#(this is for the post. there is smut in the fic)

[chrissssssmut]

Whenever you get time can you make a Hanni x male reader Fic Again 😭. Thank you!🙏

OVERTIME

Hanni x Male Reader

Tags: Teasing, cum on face and glasses, dirty talking, anal sex, glasses kink, dominance, just overall fucking

It was just past 9 p.m. The office was dead quiet, save for the faint hum of computers on sleep mode and the soft tapping of keyboard keys coming from across the room.

You glanced up from your monitor, eyes landing on Hanni—your bratty, sharp-tongued, always-too-loud coworker—who sat perched on the edge of her desk like she owned the whole damn place.

Her short skirt was hiked indecently high, legs crossed and swinging slowly. Her glasses slid low on her nose, strands of dark hair falling over her face as she chewed the end of a pen with that same smirk that drove you mad.

“Still working?” she asked, voice syrupy sweet, mocking almost.

You didn’t look at her. “Unlike you, I don’t spend half the day gossiping in the break room.”

She scoffed. “Excuse me, I closed my report hours ago. Some of us are efficient and sexy.”

You snorted. “That what you tell yourself before you post another mirror selfie in the bathroom?”

Her eyes narrowed behind those glasses, but her lip curled in amusement. “You’re obsessed with me.”

“Sure,” you muttered, not missing the way her thighs pressed together as she leaned back a little farther. “That’s why I avoid sitting near you during meetings.”

“Mhm.” She slid off the desk and strutted over slowly, her heels quiet against the carpet, hips swaying like she knew you were watching. “You avoid me because you’re scared.”

“Scared?” you echoed, finally looking up at her.

She stood over you now, hands on her hips, fingers tapping against her waist. Her blouse was unbuttoned just enough to tease, and the glasses only made it worse—like she knew exactly what kind of buttoned-up fantasy she was feeding.

“Yeah,” she said with a little tilt of her head. “Scared you’ll fuck me so good you’ll lose focus at work.”

Your throat tightened. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh?” Her smirk widened. “So if I sat on your lap right now and begged you to use me, you’d still keep typing your little spreadsheet?”

You leaned back in your chair, slowly. “Try me.”

She didn’t hesitate. Climbed right onto your lap, skirt riding up fully over her thighs. You could feel the heat between her legs through your slacks. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t lose that grin.

“You gonna stop me?” she asked, whispering against your ear.

“No,” you growled. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Finally.”

You shoved everything off your desk with a sweep of your arm—papers, pens, your damn mug, all clattering to the floor. Hanni gasped like she hadn’t expected you to snap, but her soaked panties said otherwise.

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” you said, spinning her around and bending her over the desk. “All those times you acted like a brat—this was the goal.”

She wiggled her ass, looking back over her shoulder. “Maybe I just like how mad you get. You’re so hot when you’re pissed.”

You pulled her panties aside and dragged your cock against her folds. She whimpered, legs shaking.

“Such a tease,” you muttered, gripping her hips. “I should just leave you like this. Dripping and begging.”

She arched her back, the glasses still perched on her nose. “I’ll scream. You know I will.”

You slammed into her in one smooth thrust.

Her scream echoed off the office walls.

“Fuck! Y-You—shit, fuck yes—!”

You grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her back into you as your hips snapped against her. The sound of skin slapping filled the room. Her glasses fogged. Her voice turned into high-pitched whines.

“This what you wanted?” you growled in her ear.

“Yes—god, yes—I need it, please don’t stop—”

“Say it.”

“I wanted your cock all day—I was so wet in that meeting—I couldn’t focus, I just wanted you to bend me over the damn projector table and fuck me stupid!”

You wrapped your hand around her throat, just tight enough to make her gasp. “Louder.”

“I wanted you to ruin me!” she screamed. “Wanted you to cum all over my face, make me wear it while I print reports tomorrow—fuck—!”

You pulled out suddenly. She whined, trying to push back into you, but you grabbed her by the chin and made her turn to face you.

“On your knees.”

She dropped like a good girl.

You stroked your cock in front of her, watching as her eyes sparkled behind the glasses, mouth open, tongue out like she was ready for communion.

“Please,” she begged, biting her lip. “Please cum on me—on my face—on my glasses—fuck, I want it so bad, I’ll be so good—I’ll stop teasing, I swear—I’ll let you fuck me whenever you want, just cum for me—”

You groaned and jerked harder.

“Stick that tongue out.”

She did.

You exploded.

Thick ropes of cum painted her lips, her cheek, her glasses—obscuring her vision, dripping down her nose, her chin, her throat. She moaned like she was being blessed, swallowing what she could and licking the rest off her fingers.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “You really needed that, huh?”

“You’re the one who asked for it,” you said, breathless.

The office air was thick with sex and the musk of what you’d just done.

Hanni was on her knees, cum dripping down her chin, still licking her lips like she hadn’t just begged you to paint her face. Her glasses were fogged, smeared, and absolutely filthy—but she didn’t take them off. No, she adjusted them with cum-streaked fingers and grinned up at you like she wore it with pride.

“Done already?” she teased, breathless, still kneeling between your legs. “Thought you were gonna ruin me.”

You raised an eyebrow, cock twitching as you watched your cum glisten across her cheek and the curve of her lips. “You still think I’m done with you?”

She tilted her head. “Maybe I want more.”

You grabbed her by the chin and made her stand, pushing her back against your desk until she bumped into the edge.

Her skirt was still bunched at her waist. Her panties, soaked, stretched around one thigh. Her inner thighs were sticky with need.

But it was the way she looked at you—defiant and desperate—that lit something dark in your chest.

“Oh,” you murmured, voice low. “You want more?”

She nodded slowly, biting her lip.

“Then turn around.”

She froze.

“W-What?”

“You heard me,” you growled. “Hands on the desk. Ass out. You’ve been a fucking brat all week, and now I’m going to put you in your place.”

Her eyes widened—but the shiver that ran down her spine said everything. She turned, bent over your desk, palms flat, hips arched back high.

“Wait,” she said, voice trembling, “you’re not gonna—”

You spit right onto her puckered hole.

She gasped.

You leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “I’m going to fuck your ass, Hanni.”

She whined, pressing her thighs together. “I’ve never—fuck—I don’t know if—”

“You’re going to take it,” you said, slicking your thumb with spit and slowly circling her tight rim. “You wanted to act like a cocky little slut in the office? Then you’re going to be one. Every. Inch.”

She whimpered. “You’re such an asshole…”

“You love it.”

You teased her entrance with the head of your cock, watching it twitch and throb against her untouched hole. She buried her face in her arms, glasses still crooked on her nose, still filthy with your first load.

And when you pushed in—just an inch—she screamed into her sleeve.

“F-Fuck—fuck—wait, it’s so tight, I—!”

You grunted, gripping her hips. “Relax. Let me in.”

She trembled under you, face down, ass up, as you slowly buried yourself deeper.

Inch by inch.

She clenched hard, moaning through gritted teeth. “You’re—god, you’re too thick—I can feel everything, fuck—!”

“That’s the point,” you growled, leaning over her, your chest pressing into her back. “I want you to remember this every time you sit in your chair tomorrow.”

She choked out a laugh between shaky moans. “You’re such a bastard…”

You bottomed out.

She whined. High, needy, shameless.

“You okay?”

“…Keep going.”

You pulled back and slammed in again.

Her whole body jolted.

The pace was brutal. Deep, tight, unforgiving. Your cock disappeared into her ass over and over again, her cries echoing off the walls as her glasses bounced on her face, catching more of her drool and tears.

“You feel that?” you growled, slapping her ass. “You hear how fucking wet you still are? From getting your throat fucked and your face painted?”

She moaned, voice muffled. “Y-Yes—yes, I’m such a mess—I can’t stop clenching—I-I feel full—”

“You are full,” you growled, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back so you could see the wrecked expression on her face. “You’re getting your ass used like you begged for. Look at you.”

Her makeup was ruined. Her glasses were even worse—smudged with tears, sweat, and the dried streaks of your cum from earlier. Her mouth hung open, tongue out, drooling onto the desk.

“Want me to pull out?” you asked darkly.

“No—n-no—don’t you fucking dare—”

You smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

You pounded harder.

Her legs shook, and every time your hips slammed into her ass, she let out another desperate moan. She was falling apart.

“Who do you belong to?” you asked, panting now.

“Y-You,” she whimpered. “Fuck—my ass is yours—use it, fill me, I d-don’t care—!”

“You want my cum again?” you growled.

She nodded frantically. “Yes—on my face—again—please—don’t stop, I want it on my glasses, on my lips—I need it—!”

You growled, pulled out of her wrecked hole, and spun her around so fast she nearly stumbled.

She dropped to her knees without hesitation.

Mouth wide open. Glasses crooked. Her ass still trembling.

You stroked yourself furiously over her face, her tongue sticking out again, begging, lips wet, eyes wild.

“Please,” she panted. “Cum for me—I want to feel filthy—want to taste it—want to wear it home—please—”

You exploded with a loud groan, ropes of hot cum splashing across her face, coating her glasses, dripping from her lashes, her nose, her tongue. She moaned through it all, swallowing what she could and licking the rest off her lips with a ruined smile.

“God,” she whispered, adjusting the cum-covered lenses with shaky hands, “I’m gonna wear these tomorrow.”

You smirked, panting. “You’re such a fucking mess.”

She grinned up at you.

“And you love it.”

You were barely through your second sip of coffee when she walked in.

Like nothing had happened.

Like you hadn’t fucked her throat, ruined her ass, and painted her face twice last night.

But there was something different this morning.

Something insane.

Her outfit was sharp, professional—buttoned white blouse, fitted skirt, tights, hair tied back in a sleek ponytail—but her glasses? Still smudged.

Not just smudged. Stained.

Your eyes zeroed in on it immediately. That faint streak near the edge of the left lens. The shimmer no cleaning cloth could fully erase. Her lip curled into a small, smug smile when she saw your gaze lingering.

She knew what she was doing.

And she was proud of it.

You raised your brow as she walked past your desk, slow, hips swaying just a little extra. She didn’t say a word.

Until you heard the soft ding of a Slack message a few seconds later.

Hanni:

“Storage room. 3rd floor. 10 min. Bring that look on your face.”

You didn’t even finish your coffee.

The door clicked shut behind you.

The fluorescent light buzzed above, casting soft shadows across rows of shelves stuffed with toner and paper stacks. It was quiet—too quiet.

And there she stood.

Back against the far wall, arms crossed, glasses still on. Streaked. Fogged from her own breath. A little crusted along the edge.

Her lips curled into a bratty smile.

“You came.”

You stepped in close. “You wore them.”

She nodded slowly, tugging her skirt up just a little. “Why wouldn’t I? Felt right.”

You grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up. The glasses tilted just enough to show off the telltale sheen near the temple.

“You’re insane.”

She bit her lip. “Insane for your cum, maybe.”

You stared at her. “You called me in here just to talk about that?”

She didn’t blink. “No.”

She slowly sank to her knees, never breaking eye contact.

“I want another.”

You exhaled sharply.

“Another what?”

Her hands already worked your belt. “Another dose. Another facial. Another mess. Right here. Right now.”

You weren’t hard yet, but she didn’t care. She pulled your pants down just enough and licked the head, slow, sloppy, deliberate. You twitched against her tongue, and she moaned.

“All morning,” she whispered between licks, “I’ve felt it on my face. People asked me what was on my glasses. I just said... printer toner.”

You laughed low, then grabbed her hair.

“Slut.”

“I like being your slut,” she whispered, tongue tracing your shaft. “I like being disgusting just for you. I like knowing I’m going to leave this room with your cum dripping off me again.”

You were hard now. Rock solid. Her hand wrapped around the base as she licked the underside, slow and teasing, glasses fogging again.

“God, you’re so full already,” she whispered. “You’re gonna give me so much.”

You growled and shoved your cock against her lips. She opened wide, sucking on the head like she was starved. Her glasses tilted further, smearing even more as her spit joined last night’s stains.

“You better not waste a drop,” you muttered, guiding her rhythm with firm hands. “You wanted this.”

“Mmmph,” she moaned around you, nodding, drooling, gagging just a little as you pushed deeper.

Her throat flexed. Her fingers dug into your thighs.

And then she pulled off, gasping.

“Cum on me,” she begged. “Do it now—before someone walks in—I want it right on my glasses again. I want to feel it burn on my skin all day. Just mark me again.”

You stroked fast, staring down at her ruined face. She kept her tongue out, her mouth open, her eyes fluttering behind smeared lenses.

“Fucking take it—”

You grunted hard as the first shot splashed across her cheek, hitting the corner of her glasses. She giggled, unhinged, delighted, moaning for more as you pumped your release across her mouth, her lips, her chin.

More streaks layered onto the old ones.

A new coat of filth.

She loved it.

She didn’t even flinch.

She tilted her face up into it.

When you were done, panting, hand still gripping the back of her head, she looked up through those sticky, fogged-up lenses and licked her lips with a pleased sigh.

“Thanks,” she whispered. “I think I can get through my shift now.”

You stared down at her. “You’re insane.”

She smirked. “Just loyal.”

Then she stood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, left the cum on her glasses, adjusted her skirt…

…and opened the door.

“I’ll message you again after lunch.”

[andorsdoll]

Homecoming ♡ Anakin Skywalker x Reader [♀]

Summary: Anakin comes home from battle wrecked and starving for you. You’re his wife, his anchor, his religion—and he fucks you like it.

Word Count: 1.6k || Warnings: nsfw. p*rn w/out plot?? idgaf!!, reader & anakin are married, the gloves stay on during sex, no foreplay, penetration (p-in-v), unprotected sex/creampie, some praise/dirty talk, aftercare, doting husband! anakin, etc.,

Author's Note: idk how to write smut, it's hard!!!!! (stop.. genuinely no pun intended >w< )

PS- for any of you guys following my multi chaptered anakin fic on ao3, i'm so sorry that i never ended up updating but i promise it is on its way, like i'm (re)writing the first chapter as we speak ok!!

PPS- if i have any james kelly/hayden christensen girlies, i posted a one shot here ;)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺ .✦.

He doesn’t knock but you hear the sound of boots trecking closer. Your breath catches in your throat the moment the door opens.

Anakin.

Finally.

You stand a little too fast and your knees almost buckle from the way relief crashes into you like a wave.

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not since he was pulled to the opposite end of the galaxy, again, with nothing but scrambled comms and a handful of encrypted messages.

He’s sunburnt, his cloak covered in dust. His brow is creased but he looks at you like you’ve just saved his life.

“Hi,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out.

That alone nearly breaks him.

Anakin crosses the space between you without hesitation, wrapping you in his arms. He buries his face in your neck, letting out an exhale. Like he's been holding his breath the entire time he was gone.

“I thought I’d go insane,” he mumbles. “I thought if I had to wake up one more morning without you next to me—” He pulls back just far enough to kiss you.

And the second your lips touch—it all unravels.

His kisses are desperate, needy, open-mouthed. Like he’s both punishing and apologizing to you for having had to leave.

“I missed you, Ani." you stroke the back of his head, fingers tangling in dusty curls.

It's almost overwhelming now, being in his arms after weeks. You can't even get another sentence out before Anakin's mouth devours the words against your throat.

He bites and licks at the skin there like he needs proof you’re real. Then he lifts you with both arms, one still gloved, possessive and loving on your thighs, walking you backward through the apartment without looking.

When he finally places you onto the bed, he lays you down like he's been waiting forever for this exact moment.

His forehead rests against yours while his hands roam, sliding beneath your top. Thumbs grazing your nipples until you gasp and whimper into his mouth.

“I dreamed about this,” he says. “Every night. I was afraid I'd forget your touch. Afraid I’d forget how it feels to be inside of you.”

You whimper, hips pressing forward instinctively. That alone makes him groan like you’re torturing him.

“I need you,” he says suddenly, dragging his mouth across your collarbone, leaving trails of blooming bruises. “I can’t wait, baby. I need you.” he whines, deprived and desperate.

“Take me,” you plead as you grind against him.

He undresses the both of you like a man possessed. Belt clattering to the floor, robes kicked aside, cock flushed, thick, and leaking at the tip as he shoves his pants down just enough.

He doesn’t waste time teasing, just pushes in deep with a sudden thrust. His head falls into your shoulder as he groans and just stays buried inside you, murmuring your name like it's holy.

Like loving you is the only thing he's ever needed and he's on his knees for it, buried in you like it's salvation.

Your legs are trembling from how full you feel when he says, "You’re clenching like you missed this. Missed me. Is that it, sweet girl?"

You nod against him, breath caught, arms wrapped around his shoulders like you never want to let go.

And then he starts to move.

It's really slow at first, mostly because he's making sure to reach as deep as possible when he rolls his hips forward. Like he wants to fuck your soul, not just your body. “So pretty like this… so wet for me… fuck, baby…”

He laces his fingers with yours, pinning both of your wrists above your head as he moves inside you with aching rhythm, eyes locked to yours.

He drives into you with ruthless precision, your dripping pussy clenching around him. The sounds between your bodies are obscene and wet, your legs shake while your mouth falls open.

Babbling incoherently now, you're barely able to take it. And he absolutely loves it.

Seeing you flushed and undone under him, Anakin moans, slowing his thrusts just long enough to lean down. His gloved fingers cradling your jaw while his eyes drink you in.

“Stars,” he whispers, voice hoarse, almost gone. “Look at you.”

A broken sound escapes your throat again as your head falls back, eyes fluttering. Your body’s too full, too sensitive.

You feel destroyed, wrecked, and you know he can see it. He brushes your cheek and the corner of your lips with his fingertips, gentle in a way that makes your chest ache.

Because even now, even like this, Anakin is still so tender with you. His expression is molten and dark with hunger. Yet, it's so soft and loving, as if he can’t decide whether to ruin you completely or stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for him.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” he pants, voice ragged. “Gonna fill you up. Will you let me?” He asks. But it's not really a question at this point, more like a promise.

All you can do is moan, arching your hips up to meet him, mouth still parted in gutteral cries. You come hard, clenching around him. He kisses you through it, swallowing your cries as he keeps fucking into you, desperate to reach his own release.

“Say it,” he breathes into you, hoarse and pleading. “Say you’re mine. Say you missed me.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, fingernails dragging down his back. “Always, Anakin. I’m yours, I miss—”

He slams into you, cutting off the words, rhythm starting to falter. You feel it as his thrusts grow uneven and erratic and he's cursing under his breath. His face contorts and he groans through clenched teeth as he finally comes, thick and hot inside of you.

But he doesn’t stop pounding until he’s completely spent, until it’s leaking out around him.

━━━━⊱︎⊰━━━━

Afterwards, there's a long moment where neither of you move. Just the sound of your breaths echoing throughout the apartment. Shaky, uneven, like you’ve both been through something you barely survived.

His weight eases over you while your legs remain lazily draped around his waist. He’s still inside you, softening slowly. His breath hot and shallow against your throat.

The galaxy feels blurred at the edges, dazed and dreamlike.

Your thighs tremble with every little shift in movement. Your chest rises and falls unevenly as you blink up at the ceiling, lips starting to tremble.

It hits you then, he's really home.

Anakin senses it, the shift in your breath, the way your lip starts to wobble. So he lifts himself just enough to look down at you. There's something soft in his gaze—like he knows exactly what you’re feeling.

“Oh, sweet girl…” he whispers before leaning in to kiss your cheek, your eyelids, your nose. Your eyes flutter shut from the sensation and he gingerly brushes your hair back.

His voice is sweet and doting now, “I missed you so much. I don’t think I can leave you ever again.”

You smile. Mostly because you know he has to leave again soon. Of course you do. He’s bound by duty—by the war, the cause, the robes he never fully gets to take off.

But right now, none of that matters.

Not with the way he’s holding you while his come is still warm inside you. Not with his mouth trailing over your collarbone like he’s relearning the shape of you.

He’s here.

And he’s yours.

And that’s enough, for now.

“C-Can’t feel my legs,” you mumble.

He grins.

Actually grins. Boyish, flushed and handsome.

It's then in his smile that a flicker of a memory comes back to you. The first time you ever met him, both of you years younger, standing awkwardly in the Temple courtyard. He’d smiled at you then like this too—cocky, sun-warm, all dimples and promise.

“Good,” he says proudly.

You shove at him half-heartedly, and he chuckles again before slowly, carefully pulling out. You whimper when your hips twitch at the sudden emptiness and soreness. He gently hushes you.

“I know, I know,” he coos. “You’re sensitive. It’s okay. I’ve got you, baby.”

You’re so fucked out you can’t move. So, he moves for you. He kisses your stomach, your thighs, your knees.

Then he disappears from the bed, rummaging around for a moment before returning to clean you up. He runs the damp fabric between your legs with maddening care, cooing every time you flinch or whine.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Still dripping for me.”

“Anakin!” your cheeks flush as you throw your arm over your eyes.

“What?” he says innocently, pressing a kiss to your hip. “Just admiring my beautiful wife. All full and spent and pretty… Do you want me to run you a bath? Or should I tuck you in? Did you eat already?”

Your mouth opens to answer but he’s already climbing back onto the bed, settling behind you, pulling you into his lap. Your legs go limp over his thighs. “Ani, you're not serious—”

“Oh, I’m serious,” he says, voice low and teasing now. “I’ve got you exactly where I want you. Might keep you like this forever.”

You lean into him, humming as your head falls back on his shoulder. “You're ridiculous.”

Anakin places a kiss on the top of your head as he massages your hips slowly. "I'm in love,” he responds casually, like it's the obvious thing in the galaxy.

[filmsbyun]

Crave || Choi Beomgyu

Craving the touch you hadn’t given all day, Beomgyu slipped a strawberry candy past your lips—hoping you'd start craving him instead.

Choi Beomgyu x afab!reader

⊹₊⟡⋆ 1.4k

warning: suggestive, kissing, foodplay (?) passing of candies from mouth to mouth lol, dry humping, [probably missed some i'm sleep deprived]

i actually despise strawberry candies mannn :// Reblogging/feedbacks will be much appreciated!

© filmsbyun ── please do not copy, translate, or repost my work without permission.

Beomgyu was an unpredictable man.

Even after years of being in this relationship, he still managed to surprise you—sometimes with his words, often with his thoughtfulness, and most times with the way he touched you like he hadn’t memorized you already. And honestly, you liked this part of him. The spontaneity. The refusal to ever let things settle into anything close to boring.

You placed the last piece of silverware on the table and stepped away, rubbing your palm with a napkin as you turned back toward the kitchen. The counter was cluttered with serving platters and utensils from the dinner preparations, and you focused on organizing them. Tonight was a dinner party you were hosting for your friends.

You were so focused on your work that you didn’t hear the soft padding of footsteps behind you, didn’t register his presence until two arms slipped around your waist from behind and pulled you back into a firm chest.

His mouth was on your shoulder before you could even say his name, warm and full and pressing into the curve of your skin. You felt him exhale, the sound brushing your ear as his nose nudged at the base of your neck.

“I couldn’t get you to myself the entire evening,” he muttered, voice muffled as he kissed along the junction between your neck and shoulder. “I missed you, love.”

There was a familiar pout to his tone, that same whine he sometimes used when you were too busy or distracted to focus on him. Beomgyu had always been clingy when it came to you. He never liked being in the same room and not being able to reach you. And you understood this part of him too—how much he craved time with you, how affection made him feel more than any word could.

But whatever thought was formulating earlier in your mind disappeared the moment his lips found the pulse point. He bit down softly before pressing a warm open-mouthed kiss like he meant to taste every inch of skin he could reach without you stopping him. Your head tilted back against his shoulder involuntarily, the movement giving him more access, and he took it without hesitation, his tongue darting out to trace a path up to your ear. His breath was warm, and the soft sounds he made sent a pulse through your entire frame.

Your fingers gripped the counter instinctively, grounding yourself against the marble’s chill, but the rest of you was melting fast.

“Gyu…” you whispered, voice caught between a sigh and a plea. You turned your head slightly, just enough to let him catch a glimpse of the mess he was making of you without even trying.

Beomgyu’s eyes were dark and heady, and it only fueled the fire that was building inside you. His hand wrapped around the side of your jaw, holding your face in place as his lips caught yours.  His teeth caught your bottom lip, and when you groaned, soft and muffled, his mind went completely blank except for one thought.

He wants to absolutely devour you.

With a silent curse, he grabbed your waist and spun you to face him as he backed you up against the counter. The marble was cold against your lower back, but it was the heat of his mouth that stole your breath. His lips crashed into yours with a force that knocked every coherent thought from your head. Your eyes flew open when his tongue pressed insistently between your lips, feeling him pushing something solid—a candy into your mouth, slick and sweet as it rolled over your tongue. The sharp taste of strawberry burst across your senses, catching you so off guard that you moaned into him.

“B-Beomgyu, please—” you gasped between breaths, barely able to form the words, but he didn’t let up. One of his hands slid behind your head, cradling it with surprising tenderness even as his kiss grew more intense.

The candy melted from the heat between you, a slow dissolve that mirrored the state inside your chest.

You could barely keep your balance with the way your knees buckled, and Beomgyu—sensing it without needing to look—gripped your hip with one hand and held you up with the sheer steadiness of his body against yours. The kiss turned messier as he sucked on your tongue, drawing a low moan from your throat that vibrated against his mouth.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to let you gulp down some air, and the smirk that lifted one corner of his lips looked downright devious.

In one swift movement, he hooked his arms beneath your thighs and lifted you onto the counter as though you weighed nothing, the force of his desire slipping through the cracks of his restraint. He stood between your legs, palms running along your thighs, guiding you closer to the edge until you were pressed against him. 

You wanted to warn him that the guests might be arriving any moment now, but you couldn't find the will nor the strength in you to tell him to stop.

“Missed you, so fucking much,” he murmured against your neck. The low timbre of his voice sent a shiver down your spine as his lips found the sensitive curve beneath your jaw, kissing, nipping, mouthing his way to every place he remembered made you lose your breath. He lingered there, listening to your reactions like they were a melody, pleased every time he found a new sound.

The room had faded around you both. You didn’t even notice when your back met the couch cushions. The lighting from the nearby lamp brushed your skin in soft pools of glow, casting the heat in your cheeks in dusky pinks and golds. Beomgyu hovered above you, one arm braced beside your head, his gaze fixed on you like he couldn’t afford to blink. His fingers dipped beneath your shirt at the waist, resting on your bare skin, his thumb tracing mindless patterns that sent goosebumps everywhere. 

Your chest rose and fell unevenly, your lips kiss-swollen and parted, still tasting the remains of strawberry on your tongue. Your mind, fogged and reeling, could only focus on the need curling deep inside your belly.

You wanted more—of his hands, his mouth, the way his touch unraveled every nerve in your body. You don't know how he even thought of the idea to kiss you with a candy, but it did the work and now that you got a taste of it, you simply didn't want to stop.

You reached for him, fingers bunching at the front of his shirt and tugging him down to you. “Please,” you whispered, voice rough and worn from all the breathless moans he’d pulled from you. “I need you.”

Beomgyu froze for a heartbeat, and then something snapped in him. His eyes darkened, the softness in them drowned by a far more visceral kind of want. He didn’t look away as he leaned in, breathing you in as he slid a hand under the small of your back to pull you even closer as if he couldn’t stand even a breath of space between you.

“I’ve got you,” he said lowly, his nose brushing against yours. “Let me take care of you.”

He positioned himself above you, one leg slipping between yours. He pushed forward with his hips, gently nudging your thighs apart until your legs wrapped around him instinctively. He fit there like a puzzle, the lines of his body molding to yours in perfect sync. Your breath hitched, chest brushing his with each inhale, your arms wound around his shoulders.

The slow rolls of his hips against your core sent jolts of pleasure coursing through you. The barrier of your clothes didn’t get in the way, rather the friction only heightened the need to chase the high for both of you. 

His lips hovered over yours, nearly touching—

—and then, the doorbell rang.

The sound sliced through the haze like ice water. 

No, no, no, this can’t be happening.

Beomgyu stopped mid-motion, his body taut above yours, caught between disbelief and raw, fraying restraint. You almost whimpered, chasing his mouth with yours, head lifting in desperate protest. But he drew back just slightly, and it felt like the world tilted the wrong way.

The sound you let out made him stare down at you, jaw clenched so tightly you could see the flicker of muscle near his ear, his chest heaving against yours. He took a deep breath, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. 

He dipped his head down again and took your hand instead, pressing a kiss to your fingers while a breathless laugh escaped his throat. 

“I promise you, I'm going to give you the best time of your life later tonight.”

Taglist; @dawngyu @1-800-jewon @xylatox @hoefororeo @i-like-to-read-at-4am @caratcakemoa @heesmiles @90steele

[girlyteengirlcore]

— a world given to you

ambessa x fem!reader

cw: you're her secretary, mutual pining but she hides it very well, masterbation, public sex (office), gagging, multiple orgasms, degradation, scent kink, reader discovers some things about herself, reader is also kinda a perv but she is in denial, fingering, breath play, minimal aftercare bc of the situation

a/n: whenever i think about ambessa i have to take a deep breath and quickly move on otherwise i start tweaking tf out

wc: 3.8k

Your job was easy— boring, but easy. You didn’t mind sitting in your own company most of the day, but it would be nice if she talked to you more often. You’re both located in your own section on the top floor of the building, a door dividing you from all of your coworkers, which you also didn’t mind. So all day, everyday, the one person you see more than anyone is her— your boss, Ambessa Medarda.

Your desk and her office are separated by a glass wall with a huge glass sliding door, and yet you still barely saw her. She rarely left her office and your desk was facing away from it, it just felt wrong to be look back to see what she was doing. So you never did, most of the time. The only thing that was somewhat frustrating was that her desk was facing you. Which meant when you finished your work you couldn’t just go online shopping, or scroll on your phone, or search up your boss on LinkdIn to see her past employment, one of your favourite past times. She doesn’t have any social media, okay? LinkdIn was a last resort.

You couldn’t help yourself; the way she carries herself, the way she speaks so authoritatively, the perfume she wears, and her jewellery. After a while; it became captivating, you couldn’t help but wonder what she was like. But whenever you ask about her personal life she always brushes you off, she’s never rude to you but she certainly doesn’t answer the way you want her to.

It was almost annoying how professional she was. No matter how tight of a skirt you wore, how sweetly you looked at her, always making sure her requests were met immediately, she never budged. You were sure at this point that she’s noticed your very small, inconspicuous advances. Maybe you weren’t as inconspicuous as you thought.

Today was no different.

The doors swung open, and there she was.

“Good morning Ms. Medarda,” walking over to her to take her coat. It smells just like her.

“Good morning.”

Oh. Okay, no ‘how are you?’ That’s fine. I don’t care.

She walks past you and into her office and the sliding door closes behind her. If it was a normal door, she would’ve slammed it. She was mad, you weren’t sure why though. She said something just before she entered her office but you didn’t hear, and you didn’t think to ask her to repeat it. You were so lost in thought, it startled you when the phone rang. Running back to your desk, you answer the phone just in time.

“Hello, you’ve called Ms. Medarda’s office. How can I help you?”

The conversation when back and forth for a little until the person on the other line said that they had a scheduled phone call with Ambessa in the morning, you reply by saying you’ll transfer the call to her office immediately.

Once you’ve passed the call on, you go back to what you were doing; sitting, staring at your computer— zoning out— waiting for an email from someone telling you to do something, anything. Suddenly, you’re awoken from your trance by a pair of hands coming down onto your desk. Ambessa’s hands, to be exact.

You look up to see a not so pleased look on her face and you immediately sit up straight, before you get to ask what’s wron—

“Did you not hear what I told you before?” The glare on her face made you want to shrink down into a pile of goo at her feet.

“Sorr- I’m- what is it that I didn’t hear?” You stammer over your words, she’s making you nervous. She’s never once spoken to you like this, you’re not sure how to respond.

“Not even ten minutes ago? You didn’t hear when I told you I don’t want to have any phone calls or meetings today?” She talks to you like you’re stupid, acting like the idea of you not hearing her was crazy.

“I’m sorry, no I didn’t. I won’t- I’ll make sure not to transfer you any calls.” You try to stand your ground, not wanting to cower under her.

“Don’t let it happen again. I pay you good money to make no mistakes.”

“Yes ma’am, you do. It wont happen again.” You couldn’t hide the way your voice shook this time.

“It better not.”

You watch as she walks back into her office and sits down, turning back around before she sees you watching her. This continued all day, no matter what you did. She berated you every single time. By the end of the day, you felt pathetic even saying sorry, so you just stood there and took it.

You found yourself counting down the minutes until 5pm, the first time you’ve ever done that. But, surprisingly, it wasn’t because you wanted to leave. It was because the second you walk back into your apartment, you will running to your bedside table to grab your vibrator and go to town. You weren’t quite sure why her treating you like this was making you feel this way, but you did know that you would be replaying those moments in your head while you orgasm.

“I need you to stay back and sort out the files I sent you. I need them printed, in alphabetical order, and in the cabinet in my office.” Her voice once again shakes you out of your trance, luckily you heard what she said otherwise she would probably get mad again.

“What was that ma’am?”

You keep eye contact with her as she walks up to you.

“The files I sent you. Print them. Put them in alphabetical order. And put them in the cabinet. Do you need me to show you which one?” She overemphasises every word, only adding to the throbbing in your pants.

You shake your head at her and watch as she grabs her coat and leaves without saying goodbye.

Oh my god.

All of a sudden you remember your plans and get disappointed, making you feel even more perverted. Oh well, you’ll still have time once you get back.

You get right to it; finding the email, sorting them in alphabetical order before printing them to make things easier, and then finally printing them. The whole process took just over an hour which was kind of annoying, but you didn’t mind. You scan your key tag to get into her office and walk over to the cabinet she was talking about. Once you put each one into its designated place, you close it back up and turn around. Just before you’re about to walk out, you look over at her desk. No one was even here, it’s fine. Walking over, invading her space while she wasn’t there, touching the desk she works at, it was bringing that previous arousal back. You look at the chair, it looked so empty without her sitting in it.

Your hands brush over the arm rest. It was so sudden but out of nowhere you got a whiff of her perfume. You lean forward, taking a deeper breath now that you’re closer. It fills your nostrils, it feels like she right there with you. An awful, disgusting idea comes to mind but you don’t even have time to think logically before you’re pulling your stockings down and taking a seat in her chair. Her scent wraps around you, holds you, guides your hands down to the place you need them most. You use two fingers to gather the slick dribbling out of you and bring them to your eager clit, rubbing slow circles. You put your feet up on the chair so you’re completely exposed, rubbing faster circles as you think about someone walking in.

Your hips moved on their own, grinding up to meet your fingers. The ministrations you were subjecting your clit to became frenzied as you build up your orgasm, biting your lip, arching your back. Dipping your fingers in and out again, bringing them back up and going impossibly faster. You need to cum so bad. It was building quicker each time you took a deep breath to smell her. Finally, the cord in your stomach was just about to snap. As it did you open your eyes again, moaning loudly at the camera in the corner of the room.

The camera. The camera? What? Why is there a camera? That hasn’t been on the whole time right. As if to mock you, the little light in the camera flashes red to signify it was indeed recording everything. You couldn’t even fully finish your orgasm, standing up and running out of the room. You stumble over your feet as you put your stockings and shoes back on and you reach for your key card to open the door again.

It hasn’t fully hit you, the realisation of what just happened. Surely no one was watching, right? I mean they have people watching the cameras outside of the building but there’s no way they would look at the inside ones unless something happened. Right? You decide to just go with that, it eases your mind and helps you stop worrying about someone watching your perverted actions. Also, if you aren’t mistaken, since the camera was in your boss’s office and you’re her secretary you should be able to have access to the footage. If that first thought didn’t calm your nerves, this one surely did. You’ll have to get into work a bit earlier but it should be doable.

Once you get home you close the door behind you, leaving against it and sliding down to until you’re sitting on the floor. You’re still so horny, even after everything. You take your shoes off and go straight to your room, not bothering to take the rest of your clothes off as you look for your friend in your bedside table. You grab the light pink vibe and immediately put it to use, pulling down your stockings and underwear just enough.

You don’t know how long it’s been but by the time you’re finished, but once you are finished you fall asleep.

Not being a morning person wasn’t really a problem with this job since you start at 9am every morning, it was quite easy to be on time. Except if you wake up at, for example, 8:30am. Then it’s a problem. Which in this case, unfortunately for you, wasn’t an example.

You’re running around, trying to get changed, have breakfast, brush your teeth, and do your makeup in 30 minutes. You’ve already decided that you’re going to be late so you just decide to take up the whole 30 minutes getting ready and you can worry about the rest later. It’s only when you’re stepping out of your door that you remember you needed to get to work early to delete the footage, now you’re really worrying. Luckily you’re in walking distance of the office, because now you’re running. Once you make it to the office, you sprint to the elevator, making it just in time before the doors close. You’re getting more and more restless whenever the elevator stops at another floor to let people off.

It feels like forever but you finally reach the top floor, rushing out, hoping that maybe Ambessa was also late.

You brush yourself off in the mirror on the wall, checking your hair and makeup before going inside.

“Well hello, I didn’t think you were coming.” You couldn’t help but cringe at her choice of words, but at least she seems to be in a better mood today. She’s making herself a coffee, something that you normally do.

“Good morning, sorry I’m late I woke up at eight thirty,” you say with a little chuckle as you walk up to your desk.

“Thank you for staying back yesterday,” a small smile on her face as she turns towards you, leaning against the coffee station.

“Oh yeah, it’s no problem it didn’t take too long.”

“Also, I just wanted to apologise for the way I was acting yesterday.”

“It’s okay, I understand it must get stressful. I didn’t mind,” a sweet smile stretches on your lips.

“Oh I’m sure you didn’t.” You chuckle as a reflex but you don’t really process what she’s said until she’s back in her office.

What?

There’s no way she’s seen it. You must’ve misheard her. You absolutely have to delete that footage right now, you can’t wait any longer. You turn your brightness down and log into the security system, scrolling through to find the camera in her office. Once you find the only one it could be, you press it. Only to be met with a screen showing you that you will need a code to access the camera, you put in every code you could think of. And yet, nothing worked. Just when you give up, you hear the sliding door open and you scramble to get out of the security system before she sees.

“I just wanted to go over something, could you come in my office please,” once again, her choice of words were unfortunate.

“Yes, of course,” you follow behind her as she sits down at her desk and you find your spot standing next to her chair.

“I was wondering if you could explain this,” your life flashed before your eyes as she pulls up a video, the video.

The whole video is an embarrassingly short one and a half minutes, and you stand there and watch with your mouth wide open. While she, with a slight smirk on her face, sits back with her legs spread and her arms crossed over her chest. It’s surprising how fast time flies when you’re frozen, watching yourself masturbate with your boss sitting next to you.

She pauses the video as soon as you’re cumming, staring right at the camera. Turning to you, chuckling when she’s see you just standing there with your mouth open in shock.

“I’m so s-“

“There’s no need for that, I’m just surprised you got off on me demeaning you all day. I mean, that is why you felt the need to touch yourself in my chair, am I correct?”

What are you even supposed to say to that, you have no words. Her forwardness makes this whole situation worse than it already was. You just nod. That’s all you can muster.

“Well, I would’ve been happy to help. You could’ve come to me and told me that your needy little cunt needed some attention, I would’ve been more than happy to give her some.” She stands up, making the humiliation wash over ten times more since now she was actually looking down on you.

“Sit down.”

“Wha-”

“I said 'sit down', or do you no longer want my attention?”

You move slowly, you couldn’t move faster even if you tried. She guides you with her hand on the small of your back, pushing you to sit on her chair. Leaning back on the edge of her desk, she motions to your stockings with her pointer finger. You peel them off, shoes falling with them. You leave your underwear on, since she didn’t tell you to take them off yet.

“Go on then.” A smirk growing on her face as her gaze darkens. You give her a confused look.

“Do what you do best. Touch yourself, whore,” you clench around nothing at her sudden degrading words. Looking deeper into her eyes, silently begging for more. She’s not giving you more, not until you do what she’s asked.

You reach down and lift your hips off of the chair, pulling your underwear down. You were about to drop them on the ground before you see her outstretched hand, waiting. She hums when you place them in her hand, putting them in her pocket for safe keeping.

Then, you do what you do best.

Bringing your hand down, you gather the slick that had already dribbled out of you. Using your middle and ring fingers to draw fast circles on your clit, the urge to cum taking over your movements.

“Slow down, and stop being so loud. Do you want someone to walk in?” You take your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to quiet your noises.

It was taking a frustrating amount of time to build up your orgasm and even when you did, one wrong move and it fizzled down immediately. You needed to cum so badly, it was almost painful how hard you were rubbing your clit.

“Didn’t I say to slow down?”

“Sor- I’m sorry, I’m trying- I just- I can’t cum,” the confession falls out of your mouth as a whisper, like it’s humiliating.

“You can’t cum? Why’s that?”

“I don’t kno- it just won’t work,” your patience was already wearing thin and her questions weren’t helping.

“Try harder then.” You weren’t even looking at her but you could tell that she had a sadistic smirk on her face.

“I am trying, what does it look like I’m do—”

“Get up.”

“Wha-?”

She doesn’t repeat herself, just waits for you to listen. When you do, you replaces you on her chair and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you onto her lap. You lean your head back on her shoulder, waiting for her to finish you off. That’s when you felt something nudging at your lips, you open your eyes to see your own panties.

“Open wide, since you don’t know how to shut up.”

You do as she says, opening your mouth wide enough for her to place your underwear in your mouth. They weren’t going to do much, though. You both knew that. So for an extra measure, she puts her hand over your mouth. Muffling your moans and whimpers almost completely, then she continues what you started. Using the arousal that had dripped out of you as lube, she stick two of her thick fingers in. You gasp out at the stretch, she chuckles at your reaction. In and out, over and over again. It felt so good the way she was angling her finger upwards, pushing all the right buttons. Then, she presses the pad of her thumb to your neglected clit, rubbing it softly.

The hand over your mouth also helps to keep you still to a certain degree. But your hips are still grinding up against her hand, making her job rather difficult.

“Stop moving.” Leaving no room for argument, not like you could argue anyway.

Suddenly, you feel her hand move up slightly. She moves it so her thumb and pointer finger are making a ‘v’ shape. You start panicking when she blocks your nose as well, trying to gasp for the air that you didn’t have access to.

“Stop panicking, focus on your orgasm.”

You try as best as possible, and she rewards you by un-pinching her fingers. You take a deep breath in through your nose, barely making it before she closes your airways again. It was scary, the fact that she could decide not to take her hand off. But for some reason, it wasn’t as terrifying as it should have been. You didn’t know if it was because it made you insanely horny to be at the mercy of someone like this, or if it was because you trusted her for some reason. You go with the latter, not wanting to accept that oxygen being a privilege was making you even more wet.

Your orgasm creeps up on you slowly, Ambessa can tell by the way your mouth falls open behind her hand and your eyes rolls back.

“Go on, make a mess.”

That was it. That was what you needed to hear to send you toppling over the edge, if she didn’t have your mouth and nose covered, everyone in the office would’ve heard the moan you let out. As soon as your orgasm hits, she takes her fingers off your nose.

“Breathe, sweetheart. Deep breaths, it’ll be gone again soon.” Her words tickle your ear as you take as many deep breaths as possible. Soon enough, it continues. She pinches your nostrils together again, letting go every now and then. And continues fingering you, letting her thumb softly graze your sensitive clit every time she pushes her fingers in.

She doesn’t stop until you’re creaming all over her fingers, so much that it drips down her hand and wrist. That’s when she takes her hand off your mouth, letting you cough and splutter as you try to breathe properly. You both take a moment, sitting in silence as she helps you gather yourself. She’s rubbing your arm soothingly, helping you to stand and get your discarded clothes back on.

“Are you okay?” You nod at her, your eyes glossed over. She doesn’t like the absence of vocabulary in your answer, you could tell by the expression she gives you.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You give her a little smile.

“Here. Have some water.” She hands you the glass of water that’s been sitting on her desk, placing her hand on the back of your head to help you drink it all. After placing the empty glass back down, she holds your head in her hands.

“Are you alright? Be honest.” The sincerity in her voice was making you melt in her hold.

“Yes. I promise, I’m okay.”

And with that, she walks you back out to your desk. Helping you sit down, laughing at your wobbly knees. Taking a couple of minutes to chat with you, bring you back down to earth with what limited time she had.

Back to work it is, what a way to start your morning. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that you were late, none of that would’ve happened if you weren’t.

Little did you know, she was the one who installed that camera. That was why you needed an access code for that specific one and none of the other cameras in the building, because it’s not a company camera. She’d keep that to herself, of course. She should also probably stay quiet about the fact she just so happened to check up on what you were doing when she got a notification the day before saying that the camera detected movement. She saw you sorting out the files, putting them in the cabinet. Nothing ground-breaking.

Well, not until she saw you stop in your tracks and walk over to her chair. Yeah, she would definitely stay quiet about the fact she watched you touch yourself in real time over the camera. And how she watched as your pleasured expression turned to absolute terror when you saw the camera, yeah she'll keep that to herself.

The only thing she had to think about now is who she has to call to get your desk moved into her office permanently.

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: forced to attend a charity gala for val, you and bucky navigate a new life in the spotlight. the only caveat is, he’s pining for you — and he’s pining hard.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: (post-tb*) bucky barnes x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.0K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: light nsfw, very mild smut, friends to lovers, yearning bucky, confession of feelings, bucky is silly & charming, lots of fluff, heavy making out, neck kissing, sexual tension, body worship, light dry humping, groping & lots of touching, really sweet ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this might be one of my favorite fics I’ve written lately ngl :’) I just adore a softer side to Bucky where he’s happy. If enough people like this fic, I have a part 2 planned! ❤️ I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Frivolous events have never been your forte.

Thousands of crystals dangle from a gaudy chandelier, hanging high from a scaling ceiling in the middle of the ballroom. Light dances in luminescent refraction, spilling onto the pale marble below.

It’s mesmerizing, a worthwhile distraction that effectively silences the hum of conversation buzzing around you. Excitement blankets the air, teeming with business disguised as laughter.

In the space for reflection, you find yourself more discomforted by your dress than the atmosphere. Philanthropists, chairmen, politicians — it all felt exceedingly ‘larger-than-life’ for you.

The New Avengers Foundation Gala was the solution to a cut in funding Valentina had experienced in the wake of O.X.E Group’s dismantlement.

In the upper wings of the hall, were showrooms dedicated to the new mightiest heroes of a futuristic generation. It was all too polished, too modernized, too corporate — it was somewhat soulless, each of you washed down to a mere moniker.

Attendees, patrons, and donors alike were thoroughly engrossed with Valentina’s peacocking display — and the press loved it, too.

Banners hung from the rafters, bearing a glamour shot of each member of the team, all wearing new gear that held an exaggerated flair. It was strange, seeing your face plastered there — haunting, really.

Unfortunately for the team, you were all along for the ride; a tumultuous, unpredictable ride that left you feeling mildly uncomfortable.

It was as if you were living in a skin that didn’t belong to you, catering to people who saw you as an accessory, a curiosity.

Indigo silk barely touched the floor beneath you, off-the-shoulder sleeves accentuating your neckline as if you had something to show. The wardrobe wasn’t something you’d selected; Val chose it.

Constricted within your fabric coffin, you continued to marvel at the general splendor of the pavilion, cradling a half-drank glass of champagne.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky Barnes’s eyes had followed you across the room for the past hour, his gaze disarmingly soft. It was to check in on you, he’d told himself, but it extended beyond that.

To any outsider, he resembled a man yearning for someone who didn’t have a clue, wistful and contemplative. Friends don’t look at one another in the way Bucky looks at you.

Discomfort rippled from you in waves, slithering like some fever over your skin, tugging at the corners of your thoughts.

Whenever you took a step, you felt as if you might collapse from the pressure, or simply from the balancing act on stilettos.

From afar, Bucky was deliberating going to you, noticing the way Valentina had swarmed in with calculated, measured steps. She was dangerous, even still; and he didn’t trust her with you.

“God, you do clean up nicely,” Valentina’s biting tone sank into you like teeth, spiking your nervous system. “You know, I started to think you might’ve been a little hopeless.” She chimes, champagne in-hand.

Swiveling, you’re faced with your boss, the corner of her mouth pulled into a half-smirk. After everything, you’re still wary of her, never fully bringing your guard down in the process.

“Thanks,” With a low mumble, you can’t quite decipher if she’s paying you a compliment or mocking you — maybe it’s somewhere in between. “I’m not used to this.” You confessed, fingers tense around your glass.

“You’ll have to work on your posture,” She chided, clicking her tongue with faux disapproval. “Looks bad in the pictures.”

It was all optics with her — a team of government rejects rebranded as the new face of heroism, rebuilding the legacy left behind by shoes too big to fill. Admittedly, she made you nervous; too sharp, too clever, a well-dressed viper.

Withholding the urge to retort with a quip of your own, you forced a smile, noticing photographers swimming in your peripheral like sharks.

“Turn around and give them a smile, yeah?” Valentina uttered, low enough for only you to hear. A hand fell flat against the back of your arm, turning you just in time to be bombarded by flashes of light and camera clicks.

With pearlescent teeth and a wolfish smile, she stood firmly beside you, guiding you through it. Your own smile was threadbare and pensive, as if it pained you to play along.

It all seemed scripted, rehearsed, fake. Everything lacked authenticity, and it grated on you through the photographs.

Bucky was already in-motion, weaving through the gathering crowd, departing a conversation with an investor mid-sentence. He wouldn’t call it a rescue mission, but he knew you, knew how anxious it made you.

His brief stint in Washington as a congressman afforded him time in the spotlight, pressed beneath mountains of questions and constant prying.

Quietly, he slipped in from the fringes, coming to stand beside you. Valentina noticed, but made no motion to dismiss him, allowing the press to make a frenzy of it all.

Vibranium graced the small of your back, a kiss of ice through the silk that clung to you, the gesture comforting. Realizing that Bucky had joined you, you began to relax, anchoring yourself to his presence.

When the cameras receded, the weight within your chest had lifted, replaced by relief as you turned to Bucky. “Thank you,” You murmured, appreciative. “Don’t go anywhere.” It was a soft plea, one that he heeded.

“Mr. Barnes,” Valentina spoke as if he’d irked her in some regard, polished nails tapping against her champagne glass. “Suit’s a little outdated, but we can work with that.” She remarked condescendingly.

Bucky huffed, hovering near your right side, one hand shoved into his pocket. “Yeah, well,” He shrugged, nonchalant. “I’m a little old-fashioned.” His own wry joke prompted him to smile.

With a snarky hum, Valentina dismissed his jest, peering over her shoulder as an older man approached, a New Avengers pin on his lapel. “Ah, Senator Locke. It’s a pleasure to have you at our little event.”

Involuntarily, you stayed close to Bucky, glued to his hip whenever the crowds grew thick. Even with his newfound status as an Avenger, many people still saw the Winter Soldier, a Soviet machine, capable of such destruction.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Ms. Fontaine. You’ve done excellent work, keeping Americans safe with the team you’ve assembled.” He chimed, gaze flickering toward you and Bucky; you, in particular.

“The safety and security of our citizens is our highest priority. The Avengers work with that at the forefront of their mission,” Smooth, calculated and completely fake. “Your contribution is appreciated.”

Bucky bristled, holding back a scoff as he attempted to maintain some level of cordiality. A majority of the people in-attendance held Valentina in some high regard.

Every syllable that dripped from Valentina was steeped by a facade of altruism — she was purely in this for personal gain.

Senator Locke glanced at you, perhaps for too long, prompting you to shift your weight. The stilettos dug into your heels, feet aching as you cleared your throat.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss. You’re certainly much prettier in-person than on a television screen.” Locke nodded, hand outstretched for a shake. Knowing that you’re left without options, you keep the gesture brief.

Through a clenched jaw and furrowed brows, Bucky bites his tongue, keeping himself in-check when the Senator brazenly remarks about your appearance. He was the essence of ire, stewing quietly beside you, digits clenched into his pocket.

“Oh,” It was all you could muster before Valentina shot you a pointed glare through gritted teeth. “Thank you, Senator. I suppose I wanted the world to see a new side of me.” God, it sounded so ridiculous.

“I would like to speak to you further about your involvement with the Avengers. Have you been to Washington?” He continued, and Valentina seemed poised to interject, capitalizing on the opportunity — in her own way.

“Senator, my team is incredibly busy with global threats and outreach efforts,” With another pensive, venomous smile, she tapped her now-empty glass. “Though, I’m certain she’d entertain a dance.”

The more he spoke, the more livid Bucky became, silently seething as he prepared for a scare tactic. He turned around, and one swipe of his phone had told him where Senator Locke’s address was.

As the proposition of a dance was placed into the open, you gawked, jaw unhinged as you closed your mouth. Unfortunately, you couldn’t object — you were playing the part, catering to strangers for funding.

Waved over by another gaggle of shareholders, Valentina hummed, heels clicking over polished marble. “Senator, if you’ll excuse me.”

As she departed, you were left with Locke and Bucky. However, Bucky had a scheme of his own, throwing on a charming smile, maliciously deceptive as he cleared his throat.

“So, about Washington …” Locke began, but not before Bucky could interject.

He leaned down, low and calculating, murmuring something indecipherable into the Senator’s ear. You couldn’t quite discern what was being exchanged between the two, but Locke’s face had turned as white as a sheet.

“I deeply apologize for the offense, M—Mr. Barnes, I …” As pale as a ghost, the man hastily nodded several times over, swallowing the lump within his throat before stepping away. “Pardon me.”

Bewildered, you watched in stunned silence as the Senator quickly retreated, weaving back through the sea of patrons to find Valentina.

It left you shocked, brows creased in confusion, craning to glance at Bucky with a hint of amusement. “What was that all about? You looked like you scared him into an early grave.” You mused, head cocked to one side.

A hint of smugness crept onto his features, turning to look at you, visibly playful. “Told him that I knew his address and how to track him.” Bucky chimed, gesturing for you to follow him elsewhere.

“Bucky, you didn’t!” With a conspiratorial gasp, you were swift to follow, abandoning your lukewarm glass of champagne on the table behind you. “How did you know where he lived, anyway?”

“Google.” Holding up his phone from the confines of his pocket, his tone held a charming lilt, more upbeat now that Locke and Valentina were gone.

Smooth jazz reverberated from the ballroom, a live band dresses in finely-tailored suits situated in one corner. There were plenty of people dancing already, a good place to assimilate and disappear from prying senators.

With a bubbly laugh, you slipped inside with him, heartbeat beginning to settle, anxiousness receding altogether. Having him by your side seemed to ease whatever discomfort you’d experienced before.

“Thank you for that,” A sigh of relief escaped you, hands twisting together, fingers locked before your navel. “I don’t like being here, and I don’t …” Trailing off, you felt Bucky’s gaze shift to you.

A tender stare settled over your countenance, openly admiring your beauty; it was involuntary, revolving around you as if you were the sun itself. “It’s alright.” He murmured, able to understand your frustration.

Pushing a tremulous exhale through your nose, you mustered up a smile, palm running over the underside of your forearm. “Sometimes I miss the way things were before we became Avengers.”

Valentina would’ve labeled you ungrateful, shaming you for being apprehensive at the opportunity presented to you. Maybe you should’ve been happy about it all, but the public light wasn’t for you.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, lips pulling into a half-smile, placating. “Me too.” Despite his short-lived career as a congressman, the current limelight made him miss it; just a little bit.

The friendship you formed with Bucky was meaningful to you, but some sliver wanted more, craved something else. It whispered between stolen glances, hands brushing but never firm, eyes following one another around a room.

Between rooms of shareholders, media, and senators, he was the prettiest thing here — the only thing interesting enough to keep you grounded.

Broad shoulders were accentuated by the fit of his blazer, white dress shirt complete with a bowtie; so handsome that it made you pause. Bucky was always attractive, but more so now, inches apart and smiling.

“Before he comes back, interested in a dance?” Bucky propositions, his question seemingly innocuous. He narrowly avoided dancing at a previous Congress gala, but this seemed as good a time as any.

Smitten, you attempt to swallow the twinge of nervousness that pools within your belly, still rubbing at your arm. “I might step on you, if that’s okay with you. These heels are killing me.”

Bucky chuckles, unperturbed by the idea of being stepped on mid-sway. “I think I can handle it.” He offers a hand, metallic palm shimmering beneath the crystalline glow, visibly reassuring.

Steeling yourself, flesh slips into icy metal, soothing the heat that’s made residence in your skin. Slowly, the both of you step out onto the ballroom floor, over sparkling tile, intermingling amongst the crowds.

Some time ago, he was somewhat adverse to touch — felt undeserving, felt as if he’d ruin something good. When your hand slipped into his, he found himself craving it, but only if it came from you.

There were plenty of fleeting moments; moments that still whispered from the recesses of his mind, bright spots slipping through the dark. You grounded him; you were a sanctuary.

A slow jazz ballad blankets the room, chandelier glistening overhead, idle chatter humming in the spaces between. Gently, Bucky’s hand finds your waist, digits slipping over satiny, azure fabric, the texture soft.

It was muscle memory for him, lamenting over memories from nearly a century ago; for you, it was somewhat awkward. Joined hands drift to your sides in a classic waltz, something slow and idle.

Baccarat Rouge 540 — it’s Bucky’s cologne, an amalgamation of woodsy scents, imbued with strains of amber and a spice of something floral. It’s rich, a smell that you commit to memory, being this close together.

As you slowly turn about the floor, you decide to shatter the silence, gaze fluttering toward the stubbled slope of his jaw. “You’re really good at this,” You muse, hushed. “Very smooth.”

A bemused huff escaped him, accompanied by a glint of pearlescent teeth. “It’s been a long time,” He confessed, keeping you close. “You haven’t stepped on me yet.” Bucky remarks teasingly.

“We just started, there’s still plenty of time,” Playful, you return his quip with one of your own, minding his feet as you shift to the right. “Hopefully Valentina isn’t upset about the Senator thing.”

“She’ll live,” Bucky murmured, still sore about the entire ordeal. She was vicious, calculating; there was always an ulterior motive with her, wreathed in shadows. “I don’t trust her with you.”

While you were flattered by his concern, you felt that you could handle yourself, despite the uncertainty. “I’ll be alright, Buck. I think she took advantage of my discomfort, that’s all.”

“That’s my point. She’s dangerous.” Through pinched brows, his gaze fell to you, wrought with something incendiary. He was protective over you for a multitude of reasons. “I want to keep you safe.”

His cadence softened to a gentle lull, one that filled your stomach with butterflies. The way he stared at you — it didn’t seem strictly platonic, but maybe you were reading into it too much.

“Thanks.” Little more than a mere whisper, you danced with him still, swaying to the melodramatic hum of the music. The both of you seemed to settle, enjoying the presence of one another; he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

The heel of your stiletto happened to wobble, but he was swift in steadying you, hand tight around your waist. “Easy,” Bucky murmured, a brief chuckle bubbling from his throat. “I’ve got you, doll.”

It was an innocuous nickname, sweet; Bucky had called you it only on a handful of occasions, and all of them were typically playful.

The way he said it this time almost held a weight to it, as if there were underlying implications.

“Still haven’t stepped on you,” Teasingly, you muster up a smile, one that makes Bucky’s heart stop. It’s accompanied by a flutter of lashes, a soft laugh, a gaze tender enough to melt through him. “Yet.”

Bucky huffed, giving you a look as he drew you closer, involuntarily. The distance between bodies had grown thin, breath hitching within your throat when you realized it.

Shy, your hand came to perch against his chest, digits brushing over his bowtie, throat stirring with a low hum. Silence settled in between, a tenuous pause full of unspoken feelings, thoughts left unsaid.

Through parted lips, Bucky decided to break the ice, dark lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes. Jazz continued to fill the ballroom with the croon of trumpets and gentle piano, the both of you waltzing in tentative steps.

“You look really beautiful.” Bucky murmured, swallowing the growing lump within his throat. It wasn’t often that he paid compliments like these, but his charm was still perfectly intact, albeit rusty.

He’d been on a handful of dates after the coding in his brain had been broken; none of them were fulfilling. There was a lack of true understanding, a baseless connection.

Until he met you, and he found himself fearful — you were something to lose. You left him feeling seen in ways he didn’t think possible, comfortable to be himself, just Bucky Barnes, the rawest iteration of his heart.

Flustered, you smiled at him, attempting to keep your heartbeat from teetering off of the edge. “Thank you, Buck,” Smiling still, you mustered the courage to look at him fully. “You … You look really handsome, too.”

Bucky chuckled as if you’d said something humorous, vibranium palm cold over yours, thumb lightly tracing your knuckles. “It’s the bowtie, isn’t it?” He mused, wisps of dark hair framing his countenance.

“Mm-hm,” Dimples formed at either corner of your mouth, gaze softening as he gently spun you around. “It ties everything together.” Your tongue-and-cheek joke almost made you cringe, nose wrinkling.

“Funny. Did you mean to make that joke?” He teases, and you feel heat warm your features, smitten as you look elsewhere. God, you were perfect — beautiful beyond comprehension.

“Accidental,” With a soft huff, you clear your throat, deciding to press the matter further and be serious. “Really, Bucky. You look wonderful.” The tender cadence of your tone had magnetized him.

“I don’t hold a candle to you,” Bucky utters, voice thick with a pleasant husk, one that itches at the back of your mind. “Nobody in here does.” It’s that soft admittance that makes you shiver from delight.

His eyes never leave you, and suddenly, everything feels too real, too close; the flush of his lips entice you, and you’re left wanting.

Stunned speechless, you quiet, stewing within the tension that brews between the both of you. It’s been simmering for months — part of you wondered when to let it snap, but you’re afraid of the consequences.

Bucky deliberates on what to do next, what to say; your mouth is dangerously close, lips parted, gaze innocuously doe-eyed. He’s imagined it often, what it might’ve been like to kiss you — and it’s always the sweetest fantasy.

“Bucky,” Words hang heavy within your throat, confession sizzling away like floating ash. There’s so much left unsaid — he knows it, and so do you. “Do you really mean that?” Serious, you let your voice hush.

The both of you have danced around the burning flame smoldering between you for a long while, now. It was beginning to reach out, take you both, and Bucky found himself preparing to take that plunge with enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” He says it softly, as if it’s reserved only for you, and he feels nervous. You make him want more, more than he ever thought possible. “I mean it, doll.” Bucky utters, and he’s a second away from bridging the gap.

In a room full of people, you’re comfortable enough to simply exist, fading into the background, and he fades with you.

It’s as if time slows, suspended in the moment — you want to live in it, blinking in sluggish flickers of your eyelashes. The erratic hum of your heartbeat sings a melody beneath your chest, hand absently clenching around his metal one.

He’s thinking of kissing you — any unsteadiness shifts into certainty, and the longer he stares at you, the more his resolve crumbles. Bucky tilts closer, enough for you to feel his breath feather over your mouth.

“Kiss me, Bucky.”

That’s all it takes — it’s his name on your tongue, spoken with such tenderness that he fears he’ll fall apart in front of you, unraveling.

A hitch forms within the bottom of his throat, and he’s moving inward, lips a mere breadth apart. His mouth is almost on yours, disarmingly gentle, and then it’s all ripped away.

“Bucky!”

Congressman Gary’s voice pierces through the tension, deflating it entirely, and the tension slithers away into a state of dormancy. The music begins to come to a close, a sense of finality present as you recoil, features burning with heat.

When he realizes how close you were, he’s left frustrated, noticing that you’ve already receded. Soured, his gaze floats past your shoulder and toward Gary, who seems eager to speak with him.

The smile you give him is cordial, a kindly facade that does little to mask your true feelings. He can see it, lingering beneath your eyes — you’re disappointed, but you smother it anyway.

“Sorry about that.” Bucky mumbles a grousing apology, but you’re quick to dismiss it. He tries to turn on the practiced politician’s charm — but it falters when he thinks about kissing you.

“It’s okay,” Reassuring, you squeeze his metal hand and step away, allowing him space to speak with Gary. “I’m going to find Yelena.” You nod, and he’s reluctant to let you go, but he does anyway.

With a soft nod, Bucky watches you go, slipping away through the crowd in your indigo gown. He’s cursing himself, left sorely shattered in the wake of it all, his head swimming, thoughts scrambled entirely.

He doesn’t register whatever jargon Gary throws his way — something about shareholders, but Bucky is too preoccupied with watching you leave to care.

Your feet are killing you — a raw blister has rubbed into your heel, splitting skin, pangs of a dull ache shooting into your legs. As soon as you cross the threshold into the Watchtower, you’re discarding the stilettos, bare feet crossing over cold tile.

For the duration of the gala, you avoided Valentina, speaking cordially with those who approached, but it was exceedingly difficult.

Bucky hadn’t left your mind — he’d invaded it, a feverish haze that you didn’t want to escape from. The dance left you wrought with exhilaration, wondering if whatever you felt wasn’t misinterpreted like you thought.

The team disperses not long after arrival, a mutual exhaustion from an evening of prying eyes, camera flashes, and being brandished like a polished accessory.

In the inky gloom that pools through tinted window panes, moonlight catches over dark flooring, the night unobstructed by clouds. A pair of stilettos dangles from your hand, footsteps light as you stop to lean against the island.

Relief washes through you as you rock the balls of your feet against the tile, happy to be rid of your high-heels. It’s quiet — too quiet, save for the sound of footsteps behind you.

“Kicked the heels off quick.” Bucky’s timbre cuts through the hush, warm and amiable as he makes a round to the refrigerator.

His bowtie is loosened, first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, blazer draped in a pleated heap over one shoulder. The sight is devastatingly handsome, causing your breath to hitch within your throat.

“My feet are already thanking me,” You remark, leaning against the dark, polished granite. Bucky takes a swig of water, vibranium hand closed around a cool glass. “How was your talk with Gary?”

He was still feeling the stinging disappointment of not being able to kiss you at the gala. Bucky was attempting to discern how to broach the topic with you, or at the very least, come clean about how he felt.

It was easier said than done, wanting someone that he thought he was entirely undeserving of. The way you stared at him, leaned in, said his name — it was all he could think about, consuming every waking thought.

“Nothing important,” Bucky shrugs, ogling you from over the rim of his glass. “Could’ve sent a text.” He muses, body jostling with a soft scoff.

“Oh.” You hum, your tone sounding somewhat awkward. Whatever happened at the gala was something you were desperate to talk about, addressing unspoken feelings.

That’s all you can muster, a meager ‘oh’ as you fumble about. Swallowing the lump within your throat, a gap of silence settles between, thick with a cloud of tension.

Bucky deliberates, still clutching onto his glass as if it’s anchoring him to reality. It begins to splinter beneath the pressure of vibranium.

“Well, I … I think I’m going to go change and lay down. I’m eager to get out of this dress,” Sheepishly, you shuffle around the island and slowly begin to make your way towards the corridor. “Goodnight, Buck.”

As you awkwardly make for the mouth of the hallway, Bucky calmly places his glass into the sink, bristling with a newfound determination. He makes the choice to go after you, finish what began at the gala.

With measured strides, he’s following after you. He watched you leave once already tonight without kissing you — he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

“Wait.” He stops you, a gentle palm on your waist, cadence laced with a thinly-veiled want. “You’re gonna run off on me like that, doll?”

Listening to the pace behind you climb in intensity, you whirl around, nearly colliding into Bucky as he plants a chaste kiss against your mouth.

It’s disarming, but fleeting, brief — he’s wading into your waters. “Bucky, what …” You whisper, doe-eyed and awestruck.

Exhilarated and breathless, you’re stunned when his stubbled mouth fans over yours, and the contact is too hurried, too hasty. Yet, he burns your lips with the kiss, and you’re left wanting more.

“I should’ve done that sooner.” He confesses, tone dropping to a warm timbre that makes your stomach erupt with butterflies. Your breath hitches, gaze wide-eyed and wanton.

“You should’ve.” Breathless, you concur, lashes fluttering as they kiss the skin beneath your eyes. Fingers tense around the backs of your stilettos, and you’re waiting.

Bucky’s jaw clenches, blue eyes burning as he peers down at you — azure dress, dazzling eyes, taking his breath away.

He exhales; the sound is sharp, poignant, excited — his gaze traces over your countenance, across delicate features and the curve of your mouth.

His body is close, chests nearly brushing, hand still hovering around your waist. “May I?” Bucky’s tone softens, a humming purr that makes your knees wobble.

“Please, Buck.” Lips parted, and you’re careening up on your toes to meet him halfway. He dips down, mouth clamoring for yours, lips brushing in a heated swarm.

Stifling a gasp, your hand drops your stilettos as if they’re a meaningless thing, listening to them clatter against the tile. They both gather against his chest, muscle firm beneath your palms.

Passion bleeds through his lips, certain and steady, vibranium hand shifting to cup your jaw. You shiver from the contact, icy metal sweeping over burning skin, other hand holding your hips.

It’s fireworks — months of pining, of dancing around smothered feelings, only to explode to the surface. Satisfaction ripples through you, a warm elation that curls around your bones.

Wisps of brunette tickle your cheeks, his hair soft as it brushes over your face. The pleasant scratch of his beard grounds you, a reminder that all of this is real, visceral — not a fantasy.

There’s a lull in the kiss as you draw away, chest constricting with soft, excitable sighs. “I’ve been waiting on you, Bucky Barnes.” You whisper, unable to keep yourself from beaming, teeth and all.

“Wish I got the hint,” Bucky grumbles, his metal thumb circling over the soft flesh beneath your jaw, pressing a kiss to your crown. “You’re beautiful.” He murmurs, appreciative as he cups your face.

“I wasn’t very good at dropping hints,” The softness of your confession pulls a chuckle from him, arm still caging you against his body. “I just — You’re incredible, Bucky.” Your words come as a surprise, but aren’t unwanted.

A rosy pallor clings to his features, slipping beneath his beard as he plants another kiss to your forehead, gaze warm as it follows the curve of your mouth. “I don’t know about that, sweetheart.” He admires your sentiment, nonetheless.

“I know,” Insistent, you gently tap his chest, fingertips hovering above his collarbone. “I know that I adore you just the way you are.” Affection curled within your tone, sweet and tender.

Bucky paused, a slow smile spreading over his features, lashes fluttering a time or two. There was something raw about the way he stared at you, as if you were the thing he lived for, breathed for.

A comfortable bout of silence slipped between, his hand still stroking over your jaw, fingertips circling your cheekbone. “I think you’re perfect.” He stated, as if it were fact.

A hitch formed within your throat, taken aback by the sincerity of his words. His stare never wavered, exceedingly soft as you coaxed him in for another kiss; and he didn’t protest.

It was soft, wrought with ardor, something that stole every wisp of air from your lungs. Bucky only craved your touch — you were what he wanted, everything he wanted.

Physical intimacy wasn’t something he’d experienced for years; between HYDRA, the ice, scrambled memories, on the run … It never allowed him time to let it sink in, that he could be desirable.

The way your hands caressed over his chest pulled a low grunt from his mouth, lost within entangled lips as he reciprocated.

“Do you …” Murmuring against his mouth, Bucky stilled, lashes fluttering in rapid succession. “Do you want to come to my room?” You asked, insides stirring with butterflies.

A brief pause settled between the two of you, the idea being turned over within his mind. The implications were there — what you wanted, what he wanted.

“I’ll follow you, doll.” Bucky murmured, cadence low and warm as it curled around you, eliciting a brief shiver. His vibranium hand smoothed over the small of your back, and he stooped to retrieve your shoes, too.

Hushed, the both of you strolled for your room, at the very end of the main level. It was a corridor you shared with Bob and Ava, typically quiet with minimal disturbances.

The rhythm of your heart had kicked into a gallop, slamming beneath your breast as you traipsed barefoot over cold tile, Bucky sticking close to your side.

He was smiling, and so were you; anticipation hung heavy, a subtle expectancy that you were eager to entertain. As you came up to your door, you pressed the button, letting it open with a soft hiss.

The room you’d concocted for yourself was home — warm and comely, surrounded by all facets of your personality, vibrant with color. It was very lived-in, bed partially made, items scattered over your vanity.

Bucky had been inside a handful of times, drinking in the details when he slipped inside behind you. He placed your stilettos down, pacing forward with a tender gaze.

“Always thought you had a knack for decorating,” He teased, cadence disarmingly gentle, little more than a soft husk. “Smells good in here, too.” It’s all you — floral scents, sweeter aromas that he’s associated with you.

“It’s a mess of colors,” You muse, nose wrinkling as he moves to sit down on the edge of your bed, forearms resting against his knees. “It’s the honeycomb lavender scent, if you’re interested.”

Bucky chuckles, flashing a glimpse of pearlescent teeth, canting his head to one side. “Yeah?” He muses, gaze boring into you like fire, melting right through you with ease.

“Mm-hm, I can get you a bottle.” Playful, you step closer, lingering within arm’s reach. Being around him like this still feels surreal, as if reality hasn’t fully settled in.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, coaxing you closer until you’re standing in-between his legs. “Might take you up on that.” He utters, palms settling over your hips, thumbs tracing circles over your dress.

Soft fingertips shift to caress over his hairline, carding into brunette tresses. It pulls a low, content sigh from his lips, mouth still upturned into a light smile, gaze tracing across your figure.

He holds you tightly when you dip down to kiss him, lips flush, colliding in a passionate kiss. Hands trace reverently along your sides, and you shiver beneath the gentle contact.

Metal fingertips find the zipper at the middle of your spine, hesitant; he looks to you for consent, and you’re quick to nod.

“Let me.” In a hushed tone, you gently tug at your dress, unraveling azure fabric from your body. Bucky unzips you with care, dragging it down until it kisses the small of your back.

The dress piles in a heap at your feet, leaving you in your undergarments, eliciting a sigh from his mouth. He appraises you with rapture, metal palm akin to a touch of ice to your hip.

“You’re gorgeous.” Bucky huffs, mesmerized and awestruck as he coaxes you into his lap. Your knees come to squeeze at either side of his hips, sweet breath feathering over his face.

“Thanks,” Flustered, you accept his compliment without protest, hands loosely gathering over the bowtie that he’s partially undone. “So are you.”

He cracks a smile, a brief chuckle splitting through his chest as he plants a kiss to your jaw. “Hm,” He hums, low and content, hands caressing over your hips. “You mind if I …”

“You don’t have to ask, Buck.” Through fluttering lashes and another dizzying, pretty smile, he leans forward to kiss you, mouths connecting in a flurry of passion. He’s tender, but not excessively so.

Mouths mold together, his stubble scraping over your maw, a reminder that this is all real. Your breath hitches, excitement pooling within your belly.

His kiss makes your legs quiver, fingers gingerly shifting towards the buttons still holding his dress shirt together.

Digits tense over his sternum, each action marked by a gentle affection that Bucky craves. His hands leave your hips, moving to tug his bowtie off, encouraging you to remove his shirt.

It’s sluggish, meant to savor — he’s still kissing you even as you’re untethering each button, pushing the white fabric off of him.

Bucky exhales, a contented noise that drags through his chest, steady and sure, throat bobbing as he swallows. He finds a purpose with you; something clean, something gentle.

A flicker of nervousness stirs within him; he hasn’t had something like this in decades. You’re something sacred, something to lose, and he looks at you like you’re the sun, as if he hasn’t felt warmth in years.

He’s still in a white, sleeveless undershirt, material stretched snugly over his burly musculature. The silvery glint of dog-tags sparkles beneath the dim lighting of your bedroom.

A tangle of now-faded scars sits at the divide where vibranium kisses flesh, drawing your gaze there, oozing with empathy.

Lips collide, and collide again — a tangle of heat and brewing desire. He kisses you as if you might slip right through his fingers, stopping only to let his mouth press over your throat.

“Bucky.” You sigh, feeling his hand settle over your hip, the other slipping to stroke over your ribs. Metal smooths across your body, caressing until he cups your breast.

Soft fingertips trace over his chest, moving to gently grasp at the nape of his neck, threading over his hair. He continues to lavish your neck in sweet, lingering kisses, kneading at your clothed chest.

Desire pulls at the fringes of your mind, creeping in like some haze. His mouth peppers a trail, from beneath your jaw to your collar, and back up again. He repeats it a time or two, stroking your hip.

His mouth works at you still, drifting from your jaw to the silky expanse of your throat, scruffy beard scratching pleasantly against your skin.

One of your palms settles over his vibranium bicep, firm and icy underneath your flesh. Bucky shudders as if it’s a phantom sensation, lips parting with surprise.

Your embrace is fearless, and you touch his arm as if it’s just that, just him; not an instrument of destruction like he used to believe. His mouth finds yours again, bleeding passion.

Quiet, he grips you tightly before standing, ensuring that one of your legs settles over his hip. Bucky moves you back into your pillows, pressed further into the mattress, lips still joined.

He settles between your legs, pulling a soft moan from your mouth, noses brushing over one another. Your hand idly drags along his metal forearm, the other gliding beneath his undershirt, feeling along his abdomen.

Your fingertips are like kisses of silk — affectionate, tender, and delicate. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this, as if he were something to covet, someone worth loving.

Coming to rest on either side of him, your knees idly squeeze at his ribs, hand continuing to ascend. Bucky indulges you, using one arm to tug off his undershirt, dog-tags dangling toward your collar.

Something incendiary resides within his gaze, warm and smoldering intermingled with adoration. Through a momentary gap, you exhale, warm breath pluming over his lips before you resume the kiss.

With a soft sigh, you’re turning into him, chest brushing against his, other hand drifting to grasp at his bicep. His mouth is ceaseless, constant — you’re lost within his lips.

The warm flesh of his hand returns to knead at your breast, rolling over flesh, tingles of bliss shooting through your body.

Bodies bump together, flush; Bucky shivers when your hips seem to grind against his own, producing a friction that nearly shatters his resolve. He wants to; he thinks about it often.

He’s deliberate, attentive; Bucky kisses you as if you’re the center of everything, tender as it stretches on for several moments.

Kisses edge with something desirous, and you withdraw to catch your breath, visibly smitten. He moves toward your throat again, dipping further until he finds your collarbone.

“Bucky,” Another low, pleading moan ripples through your chest, a sound that he’s desperate to hear more of. “Bucky, please.” You sigh, satisfied and yearning for more.

There’s a moment of him continuing — metal fingers fisting into the sheets, walking the fine line of restraint. Desire rages between the both of you like a burning wildfire.

Again, he lavishes kisses over your chest, trailing towards the soft juncture between your shoulder and throat. After leaving his mark there, he finds your mouth once more, and kisses hard.

Reciprocating, the heat of entangled mouths lasts for what feels like a lifetime; it’s like fireworks dancing in your belly, nerves electrified, and you’re soaring, floating.

It slows to a crawl when he draws away, settled comfortably between your thighs. “I want to do this the right way.” He drawls, hot breath feathering over your visage.

“What’s wrong?” Thinking it was something to do with you, the sudden pause in your heated proclivities struck you as concerning.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Bucky doesn’t stray far, still hovering above you, propped up on one arm. The other moves to cup your jaw, warm and soothing. “You deserve a first date before all of this.” He muses, a twinkle in his eye.

Relieved, you can’t help but smile, flustered and completely enamored with him. “For a second, I thought I’d scared you off.” You murmur, sweet and playful as you trace your fingers over his chest.

“Not in the slightest,” He utters, and for a second, he looks razed. “You’ve got any idea what you do to me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s tone drops to a husky purr, and it makes your head spin.

“I have an inkling,” Through an excitable sigh, you relax when his lips press against your jaw, lingering and affectionate. “You might have to show me.”

Bucky huffs, gaze somewhat half-lidded, eclipsed by both ardor and desire. You can tell he wants you, but he wants to show a little chivalry; it’s ridiculously attractive.

“I want to show you, believe me,” He assures, lips still climbing over your cheek, sealing beside the corner of your mouth. “I want to take you out first, that’s all.”

“When are you taking me out?” You muse, lips still tugged into a smile. The fact that he cares enough for this means the world to you, and to him.

Bucky couldn’t recall the last time he’d really taken a girl out, and meant it. The look on your face was enchanting, full of mirth and delight as you caressed his collarbone.

“After recon in Kaunas,” He chuckles, moving to lay down beside you. Still, he doesn’t go anywhere, drawing you right into the warmth of his chest, hand holding tightly to your hip. “Gives me time to figure out how to impress you.”

The laughter that tumbled from your lips made him feel alive; it got a faint smile out of him, mouth crinkling at either corner. “You don’t need to impress me,” You assure. “I just want to be with you.”

With a nonplussed hum, his brows furrowed together, chest falling as he exhaled. “You’re perfect,” Bucky murmured, planting a kiss against your crown. “Me too, doll.”

Exhaustion began to creep up, and you were too tired to throw your pajamas on, comfortably curled into his side. He continued to caress from your hip to your spine, his breathing evening out.

“Don’t go anywhere, Buck.” Through a soft whisper, your tone is fringed with grogginess, as if you’re actively staving off sleep. He huffs, with no intention of leaving you anytime soon; or forever, if you wanted that.

“I’m not,” He presses a kiss against your forehead when you begin to succumb to sleep, lightly tugging your sheets around your body. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[ceramini]

✦ STRONG ENOUGH TO RUIN YOU

pairing 𐐪𐑂 gym instructor!sunghoon x afab!reader

word count 𐐪𐑂 approximately 1.2k words (dw im working on making my fics longer)

genre 𐐪𐑂 smut, slow burn, instructor/client tension, fluff, dom!sunghoon, MDNI 18+

synopsis ───── you sign up for personal training thinking it’ll be a harmless way to finally stay consistent. you didn’t expect sunghoon, your cocky, too-pretty, too-hands-on gym instructor who makes you forget how to breathe mid-stretch. what starts with harmless corrections and tension-filled check-ins quickly unravels into something you can’t control. or hide.

nini’s note 🗒️ this is like INCREDIBLY over due (in terms of posting for sunghoon despite him being my wrecker..), but I just saw those photos of sunghoon in the gym and my mind is running. im actually foaming at the mouth he is so fine and his arms are like so big I want him to choke me hard im not even lying also i like how all the enha writers are just going feral abt those pics, I’ve seen like 3 of these already 😭😭.. remember 2 enjoy responsibly + comments, likes & reblogs are very much appreciated <33

𓋜 if want to read something else, check out the ꕀ LIBRARY

You weren’t even supposed to pick him.

There were three trainers available when you signed up. All perfectly qualified, all recommended. You picked the one who didn’t have 40k followers on Instagram. The one who wasn’t always in the mirror with his shirt off. The one who didn’t look like a boyband idol who accidentally wandered into a squat rack.

So why the hell were you stuck with Park Sunghoon?

“Looks like you’re with me now,” he’d said that first day, smiling just a little too knowingly. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

You knew what that meant.

What you didn’t expect was how good he’d be at his job.

Firm, focused, never distracted, even when your breathing stuttered, even when his palm slid to your lower back and your brain short-circuited. He’d press your shoulders down, tap your thighs, adjust your grip with long, capable fingers. Always murmuring soft corrections like:

“Back straight, baby.”

“Stay with me.”

“Just like that. You’re getting better.”

He always said your name like it tasted sweet.

And now here you were, halfway through week five, sitting on the gym floor with your thighs trembling, heart in your throat, and his hand still on your waist.

“Need help stretching it out?” he says, voice low.

You should say no.

Instead, you nod.

You’re on your back. Hips tilted. One leg bent.

Sunghoon is kneeling beside you, gently moving your leg across your body as he leans over.

“Relax,” he murmurs, fingers firm on your outer thigh. “Let me guide you.”

You swear his voice gets lower every time he touches you. A slow, patient growl. You squeeze your eyes shut as the stretch deepens.

“Good girl,” he says suddenly. “Just breathe.”

Oh fuck.

You don’t know what part of your body clenches first.

“You always tense up when I say that,” he muses, amused.

You peek one eye open. He’s grinning. Smirking.

“I do not.”

“You do,” he says, stroking up your leg with his thumb. “But it’s okay. It’s cute.”

You shove his shoulder weakly. He doesn’t move an inch. You feel his grip tighten, just slightly.

“You know,” he says softly, “you’ve been a real good client. You always listen. Always do what I tell you.”

There’s a pause.

“Would you keep listening if I told you to spread your legs for me?”

Silence. Then—

You do.

Without a word. Breath shaking. Core throbbing.

Sunghoon’s eyes darken.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I thought so.”

You’re up against the mirror.

His fingers are inside you.

Your cheek is pressed to the glass, the fog of your breath smudging your reflection. His body is flush behind you, strong, firm, solid, guiding your hips back into his hand, where he’s curling his fingers in slow, purposeful strokes.

“See how pretty you look?” he whispers, biting your ear. “Can you see how wet you are?”

You whimper. He speeds up.

You try to close your legs but he clicks his tongue.

“Ah—uh uh. Don’t run. Let me stretch you, baby.”

He spreads his fingers. You gasp.

“Already so tight,” he groans. “Can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock. You gonna take me like a good girl?”

You nod frantically.

“You want me that bad?”

“Sunghoon, please—”

He leans forward, lips against your jaw.

“Beg.”

You’re already halfway gone. Voice cracked. Mind empty.

“Please fuck me. Please—need it so bad—I’ll be good—”

You cry out as his palm lands against your ass, sharp and quick.

He groans behind you.

“Then get on the bench.”

The workout bench is cold on your skin.

You’re bent over it now, cheek pressed to the padding, thighs parted the way he told you. Your leggings are halfway down, soaked through, your body still trembling from his fingers.

Sunghoon stands behind you, breathing heavy, a flush spreading down his chest, biceps flexing as he strokes himself, slow and hard.

“God, look at this fucking ass,” he growls, palming the curve of your hip. “You really let me do this here?”

You nod, whimpering. “Wanted you— wanted this—”

He leans over, lips brushing your shoulder. “You’ve been teasing me for weeks. Every time you show up in those tiny shorts, acting shy—”

His cock presses between your folds and you gasp, arching.

He slides it through your slick, groaning.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. All for me?”

You can barely answer. He slaps your ass again— not hard, just enough to make you flinch.

“Answer me, baby.”

“All—fuck—all for you, Hoon.”

You don’t even recognize your own voice. It’s high, messy. You’re already unraveling, and he hasn’t even put it in yet.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now take it.”

He sinks in slowly.

Not teasing, not fast, just… deep.

You both moan when he bottoms out. One hand grips your hip, the other slides under your stomach to press against your clit.

“You’re so tight,” he says against your spine, voice wrecked. “Fucking perfect.”

You cry out as he starts moving, steady thrusts, grinding into that spot that makes your knees buckle. His cock fills you completely, like it was made for you, and his abs brush your back every time he presses forward.

“Shit, you’re taking me so good—” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Let me ruin you, baby. Let me make you forget your own name.”

You do.

You can’t say anything but his name. Over and over again.

“Hoon—Hoon, please—please—”

He grabs your hair, pulling you back so you see your fucked-out reflection in the mirror.

“Look,” he growls. “That’s what I do to you. That’s what you look like when I fuck you dumb.”

You’re already crying a little, not from pain, but from the overwhelm. He notices, slows down just slightly.

“You okay?”

You nod frantically. “More—please don’t stop—need you—”

He wipes your tears with a shaky hand, eyes dark.

“Yeah? You want me to break you, baby?”

You say yes so fast he laughs, but it’s breathless, desperate, like he’s just as gone.

“Say it again.”

“Break me, Sunghoon.”

He grabs your wrists, pins them behind your back, and lets go.

You’re cock drunk by the time he starts whispering praise.

“Taking me so good—god, you were made for this.”

“Such a perfect little body—fuck, I’ve been dreaming of this.”

“Gonna cum for me? Show me how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

You’re gone. You can’t stop shaking.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me. Make a mess.”

You do, hard. Loud. Full-body, leg-shaking, soul-leaving climax. You scream his name, you cry, your body locks up around his cock like it never wants to let go.

Sunghoon loses it.

“Fuck—fuckfuck—gonna fill you up, baby—shit—”

He buries himself to the hilt and cums hard, hips jerking, hands gripping you so tight you’ll probably bruise. You can feel him twitching inside you, groaning against your shoulder, dropping messy kisses onto your back as he rides out the wave.

He pulls out slow, hands still gentle, watching your cunt drip with his cum.

“Shit,” he says softly. “That was—fuck.”

You just lay there, legs spread, brain fried.

Sunghoon grabs a towel, wipes you clean, helps you sit up. He kisses your temple, holds your face in both hands.

“Was that okay?” he asks, genuinely.

You nod, tears still drying on your cheeks.

He kisses you again, soft this time. No smirk. No games.

“I’ll take care of you, okay?” he murmurs. “Even if this doesn’t mean anything. Even if it’s just once.”

You blink. “You think I’d let you hit raw and not mean it?”

He laughs, then kisses you again, and this one feels like a promise.

TAGLIST ───── @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto @jinxedly @seokjinthescientist @hoonprksung @eunvyue <3 you can join my taglist through this doc! —> here

[outtathisworld-imagines]

Bad habit

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x F!Barnes!Reader

Warning: Smut! +18 MDNI! Oral (fem! and M!rec), intercourse, smoking, fingering, mild voyeurism, dirty talk, swearing, spanking, drug mentions, Bob loves a ‘good girl’ moment, unprotected sex- pls wrap before you tap. Not proofread

A.N: The image of Lewis used was the inspo 🥲

Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

Bob lay one night on his bed unable to sleep, the clock was taunting him by the hour.

He glanced over to it yet again for what felt like the millionth time, just as it turned to 2:26am. He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes before sitting up, turning on his bedside lamp and rummaging around in the drawer beside his bed.

Bob’s fingers crashed against the ridged cardboard box of a packet of cigarettes and he clutched onto them. Removing them from the drawer, still unopened, and for dire emergency’s only. The latter part he reminded himself of frequently, he knew it was a bad habit.

He looked at them for longer than he intended to before succumbing to temptation and throwing on his hoodie and shoes. Bob slowly walked to the balcony outside, he knew smoking indoors would set off the fire alarm resulting in him getting a lecture- he didn’t need a lecture, he needed a lungful of nicotine.

In recent months Bob had tried to be good, tried not to fall back into the habit he picked up in high school before escalating it to other drugs that gave him a buzz or relaxed him to the point where he could barely function without them back then. But tonight he just needed to take an edge off. That’s what he would say to the team if he was caught. Just a one and done kinda thing.

He made his way out to the balcony, the sounds of screeching New York hit his ears and the gentle breeze hit his face. Bob made his way as far as he could from the building, as if that would hide him any less from the team, took out his cigarettes and eagerly tearing into them and placing one in his mouth. His fingers toyed with the lighter, with each click, a sudden spark, a flash of flame before being blown out by the breeze. He groaned after the fifth attempt. “C’mon, Jesus,” he muttered.

The noise of New York faded when a sudden rough strike filled his ears, almost deafening him. A matchstick with a flame in the end of it was brought to his cigarette.

“Looked like you needed a hand.”

His cigarette almost fell from his lips seeing you being illuminated by the orange glow. He managed to get it lit and took a low slow drag.

“T-thanks…” he nervously replied with his exhale. The smell of smoke suddenly dancing over your skin. A silence filled the small balcony, Bob glaring at the lit cigarette between his fingers, almost afraid to look at you, the well-mannered, clean as a whistle, goody-two-shoes, equally as tortured sister of Bucky. “Are you gonna tell anyone?” He asked, like a kid getting caught stealing a piece of candy.

You smirked and shook your head, reaching into your own pocket and taking out your own cigarettes. “Your secret is safe with me.” You placed one between your own lips and looked at him between your lashes “Is mine safe with you?”

Bob smirked “Yeah,” he watched as you lit your own with another matchstick, a ribbon-like stream of smoke leaving your lips along with a sigh. Almost as if all your stress left your body that instant too. He watched intently as you took a few drags, he did the same with his own, the two of you sharing a secret together. “I’m actually pretty surprised…” he admitted, still shocked.

You rested your arms on the ledge of the railing “Oh yeah?” Your voice peaked with amusement. “Why’s that?”

“Because…you’re you.” He shrugged a shoulder. “You’re Bucky’s sister-“

“So?” You cut him off laughing, puffs of smoke leaving with each giggle.

Bob created his throat, his cigarette nearing the end. “Well, you wouldn’t have penned me as someone who smoked. You’re good.”

You shook your head with a sad smile. “I didn’t always do good things, I was just as bad as this habit. Smoking somehow always helped.” You looked at your cigarette, thoroughly inspecting the deep red glow and grey specks at the end. “Just because I’m a good girl now, doesn’t mean I don’t have my vices.“

His cigarette was finished, and he felt he was just as finished too around you.

His heart always skipped a beat seeing you around the tower, or over how you always looked out for him, how he couldn’t believe how pretty you were…how much he wanted to say those same words you just called yourself back to you. Wanting to utter ‘good girl’ like he was chanting a prayer. “I see.” Was all he could muster as a reply. Your brother would kill him with one hand if he knew that Bob thought of you in that way.

You offered him another which he declined, he hadn’t felt more at ease with your presence and he knew another cigarette probably wouldn’t cut it. You played with the box “I can’t even tell you how cheap these were back then- they practically threw them at us! God, my parents and Buck woulda throttled me if they knew, Bucky still would today.” You giggled. “I used to save my pocket money and buy singles from a senior girl at the back of the school yard when I was sixteen, thought I was cool.” You reminisced, shook your head and tucked them away in your pocket again. “I still use matchsticks. I could never get my head around a lighter.”

Bob smiled “Maybe if we find ourselves outside at almost three in the morning again, I’ll teach you.” You let out a laugh, music to Bob’s ears. “I should try and get some sleep.”

You nodded and he started to leave, pausing when you spoke up. “We all have our vices, Bob. We all need something to take the edge off.” You took a long drag this time and moved your focus from your cigarette to him. “Some people have smoking, coffee, shopping, gambling, sex,” Bob almost choked on the lungful of air he had inhaled at the same time and it made you smirk at how flustered he got at even just the mention of the word ‘sex’. You bit down on your lip “My vices are probably all those boxes.” You heard him gulp. “Goodnight Bob.”

He made his way back to his room, your words and presence and secret still lingering in his mind like the smoke from his cigarette.

He took off his shoes and smoke kissed hoodie and lay on his bed, seeing an orange glow from his window that faced the balcony and you being lit by it.

—•—

Two days later you found yourself outside again, it was nearing 3:30am. A lot warmer than the last few nights you had been out, much warmer than the night you and Bob revealed your in common secret.

Bob had watched you from his bedroom window, a longing feeling filling his chest. He wasn’t sure if that was for a smoke or for you.

He suspected the latter.

His body told him he needed both.

You didn’t hear him approach, to distracted by the moon in all her glory, making you glow just as much as the cigarette. “This bad habit is becoming a regular habit,” Bob’s voice made you turn around.

You smiled and silently encouraged him to join you. He fumbled getting a cigarette out of the packet “What you smoking?” You asked, Bob flashed you the packet and you let out a snort of laughter, he raised a brow. “You barely get a kick out of those!” With your forefinger and middle finger you removed your half-smoked cigarette and held it out to him. “Here, try this.”

Bob suddenly felt like he was on a beach back in Florida again, getting high by the crashing waves and the moon as his only sober witness. He tentatively took it from you and inhaled, exhaling with a cough and a low whistle. “Holy shit, that’s strong.” You grinned, almost proudly. “It’s good,” he nodded approvingly, taking it from his mouth again and inspecting it before placing it back between his lips and taking another lungful.

“Hey!” You chuckled and pulled it from his lips, placing it between your own. You let a moment of time pass to let you savour and enjoy the lingering warmth of his mouth and the taste of him on the end of the cigarette instead of the cigarette itself, your heart skipping as he danced across your tastebuds. You pulled out a fresh one and extended it out to him. “Have a full one, enjoy it.”

He leaned down to your hand, slowly testing the waters, and grabbed it with his mouth rather than his fingers. He watched you swallow hard, your cigarette turning into ash between your fingers you were so transfixed on him. “Join me before you go back in. One more.” He urged, you didn’t need that much convincing.

You grabbed another and he brought his lighter to you, with one click he instantly lit it. “First time lucky,” you teased. “Now, can you really impress me and do any tricks?” You asked, trying to cut through some of the thick tension surrounding you both.

Bob shrugged “Just some smoke rings, nothing fancy.” You encouraged him and your fluttery laughed echoed around the balcony watching him attempt the trick. You clapped, cigarette between your fingers, ash falling to the ground.

He bashfully waved your clapping and the smoke rings away. You mused for a moment before inching closer to him. “I have a trick, it’s called the ‘transfer’.”

Bob raised a brow “Okay…what is it?”

“You gotta close your eyes, open your mouth and then breathe in.” Your voice was low, eyes glowing from the moonlight and the orange glow. “You wanna try?”

Bob felt his hands starting to tremble the closer you got, his head involuntary nodding yes, his voice was seized. You watched as he closed his eyes, licking his lips in anticipation before opening his mouth a little. “Breathe in three…two…one…” you inhaled a mouthful of smoke and moved forward, he breathed in just as you exhaled.

The sensation instantly spread through his body like a fever.

You pulled back and watched him for a moment, his eyes still shut as he slowly exhaled with a rough groan and a soft ‘fuck,’ under his breath. Bob opened them again, noticing you resting against the railing coyly. “It’s even stronger coming from you…” he said. “I wanna try on you.” You nodded and stood up straighter, closed your eyes and felt the heat from Bob as he got closer, it was practically radiating from him. He inhaled, leaned in, breathed out as he placed his lips against yours.

You froze in shock, thinking he overshot his distance, but then he started kissing you.

And you started kissing back.

He pressed you against the railing with his hips and you groaned as he ground his body against yours, moaning against your smoke kissed skin and dropping his cigarette as he inhaled you instead, yours still gripped tightly between your fingers. Your hand found his hair as his own found your ass and tightly squeezed it. “Bob…” you mewed. “This balcony has enough secrets.”

He smirked “One more wouldn’t hurt it.” He crashed his mouth against yours again, his other hand unbuttoning your jeans and harshly pulling down your zip. You gasped and pulled back feeling his three fingers press against your clothed core. You watched him, his eyes never leaving yours either, they silently asked you, they silently begged.

You nodded.

Bob skilfully pulled back your underwear and ran one finger up your slit. “God…” slipped from your lips and you took a drag from the cigarette, holding it in as he teased you, the feeling almost causing you to short-circuit already from the smoke and him fingering you. You exhaled deeply, he watched as your head fell back beyond the balcony railing and added another finger. “Fuck!”

He proudly smiled, you shared the cigarette with him and he moaned while taking a quick inhale, the nicotine not even coming close to what you were making him feel. He loosely held it between his lips, his fingers between your folds. You held onto his shoulders as he continued “Shit, I didn’t think you’d be able to get any more fucking beautiful, I’m being proven wrong.” You moaned loudly at his words. The cigarette was burning out, whereas he was just getting started. You took it from his lips and drew from the last few burning embers. “If that’s the way your lips wrap around the end of a cigarette, I bet they’d look just as good wrapped around my cock.”

You went wide eyed at his words, suddenly seeing a new side to Bob. You smiled and removed the cigarette from your mouth, your body leaning in at his touch. You kissed him, he responded by thrusting two fingers into your pussy. You gasped, clutching onto him tighter. “Fuck, Bob!” Your legs almost giving way.

“That’s it, Y/N. Such a good girl.” He felt his lungs filling with a new vapour saying those words to you. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” You nodded, your lips tightly pressed together to prevent a pathetic whimper leaving your lips. “Say it.” He demanded.

“I-I’m a good girl, you-your good girl.” You finally said, a smile forming all over your face when you did.

Bob lowly chuckled, your moans so loud it silenced the sounds of New York below. He pulled his fingers from you, you were almost winded at the sudden loss of him. He brought them to his mouth, his tongue lapping up the slick and shiny remains of you on him. He groaned in delight as his eyelids fluttered close “Fuck, you taste just as addictive as nicotine.”

A cold gust of wind enveloped you both, a chill running down your spine as you kissed each other. “As much as I love mild voyeurism,” Bob let out an amused snort. “I think we should take this to a bed…” you suggestively said and Bob grabbed your hand, running you both down the hall to his room.

He threw you on the bed, feverishly kissing you and started unwrapping you like a kid at Christmas, or like he was getting into a pack of smokes for the first time.

He couldn’t wait.

You were just as eager, your fingers clawing at his t-shirt and jeans. You both stripped each other down to your underwear, lips never leaving each other for more than a second. You used your strength and pushed him down on the sheets, your body slipping further down and your fingers slipping into the waistband of his boxers. You could already see just how eager he was.

You couldn’t wait to show him just how good your lips would look around his cock. You pulled them down, jaw dropping at the sheer size and sight of him. “After this I know I’m gonna need a cigarette…” Bob laughed, a hint of shyness peaking through. You winked, tossing his boxers to the side and wrapping your lips around the pre-cum soaked tip of his cock, Bob already thrusting towards you at the feeling of you on him. “So eager…” you teased, your tongue swirling around his length, Bob almost mewing for you to take all of him.

His eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, can you blame me? Feels like I’m dreaming again.” They suddenly opened, admitting too much. He looked down to you, a deadly smile on your face.

“What were your dreams like?” You asked, barely giving him anytime to respond before saying “Like this?” Your mouth wrapped around the entirety of his cock. Bob let out a shuddering groan, his head fell back as his hands found your own and gripped onto your hair for dear life. He felt you smile as your head rhythmically bobbed up and down.

“Fuck, fuck! Shit, don’t stop,” he breathlessly begged, “Such a good girl for me,” he bit out “Such a good girl,” Bob’s voice was strained as he sunk deeper into his bed, your mouth sunk deeper down on his cock. His lips let out a string of swears, his knuckles turning white from the grip he had on you and his other hand frantically trying to grip onto his sheets. “Sh-SHIT! I’m gonna fuck-“ he yelped, almost crying in sheer pleasure. He sat up a little, watching you taking him in. Bob’s thoughts were beyond right- you were a million times more gorgeous than he could have ever imagined with your lips around him. He watched you, your eyes glossy, soft little chokes leaving your mouth as you gagged on him sending a vibration of pure pleasure through him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Y/N.” He exhaled just as deep as a lungful of smoke. His bad habit suddenly having great outcomes.

You continued, pulling away momentarily. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you smirked and started sucking on him again, your tongue giving him sweet kitten licks, driving him to a new heights- not even passing a joint on the beach by the crashing waves got him this high.

His jaw hung open, the warmth from your mouth setting his whole body alight. “Shit- I wanna cum inside you,” he quickly blurted out “Wanna fucking cum inside you,” he gritted out, spitting with the drool pooling in his mouth at the thought.

You pulled back with a smile on your glistening lips and a raised brow. “Well why didn’t you say, Robert…” your tone was an almost taunting one. You moved towards him again, quickly making light work of your underwear and tossing your bra and underwear to the far corners of Bob’s room. He softly gasped seeing you for the first time in all your glory.

“You’re so goddamn pretty.” His hands roamed over you, squeezing your tits. “I’m gonna need a cigarette after having you,” he giggled, repeating your own words from earlier and you bit down on your lip before lowering yourself onto his cock. Bob held you tighter, feeling your pussy around his cock, how warm and wet and tight it was. “Fuck…” he drawled out, his head sinking into his sheets with pleasure.

His hands gripped onto your sides as you rocked your hips back and forth, moans leaving your throat as you bent down to kiss him, your tongues clashing and battling for dominance. “God, Bob! Fuck!” You groaned, your forehead resting against his now as both of you gazed into each other’s eyes.

He harshly spanked your ass and you yelped in delight and surprise. “Keep riding my cock, doing so fucking good. Such good girl,” his voice was as rough as the hand he spanked you with yet again. “I need this pussy, I need you.“ You moaned at his words as your pace quickened, eager to please him. “I’ll never get enough of you. Never mind a cigarette, I want a hit of you. I always want a hit like this. Fucking better than any smoke I’ve ever had.” He spanked you again, the tightening bubble of pleasure in you finally bursting.

You came, screaming into his sheets, the muffled sound would keep your secret. Bob would be hearing them echo for a week. His fingers sunk into you as he soon came shortly after, spilling out into your pussy and seeping out between your two bodies.

You collapsed onto him, you both desperately catching your breaths and wiping away the beads of sweat scattered on your foreheads. The sound of your heartbeats and gasps of lungfuls of air filled his room as opposed to the screams and moans from moments ago.

Bob pressed slow, lazy kisses across your cheek and lips. “Fuck, are you gonna be my next bad habit?” You asked with a hazy giggle.

He smirked “Think I knew you were already mine.” He admitted, tracing his fingers over your bare shoulder. You softly smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips before moving from him with a small groan leaving both your mouths.

You spent the rest of the night together, disappearing back to your room before the sunrise and before anyone woke up.

But not before sneaking back to the balcony together, sharing a cigarette and a half dozen kisses with Bob on the balcony.

[heartsforari]

Can someone write a fic about her arms or shoulders? Like reader biting down on them during ykw or just biting them while cuddling?

@demie90s @prettygirl-gabi @mrsfudd @kamii-2 @uncuredturkeybacon @yailtsv @elswhore @slutzforbueckers @p5buecks @elalfywhore SMB PLS I NEED IT

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 18

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 4.2k

warnings: blood and violence, knife (and glass) wounds.

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 18/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

You run, feet pounding the floor as you flee into the living room. Determined, Hoseong follows, though not as quickly as before. A loud booming sound echoes through the apartment just as it looks like he's about to charge again—how, you don’t know. The water wasn’t quite boiling anymore, so it wasn’t hot enough to melt his skin off, but it might have left burns. You hope it has. His face did turn red almost immediately, but whether it’s from the water or rage, you’re not sure.

You don't know what the sound was either, not until you see a tall, dark figure storm into the living room with quick, furious steps. The living room is dimmer than the kitchen, and the figure is a little blurry, but you try to focus your eyes on it as it appears behind Hoseong.

“Oh, you fucking idiot,” the man spits, his voice even sharper than Hoseong’s. 

You close your eyes and let out a shaky sigh as your body relaxes almost involuntarily.

You’re not sure if Hoseong even registers what’s happening before Jeongguk yanks him back by the collar of his jacket, knocking the knife from his hand and immediately delivering a series of hard punches to his face.

Leaving the rest of the fight to Jeongguk, you stumble toward the wall and slide down with your back against it, partially protected by the L-shaped sectional sofa. You watch the fight—or rather, you watch Jeongguk beat the living shit out of Hoseong, your breaths ragged. At first, Hoseong makes a real effort to fight back, landing maybe one or two hits, but even in his prime, you doubt he’d stand a chance one on one against Jeongguk, much less now, worn out and possibly (hopefully) injured. 

Even though you assume you’re out of immediate danger, you still can’t calm down. Pain is starting to set in everywhere, and you can’t seem to take a deep breath, either from panic or the pain itself. Maybe it’s the adrenaline wearing off, or perhaps you’re going into shock? Your trembling hands press against your side, and you don’t dare look down to see the extent of your injuries. The glimpses you caught of your hands earlier were more than enough. Any more might push you into a full-blown panic.

With Hoseong now on his back, his upper half obscured from your view by the couch, the loud sound of fists meeting flesh echoes through the room.

You watch.

Punch after punch.

Losing track of time, you can't tell whether it’s been thirty seconds or three minutes when Jeongguk straightens up. There are dark circles of varying sizes scattered unevenly across your white living room wall. He pauses, glancing your way quickly with his chest heaving as he pulls something shiny from his pocket.

You hear the unmistakable sound of handcuffs clicking shut when Jeongguk bends back down. Hoseong, still mostly hidden from your view, only mumbles something when Jeongguk drags him closer to the wall, fastening the handcuffs to a radiator.

Then, Jeongguk hurries toward you, touching his jaw and unknowingly smearing blood across his skin. His wide, worried eyes meet yours as he kneels in front of you, trying to look you over and deem your condition.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice low but tense.

“I haven’t—haven’t looked, but it feels like I’m dying," you whisper, voice shaky.

You force your trembling hands to lift the hoodie for him, seeing his eyes go even wider.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, panic filling his voice as he reaches for you. “Put pressure on it.”

He pulls you closer by your wrist, effortlessly scooping you up into his arms. You slump against his chest, trying to stay awake. Unsure of how deep the wound to your side is, you at least know you’ve lost a lot of blood; your black clothes are damp with it, and there's a worrying puddle on the floor.

Jeongguk carries you through the apartment, past the door he evidently kicked in, and rushes down the stairs to his waiting car that stands abandoned, practically in the middle of the street. His bad parking job has gathered attention from a couple of pedestrians and a middle aged woman, loudly complaining about how her car's blocked in. It feels like you’re seconds away from passing out, maybe even dying, but you manage to stand (with his support) for the second it takes him to open the passenger door, his strong arms quickly helping you inside.

Without a word to the curious—now silent—bystanders, Jeongguk darts around to the driver’s side, jumping into the seat and starting the car in one fluid motion. A second later, he's speeding out of there, and besides the fact that he’s driving like a Formula 1 driver, you don’t pay much attention, already knowing you’re headed to the hospital. Jeongguk calls ahead, rushed but clear words warning them that you’re coming in with a 'deep stab wound and significant blood loss.'

“Keep putting pressure,” Jeongguk instructs after hanging up and tossing his phone somewhere to the side, his voice desperate, and his strong hand right hand pressing over yours. 

But you can’t, feeling your own hand lose the last of its strength. Your eyes are already closing.

You feel absolutely terrible the next time you open them. There’s no sharp pain, but your whole body feels sore, beaten, and heavy. A tired groan slips from your dry throat as you try to orient yourself. It’s bright, way too bright, but the rhythmic beeping to your left is what helps you place where you are.

You’re not alone. Your slight movement has alerted your visitor that you’re awake, and he immediately looks your way.

Jimin.

His eyes are soft as he meets your tired gaze, sitting slightly hunched over in a chair by your bedside, his hair a little messy. Although it’s good to see him, he’s not the one you want.

“Jeongguk?” you ask, your voice a weak whisper as your memories return to wash over you.

Just then, the door to your room opens as a nurse steps in. Before it swings shut behind her, you spot two figures in the hallway, their hushed, emotional voices drifting faintly into the room.

“...Right in front of her,” a familiar voice complains quietly, laced with anger and frustration.

“He wasn’t sure you wanted to see him,” Jimin explains, looking cautious. 

“I want him,” you plead, still groggy, hurting, and starting to get teary-eyed.

Jimin nods and stands up. “I’ll get him. Want me to dim the light?”

You nod gratefully as Jimin flicks off a switch near the door, dimming one of the ceiling lights. The nurse, smiling gently, copies some numbers from the monitor onto her clipboard. 

She introduces herself, but you’re on the brink of breaking down, your eyes watering more with each second, and so you can’t find it in you to care. She seems to understand and leaves quietly just as the door opens again, and Jeongguk steps inside. Your heart feels incredibly heavy as your eyes land on him. Heavy with both need and relief, weirdly enough. He approaches you carefully, his wide eyes hesitant, and he looks exhausted, still wearing the same black hoodie and dark gray jeans as before. 

Like a child on the verge of an inconsolable breakdown, you hold your arms out for him, your hands thickly bandaged. Maybe you’re still high on pain meds, or maybe it’s just how you are now, but you don’t care. After all, you nearly died again, and all you wanted was him. You survived, and here he is. What else matters?

Jeongguk is careful in the way he bends down, letting you place your weak, injured hands around his neck. There’s nothing holding your tears back anymore, and you hug him as tightly as you can, so thankful and relieved. 

In turn, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close but carefully, as if afraid he might hurt you.

You still haven’t said anything, and you don’t for a while; the only sounds in the room being your quiet sobs and the steady beeping of the machine. After a few minutes, you manage to calm down a little, but you don’t let go of him; instead you try to pull him into the bed with you. He gets the hint, mumbling “It’s bloody,” as he straightens up to shrug off his hoodie, dropping it carelessly on the floor. Left in just a black t-shirt, he bends down again and, this time, lets you pull him into the small hospital bed. 

Still breathing shakily, you rest your head against his collarbone, breathing him in. It soothes you. He’s very warm, very safe, and he smells like the best thing in the world to you. His arms hold you tightly, and the slow and gentle motion of his hands rubbing across your back lulls you back to sleep.

The next time you come to, it’s to hushed voices. 

“Oh? I’m sorry, sir, you cannot be in here. Visitation hours are between ten and six.”

Fluttering your tired eyes open, you see that the blurry room is dark, and so you simply close them again.

“She needs police protection,” Jeongguk answers tiredly and absentmindedly from beside, almost underneath you, and you feel his slow, warm breath in your hair at the top of your head.

“Police usually stay outside the patient’s room,” the nurse counters. Her voice is unfamiliar and although you’re not sure what time it is, you assume she must be part of the morning shift. “And I’ve certainly never seen them in bed with the patient.”

“Look, lady, respectfully, I don’t care.”

She doesn’t seem to buy it, and you’re a little surprised at Jeongguk’s choice of words. But then again, he’s probably exhausted and worried too, and he didn’t sound mean—just… tired and maybe a little annoyed. When the nurse doesn’t respond right away, Jeongguk sighs.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not leaving. If you want to call security, go ahead. As long as she wants me here, I’ll find a legal reason to stay.”

There’s a brief pause as the nurse considers before finally relenting. “Fine.”

She leaves. If you weren’t still mostly asleep and pretty out of it, you might’ve laughed. You still think it warms something in you, though.

“You awake?” Jeongguk asks quietly, softly brushing your hair away from your face with his fingers.

You shift, trying to pull him closer as you hold onto his shirt, breathing him in. 

“Yeah,” you mumble tiredly, eyes still adjusting to the light. As they do, they land on his hand as it comes into view.

The damage to your hands was mostly to the palms, one worse than the other, so the thick bandages leave your fingers free to reach for Jeongguk’s hand. His knuckles are red, swollen, and there are a few cuts on his skin. He lets you hold his hand to your face and gently run your fingers over his knuckles. Worry grows in you—don’t they look swollen? Could they maybe even be broken?

“You know I’d never… hurt you, right?” he asks quietly, and it takes you a second to realize what he means. It certainly wasn’t what you were thinking about.

You nod. “I know.”

“Good. So, how are you feeling?”

“I… don’t know. I feel… heavy. I take it I had surgery on my hands and… my stomach?”

“Yeah. Let’s call the doctor back here to explain everything. Also, Jihyo called your mom. She’s on a plane back.”

“Oh, no,” you groan.

“Yeah, sorry. But you were pretty bad.”

“It’s okay,” you say, knowing they did what they thought was best. It just means that you’ll have to actually tell her everything when she arrives. Which reminds you.

“What about... Hoseong?”

“In custody. He’s being treated at another hospital.”

“Okay. Good.”

Half an hour later, a female doctor stands at the foot of the hospital bed—while Jeongguk sits in the chair for once—going over everything. She has a kind face, looks to be in her forties, and she’s dressed in blue scrubs with one of those long white coats draped over them.

“So, while the wound to your abdomen was relatively deep and there were pretty significant lacerations to some of your intestines, we managed to stop the bleeding and repair everything. You’ll need to take it easy for a while, but if everything goes according to plan, there shouldn’t be any long-lasting damage.”

Well, it’s safe to say you’re relieved you didn’t look at your stomach; it seems like Hoseong essentially sliced it right open. 

“As for your hands, there will be some scarring as well unfortunately, and we can’t tell just yet if there’s been any nerve damage. Fortunately, the injuries were to your palms and not the fingers or back of your hands, where there are more ligaments and delicate structures. So we'll remain hopeful that the your recovery is smooth and that there's been no damage to your nerves.”

Nodding, you follow along as she explains. It sounds reasonable enough, and you’re just happy that you’ll hopefully still have two functioning hands.

The doctor continues, gesturing to the foot of the bed. “We also treated the cuts on your feet. They weren’t as severe as your hands, but we did put in a few stitches, so I’d suggest staying off your feet for a while. Both for your own comfort but also to not risk reopening the wounds.“

You must’ve really been out of it because you didn’t even really notice until now that, yeah, there’s something wrapped around your feet that’s not socks. 

“So there’s a chance I could make a full recovery, except for some scars?”

“Yes,” she smiles. “You were very lucky.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“No problem. We’d like to keep you for a few more days to make sure everything’s healing properly and to assess your hands as the swelling goes down.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“Good. Just let us know if you have any more questions. The hand surgeon will be by later to talk more in depth about your hands as well.”

A few hours later, there’s another knock on the door. Expecting it to be a nurse or the hand surgeon, Jeongguk calls ‘Come in’ from beside you in the hospital bed, where he lies with your head on his chest. He went home for a bit to shower and change, Jimin staying by your side in the meantime, and when he came back, all you wanted to do was rest. And you wanted him close.

But it’s not a nurse. The person entering takes one look at you and bursts out in tears.

“Mom?” you say, and the bed shifts as Jeongguk rushes to stand, straightening his clothes—a black t-shirt and some gray sweatpants—as if he needs to look presentable for your mother. 

You’re sure she would’ve asked about the man in your hospital bed if she wasn’t so distraught, but she barely glances between you and him before she approaches the bed with teary eyes.

“I got the call, and I–I was so scared,” she sniffles, her gaze trailing over your body and bandaged hands like she wants to hold you but isn’t sure how to.

“I know,” you say, trying to comfort her. “But I’m going to be okay, I promise.”

“So… what… what happened?”

You bite your lip, looking to Jeongguk.

“I’ll head to the cafeteria for a while,” he says, and you nod, grateful.

It’s time to tell your mother everything.

The next hour is a hard and very emotional one. The pain on your mother's face as you recount everything, starting with what Hoseong first did to you and what the consequences were, cuts through your heart as well.

Of course, you spare her the details of the rape and most of the following abuse, not wanting to hurt her more than necessary or put yourself through the shame you know you shouldn’t feel but can’t help experiencing.

You decide to leave Jeongguk’s involvement out of it, certainly not telling her that you spent months wholeheartedly believing he would kill you if only given the chance. For reasons you don’t want to untangle at the moment, you realize that you don’t want your mother to doubt him.

Jeongguk returns at the hour mark, a brown bag in one hand and a takeaway tray with three coffees in the other. Although you didn’t tell your mother about the time you spent deathly afraid of him, you did tell her that you’re essentially only alive right now because of this one very kind policeman. Maybe you also admitted, a little shyly, when she asked that you really like him. And you do; it’s just a summary of your feelings if they were simple.

His hair looks windswept, and you’re briefly taken aback by how handsome he truly is. You’re well aware of the fact—and you’d definitely never forget—but sometimes it just hits you. His dark eyes scan the room, widening in surprise when your mother approaches him so quickly he barely has time to set the coffees down on the small table by the bed before she grasps his hand. 

“Thank you,” she says, trying hard not to cry as she clasps his one hand between her smaller ones. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you—that you saved my daughter. I wish there was anything I could do to repay you.”

“Mom,” you warn, embarrassed and wishing she wouldn’t ambush him like that.

However, Jeongguk’s surprised expression softens, and he pulls her into a very gentle one-armed hug, the brown bag still occupying his other hand.

“No need,” is all he says, and you meet his soft gaze over your mother’s head.

Your mother doesn’t stay long. By the time another thirty minutes have passed, she’s struggling to keep her eyes open. When you ask her about it, she admits to not sleeping at all, too worried ever since Jihyo called her with the news. She even forgot to retrieve her luggage at the airport in her haste to grab a cab to the hospital. Unfortunately, knowing that Hoseong is in custody but his friends are not still has her worried. It takes some time, but after convincing her that you’re safe now—not only do you have Jeongguk, but Jimin and Jin are always close by—she reluctantly agrees to go home and rest.

“So… how was it?” Jeongguk asks quietly a few seconds after the door shuts behind her.

You lean back in bed, letting your shoulders relax. You’re sure he knows how hard that conversation was; can tell from your puffy eyes and tired posture.

“Emotional,” you admit. “I never told her anything.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Nothing at all?”

You shake your head. “No. At first, I just didn’t want to worry her, and as things escalated… I was scared that involving her would make her more of a target. She couldn’t have done anything to help either way.”

He seems to be thinking about something, his gaze stuck on the hospital bed, maybe even on your hand where it lies by your side. 

“What does she know now?”

“Basically everything, except the… gory details. Or are you asking what she knows about you?”

“Both, I guess. I mean, I take it you didn’t tell her what an ass I’ve been?” 

If you had, she would’ve tried to tell him off, her shaky voice cursing him to hell. Evidently, she didn't do that.

“I didn’t, no. I left some details out; figured there was no use.”

Jeongguk leans back in the chair, clearly still bothered by something.

You raise your eyebrows in curiosity. “Why, did you want me to tell her?”

“No, but I also don’t want you to lie to her about me.”

You don't really know what to say to that, so you just look at him, understanding his mixed feelings. Unable to stop it, you yawn. These meds are making you so incredibly sleepy, and you feel like you’ll fall asleep within the next ten minutes whether you like it or not. Noticing how you lie back down, snuggling up with the blanket pulled to your chin, Jeongguk pulls out his phone. You keep your tired eyes on him while he focuses on the small screen, scrolling lazily. 

So effortlessly handsome. You can’t even tell if you prefer him with his hair styled—which he doesn’t do very often—and wearing something clean and ironed, or like this: in a hoodie and sweatpants, his black hair a little wild and messy. He looks so warm and so cozy, leaning back in the chair and manspreading casually.

Manspreading is not something you typically like, but when he does it, it just looks… attractive. Probably because you know he’s not one to subject some poor woman to it on the morning commute. He doesn’t invade someone else’s personal space, doesn’t take up room that isn’t his.

“I spoke to Jihyo while I was getting the coffee earlier,” he says, eyes still casually glued to the phone. “She’s really busy, but she wanted me to tell you that she wishes she could be here.”

“It’s fine. She’s already been here,” you mumble into the blanket. He looks so warm.

“Yeah, but you were still unconscious.”

The blanket smells like a washed hospital blanket, not like you know he does. He smells like comfort.

“Mhm,” you agree tiredly, fighting to keep your eyes open. A second later, Jeongguk looks up to see you still watching him—tiredly but with a hint of longing. 

He smiles. “Are you waiting for me to join you?”

You nod, certain that it comes off a little shyly. You weren’t very discreet, were you? The bed is pretty small, but you definitely prefer sleeping cuddled up to him rather than alone. It’s the scent of him, the feeling of his warm body against yours that makes you feel… You’re not sure if you can put it into words or if you just don’t want to, choosing to ignore aspects that will inevitably force you to make a decision. Not now.

Still smiling, he locks the phone and rises from the chair, making sure to flick the lights off before he comes to stand at your side. Scooting back to give him room, you watch as he lies down in front of you and slips his arm underneath your head. Then he’s pulling you close. So close that your face is practically in his chest. It becomes clear what he’s doing when a faint glow and quiet taps appear, originating from somewhere behind and above your head. Of course, he doesn’t have the same sleep requirements as you do at the moment, and if you were to guess, he’s probably working on something.

You’ve been left in a bit of a conundrum, though. What do you do with the arm that’s ended up in a bit of an awkward position at your side? The most natural thing would be to rest it against his waist, but it also feels… awkward to do that? Just because you, high on painkillers and almost murdered, like to cuddle with him doesn't mean everything's fine and dandy.

“You don’t have to do all of this,” you say quietly. Even in your slightly drowsy state of denial, you know that you’re confusing. You haven’t brought up the reason for your previous ‘split,’ and you haven’t really solved anything. After you almost died, you’re just relieved to be alive and that he’s okay too, and you hope he realizes that.

The near-silent tapping stops.

“I don’t mind,” he assures calmly, and his voice is quieter too. You like that he’s never seemed like much of an overthinker—at least not when it comes to what he wants. You lift your arm to put it around him, letting it hang off his waist.

He’s so warm, smells so good, and his slow and steady breaths lull you to sleep. As you drift off, you tell yourself not to think so much.

For the next few days, you remain on a fairly high dose of painkillers that keep you drowsy. You’re almost never alone; most of the time, Jeongguk is with you, but when he reluctantly leaves—either for the station or to go home and shower and change—Jin and Jimin take turns watching over you. Occasionally, they pop in to see if you’d like company, quickly taking the hint if you don’t and staying outside. 

Your mother sits with you a few times as well, but you can’t relax when she looks at you like she does; as if she’s heartbroken, which you realize she might very well be. You’ve had years to process most of what’s happened to you, and you guess you’d feel the same if the roles were reversed, but you can’t take it, so you send her home with the promise that you’ll be fine. You’re just resting, anyway. After a bit of convincing, she leaves, but not before making a knowing comment about how cute the kind policeman is. You dismiss her with an embarrassed smile and a wave of your bandaged hand.

As the hours turn to days in that hospital room, think is unfortunately all you do. You think about what you’ve experienced and what you’ve seen. The feelings you feel are complicated, woven together in an intricate pattern with threads of varying thickness. Pull on one and it tugs at another; pull too hard on a strong thread and thinner might snap. The closer Jeongguk is, the more tangled the mess seems to be.

<previous | next>

author's note: here's this!! posted in celebration of jeonstudios reaching a follower milestone and more importantly: the boys returning!!! i hope you liked it, please tell me if you did!! <3<3

[k1ttyjwon]

☪︎ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐊 | Yang Jungwon +18 (coming soon!)

ˎˊ˗ 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗘𝗪

✩ pairing: human jungwon × vampire fem!reader

✩ synopsis

your life had always seemed perfect—devoted parents, loyal friends, a future as bright as any young adult could hope for. but everything shattered the night something found you in a shadowed alley of your quiet hometown. from that moment on, the life you knew was gone.

years after vanishing from the place you once called home, news reached you: your parents were dead. deep down, you knew it wasn’t natural. the marks left behind—the kind only fangs could make—haunted your thoughts. and so, you returned.

what awaited you was a town both familiar and strange. ghosts of forgotten memories stirred, faces once youthful now worn by time. and among them stood jungwon—a gentle, enigmatic soul who had cared for your parents in their final days. in his presence, something long buried begins to awaken. perhaps, through him, the happiness you once lost could be found again.

✩ content tags: vampire au, blood, violence, dark themes, death, romance, drama, sexual content, mystery, love at first sight (one-sided), slow burn (reader doesn't accept her feelings at first), down bad jungwon, kinda grumpy × sunshine, fluff, happy ending.

✩ smut warnings: virginity loss (both), p in v, unprotected sex (pls don't!), switch jungwon but mostly sub, switch reader but mostly dom, multiple sex scenes, soft sex (once lol), oral sex (both), dirty talk, rough sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, mirror sex, throat fucking, overstimulation, multiple sex positions (missionary, riding, doggy, reverse cowgirl, 69, etc.) i think that is all. after the first time they fuck like rabbits, so yeah... nasty sh*t.

✩ taglist: @povjin @nevyxx @loverbyfate @forwinterstars @yazmike @meowwons @aggarwaldrishti @mariegibeau @dokidokirst @prayingforcars @cutehoons02 @pkjay @starsmew

a/n: omgg i'm so excited for this story, i know i said i was going to post the preview last weekend but in my defense today is monday so i'm only one day late :)) this is my first time posting a fic on tumblr, and in english (my first language is spanish) so i hope it's decent enough, i don't know yet if i'll post just one long part or several shorter parts. the posting date will probably be at the end of the month. if you want to be on the taglist comment and i'll add you :)

[zstartrixxx]

𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝑨 𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹. (𝒀𝑶𝑼'𝑽𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑬𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑼𝑻𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑹)

²⁰⁰⁰ˢꜝʳᵉᵐᵐᶦᶜᵏ ˣ ᶠᵉᵐꜝʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: 𝐘𝐄𝐒 | 𝐍𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: On a night of apparent peace, you answer the door of the rented house to a stranger who swears up and down that he also leased the very same property... It's not what you're imagining. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: TO CELEBRATE OUR 200 BILLION FOLLOWERS IN STYLE (kskskskskksks now seriously: tkysm for the 200 followers, it's been a little over a month since i created this blog with face, heart and courage to post my fanfics without any grand expectations, so everything that's happening is fucked up :)

i’m humbly offering this fic that i affectionately call a 'FUN-FANFICTION'—funnier, silly and way more chaotic than my usual smut-heavy or over-the-top dramatic plots. think of it as your post-chill pill after a long day!!! to everyone reading this: thank you for your time, your love, and for being here. i adore you as much as i adore jackie's chars. <3 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: +18 ADULT CONTENT. vampirism & gore (bite and blood), smut: oral (m!receive) and unproteced penetration, a lil' bite of monsterfucker; weirdo!remmick (he's a really freaky here idk :) lmk if i forget smt ;) 𝐖𝐂: 3.5k for whoever is going to read it, a great read! <3 likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖬𝖨𝖢𝖪 𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖸𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 | 𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳

"i wanna to watch the way, you creep across the night sky. you slowly enter, because you know my room; and then you crawl your knees off and then you shake my tomb..." (you've seen the butcher, deftones).

"A monster cannot be loved...

I always believed this with the same fervor as my faith in the saints and gods that surrounded me since childhood, when my parents took me on morning walks to the cemetery to honor those who came before me - from whom all wisdom originated. My great-grandmother's imposing marble mausoleum, with a winged guardian angel crushing a serpent's head, was my favorite place to be. That was a long time ago. My life changed when—"

A noise snapped you out of your trance.

You were surprised—you weren't expecting anyone at that house. You looked at your laptop clock: it was past nine in the evening. You raised your eyes to the window in front of you, facing the neighbor's house, the glass speckled with raindrops. The noise continued—someone was frantically twisting the doorknob, almost desperately, then stopping for a few seconds, making you think you were finally alone again—only for the noises to return, now more intense: fists pounding against the door, a deep voice in the background shouting "Hey!", completely breaking your concentration. You rolled your eyes, slamming your laptop shut, walking the short distance between the kitchen and living room, grabbing your fluffy white robe thrown over the back of the couch, to peer suspiciously through the peephole, trying to see who could be there at this hour on an ordinary Wednesday night in the middle of the rain.

A shadow passed by, obstructing your view. With no light on the porch, the faint glow from the quiet street only revealed outlines and shadows. With your palms flat against the door, you were startled by another violent shake, the deep, affected voice invading through the door crack:

"Hey! Open up! Let me in... Shit!"

You frowned, one hand on the metal doorknob and the other on the key, wondering if it was wise to open it for whoever was outside. You couldn't take another loud knock, long and insistent, turning the key in the lock with a click, twisting the knob, opening the door to find a drenched man just inches away from you. Holding onto the security chain that limited your field of vision, the man's face lit up with relief, arms crossed, raindrops falling from his brown almost black hair as he peered into the house with those dark blue eyes:

"Miss, sorry for the hour, but there must have been a mistake..."

"What mistake?" you asked, genuinely curious, looking him up and down: casual clothes, a black hoodie with the hood down, navy blue jeans, scuffed sneakers, and beside him a military-green camping backpack with what looked like a string instrument case leaning against it. You stared at him again, even more intrigued by the strange visitor, who was rubbing his hands together:

"Look, I don't want to sound weird or anything, miss, but this must be a mix-up! I rented this place for a few days to stay for a couple weeks, but when I got here, I couldn't find the key anywhere and, well... Now seeing you here, I think we've got a problem."

"Are you sure it's this house?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. He widened his eyes, nodding - pulling a worn leather wallet from his pants pocket, fishing out a crumpled piece of paper from between a wad of crumpled bills, extending his slightly trembling hand to you, likely from the cold. Behind him, the rain intensified, splashing onto the poor guy and onto you; the stranger pulled up his hood, casting his striking features into noisy darkness. You shrugged, taking the paper between your fingers, stepping back to smooth it out and read its contents under the indoor light, aloud:

"Blah-blah-blah... Temporary tenant Remmick... Blah-blah-blah, Zero-Six Street... Hmm, authorized stay from today until... Granted permission to occupy hereby..." You looked up at him, startled. The stranger—or rather, Remmick—raised his eyebrows at you:

"Believe me now?"

"Okay, fine... But what do we do?"

"Look, I don't want to be pessimistic, but this town is one of those weird ones where taxis only run at certain times and specific places, and the cabbie who dropped me off said I either walk back or find somewhere to stay... And with this rain, it'd be pretty shitty to leave me out here."

"Are you really sure you want to come in?"; Your voice came out dark, a glint passing through your eyes. An enigmatic little smile appeared at the corner of the man's lips as he lowered his hood again, putting on a pleading expression with puppy-dog eyes:

"Just one night, miss. Just so I don't catch a cold. One night—" He raised an index finger, flashing a convincing little smile: "—one night, and I promise I'll be a ghost to you. You won't even notice I'm here."

Your eyes shifted from him to the unrelenting rain behind him.

You glanced over your shoulder, where that empty house seemed to invite you to take in this poor guy, who wasn't to blame for his bad luck. In the end, you'd both come out ahead, right?

Convinced, you nodded affirmatively, unlatching the chain with a click. Before Remmick could enter, you stopped him once more, a hand extended, fingertips lightly brushing his chest, your eyes piercing into his, which gleamed with a hot-blue intensity as they locked onto you:

"Are you absolutely sure you want to come in?"

"Absolutely, miss. Don't ask me twice..." He shrugged as he stepped past you, carrying his things inside. Before closing the door, you took one last look at that street of houses with only a few lights on, a desolate place almost lost in that small town.

The night would be long.

Remmick didn't shut up for a single second. But it didn't bother you at all—quite the opposite. You were genuinely interested in what he had to say, the stories about failed gigs—while refilling another mug of cheap wine you'd found in the fridge—he told you about the time the band's car broke down in the middle of the highway:

"...I swear to God! There I was with the guys when boom!, the tire blew. We got out, in the middle of absolute nowhere, on one of those dirt roads connecting Nevada to California, you know? And the worst part..." He started laughing at the memory, the two of you sitting on the three-seater couch in the living room, the tube TV tuned to MTV, where nu-metal videos played. Remmick had showered, radiating warmth that smelled like chamomile and mint shampoo. He wore a simple black t-shirt that revealed a tattoo on his right inner bicep, gray sweatpants, barefoot—completely at ease, as if you were old friends reuniting after time apart. 

He sipped his wine. You laughed:

"And the worst part was what?" Sitting beside him, you'd taken advantage of his shower time to change into your pajamas: an oversized band t-shirt, black cotton shorts, the robe still covering the more exposed areas. Even so, every now and then you caught a pair of ocean-blue eyes glancing at you, trying to catch a glimpse of skin through the robe's opening or your slightest movement. Remmick wiped a trickle of wine from his chin:

"The worst part was that we stopped right in front of one of those roadside motels. But not just any motel—one of those for couples, you know? And there must've been an orgy or something going on, because it was fucking awkward..."

You burst out laughing, trying to picture the scene.

Remmick joined in, his laugh open and booming, full-bodied. He was slightly drunk and an open book: in less than two music videos and two mugs of wine, he'd already told you why he was here, about trying to go on the road with his little band, but his day job got in the way—so he had to choose between the band or work. And there he was, about to play a series of shows that, according to him, would "change his whole career." He was excited, hopeful, his eyes gleaming as streaks of blood-yellow light reflected in his irises, his teeth glowing under the TV's anise-colored light during pauses, his black hair still shiny with dampness. He was too human to seem like a weirdo... Even if some of his stories sounded far-fetched.

Remmick finished shaking his shoulders, his laughter fading as he turned back to the TV, where the opening chords of Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away) began, Chino Moreno's face flashing on screen as the guitar riff exploded. Remmick started nodding his head slightly, humming along to the first lines. You smiled, half-admiring his spontaneity.

"Is this the kind of music you guys play?" you asked, drawing his attention back to you. Remmick grinned proudly, his eyes never losing their sparkle. He downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, setting the mug on the wooden coffee table cluttered with magazines and knickknacks:

"If I weren't so obvious and were more mysterious, it'd be cooler, huh...?"

"What do you mean?" You narrowed your eyes, mimicking his gesture, setting your own mug aside. Remmick glanced at it, commenting offhand:

"You haven't even touched your wine properly—scared of me?" He laughed, half-sarcastic, leaning back into the couch, his gaze heavy-lidded as you turned more toward him, knees pressed together, pointed in his direction. Your eyes traced the lines of his body—not muscular but defined, a subtle bulge between his legs making your throat go dry... Desire.

Remmick was fucking hot, and you were lucky this misfortune had happened with him.

His eyes were penetrating, and in that sepia light between pale yellow and steely blue, they were beautiful. His face was handsome, well-defined and masculine, his hair looked so soft—not to mention that prominent nose, large and slightly upturned, those full, kissable lips, and hands that, if they knew how to play an instrument, your mind concluded, would know how to touch anyone like no one else. And that desire burned through you—you were starved... for touch.

The man was still focused on the frenetic music, the singer's voice gently penetrating your ears. You answered him, your eyes never leaving his:

"It's not fear, it's just... thirst for something else."

"What... something?" he asked, his breath hitching slightly, watching you with curiosity. You pressed your lips together in a smile, stretching as you turned back to the TV, avoiding his gaze:

"A little something I'm not sure I should mention..." You played coy, wanting to provoke him. Remmick slowly adjusted himself on the couch, caught between curiosity and challenge, his lazy grin widening as he stared at you in that half-light from the kitchen lamp mixing with the TV's glow, replying in a teasing tone:

"You're a bold one, you know...? Don't even know me, don't know if I'm a potential serial killer." You laughed, disbelieving. Biting your lip, you shook your head:

"No, Remmick, I'm not afraid of you at all."

"Well, you should be!" he exclaimed, jumping up to stretch, yawning as he checked the digital clock in the kitchen: "Jesus, it's past midnight. Better hit the sack..." He shot you a look full of expectation: "...you too, 'I'm-Not-Afraid-Of-You-Remmick'!" He laughed mockingly, but with an air of suggestion: "Maybe I'll leave my door open... just in case I need something."

"Fine, Mr... 'You-Should-Be-Afraid-Of-Me'—" You made a face, matching his look, your smile widening further: "—maybe I'll come running under your covers, hide from the Boogeyman."

"Or from me..." He shrugged, already heading for the stairs leading to the bedrooms. You snorted a laugh, watching the next music video start. You threw a dangerous glance at the man already climbing the stairs, step by step, his eyes gleaming as his smile seemed to drip for you.

Calling you.

You looked away, keeping your eyes on the TV, pulsing and vibrating with the possibilities of this surprisingly eventful night. He flirted in a weird little way that got to you more than it should have.

Remmick did wait for you, awake in that narrow guest bed, between the closed window's sound of dripping rain and the noise of his own thoughts, hands resting on his chest as he lay in the dark room, thinking of you. Only a sliver of harsh yellow light came from the hallway through the slightly ajar door. Then he heard your footsteps, heavy, coming up the stairs—you'd taken about an hour to finally come up, whatever you'd been doing downstairs in complete silence—or maybe his thoughts were just too loud for him to notice.

Slowly, you stopped at his door, opening it with a soft creak that made him smirk, a small smile appearing on his lips as the warm light entered with you, leaving you both in that half-light where anything could be hidden. But he could still see your face, soft and relaxed, the way you wet your lips and shed your robe, revealing yourself completely naked to him. Remmick shuddered, his mouth watering with desire, already sitting up in bed as you slowly crawled toward him, across the sheets, the mattress springs squeaking, his heavy breathing louder than the rain outside. Then your voice came out, feline:

"You really waited for me, hmm? Really left your invitation open for me to come into your room..." You stopped in front of him, sitting on his knee, your hands beginning to trail up his shins to his knees. Remmick closed his eyes, lethargic, the wine's effect mixing with the arousal growing inside him. You laughed, climbing higher until you were face-to-face with him:

"Remmick, Remmick... What a pleasure to have you as my guest tonight!" you teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, his hands touching your skin, sending a shiver through him at the temperature contrast—maybe because you were naked in the cool air while he was in that furnace of a room—parting his lips and closing his eyes, asking for a kiss. But you didn't give him what he wanted. Instead, you licked him, laughing at the face he made, dragging yourself down his torso until you were between his legs:

"Will you let me suck you, Remmy?" The nickname came out casual, intimate, playful. The man didn't hesitate, nodding immediately. With a quick move, you were off the bed, pulling him toward you, kneeling, your sharp nails scratching at the waistband of his sweatpants, stripping him of both pants and white underwear, already wet with pre-cum, taking his soft, warm cock in your hands.

Never breaking eye contact, he eagerly pulled off his shirt in one motion, revealing a cross tattoo on the right side of his waist—a detail that made you even wetter—and you started low, sucking his balls with delight, watching him melt and moan, his hands gripping the mattress tightly as you licked from the base to the red, wet tip, begging for attention, thick and relatively large, stopping right at the head to ask:

"Is this how you like it, Remmy?" Then you took just the glans into your mouth, hearing him gasp heavily, your tongue swirling around it in circles. Remmick almost laughed from pleasure, nodding, one hand already buried in your hair guiding your movements, almost fucking your mouth with thrusts, which you opened and let him enjoy—because his pleasure was yours.

Laughing after he thrust deep, making you gag slightly, pulling back completely soaked and drooling over his cock, he said breathlessly:

"Fuck, woman, like this I'm gonna come too soon... What a magical little mouth!" He caressed your face with one hand as you stood up, pushing him back onto the bed:

"That's because you haven't seen anything yet, Remmy. Haven't seen anything."

He laughed, flirtatious, his hands already claiming your thighs as you, unhurried, positioned yourself over him, never breaking eye contact—Remmick was being very well served, groaning roughly:

"So fucking wet for me, holy shit," his face twisting in pleasure, eyebrows knitting together, lips parting in a broken smile, prominent canines showing. You laughed, grinding aggressively on top of him, grabbing his hands and pinning him down. He groaned beneath you: "So tight, shit, if you keep riding my cock like this I'm gonna come—"

"Then come, Remmy—" Desire was blinding you, your dominant hand going to his throat, watching his Adam's apple rise and fall, his eyes closed, breathing fast, a trail of saliva escaping the corner of his lips.

"Fuck..." Roughly, he thrust up into your pussy. You bent over him, loosening your grip slightly, licking his neck, whispering suggestively:

"Can I suck you here, Remmy?"

"Shit, yes, do whatever you want to me... Just let me come..." he begged, his hands now free from your grip holding your waist, his mouth latching onto the exposed side of your neck, yours doing the same where the arteries pulsed. Remmick felt all his lust spill into harsh thrusts into your pussy, long spurts, while his teeth bit into you.

And yours did the same.

You moaned, strangled by pain and pleasure, blood welling from the bite, flooding your mouth; Remmick let out a guttural cry, eyes closed, feeling that burning frenzy of orgasm, his mouth slack, tasting something... metallic, rancid-sweet, then back to the pungent tang of copper. When he opened his eyes, you were above him, your hands pinning his shoulders to the mattress, your mouth full of blood. Horror crossed his face as the burning intensified, throbbing.

It felt like blades plunging into his skin, deep, lacerating, metallic. Blood, the nauseating smell of it, sticky, and panic filling him as he thrashed beneath you—still inside you—as you laughed, mouth dripping with his blood, staining him further.

"What the fuck!? What kind of monster are you!?" he managed to choke out, trying to break free from your grip, which was stronger than his. When he looked at you again, in that yellow-blue light, the plastic warmth from the hallway mixing with the night's darkness, the rain outside growing heavier, seeming to drown out his screams:

"Well, I did ask you twice if you wanted to come in—" you whispered, putting on an innocent face, bending over his chewed jugular, which gushed bright red blood onto the white sheets and his pale skin, licking up that delicious liquor, spiced with his fear and pleasure: "—and twice you said you did. And you let me suck you, Remmy... Suck you! Oh, poor little thing..." You straightened up again as his eyes lost focus, dull at the edges, lips darkening, his convulsions becoming more random and spaced out.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

Remmick was dying as beautifully as he came, that much was certain. His flavor was rich and exquisite on your palate, sharpened by the fear that had shocked him, diluted in intense orgasm. Simply divine.

Monster.

Could a monster be worthy of love?

"Can a monster be loved?" The question was almost rhetorical.

The unhappy little laugh came from deep in your throat, hoarse and almost dry. In the background, a song played on the convertible's radio, wind whipping across your cold faces, sunglasses on despite the night, sharp smiles, your claw-like nails tapping the car door as Remmick drove, humming along to the lyrics:

"Pleased to meet you... Hope you guess my name, oh, yeah! But what's puzzling you... Is the nature of my game, oh, yeah!" He glanced at you over his sunglasses, his blue eyes glinting in that scarlet light just for you. He wore a leather jacket, corpse-pale hands on the wheel, a sly smile, while you admired the creature you'd created that night full of surprises. Remmick began to speak, his voice calm, his expression contemplative:

"Once, I was seduced by a monster, who punished me severely with the pain of death... But after taking what she craved—my blood and my pleasure—she offered me the greatest gift anyone could accept in this miserable life. Even if the hatred for death poorly announced catches up with us, darling, yes, I believe we can love... In our own way. We're punished by our desires, but whatever... In the end, it was worth giving you what you wanted."

"Blood?" you guessed, throwing a look past him, across that huge bridge full of cars, your suitcases and his guitar case in the backseat. Remmick gave a sly, self-satisfied smile, carefully adjusting his leather jacket sleeves, his hair blowing in the wind, exuding sex and bloody fury on this night that, for the two of you, was only beginning:

"No."

He stated, giving you a look, finally removing his sunglasses, revealing himself to you once more, fangs inviting:

"Eternity with a companion."

In the background, the radio's volume gradually rose...

"Tell me, baby, what's my name? Tell me, honey, can you guess my name?"

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: as you've probably noticed, i got drunk on references to the ultimate classics—interview with the vampire—which is why this fic plays fast and loose with the movie's canon. that said: I LOVED writing this because there's something delicious about imagining a human, fragile remmick who—poor bastard—gets wrecked by his own desires.

[softestqueeen]

✧*̥˚ spencer reid fic recs *̥˚✧ part 6

a/n: do i even have to say anything anymore?

part 1 I part 2 I part 3 I part 4 I part 5 I part 6 I my cm masterlist

✧*̥˚ smut *̥˚✧

practice makes perfect by @cuzxai

through the lens by -//-

busy woman by @it-was-summer

every first, yours by @mrsholmesreid

echo chamber by @whisperedmeg

counter service by -//-

fuck being subtle by @heavenlybodies333

taste by @keirareidss

free use blurb 3 by @trampleddoves

free use blurb 2 by -//-

love you more by @dudeitiskarev

let me love you by @raekensluver

sub!spencer blurb by @missarchive

✧*̥˚ fluff*̥˚✧

living with spencer reid by @girllblogging777

heart eyes... and hardcovers by -//-

modely by @fawnnlvr

spencer reid x shy reader (insta posts) by @mariasont

bombshell reader x s.r. by @luveline

milk, honey and metaphors by @mortic2n

blankets by @thoughtwriter

uniform by @cherrygarcia-07

hcs by @minswriting

hopelessly devoted to youuuu by @goofygubegubler

i wanna be yours by @push-the-heartbrake

season 1!spencer hcs by @seasprincess

something about him was made for somebody like me by @cerisereids

✧*̥˚ angst & hurt/comfort*̥˚✧

thump thump thump by @inkydelusions

sick as a dog by @rauspberries

to love is to care by @cherrygarcia-07

atonement by @matt-murdockk

standing in the steps of mine by @3verythingiknowaboutlove

every shade by @certaimromance

the sound of heartbreak by @reidsism

behind the ribcage by @spencersmopbucket

insecure by @gf2bellamy

proposal by -//-

youth by -//-

mri scan by -//-

anger by -//-

ride by @seasprincess

✧*̥˚ special mention*̥˚✧

heat lightning by @burymagdalene part one I part two

if you want your work removed, dm me!

[citrustan]

omg commissions open!! how about an E2L angsty fic? maybe with jungkook, where he hates the reader at first but is drawn to her and finds her fascinating?

yessirrr, you're speaking my language 😛 the moment i read this, a scenario instantly built in my mind!! thank you for messaging :D

killah (jjk)

pairing: managing partner!jungkook x spoiled brat!reader

genre: enemies to 😛 idk bec you irk him, angst, smut, like slight fluff

warnings: hinted emotional cheating, jungkook is a taken man but 🫵 you kinda want him and he sorta kinda wants you too??? but he's fighting it bec he's got a girl already, bratty behaviour from reader (that's all for thjs part, yes there will be a follow-up)

You were standing a few feet away from the hostess' table, scrolling through Pinterest, barely blinking while your brother whisper-bickered with the staff about a table.

You had been waiting at this reservation-only restaurant for almost thirty minutes now. If you don't get seated in the next ten minutes, you're going to start tearing up.

Logan would glare at you every other minute.

It was your fault, you had forgotten to reserve a table. But in your defence, you need to be told things at least thrice for it to stick. Logan knew that. So really, he's just as to blame.

He's trying to put some sense of responsibility in you but you're... persistent. Resistent.

Because why must you work when you don't absolutely have to?

You roll your eyes, trying to drown Logan out and switch apps to complete your daily NYT Wordle.

That’s when someone spotted you.

"_____?" The figure squealed, a little too loud for the atmosphere, “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

You glanced up and smiled automatically--- wide, sweet, a little rehearsed.

Who the hell is that? You can't seem to recognise her.

The girl leans in for a small hug, but you remain frozen, politely blocking her attempt to engulf you entirely.

She backs off immediately, probably embarrassed? You can't tell.

Clearing her throat, she reintroduces herself, "It's Hyewon!"

Oh! Now it clicks. And it shows on your face.

Hyewon smiles in victory. You remembered her.

"Heyy, I could not recognise you with the new hair!" You could've sworn she was a redhead the last time you saw her.

You had first interacted with her at a mutual friend's house party.

✿

You were seated on a faux-velvet couch, barefoot and yelling about how every colour had a personality.

"Blue is the friend who bails you out of jail," you smiled deviously at each of your friends as if you were attributing the colours to them.

"Yellow is the one who put you in there. Green is the innocent one that people suspect. And pink..." you pause to think, "Pink is who you did it for."

Everyone around you looked so engrossed.

Hyewon had never heard anyone talk like that. She had come across occasional shit-posts on Tumblr but never thought people actually had serious discussions this stuff out loud.

She didn’t even like you at first. You were too loud. Too much.

But she couldn’t look away.

After introducing herself to you, later that night, Hyewon requests to follow you on Instagram. You accept instantly but don't follow back.

What kind of weird power play was she being subjected to?

Then you two met coincidentally a few more times, still you hadn't followed her back.

✿

Tonight was the first time you came into contact with each other without any buffers around you.

She bit her lip in a shy smile, "Thanks." She seemed to have taken it as a compliment.

So you comment on her hair anyway, "I really like it, it frames your face well."

Your eyes fall on another figure behind her.

The first instinct you had was to stare. Because this was the sexiest man you'd ever seen. And you've seen a lot of those.

He

Cautiously, you look back at Hyewon, who seemed enthralled by the man too.

The man approaches you two and wraps his tattooed hand around hers.

Ah.

Whatever.

"_____, This is my boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook. Babe, this is _____ _____!"

You glance at him. “Oh. Hi.”

It’s barely a greeting. You’re more interested in your reflection in the glass.

Jungkook nods at you before looking back at his girlfriend, whispering to her about their table.

That only riles you up.

They have a table and you still don't. You feel a slight rush of entitlement taking over you.

Hyewon nods but then paused, "Oh, uh, are you leaving, _____?"

You shake your head, "Logan's trying to get us a table."

Hyewon sees this as an opportunity to get closer to you.

Just when she was about to extend an invitation to you and your brother, said brother calls out to you.

Finally. You weren't in the mood for any more small talk.

When Logan looks over at you, and in the same breath, his gaze lands on Jeon Jungkook, "Huh. Jeon, right?"

Jungkook, who had been sizing you up quietly with polite disinterest, raises a brow, "Yeah."

Then it clicks. Jungkook nods, resemblance flickering in his eyes. "Right. I’ve seen you in the elevators."

"Hard to miss a face like mine," Logan says dryly.

You roll your eyes at that.

Hyewon laughs. "I had no idea you two knew each other."

"We don’t, really," Jungkook replies. “Just hallway sightings.”

You swing your bag to your shoulder, ready to leave, when something fluffy drops to the floor. It's your bag charm.

You don't move, just stare at it.

Hyewon, without missing a beat, crouches and retrieves it for you.

"Aw, thank you," you say casually, this time sporting a genuine smile.

But Jungkook observes something else. He notices how you don't pick up after yourself. You didn’t even pretend to go for it. You just expected Hyewon to move for you.

He watched you struggle to clip it back on. You then pass it off to your brother, who successfully attaches the charm back on.

Jungkook's jaw ticks a little. As if he was holding back on telling you off.

Brat.

The hostess returns then, apologizing profusely as she attempts to guide you and your brother ahead of two other waiting couples.

No one says anything because you’re used to this kind of priority.

"I'm hungry, we're going to go in now," you announced, later adding, "See you around, Wony!"

You entangle your fingers in Hyewons, slightly swinging it as to bid goodbye, smiling cutely.

"Have fun, you guys," Hyewon says sweetly.

Logan awkwardly smiles and escorts you in.

Jungkook silently follows Hyewon to the hostess table.

Once they’re past the threshold and walking through the foyer, Hyewon peeks up at him, finding him usually quiet. "You okay?"

He shakes his head once. “Your friend’s kind of a brat.”

Hyewon snorted, "Okay."

She didn't think much of it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

Later that night, at Jungkook's apartment. He had just stepped out of the shower.

For some reason, he kept replaying the moment he met you over and over again. It angered him.

"She’s a little ridiculous," Jungkook suddenly mutters, annoyed. "Your friend."

Hyewon lifts a brow, "_____?"

"She didn’t even reach for her own bag charm."

Hyewon raises a brow, "You’re still thinking about that?" Why the fuck was he thinking about you in the shower?

"She just stood there. Expected you to do it." He continued.

"That's just how she is. I don't know, I don't think it's that big of a deal..." Hyewon treads lightly.

"It doesn't bother you to be treated like that by your friend?" Jungkook scrunched his brows.

He seemed very intrigued.

She considers for a second. It's not like you're friends. She doesn't think you're even acquaintances. "It... doesn't, I think it almost makes her a little charming. Like she's not faking anything."

Although, Jungkook does have Hyewon rethinking her perception of you in her mind.

She tries to rationalize it, "She doesn't try to be something she's not..."

Jungkook pulls a shirt over his head, "_____ doesn't try at all."

Hyewon smiles, "But that's what makes her fun. You just don't get it."

"No, I do get it," he argues, "She's rich and a spoilt brat because nobody's ever told her no. So now she treats everyone like they're made to serve her."

Hyewon patiently watches him for a second. He looked so riled up over you.

"Well, you're rich too," she weakly adds.

"I am now, but I wasn't always... It's not the same, it's... Whatever."

"You sound like you've given this a lot of thought." Hyewon frowns.

Jungkook doesn't answer right away, choosing to deflect and instead just calls for her to return to bed after her bath quickly.

Hyewon doesn't want to think too much of it. But then her phone dings.

You had requested to follow her back.

.｡⁠*⁠♡

Back at your shared penthouse with Logan, you conduct slight research of your own.

"Who is Jeon Jungkook?" You barge into your brother's room.

Logan stills for a second. "Why?"

You shrug, "It's just a question."

Logan squints, unconvinced, but answers anyway, "He's the managing partner at Jeon, Kim & Kim."

Ohhhh. Of course, he is. You've heard of him. He really does live up to his name. You'd heard he was almost unapproachable. How in the world did Hyewon end up with someone like him?

You nod slowly. Okay.

After returning to your floor, you waste no time and look up Hyewon's Instagram. To your surprise, she had already been following you.

Oops.

You click on the follow button and toss your phone away for the night.

the next installment: killah (jjk) 2

note: i was listening to killah by lady gaga hence the name, now, i know the song is super groovy and the vibes do not match but!! throw me a bone here, i think the song describes the situation fairly well. and as ush, please tell me what you think of this :) is it worth following up on or is it just predictable and whatever? thanks for reading :)

[buntanteen]

svt fic recs list <3 - jun/wen junhui b'day edition - sfw & nsfw ver.

summary: 3 sfw & 4 nsfw junhui x reader insert fics :)

contains: sfw section contains potential suggestive content, nsfw section contains 18+ content (mdni), majority is afab!reader

key: (a) = angst, (f) = fluff, (sc) = suggestive content, (s) = smut, (smau) = social media au

✩ svt writing & fic rec masterlist ✩

✩ sfw section ✩

❥ sleepy jun (f)- @hazz-a-bear ~ i cry, i sob HE'S SO CUTE AND POUTY AND BABYYYYYYYYYYY!! FUCKKKK going work, i will give him ALLL the attention he ever so desires

❥ boyfriend texts with jun (f, smau) - @kozukensgf ~ i'm entirely obsessed with jun here...he is the IDEAL silly guy bf

❥ secrets to a furball (f) - @daisymbin ~ oh, don't mind me~ i'm just gonna walk out this window out of cuteness aggression :D

✩ nsfw section ✩

❥ nerdy!jun (s) - @hoshifighting ~ shy and needy and submissive and a nerd?!?!!? ARF ARF ARF ARFFFF

❥ like crazy (s) - @toruro ~ DEAR GOD HE'S EXACTLY WHAT I WANT AND NEEDDDDD (the intensity and roughness is perfectionnn)

❥ match of the season (s) - @junkissed (formerly @1-800-hwahui) ~ AHHHHHHHHHH jun's characterisation here?!? ADORABLEEEEE!! I loveeee how reader treats him so softly :,)

❥ selfish i may be (s) - @vampsol ~ teeheee so scandaloussss of them to do it so publiclyyyy :p

bun note: hiiii and happy june!!!!! it has been a while, but i hope everyone enjoyed happy burstday (i really enjoyed hhu's solos) and nana bnb!! i've spent my time restructuring the fic rec posts because i didn't like how it was a lil difficult to comprehend :3 the structure is heavily inspired/based on @fics-lovebot's fic rec post here :) also a big big thank you to over 1900 followers on here?!?!? isn't that insaneee??? and finally...HAPPY JUN DAYYY!!! BY BELOVED BABY KITTY CAT RAAAAAA NYANGGGGGG 🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱 I LOVE U SOOOO MUCH DUDE IT IS QUITE INSANE!!

[storiesoflilies]

𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐒

synopsis: the lights of this city flicker like dying neon stars. between them, monsters live and breathe. some are hunting. some are waiting. w.c: 7.6k.

pairing: monster!sukuna x f!reader.

warnings: horror (at least, i tried)!! this is a disturbing fic with explicit gore and cannibalism. character death. EXPLICIT SMUT! monsterfucking (trueform!sukuna), biting, bum stuff (for you, alba), blood licking. MDNI! cyberpunk/bladerunner 2049 vibes.

a/n: my first attempt at a dark fic and sukuna smut eeeep! i hope you all enjoy this!! i also want to say a massive thankyou to @ariiadnes for trusting me with her oc! i hope you like 11E’s little cameos :3

divider / playlist / ao3

nobody knows what they are, only that they are.

you cannot see them, not really. they live somewhere in broken screens, flickering neon signs and still pothole puddles. they are something like a heat mirage. a pulse of something that makes you want to run, to breathe, to fight, to surrender.

an itch behind your teeth.

a pressure in your spine.

the sound between your heartbeat.

nobody knows if they had always been there or not, only that they will always be there now, and that they are not something to be understood.

but a part of you thinks that you do.

(intimately so,

in the way my marrow settled between puckered lips.)

when they first decided to become known, it started off small. little disappearances here and there. an inexplicable puddle of blood in an alleyway behind a bar, the odd story on the news of a gruesome murder. then, metal posts started to fill up with missing persons flyers. all of them tattered, each person placing their’s on top of the last one like their person was more important than the rest.

they weren’t.

they were all the same.

bodies of flesh, bodies full of iron water.

the scientists couldn’t begin to explain much. they said that the creatures resonated at a frequency outside the range of human perception. that they were invisible unless they choose to be seen, and that there was no way to begin to communicate with them unless it was on their terms. now, their existence was something to just live with. a virus always floating in the air, waiting and watching. their tendrils were quick to grab and infect you, to swallow you whole. and you can try to drag your nails down their throats until they bleed, or jam your fingers into their windpipe and make them choke on their own vomit, but you still wouldn’t live.

you knew that.

you had seen them kill, once before.

it was a day when the rain was more yellow than clear, sulphur in the air like the breath of the devil. you’d been staring at the misted window of a sex club, a woman’s hands pressed up against the glass. you remember hearing a steady thump thump thump, and that it took you far too long to realize that it wasn’t coming from inside the club.

you don’t know why you followed the sound.

the air was sour. there was no moon, only the fuzzy neon lights and a giant hologram of the then latest version of companion doll. 𝘓𝘖𝘝3-𝘝16’s hair was a glossy black, nails perfectly almond with a red french-tip manicure. as she swayed to and fro, the alleyway would go dark and then a hazy hot pink.

it made the blood on the floor look almost fluorescent.

thump, thump, thump!

there is something inherently strange about a humans fascination with the horrific, the grotesque. why couldn’t you tear your eyes away from the woman, that creature? it was smashing another person’s head into a wall again and again and again. it mimicked the figure of a woman, but it wasn’t… right. it wasn’t beautiful. it held nothing behind its empty pearl gaze, but you could feel it was staring at you as it grinned with too sharp teeth.

thump, thump, thump!

went the head in its hands against a dumpster.

thump, thump, thump!

you could see fragments of skull on the ground, little dark hairs still attached to thin flesh.

and then she was gone.

the alleyway was empty, except for the mess she had left behind. that was two years ago now, at the height of the killings. when there was no point in calling the police because there was nothing that could be done.

but you still remember its kill.

the smell of it.

iron and piss and something like rotten fruit.

you think about it now as you stand in your concrete box of an apartment that exists in the cracks between architectural efficiency and human desperation. up on the twenty-fourth floor, with a single rusty elevator, wedged in between two other buildings that were identical to it. there is an android factory just a few streets over that runs for twenty-four hours a day, and it makes the walls vibrate with a sporadic hum that was so loud it drilled into your molars.

but you had gotten used to it now.

you stand by your window that overlooks onto an airshaft. it’s filled with other people’s laundry lines, patched up clothes and worn underwear swaying on the thin metal, with the odd advertisement drone clicking its way between the buildings like a strange bird. you watch it move as you slowly chew your nutrition paste. it tastes like cardboard and salt, allegedly supposed to be exactly like a roast chicken.

you wouldn’t know if it really was or not.

(there is

something better, something sweeter.)

your forefinger twitches.

it had become apparent some time ago that the creatures that lived within a certain frequency also chose their victims by theirs. any excess of joy or fear, happiness or sadness, would ooze out at different frequencies. they were drawn to it like sharks to blood. and so, missing person flyers gradually evolved into warnings to control your emotions because they could sense it. the government initially released brain implants for emotional regulation, but the recipients usually ended up becoming killers themselves, and so they were quickly taken off the market.

₊˚⊹⋆ 𝘜𝘗𝘎𝘙𝘈𝘋𝘌 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘋𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘔𝘚.

the drone plays.

₊˚⊹⋆ 𝘕𝘌𝘜𝘙𝘖𝘗𝘈𝘟, 𝘞𝘏𝘌𝘕 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘠 𝘐𝘚𝘕’𝘛

𝘌𝘕𝘖𝘜𝘎𝘏!

then, special androids were developed to both detect the creatures, and act as a deterrent by sending out vibrations at a frequency high enough to drown out a persons baseline range. of course, they weren’t available to everyone. offices and factories, public spaces like clubs and shops, had androids employed. because, of course, nobody wanted murders happening on company property anymore. but once you were outside, you were free game.

unless you could afford an android.

which most couldn’t.

including you.

you scrape the last of the synthetic meat from the container, pretending you could feel stringy chicken stuck between your teeth instead of the chalky film over your tongue. it feels wrong, but you force yourself to swallow, because hunger is an emotion far too close to desperation.

and that was not what you were.

you live in the space between emotions. perfectly balanced, only present in the now. your heart doesn’t skip a beat, your breath doesn’t catch in your throat. you don’t know how you do it, only that you do.

it keeps you neutral – invisible.

₊˚⊹⋆ 𝘉𝘌 𝘕𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘎, 𝘍𝘌𝘌𝘓 𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘠𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘎!

you throw your empty container into the recycling chute, where somewhere twenty-four floors down, it will be processed and used for tomorrow’s meal for someone else.

the walls hum.

you match your breath to the rhythm.

somewhere in the distance, a baby is crying, a car backfires. then, silence. then the incessant hum, then silence again. you check the lock on your door twice, and turn off your main lights. the room is bathed in a sickly blue light from the commercial playing on your television. a woman with too bright eyes smiles into the camera, clutching a bowl of steaming chemical broth.

₊˚⊹⋆ 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘍𝘜𝘛𝘜𝘙𝘌 𝘐𝘚 𝘊𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘕! 𝘛𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘓

𝘍𝘓𝘈𝘝𝘖𝘙 𝘞𝘐𝘛𝘏𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘓 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘎!

you turn it off.

on the other side of the wall, someone laughs.

it cuts off halfway.

you crawl into your bedsheets, stare at the yellowed ceiling, and wait for nothing to come. the drone outside flickers signs and holograms, neon shapes of blues and a pulse of static pink. your fingers curl over your chest. you let your mind flatten just enough to blur the shape of yourself.

(this is not

what it means to sleep.)

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

your work numbs you.

twelve hours a day of sorting people’s data through predictive algorithms. twelve hours a day of deciding what people see in their neural feeds, on their phones, and on their televisions. what they want, crave, fear, forget. twelve hours a day of that blue light burning behind your eyes like a slow rot.

it’s perfectly routine.

beautifully neutral.

you glance at the woman in the cubicle next to yours, at station forty-seven. you don’t know her name, and you don’t care to know it. she was crying, tears falling down so perfectly over her cheeks and onto her desk and keyboard. her monitors pressure gauge chimes softly, and you know the android assigned to your floor would be watching her closely.

𝘠𝘖𝘙𝘏𝘈 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦 𝘌, 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 11.

a shimmer of synthetic blonde hair, grey eyes like sterilized steel. only the best for your company’s employees, obviously. ruthless and ethereal, she opens her perfectly shaped lips.

“𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥,” she announces with a voice balanced and monotone. “𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵.”

she turns towards station forty-seven.

and practically glides over.

you wonder if she was manufactured in the factory close to your apartment building. if the sound of her lungs calibrating is the same one that hums through your walls at night. her face hardly moves as she approaches. you look back at your screen.

you filter, you sort.

nothing.

empty.

when she reaches the woman, the android sighs in a pretty voice like velvet draped over metal, “𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥.”

the woman lets out a sob.

it’s ugly.

you keep typing, and finish another algorithm. 11𝘌 doesn’t make a sound as she escorts the woman from station forty-seven away from you and away from your building. when you submit your work, your screen lights green.

₊˚⊹⋆ 𝘊𝘖𝘕𝘎𝘙𝘈𝘛𝘜𝘓𝘈𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕𝘚! 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘈𝘙𝘌 𝘕𝘖𝘞 𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘐𝘛𝘓𝘌𝘋 𝘛𝘖 𝘍𝘐𝘝𝘌 𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘜𝘛𝘌 𝘈𝘋 𝘉𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘒!

you decline it.

you always do.

these ads were tailor made for you by someone probably sitting next to you. user feedback loops and predictive metadata, behavioral sampling. they do to you what you do to the masses. you glance to your left. the woman in station forty-seven is gone now. her chair is empty and ready to be sterilized and wiped clean.

by lunch, there’s already a new worker in her place.

he doesn’t speak to you.

and you don’t speak to him.

when your shift ends, you take the slightly longer route home to stretch your muscles. the rain outside isn’t too acidic today, doesn’t sting you so much. it leaves streaks across the signs in the streets, a circulatory system of neon and concrete and steel. you pass by the sign for 24 𝘏𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘗𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘜𝘙𝘌 𝘗𝘖𝘋𝘚! bathed in a lewd pink. the buildings overhead are so high up that they display artificial stars, because the real sky hadn’t been seen at this level in decades.

four blocks from your apartment, something shifts.

no footsteps.

no breathing.

but the sense of being followed roots itself in the back of your skull. something that makes the hair on your arms and neck stand up, phantom insects crawling across your eyelids and into your mouth. there is a flash of black and pink in your peripheral.

you don’t run.

something inside you begins to uncoil, cold and quiet and old.

it watches you from reflections around you. in touchscreen ads and raindrops, in puddles and the gleam of hover-car windows. it matches your pace, staying out of direct sight, toying with your senses. you catch the curve of a broad shoulder, a twisted grin that is never there when you try to look.

you keep going, past the vendor stall near your building.

₊˚⊹⋆ 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘛𝘏𝘔𝘌𝘈𝘛!

𝘌𝘈𝘛 𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘞𝘌𝘙𝘌 𝘔𝘈𝘋𝘌 𝘍𝘖𝘙!

it is abandoned.

when you finally stop in front of your building, the hum of the factory reverberates through the ground. it travels through your feet and to your ribs. you breathe to its rhythm, steady and neutral. your eyes scan the windowpanes and the shimmering surface of the pleasure pods.

empty.

you exhale.

and something answers.

a voice, just behind your left ear. low and smooth and amused.

“found you.”

he speaks to you as a mirage from the pulsing cherry-red light of an occupied pleasure pod, smiles at you with too many teeth.

he is there and then gone the next.

“you’re so… empty.”

the hairs on your arms stay standing. you say nothing and wet your lips. the door to your building slides open with a quiet sigh as you enter. you can hear him humming as you walk through the sickly green light of the lobby. you press the button for the elevator, and avoid looking at the dirty, cracking mirror when you step inside.

but you know he is there.

he is already everywhere.

the elevator dings and the doors open to your apartment.

and he is there.

waiting for you.

he is more… solid now. his chest is bare and raw, skin dripping with rain. thick, violent black tattoos coil around him like chains made of ink. his hair is a light peach, slicked back like he’s run his bloody hands through it one too many times. he sits on your kitchen chair completely unbothered, his lips curled in a beastial smile. red eyes track you as you close the door behind you, slow and deliberate.

(prey being savored

from afar.)

two of your fingers twitch.

he tilts his head, his movements almost catlike, but far more dangerous and charged with energy. you felt if you blinked too slowly he would be on you like the end of the world.

you do wonder how he found you.

you had made it this far without any incidents. your neutrality was your survivability. unless, just like all humans are finite, so is the duration of balance. perhaps there was a minuscule tip in the scale, and therefore the end of your invisibility.

but you haven’t known anything else.

so, you time your breathing to the hum in your walls, and think of 11𝘌 calibrating her lungs.

“you are so waiting to be unmade.”

at this, he laughs. you watch the acid rain from his hair run over his mouth, catches on the tip of a fang. this voice feels real. it sounds like yours. nicer, even, like honey oozing between shattered pieces of glass.

“how did you find me?”

you don’t know why you opened your mouth to ask it, but you did. not that his answer mattered. you would probably be dead within the next thirty minutes.

his grin widens, too many teeth.

“you might not be interesting to feel, but i can still see you.”

you nod, slowly.

he stands. his height is immense, and when he moves towards you, you can tell that he is not like the creature you once saw. he is far different, stronger.

much stronger.

“what else do you want to ask?” he questions coyly as he circles you.

he is playing a game with you now, and you have no choice but to go along with it.

“your kind feed on energy.”

“hmm, something like that.”

“but you said you can’t feel me.”

“not a thing.”

you keep your face still. confusion is a brittle emotion that only ever leads to senseless fear.

“will you still kill me?”

he breaths in deeply into your hair, and makes a satisfied noise.

“naturally”

naturally.

this world isn’t natural, but here he is. a creature so raw and real and visceral that who is and what he does and who he kills are perhaps the only natural things left in this world. he is a living creature that is limitless and boundless, one that feels things and has urges. you think he might just me more human than you are. he circles you again, languidly, like a cat.

“don’t you want to know why?”

you did.

because you know he wants you to ask it.

you breathe out a quiet, “why?”

“because i want to break you.”

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

he doesn’t kill you that night.

not the next night.

and not the one after that either.

this was all part of the game, wasn’t it? a long, drawn-out hunt. he is a predator, and he is playing with his food before he eats it. the thought of your inevitable fate should terrify you.

but your days go on, and he only follows you.

you catch sight of him in places that exist in the edges – reflections, static, flashes. in the dull metal sheen of your elevator doors, in the half-second lag in your retinal display, and in the flicker of 𝘓𝘖𝘝3-𝘝27’s sensual hologram. he’s studying you, you realize. your routines, your patterns. where you go and what you do.

and he’s mocking you.

you catch him trying to change the frequency in the air around you. trying to incite fear in your spine or arousal in your hips or pain in your brain. none of it works on you. you notice the new employee at station forty-seven. how his parlor is almost ghostly white as he mutters to himself, beads of sweat collecting at his hairline like he’s stopping them from falling by sheer willpower. his algorithm filters into yours, coincidentally, and you see a sharp change in his displays from birdsong ambience for… whatever this was.

skin peeling.

eyeballs crunching.

your own voice crying out in ecstasy.

he doesn’t come back to work the next day, and you still don’t care.

on the fourth day after your first encounter with the creature, 11𝘌 approaches your desk.

you stop typing.

her hair catches the blue light from your monitor, and you tilt your head at her as she tilts hers at you. her face is so perfect, you think. a face perfect in its absence of warmth and life. there is a soft chiming sound from somewhere inside her chest, some sort of processing noise you’d never heard from her before.

“𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘦 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘹𝘵𝘺-𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦,” she says with a soft voice. “𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥.”

nobody looks up at you as she says this.

they are all used to the coming and inevitable goings of people, like the tide coming in and out.

11𝘌’s eyes seem to focus and unfocus, pupils dilating and contracting as she scans you. you don’t feel anything as the processing sound gets louder.

“𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘤𝘦… 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥.”

something in her expression switches to something like confusion. you don’t think androids feel things like that.

“𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵,” she says, and you know it’s not a question.

“no,” you agree.

she looks at you directly now. you think you see something flicker behind the expanse of grey and steel in her eyes. something like recognition. as if you and her are the same.

two perfect objects of neutrality.

two perfect machines.

the processing sound ends as 11𝘌 comes to a decision.

“𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.”

you don’t protest.

you just gather your coat and bag from underneath your desk, and follow her outside your building. outside, the world chokes slowly beneath a smog-thick fog. holograms flicker overhead, men with open mouths and blackened eyes. a drone whirs just above your heads, trailing a pixelated ribbon.

₊˚⊹⋆ 𝘌𝘈𝘛 𝘉𝘌𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙, 𝘉𝘌 𝘉𝘌𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙!

11𝘌 stops just beside the vending machine outside your building, the one filled with pills and vials of immediate release dopamine. she faces forward, hands folded neatly behind your back.

you do the same.

the silence between you isn’t awkward. it is clinical, routine. you think you hear the timer in her skull ticking down to zero. this is only another task to her, and you are just a box she has to tick to follow her protocol.

you blink.

there is a rush of heat as a motorcycle flies past you, and you see a flash of the man from station forty-seven across the street. only the shape of him, just for a second. his skin stripped and spine exposed, propped up like a message on a wall, like a prayer.

your heart does not change rhythm.

11𝘌 turns to you, slowly.

“𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦.”

you nod.

she walks away without saying goodbye, disappears back into the concrete building that is her world and her mission.

you know you will not see her again.

and then, you go home.

it’s late by the time you arrive. your building’s security drone hovers outside the doors to the lobby today. a false pretense of safety, as if it could protect you from is waiting for you inside. but your creature is not inside your apartment like you expected him to be. you can sense him. or rather, he is calling you to him. you push open the rusted latch to your window, and climb the ladder of the emergency stairwell.

the air on the roof is warm.

even this high up, the air still smells like metal and engine grease and electricity. there is no such thing as fresh air anymore. the skyline bleeds in neon colors. pinks and purples and blues that only bruise it.

and he sits there casually at the edge of it all, his legs spread wide.

a man, a creature.

a god.

he turns to you and his mouth stretches into something wide and unpleasant to look at. his large hand pats the space on the ledge just beside him in a gesture that you think is almost human of him. you move to him, a lamb to the maw of a wolf, and he places a small paper bundle onto your lap.

red stains leak through the paper.

“it’s for you,” he offers in a voice dripping with mock tenderness. “i saw it and thought of you.”

you say nothing, and unwrap the paper slowly. he watches your face more than your hands, eager to savor whatever reaction he thinks he is about to get from you.

“it’s a tongue!”

he says it like you didn’t already know. like he is announcing he’s presenting you with flowers from the far corners of the planet they still grew on. the little piece of pink flesh is slightly greyed, and its taste buds look like sanded down spikes. there is clotted blood at the base, and you know that it had been torn, not cut, from someone’s mouth.

“i pulled it out of someone who thought he was in love.”

he says this in an almost conversational way, like discussing the weather of the week.

“he kept saying this one woman’s name over and over again. oh, and of course he just kept begging me to let him tell her he loved her one last time.”

you pinch it gently between your fingers.

“so i made sure he’d never say anything again.”

his grin widens.

“how can you tell that it wasn’t real?” you ask.

“because love tastes like rot. it’s unbelievably pathetic, there’s no good flavor left anymore. but he… he tasted like a lie.”

you wonder what love tastes like. sweet and warm, maybe. honey-filled moons soft enough to swallow whole. but what are lies? perhaps it is chewy, bursting with juice that stains your teeth. maybe that is what your creature liked best.

so, you open your mouth.

and eat it slowly, methodically.

your face doesn’t change, and you don’t gag. his expression splits into something that could be pure ecstasy, pupils dilating like he’s watching the most beautiful thing.

(have mercy on the poor fly

that follows the smell of honey.)

your fingers twitch.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you’re perfect.”

he leans in close to you. so close that you can smell the static and copper and cold void of what he is made from. his breathing is rough, heavy like he’s just been running.

“perfect and filthy. you’re just like me, aren’t you?“

you tilt your head.

blood trickles from the corner of your mouth.

“and who are you?”

his laugher is pure delight.

“ryomen sukuna.”

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

you don’t come to this place often.

the light of the club throbs low and red, a heartbeat just on the edge of an arrhythmia. its walls are slick with sweat, and the air is thick with the smell of pheromones – engineered or otherwise real. sweet like candied rot, dull like subjugated metal. you walk through the crowd like a thread through fabric, and take your place at the bar.

the signs outside call this place 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘉𝘖𝘋𝘠.

you aren’t sure why you come here. this isn’t a place made for people like you. on the surface, it seems like just another club that sits in the underbelly of a bloated city. but really, it’s a chain of alters, bodies upon bodies. where bare flesh is presented to another to fuck in ways that feel like worship. there are rooms within rooms here, draped with sheer curtains that reveal more than they conceal.

but you know sukuna will still find you.

you order nothing, and wait.

in the center, two feminine androids provide the entertainment for the next ten minutes. these ones move slowly, ritualistic. they are not pornographic like most of the others you watch. it’s a performance, a mimicry of intimacy that has been long since forgotten.

“they move like insects.”

sukuna doesn’t appear beside you fully. he is behind your eyes, behind your bones. seeing what you see, moving as you do. his presence is like oil and smoke on your skin, clinging to the cracks between your ribs.

“do they?”

for a while, he watches them with you.

the androids part briefly, a break in their dance, and rejoin. the hips undulate and grind into each other in half motions, perhaps to invoke a sense of longing. their glassy eyes blink in slow alternations. it’s all too rehearsed, you think.

“do you like it when they fuck?”

“i don’t care.”

“liar. your indifference is a better performance than theirs.”

you take a sip of an abandoned drink, and sukuna smiles behind your teeth.

“oh, but this is so boring. is this all they do?”

“until the next one comes, yes.”

sukuna makes a disgusted sound. it vibrates through your throat like you made it.

“you’re very still, for a human.”

“i’m watching.”

“mhm.”

“do you not enjoy this?”

“hmph! this is pathetic to me, you know? they pretend this isn’t some desperate attempt at muscle memory for something your bodies will never remember.”

“and you understand it.”

“of course i do, it’s only another form of hunger.”

an ad flashes at you above the bar.

₊˚⊹⋆ 𝘚𝘜𝘉𝘚𝘊𝘙𝘐𝘉𝘌 𝘛𝘖 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘛𝘏𝘔𝘌𝘈𝘛 𝘕𝘖𝘞!

“and you… you are so deliciously empty that you understand nothing.”

“you don’t understand it, then.”

his hold on your spine tightens considerably.

“i understand the mechanics,” he says, far too fast.

“that’s not the same.”

“isn’t it?”

“you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

he doesn’t say anything, and his silence is heavy. you feel him watching the next dancers take the stage, made from real bones and flesh this time. his gaze isn’t lustful, or gleeful. it is detached, a killer watching his puppets bleed and break.

“i’ve fucked in plenty of bodies.”

you say nothing.

“it’s just rearranging lumps of meat, that’s all. bend a leg here, break a jaw, and someone always screams.”

“don’t you want it to be real?”

“i don’t need to, i take what i want when i want to.”

“taking doesn’t mean you know what it is.”

“i want to devour, not connect.”

“it’s not about connection.”

“well, it used to be. once.”

“once?”

“a thousand years ago, when you humans weren’t… this.”

“don’t you want to understand it?”

“you want to fuck me, little human? is that it?”

“yes.”

at this, he fully materializes beside you in a flash. all teeth and a moist, red grin.

“show me,” he orders.

his voice sounds the most human it ever has.

you feel a pressure in your hips, in your navel.

(oh mercy,

have mercy.)

your left hand spasms.

sukuna hums. “why do you want to do this?”

“because you want to understand something you were never built for, and you want it to be real.”

“real,” he savors the word on his tongue. “and that’s what you can give me?”

you take the time to really look at him. he is so beautiful, like a fever dream. he makes something in your hollow chest ache. he looks at you like you can give him the world. but you know he wants to be the one underneath your skin and wear you like a memory. to rip you open and drink your marrow so he can see how you tick. you wonder what it would feel like for ryomen sukuna to break you.

to let him in.

there is a hairline crack in the porcelain of your persona.

“i don’t know,” you say softly. “that’s the point.”

you offer him your hand.

and he takes it.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

you bring sukuna to one of the pleasure pods outside your building.

it seals behind you both with a hiss. the air inside smells sterile at first, but you know it is being pumped full of sweet, synthetic pheromones. the walls are a pale pink, slick and almost fleshy, like a womb. it quivers faintly like a heartbeat. sukuna reaches out to touch it, and it responds to him like it is alive. you reach the middle of the pod, where the floor extends upwards and thickens into something softer, more pillowed.

“lie back,” sukuna huffs.

you don’t.

you wait.

before you can blink, your clothes and his are gone, swallowed into a void that eats everything he touches. sukuna stands there perfectly solid, perfectly constructed. pale skin taut over lethal muscle. his blood eyes are drinking you in greedily, watching your heart beat beneath your breast, all violence that is barely constrained. you know the only two things saving you right now are his curiosity and that he wants this from you.

and still, he comes to you.

“do you want to kiss me?” you ask, tilting your chin up to him.

sukuna holds your jaw in his hand. “do you even know what it means to ask me that?”

and his lips crashes into yours like thunder. messy, eager, hungry. his fangs immediately catch on your bottom lip, and you let out a groan. sukuna’s tongue catches your sound and bullies your mouth open. you feel him tasting you, feel your blood spreading over your lips and between his. he pushes you down, and your spine curves against the pods membrane. your legs wrap around his hips, and you are met with the thick, hot weight of him at your core.

you make sure he sees you.

you make sure that he feels you.

“this isn’t just meat,” you murmur, rocking your hips to rub yourself on his length. “this isn’t hunger.”

“you think you can teach me?” he snarls.

sukuna enters you like a challenge, like an angel hurtling down from the heavens full of intent. for a second, his form glitches. there is a stutter in your visual field, a crack in the mirror. a hot shard of pleasure whips your core, and you clench around him, arching into his chest.

the pod walls pulse faster, the lights dim.

your voice trembles, “do that again.”

“do what?”

he is not all there, he is something halfway. but here and now, ryomen sukuna has never been more real to you than he is now. but he is toying with you as he always does, because he knows exactly what it is you want.

sukuna blinks.

and smirks.

then, he pulls back from you. his body pulses and stretches above you, and you think you just might die from the pleasure of it all, or perhaps just from him. his face shifts, multiplies, and two eyes become four looking down on you. his markings embolden and become living, vicious things. you feel something else. something hot and heavy, against the curve of your ass, and it takes you far too long to register that he has another cock.

the pod groans beneath you.

“are you afraid yet?”

“i’m…”

what are you?

you don’t know.

(only a soft thing

that starves.)

your hands shake.

sukuna laughs, and the sound reverberates in your bones and core. you open up to him so easily.

and he splits you apart.

not just once, but twice. hit first cock fills you fast, familiar in its essence of him. the second is much slower, deliberate. the way he stretches both your holes open is utterly filthy and impossibly divine.

your mouth opens in a silent scream.

he is inside you twice.

it’s too much, it’s everything.

the pod pulses and flashes with a low light. his hands are everywhere on you at once, sometimes two and sometimes all four. on your throat, your breasts and waist, one spreading your legs even wider to pinch your clit. you moan prettily, your fingers clutching at the flesh bed. it reacts, throbbing under you like it is part of his building rhythm, that cruel and delicious rhythm. the hollowness in your chest is overflowing now, spilling wine and blood, and you can’t remember ever feeling so full.

you are absolutely ruined.

“do you feel y–?”

he cuts himself off. something is happening inside him. you pull sukuna’s face down to yours.

“this is real,” you pant against his wet, bloody mouth.

his head rolls forward into you, his pace is brutal as he fucks you like he’s losing his grip on what he is. a fist slams into the wall behind your head. you feel his lips on your neck, and he sinks his teeth in. not enough to kill you, but just enough to hurt. your pussy flutters wildly around him.

“i want to– rip you apart.”

“then do it after. feel this first.”

your eyes roll back.

sukuna kisses you again. it is messy, mixed with spit and iron. he presses into you like he’s trying to take something from you, like wants to steal all your memories. he lifts your hips lift to meet his every thrust, and you wrap your legs tightly around him, sucking him in even deeper.

this new angle wrecks you.

you feel everything.

each thick, hot drag of his cock inside your sopping wet cunt, every ridge, every vein, every merciless push of him in both holes. you are utterly helpless as you tumble towards the edge.

“fuck! what are you doing to me?”

his thrusts become erratic, desperate.

and he cums.

loudly, shaking, splintering. first one cock, then the other. they pulse and twitch inside as his cum floods both your holes, warm against your walls. sukuna’s body flickers in between forms as his breath coming out in hot, ragged huffs. he collapses over you, his arms locking tightly around you. his tongue finds your collarbone, lapping away at your trickling blood.

the pod pulses once, twice.

and goes still.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

your tv screen flickers slightly.

it’s been on for three days straight, set at a volume too low to be heard if you weren’t paying attention.

“𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘶��𝘣𝘦𝘳.”

your spine aches. your skin stings where sukuna nipped at you and throbs where he gripped you. you are still swollen with the fullness he left inside you, and you don’t know what to do with it all.

it has been so long since you let yourself feel.

“𝘸𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘱𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.”

you quietly sip your iron water.

the creature watches you from the ceiling.

it is wearing her face – 11𝘌. her perfect mouth and her perfect face and her perfect stillness. but it is also wrong. it has her fingers bent unnaturally, clutching at your walls like a spider, too many joints folding where there shouldn’t be any. its head is dementedly twisted at a sharp right angle.

it does not blink or breathe.

just watches.

you are not afraid.

but you are struck by the ache in your chest from how much you miss 11𝘌.

“𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁.”

it whispers to you, tainting 11𝘌’s voice with static and mold.

“go away.”

you don’t look at it. your spine twinges as you shift on your couch. the android news anchor drones on in the background of your tv, but you are not really listening. a smile spreads over the creatures borrowed face.

it reaches out to you.

your apartment suddenly feels colder all at once.

sukuna is here.

“you have guests now?”

you blink.

the creature has scuttled out your open window.

“what a rude, little thing. not even a hello for me.”

“why was it afraid of you?”

he shrugs, and sits beside you. “it wasn’t. we don’t poach each other’s meals.”

“and i’m yours.”

“you’re my delicacy.”

your stomach turns. it’s a slow, rising sensation that travels from your gut to your throat. quiet and shapeless. it’s not fear, never that. it is hunger. but if it’s yours or his, you don’t know. you glance at sukuna.

you know the sex has changed him too.

he is more erratic, unhinged. his form glitches in small bursts. he is not as solid as he used to be, like his glamour is bleeding into the air.

“is it true?” you ask.

“hm?”

you nudge your head at the tv. “your kind is disappearing.”

“maybe.”

“you don’t seem concerned.”

“hah! you think i’m like them? like that insect that was just here?”

you feel the air shift again. sukuna’s body becomes something more unstable.

“i’m the strongest.”

“i know.”

“and you, you are my most perfect prey.”

“you don’t seem well, sukuna.”

“no, i’m starving for you. there’s a difference.”

you sip your water.

your tongue feels like it’s rusting.

“then, what are you waiting for?”

he grins with too many teeth, but it feels different than before. nothing human is left in it.

“for you to want it.”

“want what?”

“to be devoured.”

he says this reverently.

a beat passes, your walls hum.

“you were close,” sukuna murmurs, leaning into you. “when i was inside you. you broke, i could feel it.”

his tongue slides over his fangs.

“and now, i’m waiting for you to ripen. for your flesh to soften. when you let go, when you’re so full of feeling you burst in my mouth. i want the marrow in your bones to say yes, and that’s when i’ll eat you.”

he sighs, dreamlike.

“that’s the taste i’m after.”

(when the fly swims in honey,

it becomes sweeter.)

your hands shake violently, and you almost drop your glass.

sukuna smiles again, and his fingers splay across your chest.

“how will you do it?”

you ask him because you do actually want to know. his fingers flex, pressing against your sternum, testing the give of your ribs. he hums like he is considering a wine pairing.

“slowly.”

he taps your collarbone.

“i want to hear every crack you make. little by little. i’ll start at your edges, your fingers and thighs. these soft spaces in your ribs, right here.”

he presses between your ribs from over your shirt.

“and then i’ll go deeper. i want to use my teeth to tear your skin off. i want every part of you to spill out, and i want to eat your thoughts.”

you swallow.

“will it hurt?”

for a moment, sukuna looks bored at your question. “not at first.”

then his voice drops.

“but… eventually, yes. exquisitely so. i’ll make it last. you’ll be screaming with truth, realness. all of your performance will be gone, and there’ll be nothing left of you when i’m done.”

your heartbeat is no longer yours. it beats in time to his, rapid and greedy and so hungry. your body doesn’t know if it wants to lean into him and his touch, or run until the soles of your feet bleed. his palm lays flat over your chest, and it feels like fire.

you wonder if sukuna can feel it too.

the shift.

that slow leak of something inside you about to burst open.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

it hunts in the night.

perched atop a rooftop, high above the crisscrossing metal beams and the world stitched together by neon gas below. it ticks its head to the side, and its fingers twitch.

it watches.

it waits.

(he is a stupid,

beautiful fool.)

the city breathes again. an inhalation of acid and pleasure, and an exhalation of fumes and polyester. this world is loud, it thinks. it is a slowly decaying, pathetic little world. it watches the humans behind its pearl-white eyes with an air of pride it knows it shouldn’t have. a predator does not have the right to take pride in its violation of life, and it knows this. it hovers over the edge, like an angel undone and dripping in sin. it spreads its arms like its prey, a king of old bones.

and falls.

it traverses the plane of half-existence. the wind does not break it, and gravity does not own it. it weaves between and through buildings as a phantom. there are shining windows and rippling puddles, holograms and corrupted billboards. this world has an abundance of them all. each one an opening from the world it was born into this one. the humans called for their own doom, and its kind simply answered.

but the humans didn’t matter.

not to it, at least.

(take the king!

to the king, kill the king!)

it can smell him.

it perceives everything about him. him and his arrogance. the king smells like metal and fire, but it has grown somewhat fond of the scent. it can see him now, and it stops high above him in the clouds. the king is not solid, wearing his more human form than natural, as he warps through a market, parting through the humans like an old god. it can see his effect on the humans. they are on edge, their world tilts and ripples when he passes, and they glance behind their shoulders like they could see the death cloud of red. the king is a blight on their existence, but he is not theirs to suffer.

not anymore.

(he is

ours.)

he turns into an alley, chasing the sound of someone broken. maybe a scream, or the call of snapping bones.

it is behind him now.

crouched atop a pale orange streetlight.

a hazy shimmer in the corner of his blood eyes. a light wind passes through his peach hair. the taste of dust and ash on his tongue where there should be iron.

he stops.

he is not afraid. he turns to face it with the slow delight of a creature who believes himself to be invincible. his lips pull back over his teeth in a wicked grin.

“come out. i don’t bite.”

it laughs like broken glass.

still, it waits. it watches him high above on a window sill, the way he moves so casually. careless and godlike. how little he fears death. his eyes flash like twin rubies. there is a shift in the air, and it knows that he has recognized the challenge.

a predator and a fellow beast.

but he doesn’t run.

he begins to walk again, an amorphous orb flashing between holographs and puddles. it follows, gliding after him and keeping close. it watches the back of his neck where the blood is sweet and warm. the king glows like a rotting sun in its perception.

it lets him feel it, just slightly.

a pain behind his eyes.

a trailing scratch along his spine.

a rising pressure in his lungs.

(peel him apart,

pull out his teeth and count them.)

the king comes to a halt.

his eyes narrows. he is really looking now, peering into the darkness between the neon signs. it never doubted he was clever, and it licks its teeth. he flickers, his body becoming alive and fully solid.

“who are you?”

he calls out lazily, bored even, his arms stretched behind his head.

“what a stupid question,” it replies, smiling.

it descends without a sound, an unraveling spool of air. it does not fully form, not yet. it adopts the outline of something more familiar to him, feminine but still inhuman. a constellation of truth and unfeeling memory.

he watches it, curious.

“you’re new.”

it circles him now. he is not alarmed, but it doesn’t expect him to be, not yet. he watched its outline move with a hunter’s grin. he is no longer alone in this game of his, he never was. the king is a fool who has never realized this.

(there were signs,

and more.)

the air becomes static and dry.

“no.”

the king hums, amused. “no?”

“i’m so much older than you.”

his pupils sharpen. there is a recognition creeping through the air like crawling ivy. but he doesn’t see it until it moves.

too fast.

too clean.

not like a woman.

and not like prey.

its body folds and unfolds and becomes alive with a click. ribs splinter and extend outward like jagged wings, white and wet. ready and devouring. its spine unlatches, vertebrae popping and bulging open like little doors. a creature, a starving goddess draped in a familiar, soft girl skin. it pins him to the asphalt in one fluid motion.

he doesn’t recognize it at first.

“get off–”

then, he blinks. his eyes widen in a beautiful horror as he understand what he has been playing with for all this time. his mouth twitches, and he snarls.

“it’s you.”

it smiles the same way he used to. “yes.”

the king stills.

his arms are caught, jaw forced open with its needle fingers. it presses its forehead to his like an old lover, and reminisces the feeling of fullness it had felt not too long ago.

it breaths him in, pinches his tongue.

(do not gloat,

we have won the game.)

and you feed.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

©storiesoflilies 2025, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[gracie-eilish]

roommate!billie au [actual pt 4]

roommate billie masterlist

warnings: mention of being drunk/potentially getting sick. this part is lowkey long again

no smut, bc these two lovebirds are still teenagers and that makes me uncomfy to write.

an: this is the most fun i’ve had writing a fic/series in so long🥹 thank you for all the love and encouragement, makes me so giddy🤭

song included in fic:

roommate!billie, who always helped shovel our your car once she was done with her own.

roommate!billie, who also scraped all the ice from your windows for you, while you sat warm and cozy in the drivers seat waiting for her.

roommate!billie, who had completely ditched her flirty, party girl persona since her birthday. opting now for an arm around your waist, and a soft smile, watching you adoringly.

roommate!billie, who noticed you slowly gravitating towards her more physically. more than before.. but she still remained respectful knowing you were still figuring things out.

roommate!you, who started grabbing billie’s hand when a guy would flirt with you at a party.

roommate!you, who would tipsily hold billie from behind, resting your cheek between her shoulder blades, while billie chatted with friends at a party.

roommate!billie, who would grab your hands on her tummy, a silent reminder that she’s still here with you.

“no that’s what i said too!! like who the fuck grades a paper like that?! who am i, emily dickinson?? no fucker!!” billie and her friend from class cackled, both venting playfully about a crazy paper they had due last week.

you stood nearby, having a convo of your own with a friend, bidding them goodnight before making your way over to your roommate. it was starting to get late and you were feeling the alcohol, but you didn’t want to rush her.

without startling her, you walked up behind her, snaking your arms around her waist, resting your head between her shoulder blades, letting your eyes flutter closed. her perfume filled your senses like a sleeping potion, making you feel warm and fuzzy and safe.

you felt billie grab your hands softly, just resting overtop of your own, softly rubbing her thumb down the side of your wrist. she continued her conversation without a beat, now a little flushed, but mainly enjoying your company.

“omg wait im so sorry to interrupt, it’s tyler!!!” her friend squealed, showing billie the caller id of her longtime english class crush.

“GIRL!! go get your mans!!! i’ll see you on monday!! tell me everything!” she waved her friend towards the door, where she giddily answered the phone before stepping outside. billie then turned her attention to you.

“hi sleepy girl, you tired?” she cooed at your melty presence, a mixture of drowsiness and tipsy energy.

you just nodded on her back, making her giggle a bit, her cheeks flushing at the close contact.

“we can go soon if you want, can go right now really.”

“wanna go home,” you slurred, not whining or pouting, just sleepy. billie smiled, bringing a hand to her lips, kissing your knuckles.

“lemme call an uber and then we can go, okay baby?”

roommate!billie, who held you in her arms that night in her bed; a post party ritual you both started this semester, and neither of you minded one bit.

roommate!billie, who stayed awake for a while, making sure you were truly asleep… and didn’t need to yack or something.

roommate!billie, who never rushed you out of her bed. sometimes leaving early to go to the gym before it got busy… heart fluttering seeing you still cozy and tucked in when she got back.

roommate!billie, who watched you like you hung the moon, as you drove the two of you to the meal hall for whatever was left of breakfast on saturday mornings. hair thrown in a messy claw clip, glasses on, only changing your sweats so you didn’t smell like sweat and sleep.

“here bub,” she bumped your hip, pulling you from your daze while you waited for the nice cooks to make your waffle.

“hm?” you looked up at her, then down at her hand, holding a chocolate chip muffin.

“it was the last one, grabbed it for you.” she placed it down onto a napkin on your tray, before making her way over to the little fruit/yogurt station. you looked down at the muffin and blushed a little bit, completely distracted, until the cook yelled “plain waffle!” for about the fifth time in your direction, trying to find whoever ordered it.

you apologized and grabbed the plate from them, before heading over to grab a drink… a sheepish smile on your face.

roommate!billie, who convinced you to stop at the dollar store so you two could pick up your valentines decorations. after all, the fake tree on her desk was collecting dust, and the snowflakes hanging from your fairy lights were starting to fall down.

roommate!billie, who rounded the corner of an aisle to come show you something when she found you looking at all the little faux wood signs that you can hang up. they were all different valentines pride colors and sayings. she hid around the corner, watching you look at all the different color combinations. you grabbed a pink, blue, and purple one. then swapped it for a pink, blue, and yellow one. you went to grab the pink, orange, and purple one when someone turned the opposite corner, excusing themselves to see something behind you. you moved to look at the other valentines signs in the display next to the pride ones.

roommate!billie, who peeped the cute little muted pastel classic rainbow in your basket, with some cheesy love is love saying on it.

roommate!billie, who insisted on putting on some cheesy, lovey dovey playlist while you two swapped the winter decor for the valentines later that night.

the opening bars of “true” by spandau ballet, floated out of billie’s speaker sitting on her desk. you were stringing a line of heart shaped twinkle lights across your window, when you felt two cheeky hands on your hips. you clicked the line in place quickly, before turning around seeing billie with a teasing smirk on her face, moving her hips softly to the beat.

her hands moved a bit on your sides, and she wiggled her eyebrows at you, making you snort you were laughing is hard.

“c’mon baby, dance with me,” she purred. and who were you to deny her. good things always came from dancing with billie.

the two of you giggled through dramatic spins, and dips, and holding each other close. neither of you knew the words to any part of the song except for the intro, that thankfully repeated a few times.

eventually you two just swayed together, your head on her shoulder, holding each other close.

scared shitless, billie used her free hand to tilt your head up, fingers under your chin. you two searched each others eyes for bit, the warm twinkles lights reflecting in them like little sparkles. the lyrics had begun to repeat, and the song started to slowly fade to its end but neither of you noticed.

you let your hand leave billie’s shoulder, pushing some stray hair behind her ear. before either of you could stop yourselves, you were kissing.

roommate!billie, who finally took you out on a date that next weekend. nothing overly expensive, but it was definitely not the applebees one of your exes took you took last fall. [an: no hate to applebees, fucking love that place]

roommate!billie, who pulled out all the stops. pretending to “pick you up at 8”, knocking at your (shared) dorm door, standing outside with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, complimenting your outfit, holding your hand, opening doors and pushing out chairs

roommate!billie, who let you hang on her arm while you two walked around downtown, window shopping, enjoying a clear night.

roommate!billie, who insisted you two get some cocoa or coffee or something before going home.

the little coffee shop was walk up style, with a cute little patio set up right in front. tables and chairs, and a few little benches. there were cute little fire pits and space heaters littered around the patio, keeping it as warm as it could be.

you sat people watching for a moment while billie brought back two steaming cups of cocoa. you scooted over a bit making room for her while she handed you your cup.

“you warm enough?” her voice was soft and caring.

“perfect,” you replied with a dreamy smile. billie leaned over and kissed your cheek. when she pulled back, she held her cup out to you to ‘cheers’ before you both took a sip. the warm liquid dribbled down, warming your body up. however that didn’t stop you from snuggling into billie’s side, resting your head on her shoulder.

roommate!billie, who spoiled you rotten now that you two had been on a few dates. changing out the flowers on your windowsill so they were always fresh, getting your favorite snacks whenever she stopped at the store, cute little trinkets that made her think of you, and of course you were spoiledddd with kisses and cuddles… and never sleeping alone in your bed.

roommate!billie, who held you close every night regardless of how you two slept. she loved being the big spoon, and would never admit she loved being the little spoon more. she slept better when you had your head on her chest, the weight of your body relaxing her.

roommate!you, who had secret plans for valentine’s day. you were terrified, but you were ready.

you had sent some of your mutual friends on a mission to keep her distracted all day so you could plan. they went to the gym, then starbucks to work on some homework, a usual saturday routine. but she missed you, especially being such a lovey dovey day.

after some crappy meal hall dinner, the girls finally dropped billie off at your dorm building, giddy with excitement about what was to happen when billie got upstairs.

your heart sped up when you heard billie’s key in the door, smoothing out your hair and dress one last time before billie walked in. her jaw dropped.

the room was bathed in a soft pink light from your little sunset lamp, there were rose petals on the floor, and a gift basket stuffed to the brim sitting on billie’s bed. most importantly, there was a boxed cake sitting in your hands. the clear top reflecting the light a bit.

“happy valentine’s day, bub.” your voice was shaky, but soft as you smiled at the girl walking towards you.

“happy valentine’s day, to you too. did you.. did you do all this for me?” she slowly set her bag down and started to remove her jacket. you nodded sheepishly.

“i got you um.. i got you a cake, it’s vegan everything!” you lifted the cake a tiny bit so she could come look at it. expecting the frills of roses and some cheesy love saying on it- but no.

you held your breath, watching her face shift from genuine intrigue, to surprise and adoration.

“will you be my girlfriend?” was piped onto the cake, surrounded by yes, roses and other icing flowers but who cares about the damn flowers.

billie looked up at you with wide, sparkly, glossy eyes, before she nodded softly, her smile growing.

“baby,” she started, her brows furrowing in awe. “yeah, baby. yes of course.”

you let out the breath you were holding before practically squealing. quickly billie took the cake from your hands placing it on your desk before it got dropped.

“c’mere,” she engulfed you in a tight hug, kissing your cheek on the way.

“so, does this mean you’re.. are you..” she started, not wanting to push something onto you.

“i like girls. and maybe i still like guys, i have no clue.” billie nodded in validation and pride for her best friend making this next step. “all i know is that i like you. like, i really, really like you. i’ve liked you since i fell asleep on you after talking about my first kiss on halloween, and i liked you even more when jack told me you had told him all about how i wanted my first kiss to go. and god don’t even get me started on how down bad i’ve been since you kissed me on your birthday billie eilish,” billie shuddered, billie eilish is the name she had been tinkering with as her professional name for the music industry, that only you know about. “i’m falling so hard for you.” you added with a whisper, before she finally closed the gap with a kiss.

a kiss so perfect, early 2000’s rom coms called and wanted their tropes back.

“thank fucking god,” billie let out making you giggle. “finneas is like, one story away from sewing my mouth shut so i don’t talk about you anymore.”

“really? you.. you talk about me at home?” your eyes grew wide and your smile sheepish.

“baby… you think halloween was a long time ago?? i had butterflies the whole time you explained why blue light is bad for sleep but red is too aggressive for you so that’s why you use purple. yeah i fucking talk about you at home. i am so down bad for you, baby.”

your face flushed, “i love it when you call me that,”

“what, ‘baby’??” you nodded giddily.

“well then good thing you’re my baby now.”