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yooniivrse · 5 months ago

Text

diet pepsi | jjk

summary. stuck in the rain, jungkook can’t resist the sweetness of your lollipop—or the taste of your lips.

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: established relationship au (kind of?), suggestive

word count: 1.4k

content/warnings: allusions to car s^x / kissing / making out

notes: inspired by this ask. ik i’ve only written for yoongi on here until now, but i thought that jk fit the request better. as always, asks, reblogs, likes, comments and feedback are so so appreciated! not my best work but i hope you enjoy my loves <3333

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main masterlist

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The rain had been falling for hours now, in waves so steady it felt like the whole world had dissolved into a haze of mist and water. Jungkook’s car was the only thing cutting through the fog, its headlights barely illuminating the slick pavement ahead.

The city lights blur in the distance, their neon colours muted by the downpour. Inside, it was warm, quiet, with only the soft hum of the engine and the patter of rain against the windows.

You sit in the passenger seat, the candy on your tongue melting into a slow, sugary sweetness. A lollipop, something you had absentmindedly grabbed from the convenience store before you hit the road. Now, you twirl it between your fingers, occasionally taking it back into your mouth, tasting the sweet tang as you watch the rain race down the window.

Jungkook, next to you, is focused on the road. His grip on the steering wheel is relaxed, the ink across the back of his hand disappearing into the shadows cast across his skin every so often.

His eyes flicker in your direction, catching the movement of the lollipop between your lips. Though the movement is subtle, you don't miss the way his jaw tenses, or how he shifts in his seat ever so slightly. His expression is cool, his face unreadable, but a small smirk teases a corner of your lips.

The soft glow from the dashboard casts shadows across his features, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, and the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Can I have a taste?” His voice is smooth, cutting through the low hum of the engine, playful but low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You glance over at him, brows raised slightly in surprise by the sudden request. You slide the lollipop out from between your lips, holding it out in front of him with a teasing tilt of your head.

His eyes flicker from the road to the candy, then back to you. “That’s not what I meant.”

Your pulse quickens at the subtle undertone in his voice. The suggestiveness lacing his words isn't lost on you, and something about the way the rain made everything outside feel distant and forgotten made the air inside the car feel thick, heavy with an unspoken tension. You plop the lollipop back in your mouth, swirling it around in a deliberately slow manner, before pulling it out again, this time letting your teeth drag lightly across it.

“Oh?” you murmur, turning your body toward him, leaning a little closer. “What did you mean, then?”

Jungkook shoots you a sidelong glance, his lips curving into a small, almost dangerous smile. He doesn’t answer right away, letting the question hang in the air between you, like the lingering fog outside the car. His fingers flexes against the steering wheel, and you watch the way his knuckles whiten as his grip tightens.

Outside, the rain begins to fall harder, each drop splashing against the windshield like tiny explosions. The wipers move faster, thundering from one side to the other, but it only made the scene beyond the glass more distorted, more dreamlike. The city lights turn into glowing streaks, the world outside reduced to a blur of motion and colour.

Inside, it feels as though time has slowed.

“You’re gonna make me crash if you keep that up,” he mutters, his voice thick with something deeper, rougher.

“Am I distracting you, Kook?” you asked, your voice light, but the challenge in it was unmistakable. You blink at him innocently, failing to hide the cocky smile that draws across your lips.

His hand tightens on the wheel for just a second, and you know you have him. His eyes are still locked on the road, but there's something in the way his breath quickens, the way his body shifts, that tells you he's paying more attention to you than he is to the endless stretch of highway in front of him.

Without saying anything, you lean back into your seat, drawing the lollipop slowly into your mouth again, the sticky sweetness spreading across your tongue. You can feel his eyes on you, a quick glance, before they flick back to the road. The air between you crackle with a tension that feels like it might snap at any moment, and you revel in it.

Minutes pass, the rain a constant backdrop, the car a world of its own. Every now and then, Jungkook would exhale sharply, and you’d catch him watching the way your lips moved around the lollipop, the way your mouth worked the candy with deliberate, languid motions. It's a game, one you know you're playing well, and you can feel him slipping.

And then, just as you're about to push him a little further, Jungkook’s hand moves from the steering wheel. He reaches over, his fingers brushing against your thigh, light at first, but firm enough that it sent a jolt of heat through you. His touch is warm, steady, and he gives your leg a gentle squeeze.

“I’m pulling over,” he says, his voice deeper, rougher now, no longer trying to hide the want simmering underneath.

Your heart skips a beat, a thrill running through you as you watch him steer the car toward the side of the road. The rain hasn’t let up, pouring harder now, but it doesn’t seem to matter. The world outside has already disappeared, fading into nothing more than a wet blur, leaving just the two of you.

Jungkook shifts the car into park, the engine still running, headlights casting faint beams through the thick curtain of rain. He leans back in his seat, exhaling slowly, before turning his head to look at you, his gaze dark, heavy with intention.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he says, his hand still resting on your thigh, his fingers now tracing lazy circles over your skin.

You smile, a small, knowing smile. “You know you love it.”

He doesn't deny your words, and simply watches you for a long moment, as if weighing what to do next. Then, slowly, his hand slides higher, his fingers brushing the hem of your denim skirt, teasing the skin beneath. The warmth of his touch sends a wave of heat coursing through your body, and suddenly the air inside the car feels too thick, too charged.

Jungkook moves his hand up from your thigh to cup your cheek, and you pull the lollipop out of your mouth just before he presses his lips to yours.

His touch is soft at first, the pressure he puts into the kiss feather light. When he pulls back, your eyes remain shut for a few more seconds. He moves his thumb across the apple of your cheek and your eyes flutter open.

In an instant, his lips return to yours with such force that you freeze for a second. He kisses you roughly, refusing to part from you as if you might cease to exist if he does. His mouth is sweet, his breath tinged with hints of mint, and a small sound escapes your throat when he grazes your bottom lip with his teeth.

Goosebumps rise across your skin as his kisses move along the curve of your jaw, his electric touch leaving you breathless.

You pull apart from him only when you're forced to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes dart across your parted lips.

He doesn’t give you much time to recover, his hands slipping back to your waist, pulling you closer again as if he can't stand the distance between you. His kisses trail down your neck, slow and deliberate, each one more intense than the last. His lips graze over the sensitive skin just below your ear, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips.

He pauses for a second as you stare at him with eyes clouded with desire.

"Fuck," he groans. "Get in the back seat, baby."

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eupheme · 15 days ago

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— show me, sweetheart

logan howlett x f!reader

rated e | 700 words

tags: PiV, come play / eating / swapping, logan pov, multiple rounds, mating pressss, just pure filth

logan never leaves a job half-done.

His cock still throbs, when he finally eases out of you.

Hands still gripping your waist - claws half-punched through whitened knuckles, edged with red. Hips still rutting into the air, letting himself drip down against your swollen cunt.

Marking you, from the inside out.

As good as it feels to spill inside you, it’s this moment that Logan likes the best. Bliss still humming in his veins, as his hand wraps around.

Making sure every drop is spent where it should, making sure he gleams across your skin.

Parted lips that match yours, panting out a breath as you drift back down from your own high. Wrecked beneath him, a gasp pushed from you when his hands hook beneath your knees.

Pushing leaden legs up, then open. Shameless in the way his eyes drop, to see how you gape in his absence.

“Come on.” He rasps. “Lemme see.”

Logan’s name comes out hushed.

Cute, how embarrassed you are.

As if you weren’t begging for him a moment ago. Greedy for his touch. For his come, wanting it spent deep inside you.

He gave it all to you, and now you owe him.

A slight edge slipping into his voice.

“Show me, sweetheart.”

The rough and commanding sound makes you clench, but it’s what he wants. Pretty and empty and he think you must be aching to be filled again, with the way he watches himself bead up inside you.

Spilling over.

“Fuck.” It’s hissed out through gritted teeth.

He lowers. Head pressed against a thigh, hearing the way your pulse gallops beneath your skin.

Gathering himself up. Two fingers fitting inside you as he pushes his come back in - groaning at how wet and warm you are around him, gripping him from fingertip to knuckle.

It’s filthy, the sounds you make. The moan paired with the lewd pump of his fingers. Pitching high when he can’t resist the urge to taste the way you blend together.

The flat of his tongue tracing from filled hole to clit, then back again. A pleased hum when you clamp down around him, bucking into his mouth each time.

Another lazy lick before he’s moving, all thick muscle and sinew - fingers withdrawing as your thighs are pushed up towards you chest again.

Your slick and his release smeared across your skin, as his mouth presses to yours. Lips parting for the swipe of his tongue, a muffled moan when he passes himself to you. Deepening it, until he’s all you can taste.

“Again, yeah?” His nose ghosts across your cheek, when the kiss finally breaks. Nuzzling his face the hollow beneath your ear, inhaling.

Your body arches against his, “Yes.”

Always yes.

Always more, and something in his chest tightens at the thought of him being the one to give this to you.

A hand slips down in answer, wrapping around his cock. Guiding it back inside, a sharp snap of his hips as he drives himself home.

Even after everything, you still hiss as you make room for him. Toes curling as your legs flex - knees digging into his ribs.

“Shit,” He growls, low in your ear, “There we go. Atta girl.”

Reveling in the bite of your nails, as your arms wind around his neck. Scraping against his shoulders as he swallows your moan.

Bottoming out until he’s back where he belongs, crushing himself flush against the folded curve of your body.

The cold kiss of his dog tags against heated skin as he fucks down into you, again and again. The bed creaking with the force of his weight, as his spread knees digging into the mattress.

Close enough to hear each and every breath pushed from your lungs. The ragged gasps that pitch higher when his cock pounds against that spot inside you, again and again.

It send a rush of warmth through him. A tightening in his core with each sharp plunge of his hips - but tonight, he lets that feeling build.

Chasing it, even - a rough growl against your throat, when he feels you start to stiffen beneath him in anticipation.

The tell-tale whimper that tells him you’re close - nails piercing already-healing flesh. A permission to let himself follow, as soon as he feels you pulse around him, once more.

Because after all, if his girl wants to be filled-

Then he’s sure he’s got a few more rounds in him.

thank you so much for reading! 💕

#trying to jump-start my smutting #logan howlett x reader #logan howlet smut #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x f!reader #wolverine x reader

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 month ago

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A Trade

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: When Feyd asked for your hand, your father refused and took you away from him. Now he’ll do anything to get you back, and he’s not above kidnapping your sister to offer a trade.

Notes/Warnings: kidnapping and threats of death. I think that’s it. Feyd’s soft for reader.

Words: 4000

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

He sits quietly, his chair facing another of its matching set, and leans forward with his elbows braced on his knees. His hands clasp, fingers squeezing and releasing and squeezing and releasing in an effort to suppress the rage he hasn’t been able to let go of for weeks.

With eyes scanning over the figure sitting his opposite, Feyd’s teeth grind, wearing down the grit of his molars. It’s hard not to scrutinize. As he takes in every feature of her face, his lips and eyebrows involuntarily quirk in distaste. It’s not that her features aren’t nicely proportionate or well-placed on the structure of her face; they’re just…wrong. Familiar, but incorrect.

“You don’t look like her,” he says.

Her stare is just as intense as the one he knows so well. And though she may not look quite right, the aura she exudes does not stray from what he expects of someone with her blood.

She jerks on the binds that are keeping her wrists locked behind her back and huffs when they don’t give way to her strength. “Well, we aren’t twins,” she states.

There’s a bite there, but no soft edge to cushion the blow. She doesn’t know the proper way to deal with him. She doesn’t know how to ease the tension in his bones with her words. He supposes that is one of many things that makes the difference. It’s why he loves you and would not love a woman like her.

Again she tugs on the ropes confining her.

“Don’t bother,” he says.

She lets out a groan before finally surrendering. “You know, she told me all about you. About what became of the two of you. How it happened,” she says. “And I understand. I do. But do you honestly believe having your men abduct me was the best idea?”

Feyd leans back in his chair. His arms cross over his chest. You are the only one who questions him, the only one allowed to question him, and his jaw ticks as he pulls back on the desire to slide a blade across your sister’s cheek.

“I do,” he says.

Your sister shakes her head. “You know they’re giving her to Kenric. Father is with her on their planet in the process of signing a formal agreement.”

Feyd shoots up, hungry acid eating his insides. He’d heard news of the pending engagement, but he does not care to listen to those words strung together for a second time, especially not in a voice that so closely resembles yours. It makes him want to hurt something, damage something, but when the nearest target flinches at the sharpness of his movement, he pauses. You would want him to pause. He takes a breath and runs his hand down his face before circling to the back of the chair and gripping the edge of the seat. His knuckles whiten.

“She is not marrying Kenric,” Feyd says. “Your House will give her back to me if I offer them you in return.”

She hums, unconvinced, and a crease forms at the center of his brow. He’s far from appreciative of how unsure she seems, considering this plan was the only one well-formed enough for execution. As the second born, she may not be as important as you are, but she’s a daughter of a Great House nonetheless, and no elite would allow the death of one of their own, certainly not their child, without some attempt at preservation first. They'll have to agree to his terms.

But if they don’t…

Feyd stares into the blank space by your sister’s head, his vision hazy, shapes blurring with each image of you that travels around his mind. Things had been so well. Content, yet passionate. Fulfilling. They’d been as close to perfect as Feyd could recognize from others’ descriptions of the feeling.

You were a gift unto him without anyone realizing it. Your parents sent you for education, for experimentation, for practice in learning how to infiltrate other Houses so when the day comes for you to lead beside another, you would have the knowledge and skillset to manipulate any Great line from the inside out.

It wasn’t presented that way to his uncle, of course. You were introduced with the suggestion that the Baron see a curious girl, an innocent flower wanting to expose herself to foreign practices. But the act did not fool Feyd. He instantly saw the spots where the rose’s thorns had been clipped. What stood before him was a weapon briefly tamed for the sake of disguise who would grow back her barbs once planted within his walls. And he found much amusement in your deception.

It took mere weeks for you to fall with Feyd into deep affection. You were always around, always peering where you should not have been peering, listening to what did not belong to your ears, and when he got fed up with your lack of covertness, he confronted you. Confrontation which led to lessons in stealth that tucked the both of you into dark corners hidden from prying eyes. Dark corners that only shadowed your bodies if you were pressed against one another. Bodies that were so close breaths couldn’t help but intertwine. Breaths that brushed heat over faces and ceased only when lips met.

And then with one mistake, one request, you were gone. Kidnapped by your family’s guards. Taken from behind his turned back. Sand through his fingers.

“I believed her when she told me you loved her,” your sister says, snapping Feyd back to attention. Her mouth is parted, and as her eyes scan his face, they’re alight with something akin to wonder but with a few tainting specks of disgust. A reasonable reaction; one he anticipated. Her sister in bed with a Harkonnen—how horrible. “Nevertheless, it's fascinating to witness for myself.”

Feyd’s eyes narrow. His spine straightens. He squares his shoulders. “I asked for her hand first. She should be mine.”

A scoff bursts from your sister’s throat. “That is not what I have heard,” she tells him. “You did not ask; you demanded. And you were both naive,” she says. “She was not sent here to fall in love. Not to mention, your family has a reputation you should not forget.”

“She does not fear me,” he snaps.

“She does not have to.”

“I am a Lord, an heir, as much as any other son of the Great Houses. My title makes me worthy. They had no valid reason to reject me and take her.”

“Do you think there isn’t more to it than any title put upon you?” she asks before she says, “It’s the wars your House involves yourselves in. The greed. The possessiveness. The pale hands in everyone else’s pots. The children you would produce.”

His jaw clenches. “And what would be wrong with our children?”

“What would be right with them? Everyone would fear the deplorable monsters they might grow to be with your blood coursing through their veins.”

Feyd’s heart prickles.

He hadn’t thought much of children; he’d simply thought of you and what it would take to keep you by his side. Anything else he’d deemed the concerns of a much later time, but now, with it forced into his mind, he finds himself unexpectedly devastated. Normally he wouldn’t care about opinions, but to understand what ideas others might conjure up at the possibility of your union sickens him. The children you would create would be nothing less than flawless. Warriors. Survivors. Leaders. A pristine blending of you both. He knows it.

Your sister’s chest caves with a heavy sigh. “Look, I do not say these things to hurt you in retaliation for dragging me here against my will. They are fact.”

In his silence, Feyd can feel her studying him from the inside out, not wasting a single passing second. Her position—the ties around her wrists that keep her bound to the chair—which would cause great concern to others, seems to fade in importance against her consistent, concentrated observing. It does not last long before he grows tired of it.

“What?” he spits.

Pity bleeds into her irises. “She did try to convince them,” she says. “She claimed you’re different than you appear. Not as harsh. Not as impulsive as everyone believes.”

His gaze falls to his feet. “She was lying.”

“Clearly,” your sister agrees. Then her voice tips; softens. “But she was desperate. She would’ve said anything, though it wouldn’t have mattered. They refused to listen.”

Feyd’s eyelids pinch. He can picture you as desperate as he is. Begging. Begging as a Lady such as yourself would beg: with wit and strategy, utilizing every trick in the book short of falling on your knees. You’re like him. He begs as you do, but in his own way, with his own tricks.

“What do you believe will come of this? Really.”

Feyd looks up at her. “I told you, she will be mine again,” he doesn’t hesitate to say. “That is what will come of this.”

“And if it doesn’t?” she asks. “Will you stop?”

“What do you think?”

As if he had cracked open her skull to reveal her brain, Feyd has an unobstructed view of each one of her thoughts nestling deeply into her mind. She said so herself what she and her House—what all Houses—think of him. War, greed, possessiveness. And he is but a fraction of the Harkonnen’s totality of power. What he’s done by taking her brushes the cusp of his capabilities, and his uncle would not restrain him from conquering another planet and snuffing out an elite lineage to obtain what he desires.

As your sister runs through the many repercussions of his plan’s potential failure, he decides he has wasted enough of his time on her. He can no longer stand to look at the face that lacks the features he prefers.

“Where are you going?” she says when he turns on his heel.

“We’re done for now. You’ll be escorted to the guest quarters.”

“Not a cell?”

Feyd halts.

“You’re her sister,” he says over his shoulder. And then he leaves her behind.

—

“They’ll come today.”

Your sister looks up from the plate of food in front of her, her eyes landing on Feyd as he stops just in front of the dining table where she sits.

He’s reminded again how different she is from you. How when you sat in that same seat—a seat he is struggling not to scold your sister for occupying—you were the lone bright object in the room. Nothing about this soul-sucking black hole was capable of dimming you, and yet your contrast fit perfectly. You slotted into his fortress as if you were meant to one day rule over its every occupant, himself included. But Giedi Prime’s design does not blend well with your sister. She’s a royal-purple-velvet, gold-embroidered splotch in a sea of onyx black, and he wants nothing more than to remove her.

Soon. You will be back with him soon. Soon, you will be eating in that seat. You will be wearing his clothes. You will be existing in this space as you should be.

“How do you know?” your sister asks.

Feyd blinks. “It’s been three days. Enough time to have been informed of your absence and return home to confirm it,” he says. “And she’ll know where you are.”

“You’re so sure?”

He gives a single nod. “She knows me,” he replies. “She knows taking you is not out of the realm of what I would do for her.”

---

Reader POV

You know where she is. From the moment your parents were informed of her disappearance and the three of you rushed to your home planet, not a single of your seconds was wasted on juggling alternative possibilities. How it is not blatantly obvious to everyone else is a shock, but perhaps your sister’s missing presence from the palace has turned frantic minds to mush. You’re the only one who isn’t running about, searching through closets and under beds as if a grown woman is playing a child’s game.

You have to tell them. Recovering your sister cannot be a solo mission, despite how much easier that would be. Not to mention, to leave for Giedi Prime without notifying your parents would rightfully increase their panic, and no good would come of that.

So you speak his name.

They call him a demon. A monster. They curse and condemn him. How dare he demand one daughter and, after being denied, so quickly move on to stealing another. The implication that he’s taken your sister to replace you makes you ill, but to defend the love you share with him would further stir their tempers.

“You’re certain?” Your mother asks through the trembling hand covering her horrified mouth.

You meet your father’s blazing stare and try to ignore the hateful bile gathering at the corners of his lips. You nod. “I should go alone,” you tell them.

“Absolutely not.”

“He’ll listen to me. He will not be cooperative with you.”

“That creature will listen to no one!”

“I know him. His thoughts, his tactics,” you argue. “I’m the one person who can get through to him.”

To his credit, your father takes a calming breath. It can not be denied that his emotions often guide him over logic, but he’s not a man known for idiocy. He sent you to the Harkonnens, and he’s not forgotten how well you’ve been trained to learn from your environment.

“Fine,” he eventually agrees. But he does not accommodate you beyond that.

All efforts to ease his disgust for your lover fall on deaf ears. He won’t hear that Feyd hasn’t hurt your sister. He won’t believe that he hasn’t peeled her skin from her bones or starved her out of her perfectly tailored dresses. And though his eyes threaten you to surrender your conviction, to confirm his ideas and stoke the flame of his fury, you don’t give in.

Arriving at the doors of Giedi Prime’s fortress is done without guards flanking your sides. They stay on the ship. “He doesn't respond to intimidation strategies,” you tell your father. “It’s best not to storm his home with forces in tow and demand things of him.” Not lies, but you can’t say you’re honest for the sake of striking a deal without inflicting wounds on each other’s guards. True that it’s best to avoid an all-out battle, but it’s more true that your motivations are guided by seeing him again.

When you do finally see him, you see no one else. The world falls apart and you cannot tear your eyes from his face. Neither can he keep his off of you. You’re yards apart, a rooms-span away, and yet you can already feel him from the anticipation of being in his arms. You’ve been living off of the memories of his touch, and now here he is, almost within reach.

Your father is shouting, but your heartbeat thumping in your ears shields you from the full power of his voice. “You dare steal my daughter!” you think he says. “Where is she!”

Feyd ignores him. He stares still. His mouth parts. And then, with determination in his steps, he walks to you.

Before you can bask in the warmth of his looming closeness, his arm is reaching toward you, and in what seems like the blink of an eye, his palm slides across your cheek, his fingers weave with the strands of your hair, and he pulls you into a kiss.

Instantly, the long-awaited sensation threatens to kick your legs out from under you. Your bones warn of their weakening strength. Your heart briefly stops, but then beats return with a ferocity that could shame a beast in battle.

The *shing* of your father’s metal blade unsheathing is met with its sister sound from the multiple swords of Feyd’s guards. It buys you a few more seconds of holding each other, and you use those seconds to give all that you can.

Feyd knows how to kiss you. You know how to kiss each other. Though relatively tame in front of your current audience, he kisses with the promise of what his mouth would do to yours were you alone; echoes of what you shared before you were taken.

When you sense your time is about to run out, you plant your hands on Feyd’s chest, and as he cups your cheeks, you break the kiss. Your eyes find home in his.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper.

He grins ever so slightly. “They can have her,” he says. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones and he rests his forehead against yours. “But I’m keeping you.”

I’m yours is on your lips, but his body is partially jerked out of your arms before you can speak. All gentleness in your lover switches off like a light.

“Get off of my daugh–”

Your father chokes, his nails clawing at the hand around his neck.

“You don’t tell me not to touch her!” Feyd shouts with a squeeze, slowly pulling your father closer. Being inches shorter, your father must stand on his toes to keep Feyd’s grip as loose as possible, and as much as you find yourself enjoying the sight, you cannot allow it to continue.

“Feyd,” you start. As you caress his flexed bicep, you keep your tone velvety. “Feyd, let him go.” But he does not hear you. Or he does not listen. His fingers tighten. Your father’s face swells red. “Listen to me. I love you. No one is going to take me away from you. I won’t let that happen. You won’t let that happen. We will be married. We will be here, together, just you and me as we planned,” you tell him, “but I want you to let him go.”

A beat passes. Two beats. Three. Then Feyd expels the breath he’d been holding. His chest deflates, and one by one, his fingers unpeel from your father’s skin.

Your father heaves. “Y-You…” he says through his attempts to recover. His hand rubs his rapidly bruising flesh. “You are promised…to Kenric. The agreement was all but–” he coughs “–but signed.”

A growl emerges, and from your left, Feyd lunges. Your father gasps. His eyes widen as he stumbles a step backward.

“No!” You rush in front of Feyd to grab his face. Shaking your head, your thumbs stroke his cheeks. “No,” you repeat softly.

The heat in his irises soothes as he keeps his eyes on you. His arm curls around your waist, and his gaze drops to your mouth. You want to kiss him again. You almost do, but then you remember why you’re here.

You look to the nearest Harkonnen guard, one of many you’re familiar with after your time on Giedi Prime. “Bring my sister. Please.”

He glances at his Lord, who nods in response to the silent question. Then Feyd’s attention returns to you, his eyes go to your lips, and he leans in.

You struggle to care about anything other than his taste. After you were taken, you were lost to the devastation of believing your mouth and tongue and teeth would never have him again. And you’re lost now. Lost in the pleasure of those fears extinguishing. So lost that not even the echo of approaching footsteps is enough to cleave your bodies apart.

“A relief to see that clothes are still on,” your sister’s voice greets. Reluctantly, you unseal your mouth from Feyd’s to look past his shoulder at your sister. There’s an unreadable expression on her face as she watches him bury his face in your neck. Acceptance, or revulsion.

Thankfully, your father seems to have missed her comment, so focused on seeing her well and unharmed. He takes an unsteady step in her direction. “Daughter–”

The Harkonnen releases your sister from his hold and she meets your father the rest of the way. “I’m fine, father.”

“That monster–”

“Didn’t do a thing.” Her eyes flick to the hand covering his throat. One brow arches as her head turns your way. “To me.”

Your father draws her into a hug, his hand going to the back of her head. “Good. Good,” he says. “Then let us take you both home.”

A chill runs throughout your limbs. Feyd’s arms cinch around your waist. He lifts his head, his vision glazed over as his eyes prod yours. “You’re not leaving,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “I’m not leaving.”

“You are leaving,” your father intrudes, his voice dropping an octave. “You are leaving this place. You are leaving that beast.”

Your sister sighs. “Father…”

“You are returning home, and you will marry Kenric.”

A muffled noise rumbles in Feyd’s throat. Like thunder on the horizon. A threat of a storm. You press your palm against his heart to feel the beats harder, faster.

“We departed before anything was signed,” you say.

Your father stomps his foot like a petulant child. “You made a commitment!”

Your head jerks back, and suddenly, red infects your sight. Intent on approaching your father, you untangle yourself from Feyd’s arms, but fingers latch onto your wrist, keeping you from gaining significant distance. You let him hold you back.

“You made a commitment!” you snap.

“And I will keep it!”

Nails dig into your pulse point, and you know Feyd is straining against his urges as much as you are. “No,” you push. “You will walk free with one of your daughters, and the other will remain where she belongs!”

“You do not belong here!”

“Yes, I–”

“Father,” your sister repeats.

He whips around. “What!”

“Let them be,” she says.

Silence falls over the room. Feyd’s grip eases but does not disappear.

“He is selfish and stubborn and feels no guilt in how he loves her,” she continues. “I can’t say I’m interested in seeing what else he’d be willing to do to get her back should she be ripped away from him again, but I have no doubt it would be devastating. And I’m sure you would not survive twice.”

Your father’s brows dip in the center. His fist clenches. “Do not disrespect me.”

“It's not disrespect,” she says. “I would fear for you, for our people, our home. Leave her, and I will marry Kenric.”

You suck in a sharp breath.

“I have no attachments to any man. It causes me no harm to step into my sister’s place.”

“No.” Your father shakes his head. “I won’t allow it.”

“You will if you’re smart,” she replies. Tension radiates from your father, his body practically shaking where he stands. “And surely you aim to be a smart man. Surely you don’t intend to take unnecessary risks that could hurt everything our House is meant to protect.”

He opens his mouth, but the threat of humiliation is enough to shut him up. It has always been an area where he falters. Inadequacy and the fear of being looked down upon. It’s why you were marrying the son of Lord Kenric. Your House is not a weak one by many standards, but your father could not let go of the whispers among other Houses that they are stronger. He sought a match effective in showing your equals the value of his House and offspring. And blinded by his decision, there was no room for him to consider the consequences.

You watch in awe as he stands down, shrinking in the shadow of your sister’s wisdom. A smart man indeed.

When your sister nears you, she reaches out to take your hand in hers. Feyd releases you as, for the moment, his nemesis has been subdued.

“You don’t have to do this,” you tell her. “I’m prepared to fight him tooth and nail.”

She lightly chuckles. “Your brute would burn down the world. This is what’s best. Safest.”

“You’re sure?”

“I'd decided on this path before you arrived,” she says.

You look for hesitation, any regret, but she’s a stone wall—sturdy in her decision—and you recognize that arguing would implant a tone of dismissiveness of her wishes.

“Thank you,” you mouth.

Your sister squeezes your fingers. She tips her head to you before she glances at Feyd. You peek over your shoulder, but his face is blank. Whatever passes between them is indecipherable—some unspoken understanding.

“Keep him in line,” she says. Then she steps away from you.

Your father glares the entire way out of the fortress, and you know you’ve severed your ties today. You’ve made a choice, picked a side, and neither he nor your mother will ever understand. Whether or not they’ve become an enemy you will learn in time, but at the very least, it is unlikely you will be welcomed into the home where you grew up. A sacrifice you accept.

As the doors close, Feyd comes up behind you. His arms circle your waist. Your back meets his chest. His lips plant on your neck. “Come to bed,” he says.

You grin.

---

A/N: thanks for reading! If you liked it, let me know :)

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha #austin butler #dune 2 #feyd rautha harkonnen

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yourmoonie · 1 year ago

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DONT LIMIT YOURSELF

Your manifestation can get externalized in infinite ways (based on your beliefs)

Do u want white teeth?

- you might wake up with it

- you might get the money to book an appointment with your dentist

- You might get an offer out of thin air

- etc

So stop beating yourself up over the process and movement

Your life and circumstances are unique to you.

If someone "manifests" $5000 within 5 minutes, IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ME or with any of my desires because I know that I will have mine and even better.

And YES you getting the money and booking an appointment with your dentist to whiten your teeth is a success story too.

Live your life! Live your best life!

And the same thing goes with appearance changes.

Ask yourself, "What would it be like to have my desired body? How would I feel if I had my desired white teeth?" Stop TRYING and start BEING

Maybe you want a new nose

- someone might offer you a free rhinoplasty or your body might make specific changes & many more

Just because you got an appointment and had a procedure done doesn't erase the fact that it was also a huge success story.

Be proud of yourself and celebrate your achievements.

1K notes · View notes

thewinter-eden · 1 month ago

Text

Don't Look At Me Like That

images are mine (except middle HH pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 4 of the skz crack!horror series (this concludes the Hyung Line).

pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: hitman!Hyunjin’s next target is you, the child of a foreign diplomat. But when he shows up to do the job and finds you ambivalent to the threat upon your life, he can’t help but ask what the hell is wrong with you.

warnings: Terminal illness, smoking, asshole family, political family, angst, unrealistic trust fund, drugs, implications of overdose, implications of involuntary overdose, assault, discussion of surgery, depictions of cysts/tumors, USD instead of Korean Won, Gossip Girl reference, some language, kidnapping.

word count: 6k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info PART 2 INFO

The first igniting drags of your cigarette feel like a second glass of wine. For a second, you’re lighter than air and the world tips on its axis.

Your family hates your penchant for cigarettes. They call you disgusting; unhygienic; stupid.

Although, In a way, your literal toxic trait has actually strengthened your personal hygiene—a rigorous unskippable skincare routine, to fight the weathering of your face, expensive and regular dental care to prevent the yellowing of teeth, your hands under a constant layer of hand sanitizer and scented perfume to combat the clinging stench of smoke, every surface of your bedroom cleaned daily and your laundry crisply pressed and regularly washed—just because you’re a shameless human chimney doesn’t mean you intend to wear the grime of cigarette smoke as an accessory.

Not that any of that matters anymore.

You take another drag and feel your body settle into the familiar rhythm. In front of you, on the other side of your glass cage (read: bedroom window) the city stretches out in front of you, lights poking holes in the blanket of darkness that covers it.

The clock reads 6 PM.

Lifting one hand, tapping a black-polished nail against the glass, watching your arm tremble, you give a resigned sigh and blow a puff of smoke through the opening. The plume rises and disperses into the atmosphere, vanishing before your eyes.

You finish your cigarette and crush the filter into your ash tray, yanking the curtains closed. The next few minutes are muscle memory—shrugging out of your robe, spritzing it with vodka to remove the smoke smell, exfoliating your hands and arms with a sugar scrub, brushing and whitening your teeth, covering yourself head to toe in moisturizer.

All for the sake of appearances.

When you close yourself into the bathroom to change half an hour later, all you smell is coffee from the sugar scrub and the sickly sweet aroma of your flowery lotion.

“You’re coming, right?” Your best friend Lisa’s voice booms through the phone, the sound of pounding music and raucous laughter filling the background.

You’re already dressed, brushing excess highlighter and powder off your face as you stand before your mirror. “Of course I’m coming, I promised you I would. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” You take a second to check your watch.

Lisa had made plans with you to meet at the party at 8, but she always arrives early enough to be four or five drinks ahead by the time you show up. This inevitably leads to her finding someone to spend an hour in the closest lockable room with and you calling your dad’s driver to take you home.

It’s not that you don’t ever want a hook up or a boyfriend or anything, it’s just that you’re the seventeen-year-old daughter of a politician and you have rules.

You can’t be out after 11, you can’t be seen with mile-deep cleavage or thigh-high hems, and you certainly can’t be drunk in public—especially as a minor. So you smooth the fabric of the just barely appropriate outfit you’ve chosen and check your reflection one last time.

It takes a second to convince yourself that the heaviness of your eyes isn’t because of your dark liner, that the dullness in your expression isn’t obvious.

“Well hurry on over. I’ve found someone you just have to meet.”

When you arrive, you’re wading through a house that’s teeming with high schoolers, the walls reverberating with pounding music. You find Lisa near the kitchen, one arm slung around the neck of one of her friends, the other hand clutching a plastic cup.

When her eyes land on you, she all but screeches your name over the clamor and reaches for you. The girl that she was just leaning on takes the opportunity to pull away and stretch her arms upward, trying to correct the awkward hunch that Lisa had put her in. She shoots you a grateful smile and disappears into the crowd, looking for her boyfriend.

Lisa’s in your face in the next second, her breath already reeking. She catches you in a tight, sloppy hug, the contents of her cup splashing your shoulder as she trips. “I’m so glad you’re here,” She says, and if her body language says drunk, her voice certainly doesn’t. Her lipstick is smeared and she’s staggering a little but her voice is crisp and sharp. “I was worried you’d change your mind again.”

She runs a hand up the back of your neck and playfully squeezes the knot of your hair that you’ve taken the time to elegantly pin.

It’s a ritual at this point.

You have the worst habits—smoking and drinking and slipping your curfew after everyone’s asleep—but you don’t go anywhere without a Princess Grace-like appearance. Because it doesn’t matter what you do as long as you’re not shitfaced on the front page the next morning. Even if you’ve snuck out at night to meet a boyfriend, when the cameras catch you on the streets you’re perfectly coiffed and sleekly styled.

Even now, you don’t look like you’re dressed for a high school party so much as a cocktail one, but Lisa tells you it makes you look more like Blair Waldorf than the homeschooler you’re always worried you emulate.

You push her hand out of your hair and check to make sure the pins haven’t come out. “Did you get me one of those?” You nod towards the cup in her hand and her eyes light up.

She nods towards the kitchen. “I got you, babe, come with me.”

You follow her, one hand reaching for her hip to steady her when she falls off one of her high heels, and then you’re in the kitchen and the noise of the party is muffled behind the heavy swinging door.

There’s one other person in the room with you, a tall, slender guy near the sink, shoulders hunched slightly as he gazes out the window. You’re still trailing after Lisa, but your eyes are taking in the long black hair that the guy has pulled back in a half pony, the slim-cut jacket with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows, the ripped jeans that cinch at his small waist and hang loosely around his legs.

When the two of you enter, his head turns, and you see the sharpness of his jaw, the definition of his features. There’s a flutter in your chest when his dark eyes land on you, and you whip your head away, crowding yourself behind Lisa.

She’s crushing something with a spoon, dumping it in the cup she’s just poured for you. Then she spins on one heel—surprisingly stable as she does—and passes it to you. “Here.”

You stare at the powder floating on top, and then back at her. “What did you put in this?”

“Nothing heavy.” She assures you, and knocks back a couple of the tablets herself. “Just something to take the edge off. Go ahead.”

It doesn’t matter anyway.

You drink, sucking in the yeasty beer with fervor, trying your hardest not to taste it as it goes down. Before you can finish the cup, Lisa catches your arm and turns you towards the man at the window. She introduces you without giving you a chance to question her, and tells you his name is Hyunjin—the guy she wanted you to meet.

He turns to you fully, eyes tracing you head to toe. There’s a gentle smile on his full lips as he notices the blush that rushes to your face. “Nice to meet you,” He says kindly. “I think I’ve seen you on TV.”

As the words reach your ears, you feel yourself growing more guarded despite the opposite effects of the alcohol. You’re used to being recognized, you’re used to being used for your dad’s fame and fortune. You’ve been burned before, and you have no intention of using this time to be manipulated again.

So you pull yourself up into a respectful posture and prepare to treat him like the occasional politically-conscious “fan” who asks you to take a picture. It doesn’t happen often, but you do tend to be popular amongst the poli-sci students at the local college.

“He’s a senior.” Lisa says, and gives you a nudge towards him. “He’s going to study art.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, and you look over Hyunjin again. At second glance, he does look the type. He’s effortlessly fashionable, quiet, reserved—at least on first impression. You extend your hand politely. “Pleasure to meet you. Are you a practitioner or a history buff?”

At your strictly professional tone, Hyunjin laughs under his breath and steps in to take your hand, enveloping it in the warmth of his own. “A little of both, I suppose. I sketch and paint. Lisa tells me you’re quite the watercolorist?”

You blush a little at the recognition of your most intimate hobby. “I play around with it a little, but it’s just for fun.” When you notice he’s still grasping your palm, you gently pull your hand back.

Lisa grips your arm again, and leans in so close that you can smell the cologne of the last boy she had her hands on. “Why don’t you two hang out a little? You’re both the same about parties, so I figured you’d get along. Cool? I’m going to go find Mingyu.”

There’s nothing you can say to make her stay, even if you could think of the words to try. So you just watch her disappear, the noise of the party warbling strangely as the door swings back and forth behind her.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Your eyes snap back to Hyunjin. “What?”

“When I said I’d seen you on TV.”

“Oh.” You pull another long sip from your drink and wince. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You’re standing like you’re at a press conference.” His eyes are alive with mirth as he watches you subtly try to shuffle your posture, brows lowering.

You’re coming back to yourself, your body acclimatizing to the atmosphere and whatever it was that Lisa put in your drink, your nerves no longer responding to every little glance that Hyunjin gives you. So you just shrug a shoulder and search the kitchen for your drink of choice. “I’m not uncomfortable as long as you’re not interested in some kind of fifteen minutes of fame bullshit.”

There it is.

You drain your beer as Hyunjin chuckles behind you and rinse your cup of the vile liquid, instead filling it with about four ounces of whiskey from a glass cabinet.

Hyunjin watches your movements with an eyebrow cocked. “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t meant to be a party favor.”

You nurse the drink slowly, settling into the comfort of the initial burn. “You gonna tell on me?”

He examines you again, shaking his head. “Not if you pour me one.”

You do, and then settle back against the counter. “Why come to a party if you’re going to hide in the kitchen?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Kinda surprised your dad lets you come to something like this.”

You used to be, too. Now you just huff. “As long as I’m not a scandalous headline tomorrow, he doesn’t care where I go or what I do. And I don’t usually hide in the kitchen.” It’s true, you don’t. There’s a handful of people out there that you like to talk to, a couple of them you even like to dance with if the occasion calls for it, but right now you’re not itching to leave where you’re at.

Hyunjin’s eyebrows raise as he looks at you, and he glances towards the door. “Then why—”

“Because I’m talking to you.” The confidence comes with the whiskey. The taste of it in the back of your throat distracts you from the blush you would ordinarily be fighting if you had said those words soberly to someone as attractive as Hyunjin, and right now you’re just enjoying the way his eyes crinkle and the sweet smile explodes across his face.

It’s cute.

He’s cute.

He shuffles his feet beneath him for a second, the air between you comfortable as he lets the effects of your statement fade. When the flustered state is mostly gone from his face, he glances up at you again, almost shyly. “You’re really pretty.” And then, feeling the weight of his own words as they drop off his tongue, his eyes widen and he hastens to soften their impact. “I like your earrings.”

But you just smile, watching the pink in his cheeks as he swallows a regrettably large gulp of whiskey.

“You’re really pretty, too.” You say, and his head snaps around to you.

For a long second, he just stares at you.

It’s not often that you find yourself talking to someone you want to open yourself up to, someone you like to see so flustered, but he’s so completely enchanting that you can’t take your eyes off him and you don’t want to stop saying things that make him look at you like that.

There are only so many things that you can enjoy in a life like yours, and you want to enjoy this.

Hyunjin pours you both another drink.

You’re grateful, especially because there’s a nagging part of you telling you to go outside and smoke a cigarette, so instead you bring your cup to your lips and sip. You move to reach for a bottle of lemon juice and it puts you right next to him, feeling the radiating warmth of his side as you mix your drink into a whiskey sour.

He doesn’t move away.

Out of the corner of your eyes you catch the faintest tremble of his hand, and a smirk curves your lips.

His eyes are on you as you pinch a sprinkle of sugar into the drink and then suck the granules off your thumb.

You turn slightly, so close that you don’t even have to reach to offer him your drink. “Want to try?”

His eyes flick from yours, to the drink, and back to your face. Hyunjin’s tongue appears to swipe across his lower lip, and then he nods, taking the cup from you.

You thoroughly enjoy the swirling in your stomach when his fingers brush yours.

He drinks from your cup, face scrunching slightly as he takes in the taste of it.

At the crumpling of his eyebrows, you frown, suddenly interrupted from the sense of control you feel. “You don’t like it?”

Hyunjin lowers the cup from his lips with a look of surprise, shaking his head. “I love it.” He holds it out to you. “Would you show me how you made it?”

It’s not a complicated drink, the whiskey sour.

You find yourself smirking again, and push the cup back towards him. “Keep it. I’ll make myself another one.” And you take his whiskey from him, turning to fix yourself another drink. When he just stands there, mentally processing how he somehow ended up trading drinks with you, you know you have him.

So when he edges closer, the heat of his body flooding into your skin, you’re not surprised. You keep your hands moving, your eyes on your drink, pretending you don’t notice the way he’s suddenly leaning into your side.

“You smell good,” He says lowly, and your heart does a flip.

But you play it off casually, focused on getting the lid off the lemon juice bottle. “You like it? I’m not so sure yet.”

It’s gotta be the oldest trick in the book, but he takes the opportunity like it’s a written permission slip and then his face is at the junction of your neck and shoulder, the whisper of his breath on your skin.

“I like it,” He murmurs.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him place his cup on the counter next to you, and then both of his hands settle on your arms. His touch is light, gentle, his thumbs smoothing questioning strokes against your sleeves, asking permission.

When you tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck to him, it’s a yes.

His lips are on your shoulder then, his fingers wrapping firmly around your arms.

Your entire body heats up.

He’s leaning into you, trailing his mouth from your shoulder to your neck, then slowly up your throat until your head is edging back, leaning against his shoulder, giving him access. Hyunjin’s hand slides up one arm, cupping the curve of your neck as he litters wet kisses across your jaw, and his other hand reaches around to cover both of yours where you realize that at some point you abandoned your efforts to make a drink.

He turns you around and you let him, throwing your head back as his mouth leaves a glistening trail across your collarbones and up your throat, moving up to suck gently at the point of your jaw beneath your ear. “I really do like your earrings.” He whispers, and you feel him flick the dangling gemstone with his tongue.

You’re trembling under his hands, and you wish you could say it’s from his highly effective ministrations, but you know it’s not. You peel your eyes open, all but panting as his arm circles your waist, pulling you closer. His forehead drops against yours, and you watch his tongue dart out to lick his lips.

“Can we move this somewhere more private?” He whispers, and then he’s sucking at your jaw on the other side, his fingers gripping the flesh at your hips.

You can’t help a laugh. “More private than the closed kitchen where it’s just us?”

“Please?” He whimpers against your throat.

You have absolutely no reason to protest. You’re nodding, aching, allowing him to push you towards the kitchen door, because this could be it. This could be your last. He’s every fantasy you’ve ever had, the absolute embodiment of beauty and seduction, and even one night with him could be everything.

What do you have to lose?

You stand to lose more by turning him down at this point.

So when his hands guide you through the living room, your ears barraged by music and laughter, your eyes assaulted by the flashes of too much skin and way too much pda, you just lean into his touch around your waist and let him find a room to duck into.

That’s how you find yourself pushed onto your back on someone’s bed, your heart in your ears as Hyunjin straddles you, his face returning to its spot against your throat, kissing his way towards your collar.

You feel his hands trail up your sides, his thumbs sweeping at the swell of your breasts, and for a second, you panic.

You’re not sure what he’ll think of you, how he’ll react to you when he finally gets his hands on you, but you can’t even worry about it for long because he’s nipping at your throat, his hands dragging your arms above your head.

Breathing in gasps, heart hammering as he laces the fingers of one hand through both of yours, trapping your hands above your head, you arch yourself into him as his free hand comes back towards his hip.

“You really are very pretty,” Hyunjin breathes into your ear, and then he presses a surprisingly chaste kiss to your cheek. “I just want you to know that.” Still holding your hands, he settles his weight back on your hips and pulls something out of his pocket.

You frown at him, chest heaving with breathlessness, confused. “What do you mean?”

Hyunjin brings his free hand back into view, now holding something cylindrical. Bringing the end of it to his mouth, prying off a plastic cap with his teeth, you can see the object as it catches the light.

A hypodermic needle, filled with something.

He spits the cap out of his mouth, eyebrows pinched in concentration. “Don’t move, angel, this doesn’t have to hurt.”

But you’re not moving, you’re just staring at the needle, trying desperately to make sense of the complete shift in atmosphere. You’re no longer trapped in a lovers’ embrace, you’re trapped. He has your hands immobilized, your lower body caught beneath his own, completely vulnerable.

He arches his body, reaching to slip the needle into a vein in your arm, and you understand.

You understand.

A deep sigh rushes out of your lungs.

You thought you’d have more time, but at this point, what does it matter?

Just before the needle pricks your flesh, Hyunjin seems to realize that you’re not fighting him at all. His eyes flick down to you, and he finds you blinking solemnly at his shoulder, not a single emotion on your face.

He pauses.

You close your eyes, suck in a deep breath, and let it out.

There’s no fear, no more surprise, no apprehension.

Just exhaustion; resignation.

It doesn’t matter. He leans in towards your arm again, angling the needle to prod your vein. You don’t even flinch as it pricks your skin, sliding into your flesh. His thumb hovers over the plunger, but doesn’t press.

He’s never had a mark just lay there.

They’ve never just…accepted it.

He glances at your face again. “Angel…do you know what’s happening right now?” You had only had a few drinks, and the flush of your face could be from the drugs or the drink or his lips on your throat, but surely you should be a little concerned by the sheer volume of what he’s about to push into your bloodstream.

“I know,” You respond flatly. “He shouldn’t have bothered, honestly, but it’s not like he knew.”

Hyunjin’s brain stutters with confusion. “He?”

“My father,” You say, and your eyes meet his. “He wasted his money, hiring you to kill me.”

Huh.

That’s not at all how he expected this to go.

“I guess he’s paying Lisa, too, since she started with the pills.” It stings, knowing your best friend would accept cash to kill you, but you also know that your father wouldn’t have offered an insignificant sum.

Whatever he’s paying Lisa will set her up for life.

“So they’ll find me, tonight or tomorrow, just another stupid teenager who tried to have too much fun, and the two of you are just the dumb high school friends to corroborate that it was just an accident. Right?”

You don’t cry, you don’t fight, you don’t yell.

He stares at you, shocked. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“You don’t seem apprehensive about killing a girl for money.”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens. “It’s my job.”

“So you don’t go to this high school, then.” You mutter sarcastically.

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t go to any high school.” Then he catches your gaze again. “But it really is my job. It’s not like it’s personal.”

You take a second, absorbing the reality of what’s happening to you. It’s over.

It’s over.

This is it.

Forget three months.

It’s over now.

You weren’t prepared for this timeframe, but you are prepared. You have coped.

It’s not a new idea.

So you just nod. “Okay.”

It’s like he starts to lean to finish the job, and then pulls himself back. “Why did you say he shouldn’t have bothered?”

You laugh then, a loud, inelegant burst of laughter, almost directly into his chest.

He’s startled, eyes wide, leaning back on your hips to stare down at you. “Angel, I’m literally about to kill you, why the hell are you laughing? There’s no way you’re that drunk.”

And you’re not.

The sheer adrenaline of his lips on your skin burned through that alcohol what seems like hours ago, and now you’re just sinking into oblivion, still laughing.

Finally, tears of irony in your eyes, you wheeze up at him. “Go ahead and finish it, Hyunjin, or whoever you are. It doesn’t make a difference anyway. I’m alright. Finish it.” You nod upwards, towards the direction of your joined hands, and wish that the scent of his skin wasn’t still making your head swim.

It’s really not the time to be attracted to the assassin whom your father hired to murder you.

But he’s stuck, indecisive.

Because you’re laying underneath him, sniffling past a rush of humor—of all things—completely unconcerned and telling him that you’re alright with him killing you. That you’re alright with him subjecting you to a drug overdose that’s going to be painful and terrifying and the end of your life.

At this point, you seem to be more alright with it than he is.

And then you’re smiling at him. “Thanks for being nice about it.”

His heart lurches. “What the hell.” He yanks the needle out of your skin, releases your hands, and sits back on your hips again, eyes wide and unbelieving. “I mean—what the hell? What is wrong with you?”

You roll your eyes. “He must not be paying you much if you’re willing to back out just because I’m pitiful.”

Which isn’t true, he’s supposed to be paid quite a lot for this job, but he just can’t comprehend how you’re reacting.

“Why shouldn’t he have bothered?”

You’re no longer trapped except for the way he’s straddling your hips, so now you’re just laying against an uncomfortable pair of pillows, feeling the pins of your updo poking into your neck. If he’s supposed to kill you, why won’t he just do it? You search his eyes, finding only confusion and concern.

Sighing, you reach for his hand—the empty one that used to be holding both of yours against the headboard.

Oh, how you expected a very different outcome from this situation.

He flinches as he suddenly finds you bringing his hand towards your chest, jerking it back when you lay his palm over your breast.

It’s almost comical the way his face heats up.

Clearly, his earlier show of attraction towards you had been aided by a hurriedly consumed volume of alcohol and a professionally put-on flustered attitude, but now, when you made him touch you, he seems genuinely awkward.

And, for your side of things, you were going to let him feel you up anyway, so what’s the difference now?

You quirk an eyebrow. “I’m not asking you for anything, just give me your hand.”

He doesn’t protest when you catch his hand again, his cheeks flushed pink, until you drag his fingers across the slope of your breast and they trip over a lump of flesh that’s hard as a rock. The flustered color drains from his face, and then he’s frowning, leaning in, moving of his own accord to swipe his fingers over the place once more, as though he wasn’t sure he felt it the first time.

You let him.

When he pulls his hand back into his lap and stares at you, you just smile. “Did you know, in the early days of breast cancer surgery, a woman went in to have a lump removed, and when she came out of anesthesia, she was missing an entire breast, some ribs, and like half of the muscle wall of her chest? And the fuckass doctors were like “we got it!” Like, you don’t burn down the house in order to kill a spider and then say, “Don’t worry, we got it!””

Hyunjin blinks at you, mentally parsing your unexpected rambling. “They’ve, uh…come a long way in terms of cancer surgeries, I think.”

A puff of breath escapes your lips, another sardonic laugh. “It’s too late for that. It’s in my bones, my lymphatic, everywhere. I got to it too late.” You roll your eyes and press a palm to your forehead. “So, yeah, he shouldn’t have bothered. Three months and I would have been out of his hair for free.”

A few seconds pass as you process the words you haven’t yet admitted out loud to anyone, as he processes what you’re telling him.

He’s trying to kill a girl who’s already dying.

No wonder she didn’t care.

“So, how much is he paying you?” You question lightly, eyes searching for the syringe. You assume he’ll finish the job—everybody has to pay the rent, and it’s not like you’ve got your life ahead of you anyway.

Hyunjin scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “Three million.”

You outright scoff at that, shocking him once again. “He’s ripping you off, dude. Did he tell you why he hired you?”

“I don’t ask. I am a professional, you know.” He brings his hand to his chest like he’s offended, and allows the slightest smile to twist his lips when you roll your eyes again.

You wedge your hands under you. “Can I sit up? I need to smoke and you’re killing my back.” You wiggle your hips and try to scoot yourself back. As he lifts his own hips off of you, you raise an eyebrow. “Not that I mind.”

At that, he flushes again.

Laughing softly, you pull yourself up to sit against the headboard, dragging your knees to your chest, and watch as he sits himself in front of you, cross-legged. For the time that it takes you to slide a cigarette from your purse and light it between your lips, he’s silent, watching you.

The syringe is at his side, laying between the wrinkles in the blanket, forgotten.

“My trust fund defaults back to him if I die before I hit eighteen.” You inform him. “And it’s 25 million dollars.”

His mouth falls open. “Why the hell is your trust fund so much money?”

“When my mom was dying, my father promised her he would help her allot her estate into a trust fund for me, plus a hefty sum from his own assets as a romantic gesture. For all his faults, he’s never loved anyone the way he loved her.” You scoff, sucking in a comforting drag of smoke. You’re careful to blow it away from him, to knock your ashes into the ring tray on the bedside table instead of allowing them to fall into the carpet. “But that was fifteen years ago, and I guess he forgot that he loved her once.”

“So he wants your trust fund.” Hyunjin says, leaning forward to rest his chin on his palm. “Because he forgot he loves you too?”

Your lips pinch. “I’m just a reminder of when he used to be a better man.”

Silence ticks between you, and the smell of your cigarette permeates the air. You can’t care enough to apologize to him for your filthy habit, because if it’s the last cigarette you’re ever going to have, you might as well enjoy it.

But he doesn’t seem put off by it, instead wrapping his hands around your ankles and pulling your feet into the criss-cross of his legs so he can scoot closer to you, resting his hands on your thighs.

You’re surprised, but not displeased with the gentle embrace of your legs.

“I don’t want to kill you, angel,” He says, and rests his chin on your knees.

It’s too much, the doe-eyed boy staring at you through the dim light, holding you close to him and running his hands up and down your thighs, fingers sweeping low enough to run across your hips.

You can’t look at him.

Turning your eyes away, you knock the ash off the end of your cigarette and laugh. “That’s so kind, thanks.” You drop the rest of the butt into the tray and brush your hands together. “Alright. I’m ready. Let’s get you paid.” You scoop up the syringe and hold it out to him, eyes wide and inviting.

He takes it from you, but he doesn’t take your arm again.

In the quiet of his indecision, you can’t help yourself. Your fingers find the soft swoop of his hair falling over his forehead, letting a few strands slide through your fingers before you pull yourself together and extend your arm to him. “Do it, Hyunjin.” You say softly, ignoring the way your movements made him look at you. “If you don’t do it, he’ll hire someone else. His campaign isn’t doing well, he’s facing asset forfeiture—he needs the money. If you don’t kill me, someone else will.”

Hyunjin’s hand finds yours, his fingertips smoothing up the underside of your forearm towards that vein that he found earlier. A drop of blood has gathered where he pricked you, the trail where it dripped dry and crusted.

You’re not scared, you’re not worried.

You’re a little relieved, actually, that you don’t have to pretend anymore. Because you’ve known for months that your time is running out. You’ve known for months that no one would care even if you told them.

The pounding of the music outside the door fills the space, reminding you that you were supposed to come in here to have the night of your life, and now, instead, the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen is going to inject poison into your bloodstream and leave you to die on a stranger’s bed.

That does dishearten you a little bit.

He presses his thumb against the vein. His eyes flick up to yours. “When is your birthday?”

You cock your head curiously, wondering. “Next month.”

Hyunjin lets the vein go and sets the syringe down near his hip. “I’ll make you a deal.” He takes your other hand, too, peering into your face with sincerity. “If I keep you alive until your birthday, we split the trust fund, 70-30. Then at least you don’t let your dad win, and maybe you can see if there’s some super expensive doctor who can help you. Or something. What do you think?”

You blink. “You’re going to trade being an assassin for being a bodyguard just for eight million dollars?”

He smirks, a flash of teeth in the dark. “Seven and a half, actually. And it’s a better gig than killing a dying seventeen-year-old just so her asshole father can take her trust fund. So, what do you say?”

You’re almost a hundred percent sure there’s no doctor or surgeon in the world who can fix your cancer at this point. All the ones you’ve spoken to so far won’t even recommend radiation or chemo, because there’s no point. They keep saying things like “quality of life” and “keep you comfortable,” not, “if only you had more money.”

But it’s interesting, this deal he’s put forward.

Die tonight or spend a month with a gorgeous young assassin?

Is it even a choice?

“We split it 50-50.” You say. “All I want to do with my half is give it to cancer research.”

He’s surprised again, his mind now struggling to grasp an influx of almost thirteen million dollars, and he nods slowly. “Okay. So we have a deal?”

He’s already holding your hands, so you can’t exactly shake on it, but you nod with a shrug. “Deal.”

You’ve never seen a smile as sweet as the one he gives you after that. “Good. Get your coat, angel—you’re coming home with me.”

Eyebrows skyrocketing, you follow his movements as he bounds off the bed and scoops up your purse. “So you’re going to kidnap me instead of murdering me?”

He holds out a hand and waits for you to take it. “Are you arguing?”

You let him haul you off the bed and find yourself laughing as his arm circles your waist and he hurries you out of the room. “Not in the slightest.”

Comment a request to be tagged! Han's is next :)

PART 2 INFO

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honeipie · 9 months ago

Text

THE INTERVIEW

katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

synopsis: katsuki won’t do interviews for anyone. well, anyone that isn’t you.

this is part two of the first hockey boys katsuki post which you can find here

after the interaction at the bar, you and katsuki had been seeing more and more of each other, not only on a professional level, but a personal one as well. in public he'd answer your questions dead last during the press conferences, but you waited each time. knowing that when it was over he wouldn’t leave your side at that bar.

it didn’t take long for the two of you to start dating. you knew you liked him, and he liked you.

the two of you never made your relationship known to the public, due to the small fear you had of it interfering with your job. katsuki never minded, as long as you came home with him at the end of the day he wasn't going to complain.

so five months later here you were, in bed with one of the best hockey players in the league, trying to escape his need to cuddle.

buzz. buzz. buzz.

"get your damn phone will ya?" katsuki mumbled, pressing his eyes shut. you let out a long sigh eyes opening slowly.

"i would if you weren't holding me down like a damn paperweight" he only grumbled loosening his arm around your torso. you couldn’t help but giggle picking up the phone.

“don’t worry my baby. i’ll make it up to you”

“shut up” this made him fully let go and turn his body around. you couldn’t help but fully burst out in laughter at his dramatics before you answered your phone.

“hello?” you rubbed off the sleep that still clouded your eyes.

“y/n, sorry to call you this early but we’re going to need to have a meeting quickly. i hope you don’t mind”

you contained the groan you wanted to let out and opted for a small sigh instead “i’ll be there in an hour” hanging up you turned back to your boyfriend placing your chin in his shoulder.

“i gotta go to work kats”

he grumbled something before turning around to fully face you “this is the one day i don’t gotta go to practice and now they’re callin’ you in? what the hell?”

“i know it sucks, but i’ll be back as soon as possible ‘kay? it’s just a meeting then i should be done” you pulled him in for a kiss which he sleepily returned.

“ugh your breath-“

“shut the fuck up”

even through your teasing he couldn’t help but smirk a little. you got out of the bed opening up his closet. he had opened up a space for you knowing that you might have to get up and go. you picked out something that was comfortable, but still work appropriate. you didn’t plan on staying long anyways.

by the time you exited the closet you were quickly putting on lipstick and looking in the nearest mirror you could find. at this point, katsuki had gotten up and made his way over to you.

“you look nice”

he placed kisses at the crook of your neck, which you were trying not let get to you. cause if you did you would not be getting to work.

“thanks!” you put some earrings in trying not to tilt your head too much where he could have more leverage over you. once they were in you turned around making his head snap back up “i will be back. please remind me cause you know how i could stay there for hours” cupping his cheeks you pulled him in for one last kiss which left a lipstick stain, but you weren’t going to be the one to tell him that.

when you arrived at the station you said your casual hello’s before making your way into one of the conference rooms. luckily, there was already a coffee sitting there waiting for you. ever since you had drawn more attention for the station you’ve been getting some more positive attention.

“hello sir” you greeted your boss with a smile going to sit down across from him. he smiled back at you his teeth practically shining from all the whitening his does.

“there she is! sorry for calling you in on such short notice. i know you probably have errands to attend to" you only shrugged going to take a sip of your coffee "the reason i called you up is because we need something big. we've been getting attention from the players and that's good, but the season is almost over, and we can't just rely on those press conferences anymore. we need something bigger. remember those locker room interviews i was talking about? i was wondering if you could score one with any of the teammates. if you could pull it off, do it with bakugo. he seems to do strangely well with you"

your eyes flit up to meet his. you thought that you could get away with the press conferences for at least the rest of the season. katsuki and you never really delved too dead into work conversation. you'd always hit him with the little 'how was work' and his response never failed, 'y/n you were there'. that was all you would really do. you didn't want him to think that you were with him just to get information out of him, so you never said much about what your boss asked you to do.

"that should be okay with you right? i mean you are our star reporter"

clearing your throat you nodded "i should be able to pull something through. is this all? not to be rude, but i do have some plans for the rest of the day"

he shook his head standing up from his chair "that's all i got for ya" he walked over to give your hand a firm shake "thanks for being so cooperative. shoot me an email when you've got something" with that, he was out of the door.

your keys clanged against the ceramic bowl you made on one of you and katsuki's date nights. he had made one too, you just use it to keep your rings in. katsuki stood in the kitchen already starting prep on some dinner for later. you slipped off your shoes going over to stand next to him.

"how was your meeting?" he asked using a knife to scrape vegetables into a bowl. all you could do was shrug and hop onto the island counter.

"it was okay" you watched as his back muscles flexed along with his movements. katsuki was good on the ice for sure, but in the kitchen? it was like everything he touched was approved by God himself. after he had made your favorite meal after a long day you had never gone back to cooking yourself.

katsuki finished with the last of the vegetables before walking over to you. both hands rested by your thighs, which you wrapped around his waist bringing him closer “hello handsome” you went to lean in but to your surprise he dodged.

he must’ve noticed the offended look that crossed your face “tell me what’s up”

“nothing is up! i just wanted a kiss!”

“don’t lie to me. i just can tell something is wrong. don’t ask how, just tell me so i can help. don’t want you moping around the house bringin’ the mood down”

“weird way of saying you care” your fingers went up to play with some of his hair.

“i do care. that’s why i’m asking”

a small pout formed on your lips as you thought “i don’t want this to ruin what we have. i don’t want you to think im using you or anything, cause i’m not. i love you kat,” if you being upset before didn’t concern him enough this definitely did “my boss is asking me to get a locker room interview with someone on the team-“

“i’ll do it”

it was so quick you could’ve missed it. he didn’t look upset, or even angry. katsuki just shrugged as if it was an every day occurrence. as if he doesn’t brush off every single one on one interview there is. no, you’ve seriously seen him delete the emails before even opening them. fucking spam is what he calls them.

your eyebrows furrowed together at his words “you’re- you’re sure about this?”

“yeah why not. you’re definitely the one doing the interview right? plus if you don’t want it to be with me i’ll force one of the other extras to do it. they fuckin’ love the attention.. was that it?”

“i’ll be doing the interview for sure, and that was it”

he leaned down finally giving you the kiss you wanted along with a small ‘love you’ at the very end.

when he kissed you, there was an unusual feeling on his bottom lip. pulling away you put your thumb over his lip feeling out the bump.

"what the fuck? do you have herpes or some shit?"

katsuki pulled away with an offended expression "no i don't have fuckin' herpes! and if i did, i would've gotten it from your dumbass!"

"well i don't have herpes so where did the herpes bump come from?"

"stop calling it that!"

your stomach was hurting from laughter and katsuki was trying not to give in to your stupid jokes "i got it from that game yesterday. it's starting to swell up a bit" you tilted your head letting your thumb graze over it again.

"babe, you've gotta stop fighting. i don't want to mistake you for having STDs again-"

"is this your weird way of saying you care?"

"i do care"

the two of you stared at each other for a good minute, neither backing down until he let out a huff "fine. can't believe you're doin' this to me" he grumbled going to walk away into the bedroom “come get into some more comfortable clothes. i want to lay down to make up for this morning"

katsuki had a game the next day, so of course you sat right behind the bench where the team sat. it was a close match the whole game. tensions were high between both of the teams, and everyone could feel it. all throughout there was one player on the other team that was really pissing katsuki off, and you could tell from where you were sitting. the way he would skate quickly away from him every time he would get close. the way he would make the whole bench shake every time he sat down in rotations.

there was no physical contact made from either side. not until katsuki scored a goal for his team which must've aggravated the other enough to the point of bodychecking katsuki, hard.

the crowd egged the players actions on with ‘oooohs’ and ‘oh shits!’

now katsuki was livid. you could see him doing a quick turn around to face the player again, but suddenly stopped himself.

katsuki shook his head, and skated away.

the whole crowed murmured in confusion, the player who instigated it was confused. hell, you were even confused.

the day katsuki bakugou refused a fight has finally come.

after the game had finished, and everyone cleared out of the locker room, the station got it set up for the interview. you had taken katsuki into the coach’s office to explain how it was going to go down “so it’s not like a regular locker room interview. it’s going to be like a podcast episode. people eat those up nowadays so this is gonna be good-“

“hm” he was half listening to whatever you were saying. his face was buried in your neck and hands pulled you in by your waist. the blinds were closed and the door was shut, so there was a fifty-fifty chance you could’ve gotten caught, and he was willing to take it.

you decided explaining any more would be useless. all of it going through one ear and out the other. so you moved your hands up the back of his shirt making him shiver slightly “you did good today. i saw your goals”

“thanks baby” he whispered back placing soft kisses along your neck “we can go home after this right?”

“right after, then take a hot bath”

“then let’s get this over with” hesitantly, he pulled away from you going to open the door. you could tell how the game wore him out by how his shoulders sagged slightly, and his hair was a mess. hand going to his shoulder you stopped him “hey, we can do this another day”

he shook his head grabbing one of his baseball caps “nah i’m fine. turn this shit on” nodding you got into you seat. he settled into his but couldn’t help but watched as you fixed your appearance looking into one of the screens nearby. fixing your lipstick because he accidentally smeared it from the after game kiss. the way you straightened out your clothes because of the way he relaxed onto you like a pillow. he loved seeing the evidence of his love all over you, even if nobody knew.

man, he was starting to regret agreeing to keeping this secret.

“are you ready mr. bakugo?” you asked as if you didn’t even know him.

“yeah ‘m ready”

the interview was going smoothly for the most part. you asked him questions and he either gave you one of his famous snarky remarks, or an actual thought out answer. the topic of conversation had turned onto the events of today’s game, and you had questions already lined up in your head.

“so mr. bakugo you had a good game today with you and your teammates pulling in yet another victory. though i’m sure everyone is wondering why you didn’t involve yourself in the fight today. i mean that player was being pretty hostile”

katsuki shrugged pulling the mic away from his mouth a bit “my girl doesn’t like when i fight”

your eyebrow raised at his statement. the team behind the cameras ears perked up at the new information.

“your girl? you- you have a girlfriend?”

his eyes flit up to yours trying to contain his budding smirk “yeah i do. congratulations, you’re the first people to publicly know. other than the team”

“if you don’t mind me asking. how long have you and your girlfriend been together?”

“almost six months”

“so almost half a year. she must have something special if she could tie you down”

both of you were now smiling at each other. it wasn’t shocking that you were smiling, but katsuki? hell must’ve frozen over.

“yeah she’s special as hell, and pretty. might put a ring on her finger one of these days if that’s what she wants” he adjusted the mic once more “people might say that’s quick, but i say when you know you know. why waste time?”

you had choked on your spit causing a coughing fit. katsuki covered his face to hide the fact that he was chuckling at your misfortune. once you pulled yourself together you shook your head “i’m sorry about that. i don’t know what happened”

“don’t worry about it”

“well thank you so much mr. bakugo for doing this interview with us. you’ve been amazing”

he mumbled out a ‘you’re welcome’ before the cameras stopped rolling. you got up quickly making sure the crew had everything they needed before you made your way outside. both you and katsuki had driven your own cars here so you would simply meet him at home.

by the time he had gotten there you had already run the bath and gotten in. you could hear the soft pats of his clothes hitting the floor as he made his way into the bathroom. carefully, he slipped into the tub behind you, muscles instantly relaxing. the two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while. just basking in the warmth of the tub.

“you’re good at your job”

“thanks” you looked over your shoulder to see that his head was tilted back. his adam’s apple bobbed a little because of your movements.

“whatcha starin’ at me for?”

“cause your pretty. and i want to know if you meant what you said”

his one eye opened to look over at you “what did i say?”

katsuki knew what he said. he just wanted to be able to hear his words become yours.

“that you wanted to marry me”

he closed his eye again moving his arms to wrap around your body. they pulled you close with ease enveloping you in more warmth.

“i meant every fuckin’ word”

@v4mp3r

@yeehawgiddyup13

@b134ch-m4h-ey3z

@liluvtojineteyam

#honeipie #anime #bnha x reader #mha #writing #x reader #bnha bakugou #drabble #katsuki #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x y/n #hockey au #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #bnha

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taintandviolent · 11 months ago

Text

Stalked - Kai Anderson x Reader

summary & wordcount: 2.6K! After breaking up with Kai, he decides you need a little reminder of what once was. idea requested by @kaislittlelamb originally!

w a r n i n g s: smut with very little plot, implied stalking, toxic relationships, throat fucking, blowjobs, Kai being Kai, violence, aggression.

a/n: this was originally a drabble, but got longer - very quickly written, sorry if it's horrible! definitely not my best. thanks for reading it, if you did!!! no taglist this time because it's a pain in the bootay.

full fic under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! /

You'd met with Zack a few times now, but this was the first time you two had actually gotten to talk and get to know each other. He was cute, in a very boy next door sort of way; physically fit, a tousled mess of brown curls, bright green eyes, and bright, white teeth that probably got whitened bi-weekly.

"So, anyways, I moved here about three months ago after my mom moved here, and with her needing help, I figured I might as well stay."

"Nice." You grinned.

"Yeah, so I'm definitely still learning the best spots to eat..."

You casually glanced around the restaurant, scanning the patrons next to you; you were an observer and enjoyed people watching, in all situations. Abruptly, several tables across from you, wavy, blue hair caught your attention. Your expression contorted into one of shock as your eyes trailed down the bridge of the nose, taking in the man's face. No fucking way.

As though he felt that he was being watched, Kai turned mid-sentence, and immediately made eye contact with you. His brows rose slowly in surprise, and ultimately, delight. You blinked and turned away quickly, engulfing yourself back in the conversation. Or hoping to. But there was no escaping this.

"Excuse me," you heard him say, before scooting his chair back. The legs scraped against the floor with an awkward sound, and Kai made his way over to you, navigating around the tables.

Like a child trying to avoid being found, you almost considered sinking down in your seat, chest heaving with shallow breaths. Some luck you had. Some fucking luck. You rolled your eyes, shifting your shoulders. Zack watched you, studying your very apparent discomfort. You felt both men's eyes on you, and laughed nervously into your soda.

"Y/N..." Kai said.

You said nothing in return, only smiled sarcastically and stirred your soda with the straw.

"New boyfriend?" He asked, his tone dripping with faux-interest. You knew him. You knew him like the back of your hand, and he wasn't interested. He was waiting to incriminate you.

"No, actually." Zack interjected, bravely. "We're just getting to know each other. It's going well."

You nodded, giving him a genuine smile. "It is."

Kai tightened his smile further; the fakeness started to show through the cracks. "Good, good. Well, I just wanted to say hello. I'll leave you two lovebirds to finish your appetizers."

"You know him?"

"Unfortunately. Too well."

"Ex-boyfriend?" Zack asked, popping another spinach-dip loaded chip into his mouth.

Sheepishly, you nodded.

"He looks familiar."

"Yeah, you've probably seen him on TV. He's a councilman."

Zack snapped his fingers, pointing at you. "That's it! Anderson, right?"

Again, you nodded. "Yep... that's the one."

The waiter appeared, meals in hand. As you two ate, the conversation naturally melted away from Kai, which you were grateful for. Especially since it seemed like it was headed in the direction of Zack wanting to vote for him and agreeing with his campaign policies. Unfortunately, Zack fit the bill of one of the men that Kai would easily brainwash, and recruit to his noble cause.

Halfway through dessert, your phone buzzed. You knew who it was from without even looking. The message read: We should get together.

You quickly thumbed out a response. Why?

Just to talk.

Against better judgement, you agreed. The rest of the date was spent laughing about poorly written films in the last decade, but in the back of your mind, laughing was the last thing you wanted to be doing. The next hour was a blur. Zack had gone in for a kiss when he was leaving, which you returned, but only briefly. You were distracted. Painfully so. You went from the restaurant to Kai's, but you hardly remembered driving there. Your mind was on autopilot; a rotten, sour feeling bubbling in your stomach. Everything in you said that this was a bad idea, and yet, you gripped the steering wheel hard, looking at his front door.

You got out, locked your car and made your way up the pathway. You only knocked once before the door flew open. He stood tall. Proud. Unwavering. That overly confident, but calm smile plastered on his stupidly-handsome face. His hair hung at his cheeks, greasy as ever. He was pleased you'd shown up - you thought you saw a flicker of doubt that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't have. But you were a woman of your word, and you weren't going to show him that he was something to fear.

"So, when are you going to break it off with what's-his-name?" Kai asked as he took the basement stairs quickly, trotting down them. You followed, wordlessly, revelling in the familiar sensations. Once you'd stopped at the final step, you glanced forward, eyes locking on the brown leather couch. Out of all the memories that you'd had in that basement, the ones that rushed back were the ones where Kai was fucking you on that couch. Ruthless, merciless fucking until your back hurt and your insides felt like they'd been obliterated twice over. You blinked the images away, swallowing hard. Your head turned before your eyes met his.

"Zack is actually very nice, and he'd probably treat me very well if I decided to pursue a relationship with him. But since when do you care who I'm with?"

"It's my business."

"No, it fucking isn't. It hasn't been for weeks. Last time I checked... I was uhhh, what was it? A stupid bitch?" That had become a favorite alias of his. You plopped down on the sofa, cushions giving way to your weight.

Kai bristled. "You know, you really should be careful what you post on social media."

"Excuse me?"

"You never know who could be watching."

The realisation hits you like a freight train. Him being at the restaurant wasn't a coincidence, it wasn't bad luck. Kai knew exactly where you were going to be and he made it a point to be there. You’d replied to a friend in the comments of a post, telling her that you were going to be at that particular restaurant in the afternoon. He’d seen that.

"You've been.... fucking stalking me!?"

Kai filled his chest with air, somehow standing taller than he already did. "You sure like to show off your cute little life, don't you? Pathetic little coffee outings and Tapas date nights. But what I want to know..." Kai trailed off, circling you like the pathetic little lamb you were. "...is who you go home and think about. Is it Zack? Or maybe Edward?"

You felt the muscles underneath your eye twitch.

"Or is it.... me?"

Kai finally moved in front of you, his broad chest obscuring your view from everything else. His legs touched your knees.

"Answer me."

"I don't have to tell you anything, Kai. You aren't my boyfriend anymore."

"I said answer me!" Kai pressed his thumb and forefinger into your cheeks, making your lips pucker out like a stupid, confused fish. He yanked your head forward, bringing it up towards his. The action strained the muscles in your neck, but you didn't dare say that. This dynamic was very familiar to you. You'd been here before.

"Seems like you need a little reminder."

A chill ran down your spine.

"Open your mouth." Kai's thumb traced your pouty lips softly, sweeping back and forth. He waited a few seconds, his face tight with impatience and when you didn't concede to his request, Kai forced your mouth open, pressing his fingers into your cheek flesh until you winced and dropped your jaw.

"Good girl. Now, you're going to keep your mouth open until I say to close it. You understand?"

You nodded, your tongue resting delicately on your bottom teeth.

"I have a very important job for you. You're going to stroke my cock until it's hard and then I'm going to throat fuck you."

You held back a cringe. He was always so... direct. Direct with his intentions, direct with his words, direct with his actions. You supposed that was the main vein of why he was doing so well as a councilman; people liked the truth -- and regardless of validity, if something is delivered with enough confidence and directness, it's believed.

You reached forward tentatively, undoing the button of his dark jeans. The zipper came next, one tooth at a time. You felt the heat of his groin as soon as you leaned forward to pull the jeans over his buttocks, turning your face away so that you weren't met with a mouthful of fabric. With a strong hand, you gripped the elastic of his boxers, pulling them down over his balls - his dick flopped out, heavy and warm to the touch. You sucked a self-encouraging breath into your lungs and reached forward to grip his flaccid cock, inching your lips towards it.

"No." He bucked his hips backwards, furrowing his brows. "What did I say?"

You froze, backpedalled and began stroking, intentionally angling it towards your mouth. Kai let out a shallow breath, pressing his chin against his chest to watch you. You gave it a firm squeeze, and in response, his cock twitched in your grip; it didn't take long for it to swell and stiffen to capacity in your grasp. You paid some attention to the tip, spreading around the slithery pre-cum that had leaked from the slit.

"I always liked that about you - your willing adherence to any and all demands. You know what I want."

At least he was praiseful. He always had been, even in the late and toxic stages of your relationship. Still, you chalked it up to him enjoying the sound of his own voice and feeling like he was in control of the situation

Your free hand took hold of his balls, squeezing them softly. At that, Kai vocalized hungrily, grunting low in his throat. He was a very venous man; in any heightened state of emotion that got the blood flowing, his veins popped in his forehead, his neck, his hands... and his cock. Your tongue massaged the veins that swelled on his shaft, flattened out on the thickest one underneath and flicked at the tip.

You continued jerking it, finding a rhythm until Kai's large hand enveloped yours, forcing his cock out of your grasp to replace it with his own. Pumping his cock in and out of his hand a few times quickly, Kai hissed through his teeth, and took a fistful of your hair at the crown of your head. He immediately let go, and cupped the back of your head with his hand, stroking it softly. Tenderly -- like it meant something to him. It didn't. You were a stupid pawn in his story, another one of his dedicated cult members, and he regarded them all the same.

You closed your mouth to swallow, wetting the inside of it before returning to your previous, vulnerable position, tongue out, eyes lifted to meet his. Kai's pitch-dark eyes looked down at you with a roiling expectancy, one that spoke louder than words could. He slapped the tip of his cock against your waiting tongue, revelling in that first, startled flinch.

At first, he slid just the tip along the texture of your tongue, grinding against you, but it didn't take him long to penetrate. The tip of his cock bumped against the back of your throat, and you closed your lips, bowing your head slightly to allow him further down your throat.

“How does that feel?”

You nodded your head. Kai let out another throaty moan and picked up his pace, thrusting his hips hard into your face as you relaxed your throat as best you could, fighting your gag reflex. His cock filled your throat - violated it - the salty taste of his precum overwhelming your senses. Your nose burned and your eyes watered. You guessed that your eye makeup had begun to stream down your cheeks in ebony ribbons.

Kai's visual was ethereal. You were coming undone before him - below him - as women should. In such a submissive state, you looked your best. He took a fistful of your hair and yanked you forward, violently forcing you to deep throat his dick. He felt the slick, strong contraction of your reflex and grit his teeth; you were withholding it, but the pathetic, whimpering sounds of your gags drove him forward. He pictured them, remembering all the times that he had been in a similar position with you.

"Gag," he said, finally. "I want to hear your pain."

When you didn't, Kai forced his cock further into your throat, until your nose was pressed in the bush of his hair. That did it. With your eyes squeezed shut, your throat repeatedly rebelled. You coughed and gagged around his shaft, the tip still pressed against your tonsils. You finally opened your bleary eyes at him, straining them upwards to get a visual on him, to beg him wordlessly for relief. Kai flattened his hand on the back of your head and bunny humped your face, pulling more desperate gags from your throat.

"Who do you belong to?"

No response. Just a full-mouthed cough.

He took a fistful of your hair, pulling you hard off of his dick. THWACK! Kai's hand whipped across your face, leaving a welting streak of red in its wake. His cock bumped against the roof of your mouth as you nodded slowly, stunned from the sheer force.

"I'll ask you one more time... who do you belong to?"

Finally, you gave him another feeble nod and lifted your hand to press a single finger into his pectoral muscle.

"Good... that's what I like to hear. You remembered that it's rude to talk with your mouth full, too. I'm so proud of you."

Kai reinserted his cock into your waiting mouth, almost gently. That was everything but comforting, but this foreplay was familiar to you, and therefore, enjoyable. Sure, the way your throat burned as his dick hammered in and out might've teetered on the edge of discomfiting, but you'd been here before. You knew him, and at one point, you loved him.

You made an O around his cock as he dragged it out from the back of your throat, sucking gently. Kai began thrusting again, but less rhythmically than before. He was losing his steady pace, and that only meant one thing.

"Don't fucking stop," he breathed. "Keep going."

You closed your eyes again, two tears streaming down your blushing, caving cheeks. He was going to cum soon, you felt the tightness, the heat, the urgency behind his thrusts. Pumping his cock in and out of your swollen lips, Kai’s hand snapped to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he thrust remorselessly.

A second later, he bottomed out again, and you felt his cock twitching, pulsing in your mouth as his orgasm washed down the back of your throat. You coughed a wet, sticky wet cough and Kai groaned, letting his head fall back into his shoulders.

"Swallow. Fucking swallow it."

You did. You winced as your throat accepted the mouthful of blisteringly hot cum, salty and slightly unpleasant. Your mouth felt sticky and your throat was coated – you couldn't talk, not clearly. So, instead of telling Kai that you hated him, you just glared at him with fire in your gaze, baring your teeth at him like an angry dog.

“Aw, what? What, you hate me? Is that what you want to say?”

You nodded.

“Go sit at the table. We’re going to talk about that.”

#myfics #Kai Anderson x reader #Kai Anderson x you #AHS Cult #American Horror Story

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