he drawls, voice like gravel scraped against wood. āYou planninā to kill me out here?ā
You hum. Just a little. Low in your throat.
Then finally, finally, you lean forward just a bit, letting the hem of your robe fall loose from your thigh, letting him see the curve of it where the porchlight catches golden on your skin. You know what youāre doing. You always know.
āYou look like shit, Remmick.ā
He moansāmoansālike the insult made him hard.
āIāI know, baby. I know,ā he gasps, crawling an inch closer on his knees, voice choked with some terrible, trembling reverence. āIād tear out my fuckinā ribs if it meant youād give me one more breath. Just one. IāmāIām so close to beinā bones out here.ā
His hands drag slow across the floorboards, smearing blood and spit as he chases your shadow like it might feed him. His claws are cracked and dirty, black at the edges, clacking like dull knives as he reaches for you.
But he wonāt cross the threshold. Canāt.
Not unless you say the word.
You drag one foot down, let it press lightly against his chest, the ball of it nestling into the place where his heart doesnāt beat. You feel the way he flinches at the touch like it hurts him, like your skin is too holy for his body to bear. He makes a sound deep in his chestāpart growl, part sobāand his head drops forward.
He presses his forehead to your ankle. Worships it.
āYouāre a goddamn sickness,ā you whisper, soft and cruel.
āI am, baby,ā he breathes. āYou made me sick. Ruined me good, didnāt you?ā
And oh, how he sounds ruined.
You tilt your glass again, watch the last ice cube swirl and crack, watch his tongue dart out as if he could taste it from the air. His pupils are blown, wide and dark and endless, and his mouth keeps trying to form the word please like itās the only one he remembers anymore.
A breeze rolls over the porch, stirring the trees, carrying the scent of youāhibiscus lotion, clean skin, cool linen and blood beneath it allāand Remmick shudders like a dying thing. His hips roll into the floor like heās fucking the air, like scent alone could push him to the edge.
āLet me in,ā he begs again, softer now. āLet me in before I do somethinā wicked.ā
You lean closer, dragging your foot up his chest and under his chin, tilting his face up toward you like a command.
āYou already are wicked.ā
He smiles, wild and ruined.
āYes maāam. And Iād be worse for you.ā
You let the silence stretch just long enough for his breath to hitch.
Then you pull your foot away and stand, letting the robe slip an inch lower on your hips as you do. He tracks the movement like an animal locked on prey, hands gripping the wood, teeth bared like he might bite the air between you.
But you say nothing.
You turn, walk back into the house, and the door swings shut with a slow, echoing click.
And Remmick?
He stays there on the porch, slack-jawed, drooling, whispering your name like a prayer he wasnāt meant to know, his muscles flexing as his arms come up over his head in desperation, thick and defined, his face pinched in pain, fractals of dying light dancing off the worn gold of his chain, off the sweaty creases highlighting his biceps.
| six months ago |
You didnāt move here expecting silence.
You expected a little mold, sure. Some creaky floorboards, maybe a waspās nest under the porch or a possum in the crawlspace. You expected the gnats. You expected the heat. You expected the isolation.
But not the silence.
Not this bone-deep, split-the-world-open kind of silence. The kind that settles between your ribs and listens to your heartbeat like itās trying to time its own.
The houseāyour house now, left to you by some long-dead aunt you donāt rememberāis old and sagging at the edges. It leans a little to the right. The paint is peeled and sun-faded, the porch boards bow like a tired back, and the front screen door barely stays shut unless you wedge a rock into it.
But the bones are good. The land is wild and wide and humming with secrets.
And the silence? Youāve started to like it.
Until one night, it breaks.
Itās not thunder. Not a tree branch. Not the slam of a car door or the high bark of a neighborās dog. Itās slower than that. Heavier. Like footsteps made of velvet and grave dirt, deliberate and soft, but too certain to be harmless.
You hear it just past dusk, when the sky is soaked in pinks and bruised purples, and the porch light buzzes weakly behind you. Youāre sitting on the front step, knees up, the sweat from your lemonade collecting in droplets between your thighs. Your robeās open at the chest. The heat has stuck it to the small of your back. You havenāt seen a soul all week.
And thenā
āEveninā, darlinā.ā
You look up.
Thereās a man standing just past the gate. Barefoot. Broad-shouldered. Dressed like a memory from somewhere youāve never livedāboots slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and a face that looks like itās been carved from heartbreak.
You can smell weathered leather. Wet pennies. Something faintly intoxicating.
You donāt move. Neither does he.
Heās handsome, you think, in a way that feels off. Like he walked out of a photograph too old to be yours. His hair is a mess, dark and sweat-matted at the temples. Thereās a thin scar along his throat. He looks...starved. But not in the way that makes you pity him.
In the way that makes you want to keep your distance.
Still, you donāt get up. You donāt speak. The air between you thickens, trembles.
He tips his head slightly, a crooked smile cutting across his face.
āYou look like you could use some company.ā
You donāt invite him in.
You donāt say much at all.
Just glance toward the horizon, murmur something about supper, and let the screen door slam behind you before he can take a step forward. You watch through the curtains as he lingers at the gate, hands tucked into his pockets like heās trying to look harmless.
But you saw the way his eyes followed your legs. You saw how he noticed the sweat beading at your neck. How he inhaled when you passed him.
You lock the door that night. And the next. But he keeps coming.
First, itās flowers.
Not from a store. Not anything wrapped in plastic or tied with ribbon. Just a bundle of wildflowers laid gently on your porch, still dusted with dew. You find them in the morning, no note, no explanation.
Then itās peaches. Sun-warm and soft, their fuzz still clinging with bits of leaf and dirt. You bite into one and taste sweet nectar.
Then itās a knife. Clean. Sharp. Ornate.
Then a book of poetry. Tattered, spine cracked, pages dog-eared with a name you donāt recognize scribbled inside the cover.
Then the sound of hummingājust past the treeline. Low. Gentle. Almost...worshipful.
You donāt see him again for a week.
And when he returns, he stands on the bottom step like heās been summoned.
You sit in the doorway this time, robe slipping off one shoulder. Youāre not afraid. Not curious, either. Just...ready.
Ripe.
He keeps his eyes low. His voice is softer.
āYou aināt said my name yet.ā
āI donāt know it,ā you say.
He smiles like that hurts him.
āYou donāt need it,ā he says. āYou already own me without it.ā
Itās hot enough to peel the paint from the porch railing.
The air hums with crickets, thick as syrup, the kind of Southern heat that presses down on you like hands. Nothing moves. Not the trees. Not the wind. Not even the birds. The silence is aliveādense and waiting, like the breath before a confession.
And there he is. Again.
You hear him before you see him: the soft scrape of skin on wood, the faintest creak of a loose board under bare feet, the hitch in his breath when your scent hits him like perfume and punishment all at once. You left the door open tonightānot all the way, just ajarāand the porch light off. A single candle burns on the windowsill.
He doesnāt knock.
He never does anymore.
Just leans his weight into the frame, like even that much closeness is enough to tide him over for another day. But itās not. You know itās not. You can feel it in the way his fingers twitch. In the way he shifts his hips. In the way the wood creaks beneath his knees when he starts to lower himself.
You donāt speak.
You just watch.
The hem of your robe rides high on your thighs, your legs bare and smooth against the old floorboards, one knee bent, one foot outstretched. You could shut the door. You donāt. You could invite him inābut thatās not the game.
Youāve seen how he suffers.
And you love the way he suffers.
Heās filthy tonight. Shirtless and sweaty, streaked with soot and dry blood that canaled in the defined avenues of his abs, a bruise blooming along one side of his ribcage. His hairās a mess. His eyes look hollow. His lips are parted, pink and trembling, like heās been mouthing your name into the dirt all night long.
When he drops to his knees, itās not a performance. Not anymore. Thereās no seduction in it. Just ache. Just need.
He whispers something you donāt quite catchāyour name, maybe, or the shape of a prayer that lost its way. You hear him drag his nails against the porch, slow and rhythmic, like heās trying to carve your initials into the floor.
āI dreamed of you again,ā he rasps.
His voice is shredded. Used up.
āYou were wearinā that white thing. The one with the lace at the top. You smelled like vanilla and thunder. You called me darlinā and I almost cried.ā
You breathe through your nose, slow and even, but your thighs shift. You donāt think he notices, but he does.
His eyes flick to the motion and he moansāsoft and low, broken at the edges. He presses his forehead to the floor like itās consecrated ground. Like maybe if he can just touch it long enough, youāll take pity.
āPlease.ā
The word is wet in his mouth. He says it again.
āPlease, IāI donāt care what you do to me. Donāt even have to let me in. Just talk to me, sugar. Just say somethinā. Let me hear your voice. Let me see you.ā
You shift in the doorway.
Then you speakāfinallyāvoice quiet and even, your glass catching the candlelight as you raise it to your lips.
āWhy do you keep coming here?ā
He whimpers.
āāCause I caināt not. āCause youāve got me chained up in hereāā He presses a palm to his chest, hard enough you can hear the bones creak. āāand I like it. I fuckinā like it, baby. Aināt that sick?ā
You donāt respond.
Instead, you lean forward just enough to let your fingers curl over the frame of the door, letting your robe fall slightly open at the neck. His mouth opens wider. His pupils blow black like a hungry shark.
āYou want to come in?ā you murmur.
His breath catches.
Then he nods. Frantic. Wild.
āYes. Yes maāam. Please.ā
You tilt your head.
āWhy?ā
He blinks. Heās confused by the question. Then hurt. Then desperate.
āBecause IāI need you. Need whatās inside. I caināt smell nothinā else but you. Youāre in my fuckinā blood, sweetheart, and I aināt never tasted you but itās killinā me just knowinā youāre behind that door.ā
He leans forward, mouth brushing the frame. His tongue darts outānot quite licking it, but closeāand you see the briefest flick of the forked tip, glistening and trembling with restraint. He pulls it back like heās ashamed of it, like he wasnāt supposed to let you see that part of him.
Your stomach flips.
You almost say it. Almost.
But then you pull back.
And he breaks.
He wasnāt always like this.
You remember that. You remind yourself of it oftenābecause it makes this part better. Sweeter. Sicker.
Because once upon a time, he tried to play it cool. Casual. Almost charming. Leaned against your gate with that low, lopsided smile, said things like maāam and pleasure to meet you and you sure keep to yourself, donāt you, sugar?
Now?
Heās a wreck.
On all fours.
Spit roping from his lips in long, trembling strands as he drags himself toward your feet like a dog thatās been kicked too many times but still comes running. His pupils bleed red, eclipsing the black. His shirt is gone. His nails are cracked and black at the edges, scrabbling over the porch boards in slow, shivering motions that match the tremble in his voice.
His mouth hangs open. Tongue wet. Forked.
You can see the way it splits when he pantsālike he canāt decide whether to speak or taste or crawl inside you and live there forever.
He looks up at you through his lashes, and itās not seductive.
Itās pleading.
Pathetic.
Eyes wide and glossy, like something half-feral and half-forgotten, a kicked-puppy expression clinging to him even as he drools down his chin. Heās shaking. His knees have long since gone raw from dragging over your porch, and he presses his forehead to the step just beneath you.
You tilt your glass. Take a sip.
He moans. Loud. Unfiltered. Buckling at the sound.
āGod, please,ā he breathes, his voice hoarse and slurred like heās drunk on the smell of you. āPlease, I canātāI canāt take it no more, baby. Youāre killinā me. Killinā me soft and slow and I fuckinā love it.ā
You shift, just enough for your robe to slide up one thigh.
His hands curl into fists. He bites down on a sob.
āIāll be so good to you,ā he whimpers, dragging himself another inch forward. āYou donātāyou donāt know what I could give you. What I wanna give you. What I think about every night with my hand on my cock, prayinā for a dream of your fuckinā voice.ā
You raise an eyebrow. But you donāt stop him. And thatās all the permission he needs.
āIād eat it for hours,ā he blurts, voice breaking. āIād keep my tongue on you till you forgot your own name. Iād fuckinā cry for the chance, darlinā. You donāt know what Iād do just to smell you on my face. Let me clean you up with my mouth. Let me keep you sweet.ā
He pants like a sinner, sweating through the knees of his jeans, forked tongue slipping past his lips as he mouths at the space near your ankle. Never quite touching. Never daring.
āIād make it good for you,ā he groans. āBetter than anyone. Iād hold you down or let you ride. Whatever you wanted. However you wanted. Iād tear my fuckinā throat out if it made you wet.ā
You stay silent.
Let him spiral.
Let him beg.
Let him drown in everything youāll never give him.
His jaw hangs slack again, saliva pouring freely now, staining the porch with slick, twitching need. He doesnāt even seem to notice. His hips rock forward onceāpatheticallyālike heās rutting against the air just from being this close.
Thenā
āSay it,ā he croaks, wrecked and delirious. āSay the word. Just the once. Just once and Iāll die happy. Iāll let you ruin me every night. Let you bleed me dry, fuck me dumb, use me up ātil Iām nothing but bones and thank you for it. Iāll be your thing. Your pet. Your meal. Just say it. Say it and let me in.ā
You watch him twitch.
You donāt speak.
And that silence?
It undoes him.
He presses his face into the porch and sobsāone sharp, cracked sound that makes your thighs clenchāand you think, maybe next time.
Maybe.
But not tonight.
Itās late.
Later than you usually sit up for him.
The air outside smells like wet bark and heat lightning. Youāve just bathedāskin still damp, robe clean, lips glossy with something sweet and sticky you let melt over your tongue before you opened the door.
The floorboards are still slick from the storm earlier, and the moonās a thin thing, half-ash and half-bone. Somewhere in the trees, something howls.
But heās louder.
Heās already there when you pull the door open, sprawled out like roadkillāon his side, one cheek pressed against the porch wood, arms limp at his sides, knees bent in. Like he dragged himself here and died at the edge of your mercy.
But when he hears the door creak, he moves.
Head jerks. Eyes flash. His nostrils flare, and he moansālow and open-mouthed, like heās just caught your scent for the first time all over again.
āSweetheart,ā he gasps, trying to sit up and immediately wobbling, weak from hunger or lust or both. āSweetheart, IāI dreamed you were gonna open it tonight.ā
You say nothing.
He drags himself upright, kneeling again, hands in his lap like a penitent priest waiting for permission to sin. His thighs are slick with drool and sweat and something darkerāsomething old. You donāt ask. Heās trembling.
You step forward.
And he growls.
Low. Feral. Possessive. His shoulders hunch, his nails dig into the wood, his tongue flashes outāforked, twitchingāand he presses his forehead to the threshold like it burns him.
āYou smell like soap,ā he whimpers. āLike youāre clean and warm and wantinā. You did it on purpose, didnāt you? You always do.ā
You kneel in front of him, robe gaping where the sash has gone loose.
He chokes.
You brush a knuckle down his cheek. He shudders so violently you think he might break apart at the seams.
And then you whisper it.
Soft. Small.
The word.
āCome in.ā
He doesnāt believe you at first.
His body goes very still. Breath caught. Eyes searching your face for the trick. His mouth parts around a sob so sharp it cuts his throat on the way out.
āWh-what?ā he croaks.
āYou heard me,ā you say, voice low. āYou can come in.ā
And thatās all it takes.
He lunges.
Not with violence. Not with fury. But with such pure, starved need it knocks the breath out of your lungs. He collapses forward into the doorway like a beast finally slipping its leash, dragging himself across the threshold like it hurtsābut in a way he wants.
He weeps.
On his knees again. Hands clutching your thighs. Mouth open and dripping against your bare skin as he repeats your name over and over, shaking, whispering thanks like a dying man kissing dirt.
And he wailsāthe sound muffled against your flesh, trembling like a man whoās tasted Heaven and is terrified heāll be dragged back to Hell. His arms wrap around your hips, pulling you down with him, until your knees hit the floor and youāre seated right there in the doorway with him cradled between your legs like a body in prayer.
āIāll be so gentle,ā he babbles, licking a stripe up your inner thigh. āIāll be good. Iāll be sweet, sugar, I swear itāI wonāt bite unless you ask. Iāll eat and eat ātil you shake and sob and soak my chin and then Iāll fuckinā beg for seconds.ā
You let your head fall back, lips parted, robe slipping.
He sees it.
And loses whatās left of his composure.
He goes slow at firstāpainfully, reverently slow.
Tongue pressed flat to your cunt, hands gripping your thighs like lifelines, the tip of that sinful, split tongue tracing soft, teasing figure-eights just to feel you tremble.
And you do.
Every flick, every moan, every whimper he pulls from your throat drives him deeper into madness. He cries as he eats you. Cries. Big, open-mouthed sobs against your pussy as he whispers nonsense:
āSo sweetāso sweet, fuckānever tasted anything like youāplease, let me die hereālet me drownālet me be your floorboard, your shadow, your fuckinā leash, baby, Iāll be anythingāā
You come on his tongue once, and he doesnāt stop.
Doesnāt even pause.
Just whimpers like your pleasure is sustenance, like your slick is water and heās been crawling the desert for years.
You tangle your fingers in his hair. Tug. He moans into you. Grinds his hips to the floor.
āCan I fuck you?ā he begs against your cunt. āPlease, can I? Iāll go slow. Iāll go soft. Iāll make you feel worshipped. You want it rough? Iāll give you rough. Want it sweet? Iāll make you sob. Iāll bite your throat open and make you scream my name ātil the walls crack.ā
He looks up at you, face wet, chin slick, forked tongue flicking out like a serpent sensing the heat of your body. His eyes are glassy. Wild.
āTell me I can fuck you.ā
You nod.
He breaks again.
And thenā
He crawls forward, palms flat on the floor, reverent and quiet. His cock is hard, flushed and weeping, twitching against his stomach. You see the way his hands shake as he guides himself to you. The way he groansāchoked and low and obsceneāwhen the head of it brushes against your entrance.
He looks up at you, panting. Lips parted.
āYou sure?ā he whispers. Like heās asking permission to live.
You nod again.
āThen hold on to me, sugar,ā he says, voice raw and trembling. āI ain't never cominā back from this.ā
And he pushes inā
Slow. So slow. Like heās scared youāll vanish beneath him. Like your heat is swallowing him whole. Like the walls of your body were carved centuries ago to hold only him.
He moans into your neck, hips stilling halfway through.
āFuck,ā he whimpers, voice shattered. āYou feel likeālike you were made for me. IāmāIām not gonna last. I ainātāplease donāt let go of me.ā
You clutch his shoulders.
He bottoms out with a sob, every inch of him buried in you, shaking like a man whoās finally come home. His forehead presses to yours. His hips roll once, reverent, like worship.
He doesnāt move at first.
Just stays buried to the hilt, mouth slack against your throat, breathing like a dying animal in your ear. You feel him twitch inside youāthick, hot, leakingāand for a moment you think he might cry again.
Then he growls.
Low. Deep. Possessive.
And moves.
One slow pull outāalmost all the wayāfollowed by a brutal thrust that slams your back against the floorboards hard enough to rattle the doorframe. You gasp. He moans. Loud. Open-mouthed. Obscene.
āFuck,ā he chokes, already shaking. āOh, sugar. Oh, baby, youāyou donāt know what youāve done. What you let loose.ā
He doesnāt wait for permission anymore. Doesnāt need it. You gave it the second you said come in.
Now heās fucking like itās all he knows how to do.
His hips snap forward over and over, wet slaps echoing through the open doorway, sweat dripping from his brow, tongue lolling out as he pants like a rabid thing. He braces one hand beside your head and the other beneath your thigh, holding you open, dragging you into every thrust like he wants to feel himself hit the back of you.
Youāre soaked. Wrecked. Clawing at his back and gasping his name over and over like itās the only prayer youāve got.
āYou wanted me like this, didnāt you?ā he snarls, his drawl thick and guttural now. āWanted to see me come undone. Wanted to see the monster in me. Well, here he is, sugar. Here I fuckinā am.ā
He grinds down. Deep. You cry out.
He smirks, wild and broken and high off the sound.
āYou feel that?ā he whispers against your mouth. āThatās me in you. Deep as I can go. Youāll feel me for days. Iāll make sure of it.ā
And he does.
He fucks you until your legs tremble, until your voice is raw, until the only sounds are slick, messy, filthy. He presses his chest to yours, forehead to your jaw, panting through clenched teeth as he drives into you like he canāt stop. Like if he slows down, heāll die.
You feel the sharp tips of his fangs graze your throat. His voice is wrecked.
āLet me taste you,ā he begs. āLet me drink while Iām inside you. Let me be full, sugar. Let me be whole.ā
You nod.
He doesnāt even hesitate.
His mouth opens wide and you feel the biteāsharp, electric, perfectāright where your neck meets your shoulder, and suddenly his hips are slamming into you harder, messier, feral, rutting through your orgasm as he drinks, drinks, drinks.
It hits you all at once. Heat. Pain. Pleasure so sharp it blinds you.
You come hard, clenching around him, and he sobs into your throat like itās sacred, like heās breaking apart inside your body.
You feel him twitch. His breath goes ragged.
āGonna come,ā he warns, voice slurred, tongue lapping at your skin between frantic, messy thrusts. āGonnaāfuck, sugar, Iām gonna fill youāgonna mark youāmake you mineāmineāmineāā
And he does.
Hot and thick and endless.
He spills inside you with a guttural cry, hips stuttering, teeth still buried in your skin. You feel it pulse into youāclaiming you, over and over, like his body doesnāt know how to stop. Like his need has no end.
He finally stills, trembling.
Still buried inside you. Still panting. Still moaning your name into the crook of your neck like heās worshipping it.
And thenā
He kisses the bite.
Soft.
Gentle.
His hands cradle your face like youāre glass, and for the first time all night, his voice goes quiet.
āYou saved me,ā he breathes.
And for once, you donāt correct him.
You donāt know how long you lie there.
Could be minutes. Could be hours. The air has gone still, heavy with sweat and sex and iron and him. The stormās long gone, but you can still smell the raināsweet and earthy, mixing with the blood drying at your throat.
You feel it when he finally starts to move.
Just a shift.
The slow drag of his hand up your thigh, fingertips curling into the dip of your waist like heās reminding himself youāre real. His body is still flush against yours, cock soft now but still inside you, holding you open. Keeping you full. Like heās afraid pulling out will make the whole night unravel.
You reach up, bury a hand in his tangled hair.
He makes a soundāsmall, shatteredāand curls tighter against you.
āDonāt go,ā he whispers, voice hoarse and full of something too heavy to name. āDonāt make me leave. Not after that. IāllāIāll be good. Iāll be so good.ā
You donāt answer. You donāt need to.
Your fingers stay in his hair, stroking gently. His body softens against yours.
Thereās blood smeared across your neck, your chest, down your ribs. His bite still stings, the skin pulsing, rawābut it doesnāt hurt. Not really. It burns. Like a seal. Like a signature.
You glance down.
Heās watching you.
Eyes half-lidded. Glazed. Glowing, almostāfaint and strange, like heās lit from within. Thereās a little blood on his mouth. More on his chin. But he doesnāt wipe it away.
You wonder if heās ever looked more peaceful.
āYou taste like sunlight,ā he murmurs, dream-drunk. āLike nectar. Like the end of the world.ā
You huff a laugh, quiet and breathless.
āDonāt get poetic on me now.ā
āI aināt,ā he slurs, eyes fluttering. āJust honest.ā
He nuzzles into your collarbone, forked tongue flicking lazily against your skin like heās still trying to memorize it. His hands roamāslow, aimless, like he doesnāt know how to stop touching. One settles on your hip. The other slides beneath your spine and pulls you closer.
āI aināt lettinā you go,ā he mumbles. āNot after this. You said it. You let me in.ā
You nod. You did.
And you meant it.
He presses his nose to your pulse point, breath fogging across your skin. His lips ghost over the bite. He presses a kiss there, reverent.
āIāll be good,ā he repeats, softer now. āYou just tell me what to do, and Iāll do it. You want a house? Iāll build it. You want blood? Iāll bring you the whole fuckinā town. You want me to rot on the floor again? I will. Long as Iām yours.ā
āYouāre mine,ā you whisper.
And he moans.
Like the words filled him with something heās never had in thirteen centuries.
You feel him soften completely then, sinking into your body like sleep. One leg slung over yours, one arm anchoring you to his chest, his cock slipping free with a wet noise that makes him groan as you shudder. Your body aches, raw and sore and claimed, but you donāt move.
Neither does he.
Eventually, he sleeps.
You know because the grip he has on you loosensābut only a little. He still breathes you in. Still holds you like something holy and fragile and violently his.
And you?
You stay awake a while longer, staring at the door still cracked open, the threshold now crossed, the air inside heavy with what you both became tonight.
The blood on your neck has dried.
The slick between your thighs has cooled.
But his body stays warm against you.
And outside, the sky hasnāt yet begun to lighten.
No birds. No blue.
Just that inky pre-dawn blackness pressing soft against the windows, holding the night still around you like a secret.
Because he canāt survive the sun.
And tonight, for once, you donāt want the morning to come either.
