vampire!vi who begs you to let her feed on you, but you won’t allow it until she’s made you come. so, hungry and desperate, she laps at you messily, plunges her fingers inside of you and crooks them just right so you’ll orgasm as quickly as possible.
she’s literally shaking and sweating from how starved she is, and with her mouth on your cunt, it’s hard not to smell the sweet scent of you and just…take a bite. not just hard - it’s complete torture, but she’s determined to make you come so she can just fucking feed already. she buries her face between your legs and tongues at you until you reach your orgasm, the sounds of your moans going right to her clit as she laps up your arousal.
then finally, finally you let her eat. you purr at her about how she’s such a good girl and she made you feel so good, baring your neck for her. she salivates, spit leaking onto your skin, warm and heady with the scent of cum.
she sinks her fangs into the column of your neck, tastes the flavor of you, and she’s nearly delirious with the instant euphoria that crashes into her. as she drinks from your open wound, moaning from the pleasure of it all, she stuffs her hands down her pants and finds herself dripping.
imagining the casual intimacy of abby draping her jacket around your shoulders when you’re cold. maybe you disappeared after a fight and she finds you hours later perched on a curb. even though she’s mad — about the argument and that you took off — she knows saying anything will only lead to more conflict, so she puts the jacket around you and begs you to come home. “let me get you home and warm, then we can talk it through.”
or maybe you drunk call her one night asking to be picked up, and her first instinct is to bundle you up before she gets you into the car. she just likes to take care of you, and this is her most basic, instinctive way. she’ll wrap an arm around you afterwards, rubbing warmth back into you through the fabric. “you sure you’re okay?
her heart will flutter when you nestle into it with a lazy smile, inhaling her scent on the collar. she likes to feel needed, and seeing that become so obviously true chases away any doubts she might have.
I low-key hate it but it felt wrong for the person who literally inspired it to not read it so:
You’ll be gone again by morning.
I’ll wake to an empty bed,
the room stripped bare of you.
Your arms no longer tangled in mine,
your nose no longer bumps my own
when I turn to look at you.
No trace. No sign.
She gets you—
I didn’t win
I doubt I was even in the running
She gets the tangled limbs,
the bumping noses,
clothes scattered like fallen stars across the floor.
She gets you when she wakes.
I don’t.
I’m only your happy accident at night,
a secret you keep until the light.
You’ll be gone again by morning,
You'll be gone again by morning.
I'll wake
to an empty bed.
You'll wake
in hers.
You'll be hers.
clothes scattered like fallen stars across the floor!!! obsessed w that line. i love it, so unbelievably flattered that you felt inspired by my writing :’)
Abby tries to make it slow for you, she really does. It takes everything in her not to rip right through you the second you’re alone with her but she restrains herself.
You’ve never been treated much ‘like a lady’ in the past, other partners expecting the work in the bedroom to come from you and Abby knew that too. She was desperate to show you how much you were worth to her.
Her restraint trembles. Dragging her lips down your thighs, the thick warm overwhelming smell off you pulling her desire out further than she is able to contain while she hooks her fingers under the elastic of your boxers, pulling them off as controlled as she can handle.
Her tongue reaches you, one slow drag through your centre.
It hits her like a drug.
Her fingers grip tight around your thighs and suddenly she is both drowning in you and needing you like the air she breathes.
A low guttural moan hums through her as your back arches at the sudden increase of pressure and heat.
Every single sound you make, every time you move into her when you’re desperate to chase more and buck away when it grows too much is pure bliss to her.
It’s almost an hour before she pulls herself out of her daze, blinking half lidded up at you while you’re finally able to catch your breath. Moaning through each shudder of the after-shocks, still trembling under her long after mouth travels up your body. Kissing a path to your lips and holding you till your limbs go limp against her.
You’re sleeping in her arms while she’s already thinking about the next time she can lose herself between your thighs.
Bit of a masc reader thingyyy. Idk it’s 5am and I’m horny.
Perm taglist cause yall wanted to be on these little drabs too hehe: @lobotomymutt @alloftheimagines @thatredheadloserlesbian @lacyfemmes @fleetwonder
summary: in an attempt to get over the vi-shaped crater in your life, you go out on a date with someone new. vi certainly has something to say about that. 18+ mdni! contains cheating (vi is married, r is single), marijuana use, oral sex, fingering, pet names. vi and reader are a bit toxic here, sooo this is your warning. technically this is a continuation of fool me once, but it can probably be read as a standalone as well.
you’re in the passenger seat of your date’s car, some kind of rich-prick sedan that reeks of brand new leather, when you look out the window and see vi for the first time in months.
she looks just as good as she did the night you’d slept together - perfectly disheveled in a black tank, jeans low enough on her hips that there’s a dizzying sliver of skin exposed. there’s a joint dangling from the corner of her lips, unlit, as she shuts the front door and settles into the chair on the porch. you watch, mesmerized, as she pulls a lighter from her pocket and sparks the joint to life.
that night, in the early days of the summer, still lingers at the forefront of your mind.
everything reminds you of vi - the boisterous laugh of a stranger on the street, the scent of smoke in the air, the sight of an all-too-familiar shade of pink.
still, guilt wells in your chest when you remember her wife - an ugly feeling that turns your saliva sour in your mouth. when you see her collecting the mail or going for a jog or leaving for work in the morning, she waves at you and smiles, and pinpricks of shame dapple every inch of your body.
vi had made her decision, though. that much is clear. you searched for her in the days after that night, glanced at the porch every time you left the house. waited for her to appear like an apparition, pull you into her arms again and kiss away the guilt that turned your insides to tar.
but days had turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. soon, the blistering summer heat peters out, and fall is upon you. vi has become nothing but a sore spot; a bruise you poke at every now and then to remind yourself it’s real.
you’re torn away from your thoughts when you hear your name, and you realize once again where you are and what you’re doing. post expensive-dinner, your date’s hand lingering on your thigh beneath the hem of your dress, her mildly irritating voice grating in your ears.
“did you hear what i said? i asked if you wanted to invite me inside.”
you blink at her. “uh… for what?”
the girl, whose name you can’t remember (it starts with a B, you know that for sure), laughs like she’s surprised. “i thought we had a nice time tonight. didn’t we?”
“it was nice,” you agree. your lips press together in a firm line as you cast another spare glance out the window, eyes searching for vi.
“i know something that could make the night even better… if you know what i mean.” blair arches one perfectly-shaped brow at you. she flashes you a kind of self-satisfied smirk that lets you know she thinks she’s got you wrapped around her finger.
brianna’s hand inches further up your thigh. you decide to play along. “and what’s that?”
“take me inside and i’ll show you.”
quite frankly, you’d rather not. blake’s breath smells like the strong espresso she’d insisted on ordering after dessert, and it makes you nauseous every time she gets too close. but there’s a dull, sweet ache forming between your legs, making your stomach warm with arousal. and the last thing you want to do right now is go inside alone.
bella gets real smug when you finally let her kiss you over the center console. she’s not a great kisser, and she loses extra points for the espresso breath, but it’s decent enough. when you walk up the driveway to your front door, rummaging through your bag to keep from looking at vi as you pass, bianca presses herself against you from behind. you fumble with your keys but manage to get the door unlocked before she can push you into it with the force of her too-desperate hips, her wandering hands warm on your waist.
you let her in first. she stumbles into the dark and searches for the light switch while you close the door - but not before you cast one last look at vi, smoke billowing from her lips. there’s a wrinkle between her brows, a fire in her eyes. you stare at each other, wordless, for what feels like an eternity before there’s a hand on your hip again, urging you backwards through the doorway. you shut the door and lock it.
it turns out that kissing isn’t the only thing bridgette is subpar at. she yanks your panties down your thighs when you reach the bedroom, unceremonious about it when her fingers find your cunt, and she misses your clit like she’s trying to. but it’s clear that she isn’t - she smirks at you, smug, while you spread your legs over the mattress and let her play with you.
“you’re so quiet,” brooklyn comments, her index finger circling around a spot just beneath your clit. “you shy?”
“yeah,” you lie. she says something else but you’re not listening. you close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose and willing away every voice in your head that chants vi, vi, vi.
“i think you’re wet enough.” brittany pulls her hand back from your cunt, wiping your slick off her hands with the edge of your fitted sheet. you open your eyes and stare at her, stunned that she thinks this is wet enough, when there’s a loud knock at the door.
knock is probably a generous word. it’s more like pounding.
as if she hadn’t heard it, brenda pulls you in for another kiss, her tongue smashing up against your lips to try to part them. you wince and pull back, nose wrinkled. “i should get the door.”
“it’s probably not important,” she says.
“sounds important,” you snap, pushing her away and climbing off the bed. you pull your dress down to obscure your lack of underwear and saunter out to the living room as the knocking continues, heavy and persistent against the door.
you know what to expect on the other side, but when you push the door open and find vi standing there, tight fist raised, knuckles white, she still steals the breath from your lungs.
“there you are,” vi grumbles. she shoves her hand into one of her pockets, looking over your shoulder into the darkness of your house. “where’s that fucking meathead?”
“meathead? who says that?” your heart is pounding in your chest, but you can’t tell if it’s from excitement or anger. or both. “it’s none of your business.”
vi lets out a humorless laugh. “sure. she’s in your room, isn’t she? what, did i interrupt your moment, princess?”
every syllable leaves her lips covered in venom, her lip curling meanly. it only makes you angrier. and, regrettably, more aroused.
“why the fuck do you care?” you cross your arms over your chest, glowering at her as if you could take her down with a look alone. she opens her mouth to reply, but the words die on her lips when something behind you catches her gaze. you turn your head and find bailey sidling up to you, puffing out her chest unnaturally. she’s not great at the tough-guy act, despite having the build to pull it off. you’re almost embarrassed for her.
“can i help you, dude?” becca asks, chin lifting.
“nah,” vi replies, unsmiling, “i just wanted to make sure this one’s okay. she’s been bringing a lotta girls home lately, you know?”
your blood runs cold. or hot. you can’t tell, just that it simultaneously burns and freezes in your veins, and you want to speak up, but all you can do is blink at vi as she smiles, all sharp teeth and thinly veiled threats, right at your date.
“oh,” buffy says. she turns to look at you; you can see her from the corner of your eye, like she’s waiting for you to say vi’s lying. and she is lying. but you don’t breathe a word, still as stone, anger broiling in your bones.
“yeah, she’s something else, isn’t she?” vi’s looking at you as she speaks, something dark and unreadable in her eyes. “takes ‘em home then finds someone else to buy her dinner the next night.”
she’s still smiling, and you want to punch that stupid, infuriating grin right off her face. make her feel at least half of the anger afflicting you, its flames licking at every inch of your skin from the inside out. silence settles heavy between the three of you; a cricket chirps somewhere in the grass, and a far-off motor revs up and slowly fades into the white noise. you hear bree clear her throat beside you.
“it’s getting late,” she says, checking her expensive-looking gold watch for good measure, “think i’m gonna head out.”
she steps forward and vi moves out of the way, letting her pass; her head turns while she watches your date amble out to her car, climb inside, and drive down the street, out of sight.
you’re watching a moth dance around the porch light. its wings flutter almost too quickly for you to see the motion; its tiny body smacks into the light over and over, like it’s expecting something different to happen with each point of contact. determined for an outcome that will never be.
“you’re welcome, by the way,” vi says, sounding much too casual about it.
“seriously?” you fume. “you think you just did me a fucking favor?”
“matter of fact, yeah. i do.” you recognize the same anger in her vitriolic tone that you feel in yourself - the same reckless, explosive rage threatening to boil over.
“fuck you, vi. fuck. you.”
“that’s what you need, isn’t it?” she’s smiling again, but this time, there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach flip. “just needed someone to fuck you right, huh? can’t believe you thought that fucking moron could do it for you.”
heat simmers in your belly at her words - a reaction you wish you weren’t so helpless to. but while your mind tells you this isn’t what you want, your body knows that it is.
“why are you here, vi?” you lift your chin and square your shoulders, arms still crossed over the low cut of your neckline.
she sizes you up, noticing the straightening of your posture. bright blue eyes rake over your frame like she’s committing you to memory.
“already told you, sweetheart,” she says as she steps forward, closing the gap between you. her hand reaches out to smooth over your hair, and she cups the base of your skull with her palm. “just had to stop you from doing something you’d regret.”
there’s a softness in her voice that makes you want to believe her.
“that’s… insane, coming from you,” you breathe. “i’ve already done something i regret.”
vi’s watching you while you speak, focused on you like you’re the only person in the world. a chilly breeze blows past, and you tighten your arms over your chest, goosebumps raising on your exposed flesh.
“hm,” vi hums. her hand moves to your cheek; her thumb strokes over the supple skin, delicate. “i don’t regret it.”
you bristle. tilt your head to the side to get her hand off you, though you feel colder when it’s gone.
“you’re such a fucking liar,” you hiss, “i haven’t seen you in months. you could’ve been dead, for all i knew. why don’t you go back to leaving me the fuck alone? why don’t you go back to your wife?”
“for fuck’s sake,” vi sighs; she rubs at her jawline like she’s trying to dispel her annoyance. “can you just, i don’t know, shut up?”
your mouth hangs open, your brain short-circuiting at her bluntness. your blood boils again, but all you can do is stare at her, silent.
“there we go,” vi purrs, “finally.”
she slips past you and through the doorway, her arm wrapping around your waist to urge you along with her. as if it’s moving on its own, your body submits to her; the door shuts and you can hardly process the feeling of the cold metal when your back smashes up against it.
vi’s closing in on you, her hands on your shoulders as she presses you to the door. long strands of pinkish-red hair brush over your cheeks and now she’s kissing you, those wandering hands moving to touch every inch of you in her reach. her tongue traces the seam of your lips and you part them for her, let her lick into your mouth, let her slide a knee between your legs and press her hips against yours. your body is a live wire, and every touch is a new spark, brighter than the last.
vi kisses you like a woman possessed, all tongue and teeth and mouthfuls of saliva. and you’re starting to slip again - starting to fall into her trap, expertly set.
“gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy again?” vi asks, voice gruff, her hand rubbing circles on your inner thigh. distantly, you remember that you’re not wearing panties - they’re on the floor in your room somewhere.
“mm,” you moan, because now vi’s kissing down the column of your throat, teeth scraping against your skin. “i sh-shouldn’t.”
“but you want to,” she’s murmuring against your neck, breath hot, and you hate her.
“vi,” you whine, “don’t make me say it.”
“oh, but you have to say it,” she coos, the warm expanse of her hand creeping up towards your cunt. she goes to touch you, and when her hand meets the sparse hair between your legs, she pulls back to look at you, eyes heavy. “such a slut, baby - so wet. you really want this, huh?”
her finger traces the crease beside your cunt, so close to where you want her, and your legs shake.
“yes,” you pant out, too needy to feel defeated, “i want you, vi. want you to touch me.”
“good girl, baby,” vi sighs against your neck, having leaned forward to suck at the delicate skin. her fingers split through your folds, spread the wetness pooled at your entrance until your entire cunt is soaked, slippery, messy. her thumb nudges against your clit and you gasp, shocks of pleasure exploding behind your eyelids.
vi nearly growls at the feeling of your pussy, needy and drooling for her. she pulls back from your neck, blotches of bruised skin left behind as she hums, “god, i need to taste you.”
bleary-eyed, you watch her sink to her knees before you. denim on hardwood. eyes blown black with lust. rough hands sliding up your thighs, folding your dress up until your cunt is exposed, soaked and needy for her. she encourages one of your legs over her shoulder, holding you up against the cold metal of the front door; you feel just secure enough that, when her tongue swipes through your wetness, you go limp.
the first time you’d let her touch you like this, you’d both been tipsy. it had felt incredible - clearly, since you’ve been unable to stop thinking about it for months. but now? you’re stone-cold sober, and vi had only smoked that joint a while ago, and her tongue is slipping through your folds, and her arms are holding you steady while her fingers knead at the doughy flesh of your ass. lewd slurps ring out in your quiet home, vi’s moans muffled by your puffy cunt, and you’re overwhelmed with pleasure - it courses through your veins like a drug. you’re hooked, now, and you know it.
“fuck, sweetheart,” vi rasps, slurring against your pussy, “so fucking wet. all this for me?”
you moan in response, wanton and strangled. you will yourself to reply, to make some sultry comment in response, but her mouth between your legs feels so good, you can’t speak. and besides, you can feel yourself inching closer to an orgasm with every brush of her tongue against your clit - every careful circle she draws over the bundle of nerves. you clench around nothing, hands finding vi’s hair and forming fists through them.
“vi, please, feels so good - oh fuck, just like that - faster, faster—”
you cut yourself off with another pornographic moan, high and whiny in your throat as your back forms a pretty arch over the door. you’re not sure how you’re still upright, but you’re too fucked-out to worry about it. vi laps at you like she’s enjoying every minute of this; she grunts and sighs against the mess she’s made of your cunt, and her hands grip your ass so hard you’re sure she’ll leave bruises. it only makes you want her more.
“gonna come for me, sweet thing?” vi asks, tongue flicking against your clit. one hand moves away from your ass, warm and sore where she’d been squeezing you, and she brings her fingers to your sodden cunt once again. she slips one inside, then two, and the moment she curls them just right, you find yourself on the edge.
“hah—fuck, fuck, yes, gonna come for you, gonna come,” you stutter, hips rolling to grind yourself down on vi’s face. your cunt squelches with every thrust of her fingers, so wet you can feel the warm combination of your slick and vi’s saliva leaking down onto your thighs. you look down at her before your vision whites out, and she’s beautiful, scar-pierced lips curled into a smirk as she watches you fall apart. your orgasm rips through you suddenly and all at once, leaving you trembling, gasping, screaming. if it weren’t for vi’s arms holding you up, you’d be on the floor by now, crumpled in a pile of cum and sweat and breathy moans.
you don’t realize that you’re sweating until vi pushes your hair out of your face, having stood up and wiped her mouth clean. tendrils of hair cling to your damp forehead and temples, and vi brushes them all aside, that smirk still pulling at her lips as you come down from your orgasm.
“felt good, princess?” she asks, and you nod, head still spinning. you’re standing on your own now, despite your legs feeling like they’ll fold over any second.
“think you can make it to the bedroom?” vi kisses along your jawline, open-mouthed. you tilt your head in the opposite direction and let your eyes fall shut. your head is still floaty, but you find it in you to nod, humming in pleasure as vi’s lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear.
“doesn’t seem like it,” vi murmurs, and before you can process what she means, she’s scooping you up into her arms bridal-style. you hook an arm around her neck and let her carry you to the bedroom, cunt clenching when you think of what’s to come.
and it’s just as good as you remember.
vi’s clothes—and your dress—litter your bedroom floor, abandoned in the interest of fucking as quickly as possible. she’s got you pinned to the mattress in a matter of minutes, kissing you like she’s starving for the warm glide of your saliva in her mouth.
“such a pretty little thing,” vi coos at you when she breaks the kiss, watching with half-lidded eyes as you glide your fingers through her wet, pink cunt. a well of her slick juices drools from her entrance and you spread it around with nimble fingers, afterwards bringing the digits up to your mouth to suck off the excess, and vi fucking loses it, watching your perfect mouth purse around your finger as your eyes roll back at the taste of her.
she’s not sure why it took her so long to do this again.
your hand returns to her cunt to give it a few more languid touches before she’s grabbing your wrist and squeezing. “get on your stomach.”
and you obey without a word, rolling onto your front and spreading your legs for her, ass propped up beautifully. you hear her curse, all guttural and breathy, before her palm collides with your backside with a sharp smack!
“told you this pussy’s mine,” she grunts, two of her fingertips pressing against your soaked entrance. “thought you knew that.”
she drags her length through your folds, ruddy fingertips like heaven when they nudge against your clit.
“guess i just needed to remind you.”
the words have hardly left her lips before her fingers are splitting you open, your clenching hole fluttering as it accommodates her; you bury your face into your pillows and let out one long, tortured moan. but she’s not interested in letting you adjust—no, she wants to ruin you. she stuffs you full of her fingers and uses her other hand to swat your ass again, admiring the way your skin warms beneath her palm as she pulls her fingers out and shoves them right back inside of you.
“say it, baby,” she rasps. “tell me whose pussy this is.”
she fucks her fingers into you again, and again, and your mouth is watering, drool trickling from one corner of your mouth and soaking into the pillow. your brain is practically melting out of your ears with every thrust of her fingers, and she loves how stupid you get like this. she curls a fist into your hair and yanks hard. “say it.”
you gasp and whine, back arching. another moan tears from your throat. “it’s, mmm, it’s yours, vi,” you mewl. “it’s all yours.”
she rewards you with another harsh slap against your ass, her other hand busy between your legs as she finger-fucks you, carving out a place in your cunt just for her. it’s heaven, and you’re already lust-drunk by now, surprised that you’d been able to get out a coherent thought when she’s fucking you like this.
“all mine,” vi pants into your ear, every thrust of her fingers accompanied by the wet sounds of your cunt opening up around her.
“yours,” you echo. “yours—ah, vi, please…”
“whatcha begging for, angel?” vi asks, digs her fingertips into the plush flesh of your ass. “need to come again? need me to get you there?”
you nod, frantic with need. “yes, fuck, please.”
“come for me, hm?” her voice wavers a little, husky with lust, and as if you’d been waiting for her permission, you’re suddenly gasping, back arching further as your body catches fire. she talks you through it, telling you how pretty you are taking her fingers, how good you feel gripping her like this, how perfect your body is.
“that’s it, baby,” she rasps, mouth close enough to your ear for you to feel the warm puffs of her panting breaths. your body feels like it’s floating off into the stratosphere. you lie like that for a while, her body a welcome weight atop your own, your cheek pressed into the pillow still damp with your own drool. unbidden, the memory of the last time you’d had sex with vi creeps into the foreground of your mind. the way she’d made you come so hard you’d seen stars, then slipped out the room and back to her own home - back to her wife - before you could even process what had happened.
“vi,” you murmur, adjusting to roll onto your back. vi climbs off you, settles into the mattress by your side. you realize that she’s still in her boxers, the delicious trail of hair beneath her bellybutton disappearing under the hem.
she catches you looking and smirks. “need something?”
“mhm,” you hum, “i… don’t want you to leave this time.”
you try to ignore the stab of disappointment in your gut when the smirk disappears from vi’s lips, her expression neutralizing. the air conditioning kicks on, and the cold draft makes you shiver. feeling suddenly exposed, you grab a throw blanket from the edge of your bed and pull it over you.
vi bites her lower lip, thinks for a moment. then, she says, “okay. i’ll stay.”
she settles down further into the mattress beside you, a hand reaching for the blanket to pull it over herself, too. her arm curls around your waist and urges you closer. you bury your face into the crook of her neck and inhale her scent.
it’s not long before you fall asleep, the white noise of the AC lulling you into a peaceful darkness, vi drawing patterns into your skin with her fingertips. the last thing you process before you’re asleep is the press of vi’s lips against your cheek, her nose nudging your brow bone.
and when you wake up, stretching out and seeking her warmth, all you find is an empty bed.
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