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babygorewhore · 1 month ago

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Am I making you feel sick?

Charlie Mayhew x fem reader one shot.

When Father Charlie Mayhew sees you, a magnetic young woman who isn’t the typical Catholic, his sinful nature only grows.

Thank you so much to @cxrrodedcoffin for helping me brain storm and to @xxbimbobunnyxx for helping me with the picture!

Warnings! Perv! Charlie. Panty stealing, male masturbation, self whipping, obsessive behavior, mild talks of violence, blasphemy, male receiving oral, choking, pussy slapping, degrading, spitting, female recieving oral, unprotected sex, face slapping, overstimulation, multiple orgasms!

The markings on Charlie’s back were a humbling reminder of his sin. He focused his efforts onto appearing normal. A regular service. A way to give the people encouragement, guidance and a spiritual feast. But keeping his composure while you played with the fringes of your skirt, the curves of your thighs exposed as you crossed your ankles. That proved to be a significant challenge.

You were a regular member of the church. Your attendance isolated. Your presence came after the death of your grandparents a few months prior.

He remembered first seeing you. As if a halo shined above your head as you confidently strode into the building. The click of your platform shoes echoed across the floor as you plopped onto a seat. Charlie nearly stumbled over his sermon when you met eyes that day. Your gaze was focused. Made up eyes with a mixture of curiosity and rebellion.

Above your heart, you wore a silver cross. The muscles in your neck flexing as you chew a piece of bubble gum. Beautiful wasn’t fitting enough to describe you. Charlie was enchanted by the way you tried to follow along in your Bible but you seemed to be a step behind.

His cock started to throb when you would separate your legs, exposing the black lace material that covered your pussy. After the third time he saw you, Charlie approached you with a confident stride. He hoped it was enough to cover the urge to wince at his wounds. It’s what he deserved after his fist jerked himself off the previous nights.

He readied himself to speak but you looked him up and down with a slight smirk.

“Yeah?” You ran the tip of your tongue along the edges of your teeth and Charlie cleared his throat.

“God looks favorably on those who are devout to him. And I know he looks down on you with deep appreciation.” He was used to his charm working immediately. Charlie prepared for flirtation in return, a giggle or even batting eyelashes but instead you snorted with a flick of your hair.

“Duh. That’s why I come here. I know God loves me otherwise I wouldn’t be alive.” He opened his mouth to question what you meant but you spun on your heels and walked away.

Charlie was self admittedly obsessed with you. He found every excuse imaginable to walk by your area. He found you online. His fingers shook and his forearm was sore from busting a load when he looked at your photos.

But his deep desire for you only grew when he ran into you at the diner. You drank a milkshake and nibbled on the remainder of your fries. When you saw him, you waved him over. Charlie plastered on a smile and spoke your name with a feign politeness.

“Can you be a good little priest and watch my purse?” You asked him and he swallowed. He nodded as you walked to the near restroom.

Charlie understood fully it was juvenile to search your purse but when his fingers fell on the material of lace, an overwhelming feeling of excitement came. He pocketed the pair of panties and gained his strength when you returned.

His life before turning to the cloth consisted of perverse acts and they lingered within him like a poison. You were possessing his every thought just like corrupted angels that turned away from God. Charlie was tired of his own rough hand. One that inflicted regular discipline. One that desperately wanted to touch you.

He walked around the church during nightfall. Kneeling before the candles and begging for any assistance. For strength to resist. But it was too much. So much so, that Father Charlie began stealing more and more things. A lipgloss tube. Chains. A secondary fragrance. Anything that could bring him closer to you.

Charlie concluded and pried himself out of the intoxication of the image of being between your legs.

“Take solace in the congregation!” He cried out, holding his hands up. “Lean onto God for your salvation against this treachery!” Charlie quieted.

The service concluded and the rainfall began. Numbers dwindled except you. His breathing trembled as he strode to you. “Ah, is your mind filled with worry?” He tucked his hands behind his back. You popped your hip and stared at the wood intricacies.

“I can’t go home. There was a leak in my apartment ceiling. I’m about to phone a friend so I can stay with him while it’s being fixed.” You adjusted your ring and Charlie clenched his fists.

The mention of another male made him feel nearly nauseous. Charlie clicked his jaw and raised his eyebrows. “You can have sanctuary here. We have rooms-“

“God, why do you talk like that?” You turned to face him and he was taken aback by your aggressive tone. “You’re my age. And you act like you’re Jesus!”

You gripped his collar suddenly and Charlie let out a gasp. Your breath smelled like strawberries. The shine to your lips with a hint of glitter. “Get over yourself, Father. Just because you wear this ridiculous outfit, doesn’t mean you’re anything less than a little boy.”

Every word you spoke was laced with a condescending bite. You let him go but Charlie didn’t step back. His eyes kept falling to the wicked mouth giving him a slew of insults that were a muffle in his ears.

“Anyway. I keep trying to call him but there’s barely any service in here.” You roll your eyes and Charlie musters his confidence back.

“You can stay here tonight. Give him a call in the morning. I can promise you safety here.” His voice was barely above a whisper. You seemed to contemplate it for a moment. Your stare narrowed before a minimal softness came.

“Well. I guess I can spare one night.”

Charlie led you in silence to his room. Every footstep was heavy. The weight of his internal battle tormenting him. He stood in silence as your fingers traced the walls, lingering on the hung cross and twirled the quilt on his bed.

You sat down, resting your palms on your knees and met his look.

“How long have you been catholic?” The question was genuine and his intrigue increased as you chuckled. You examined your nails with a lilting response.

“Not long. Grew up around the church but left when I was eighteen. Swore it off until these super hot guys in a band attacked me,” His jaw dropped and rage ignited his chest. “But I happened to have my Cross. Guess you could call it Divine intervention. I stabbed the man with it in the eye. Maced the other one. Third dude ran away.”

You completed the sentence with a giggle. “I promised God that if he got me out, I’d join the church. And I keep my word.” You pressed your hands together in prayer.

Charlie lost control of his body and he moved towards you. He set his large hands on your shoulders, squeezing your muscles and he bent down. “How could anyone want to hurt you?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” He pressed a finger against your lips and you pulled it into your mouth. Charlie grunted and removed it.

You sank down on the floor, unbuckling his pants with a practiced ease. Peering at him, you smiled and hooked your finger in his trousers.

His size and girth made your mouth water. You allowed your lips to part, drool pooling down your tongue that stuck out. You removed his boxers, Charlie’s dick twitching as you slapped the tip against your tongue. You licked his length, dragging motions that made his vision go white.

When you took him in your mouth, moving your neck to deepthroat, he moaned and his hand set on your head. Charlie pumped your skull, thrusting but you pulled off. Messily sucking his balls and he started convulsing.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He pulled the strings. He held the reins and control was his.

A part of him unlocked, one that he tried to put away. Charlie growled and yanked you off his shaft. Laughter escaped you, as you still believed you called the shots.

“Oh my god! You were about to cream down my throat and I only did it for a minute or two.” He stood there as you dug the pair of stolen panties from his pocket.

“Did you really think I was that stupid? You think I don’t know a fucking pervert when I see them?” You flicked them at his face and Charlie’s cheeks heated. “You’re disgusting.”

He reached and gripped your jaw. Charlie backed you up until you were slammed on the bed, his knee between your thighs as his cock pulsed. He wrapped that same hand around your throat, squeezing until you were staring at him with wide eyes.

“I am going to ruin you and that sweet little pussy you flash at me. You think this is a goddamn joke?” His voice was rasped with lust and a sickness he caught the moment he saw you.

Charlie let go of your throat and watched you cough. He tore away your panties, shredding off the skirt and stared at your dripping cunt. He let his head fall to the side, dark brown eyes focused on your flustered expression.

You went to gain some sort of momentum to support yourself but Charlie gave your pussy a sharp slap.

You made a shrieking noise at the impact and he scoffed. “Oh don’t act so fuckin stupid. Is that little corrupted brain of yours not getting it?” Weeks of build up poured out of him and he smacked your center three more times. Each strike harder than the last.

Your mouth pressed in a line, a poor attempt to conceal the pleasure. Charlie allowed a sinister smile to curl. “You’re almost as fucked up as I am, doll.” Your eyes widened as he slowly let his mouth graze your lower half.

He let his full lips brush against your bare skin as he breathed in. Charlie smelled the scent of your pulsing cunt and the wild need ignited in him. The priest gripped your hips as his knees pressed into the floor. He smashed his mouth against your pussy.

It was better than candy. The most saccharine sensation as he parted his lips and found your clit. Charlie’s dick was so hard that his hand picked up the discarded panties. He wrapped them around his cock, moaning at the relief as his tongue tasted you.

Charlie worked you over, his other hand keeping your hips in place.

His nose hit the right spots and he wasn’t shy about being messy. You were panting, holding his head and grinding as much as you could. Your moans were better than his favorite song. Charlie had plenty of experience burying his face between a woman’s legs. It was something that he did not only for their pleasure but his own.

Feeling your body contract, moving into his corrupted touch made Charlie’s eyes roll back as more slick soaked his mouth. You cried out, a series of, “Oh god, fuck! F-fuck.” You sounded on the brink of tears.

Charlie pushed two fingers inside you, making your whimpers become pathetic. He pumped them as he lifted himself, hovering over you with a wet chin. “Open that whore mouth,” he commanded and you did.

Charlie let the spit fall, coating your tongue and lips. “Swallow it. You know all about that, huh?” He enjoyed the sight of you beneath him. Charlie kissed you. Deeply and hungrily. He sucked your lower lip lewdly, letting a thick groan escape him. You returned it in kind, pressing your chest against his, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off his arms.

Your fingers felt the scars on his back but Charlie didn’t care. Every single self inflicted mark was worth it if it meant he could be with you.

“Fuck me, please. Please fuck me,” You begged and Charlie’s dick fucking hurt but he loved the pain. He ran the tip of his cock against your clit, smearing the cum and continuous wetness.

He sank into your entrance, stretching you and you both let out a harmonious sigh. Charlie’s half opened eyes observed you arch your back but that familiar fire burned in your eyes. You tightened your legs that were around his waist. He knew you were trying to flip over. Not now. Charlie aggressively thrusted into you, bringing his hand down to spank the side of your ass.

“Oh no, you don’t get to ride me yet. You’re gonna lay there like the helpless sinner you are.” He growled and heaved your thighs over his shoulders. Getting an even deeper angle as your ass was off the mattress.

Drool escaped your hung open mouth and he let his palm feel your lower stomach. “Yeah? You feel that? Feel me in your pathetic pussy? You,” Thrust,” “Are,” thrust, “Mine.”

“Yours,” You sobbed and he smacked your face.

“You can do better. You can do fucking better than that.” Charlie smeared the spit on your mouth, cheek and slapped it again. “Tell me you’re a good girl.”

“I’m a good girl. I’m your good girl.” You pleaded with growing pleasure.

“See? You obey me. Deep down,” He felt the bulge again. “You’re a desperate little girl needing to be fucked. By someone as sick as me.”

You let out a wail, moans of pleasure coming out in staccato breaths. Charlie busted his load into your pussy, his lips hovering over yours as you both humped each other.

He rolled over, sinking you on his cock. Your tits were in his face, he sucked your nipple as you bounced. Charlie felt your fingers scratch his chest, marking his skin in the shape of a Cross with your nail.

He pried off your tit, his hands holding your waist. “Pussy squeezin me so tight. Like you can’t get enough. Greed is a sin,” Charlie sucked your pulse point and brought you to a second climax.

You fucked yourself on his dick. Mewling as he coated your insides with cum. “You’re my dirty little sinner. Give me every last drop. Let me have it,” He whispered the last part of the sentence.

He didn’t forget your tale of woe. Charlie put away your confession in his mind. You were put in a position of self defense. But if you hadn’t been so brave, you wouldn’t have walked into the congregation.

You slowed down, lazily riding his dick with a dazed expression.

“Get on your knees. You’re gonna lick my cock clean and finish the game you started.”

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Tagging @xxbimbobunnyxx @cxrrodedcoffin @fear-is-truth @starkeysprincess @cameronsprincess @chavezprincess @titsout4nicholas @userchai @taintandviolent @webbluvrsugar @oceanblvd111

#Charlie #charlie mayhew #father charlie mayhew #father charlie x reader #father charlie smut #father charlie grotesquerie #charlie mayhew x reader #charlie mayhew x y/n #charlie mayhew smut #nicholas alexander chavez #Nicholas Alexander Chavez smut #nicholas chavez #Nicholas Chavez smut #grotesquerie

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lokisgoodgirl · 3 months ago

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Delicate [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: As Loki recovers from injury - he needs the sweetest balm to heal him: you (w/c 1.4k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Fluff. Avenger! Loki x Female Reader. Description of injury (no blood) In my feelings.

Your fingers trail down the centre of Loki’s sternum: tender, purple splotches soaked into his skin like dye. They've barely faded in the month that’s passed. His trademark ivory skin is like a storm cloud and, if you watch for long enough, you’d swear it ripples. He holds his breath, face set in stoicism, lips pressed together in a thin white line.

He forces a pained smile against his cheeks. “Good as new,” he lies.

“Bullshit,” you reply.

Loki releases the breath, head falling back against the pillows.

“I hate this,” he mutters. A month ago, almost to the day, his torso was nearly decimated when he jumped on a huge explosive meant to kill the entire team.

Not just the team, you remember. The city.

He’s lucky, they say. But it’s more than that. His magic was strong — it was strong enough — but only just. There isn’t an inch of him that hasn’t been healing these past weeks: no inch un-hurt.

Well, that’s not true…there was an inch that escaped unscathed. Nine, actually.

His powers re-generate the damage with every hour that goes by — but Loki’s never been one for patience. “I feel useless,” he snaps. “What good am I to you like this?” You stroke hair back from his face, and his blue eyes slide to meet yours. “You deserve better, darling,” he says seriously. “You have needs — I insist you take your pleasure elsewhere. Lang, Barton, Rogers, even..."

His gaze drops, and he looks up under a fringe of ebony lashes. "But someone inferior to me, that is all I ask.”

You almost shove his shoulder in reprimand before stopping yourself. He sighs again. “We can’t go on like this: you fellating me with dutiful care, and me unable to reciprocate.”

He glances at you with such weighty desolation that you almost burst out laughing as he says, “I feel like my brother — it’s terrible.”

And that does it. Your vision blurs as you pick up a pillow and bury your face in it: cackling. “What?!” he sniffs, affronted. “I have been incapacitated of my greatest boon.”

You surface from the pillow, tears of laughter smeared down your cheeks. “Greatest boon?!?” He gestures to the hard-on pitching the covers with a wilting sigh.

You trail a finger down his bicep on the side nearest you: the side that’s almost healed, but you don’t think he’s noticed. His skin is pure, pale velvet from his shoulder to his hipbone like a tan-mark.

“It doesn’t look incapacitated to me,” you say, eyeing his crotch, knowing what will happen. But you can’t resist. There’s something undeniably erotic about having him like this: needy, frustrated, a little insecure. A short puff erupts from his nostrils. “You can’t go on top: too painful. I can’t go on top: too painful. On my knees? Reverse —?” You place a gentle kiss on the side of his mouth. “I love you, Loki,” you whisper, feeling the skin shiver beneath your touch. “I don’t want anyone else- sex or no sex. I’d wait forever if it meant you healed, but…I think I know something that might work.” Loki’s face immediately tilts to you and his features flinch with the sudden movement. “But!” you say, pressing a finger to his lips. “You need to do exactly as I say, and if it hurts…we stop. Agreed?” With your finger pressed to his mouth, Loki rolls his eyes, and you smile. “Good.”

A slow, twitching, hope crawls up Loki’s expression as you move your hand and slide down the bedsheets. You lie on your back, lifting your hips and shuffling the shorts down. Loki says nothing, but his erection strains against the covers and his eyes dart from your eyes to your hips as the panties make a slow descent down your thighs. “Gods, I feel like a virgin again,” he murmurs, and his fingernails scrape against the bedsheets. He can’t quite make a fist — not yet — but if he could, he’d be doing that sexy clenching/unclenching thing where the veins in his hand stand out. Arousal slides between your legs and you make a show of drawing a finger through it. It’s a risk, you think as you raise it in front of you and rub the finger against your thumb. But you know every part of Loki, and he needs this. And now, if you’re careful, he can. Your finger, slick with your arousal, hovers close to Loki’s mouth and he opens, letting you dab it on his tongue. A dirty moan rumbles from his chest, and his eyes roll back like he’s tasted heaven. And maybe, for him, he has.

He's begged you over the past few weeks since he woke to let him touch you, to sit on his face; but he's been too delicate for that. Turning him down has been unbearable. He has a tough time controlling himself once the two of you start, and you couldn't live with yourself if you made it worse — but the lightened skin on his side is new. And it's good. “Roll on your side,” you whisper, grazing the finger down his shoulder. You press gently into the meat of his bicep. “See? It’s not bad, right?” His eyes light up. “Shhh,” you soothe, guiding the god to face you. His face contorts, a grunt slipping through his teeth. “Don’t even think about it,” he growls before the words 'maybe we should wait,' can even shape your tongue.

Loki positions himself on his side. His cock is straining against his stomach: flawless and pale against the backdrop of indigo abdominal muscle.

You kiss him a final time before curling against him, facing the wall. His cock slots perfectly between your ass-cheeks. Loki’s breath shakes against your neck: hot, quick. You hope he has his eyes closed; you hope he’s savouring every second of this as much as you are. As much as you relished the swell of his cum inside your gentle mouth over the past week since he’d recovered enough for you to show him how much you love him — this is different.

And fuck, you’ve missed him. You need this, both of you do. “Nothing fancy,” you whisper as you reach between your legs and cup the thick of his girth. Traces of pre-cum web against your fingers.

“I don’t know what you mean, darling,” Loki croons. But beneath the bravado, his voice wavers.

The tip of his cock slides against your cunt. “We’ll need to be slow. I won’t be used to you after a month.” Loki’s chest shakes against your back with silent laughter. That must hurt, you think, but he presses a kiss into the curve of your neck. “Slow…I can do,” he says, before sucking a tender bite into the skin. Loki edges his hips forward, the crown of his cock nudging at the rim of your slit. You circle your hips, capturing it, pushing back just enough for your body to welcome him with a short pang of delicious pain. There’s an audible slurp as you take him deeper. You’d almost forgotten how good he feels inside you — almost.

“My love,” he croaks into your hair. You slide halfway down his length, and still. Loki pants gently, and you turn your face to his. “I fucking love you, Loki,” you breathe, “more than anything,” and his eyes grow wider. Those peaked brows sharpen as you sink to the base of his cock: ass meeting the flat of his toned stomach. He flinches. “I’m sorry.” You reach back and cup his jaw. Loki nuzzles into the touch. “Don’t be,” he says, tilting his hips back before burying inside you again with a whisper of, "I've missed you." Pleasure spreads beneath your skin like liquid silk. It’s everything: being in his arms; Loki buried in the deepest parts of you as his heart beats between your shoulder-blades. The ridges of his cock tug your neglected walls, an itch only he can scratch, and your fingers tighten against the bedsheets while his pretty gasps of praise caress your ear. The heat of his skin against your spine is electric. Loki’s hand slips over your waist, cupping your breast, brushing your nipple. “Be careful,” you whisper. But Loki’s kisses work down the curve of your shoulder, lingering on the angle of the blade.

His forehead presses against your skin: moist, warm, alive. Tears prick your eyes at the sudden, unwelcome, memory of when you thought you’d lost him forever. “I love you,” you moan again, and again, and again as he sinks in and retracts with each slow chant of the words. Soon, you cum. And then, he follows. And Loki heals with each breath which makes your chest rise and fall while you slip beneath sleep: safe in his arms.

Tags in comments ❤️

A link to my Masterlist is here

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki x female reader #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson smut #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki imagine #loki oneshot #lokismut #loki laufeyson #loki marvel #loki fluff

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brandyschillace · 8 months ago

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The Forgotten History of the World’s First Transgender Clinic

I finished the first round of edits on my nonfiction history of trans rights today. It will publish with Norton in 2025, but I decided, because I feel so much of my community is here, to provide a bit of the introduction.

[begin sample]

The Institute for Sexual Sciences had offered safe haven to homosexuals and those we today consider transgender for nearly two decades. It had been built on scientific and humanitarian principles established at the end of the 19th century and which blossomed into the sexology of the early 20th. Founded by Magnus Hirschfeld, a Jewish homosexual, the Institute supported tolerance, feminism, diversity, and science. As a result, it became a chief target for Nazi destruction: “It is our pride,” they declared, to strike a blow against the Institute. As for Magnus Hirschfeld, Hitler would label him the “most dangerous Jew in Germany.”6 It was his face Hitler put on his antisemitic propaganda; his likeness that became a target; his bust committed to the flames on the Opernplatz. You have seen the images. You have watched the towering inferno that roared into the night. The burning of Hirschfeld’s library has been immortalized on film reels and in photographs, representative of the Nazi imperative, symbolic of all they would destroy. Yet few remember what they were burning—or why.

Magnus Hirschfeld had built his Institute on powerful ideas, yet in their infancy: that sex and gender characteristics existed upon a vast spectrum, that people could be born this way, and that, as with any other diversity of nature, these identities should be accepted. He would call them Intermediaries.

Intermediaries carried no stigma and no shame; these sexual and Gender nonconformists had a right to live, a right to thrive. They also had a right to joy. Science would lead the way, but this history unfolds as an interwar thriller—patients and physicians risking their lives to be seen and heard even as Hitler began his rise to power. Many weren’t famous; their lives haven’t been celebrated in fiction or film. Born into a late-nineteenth-century world steeped in the “deep anxieties of men about the shifting work, social roles, and power of men over women,” they came into her own just as sexual science entered the crosshairs of prejudice and hate. The Institute’s own community faced abuse, blackmail, and political machinations; they responded with secret publishing campaigns, leaflet drops, pro-homosexual propaganda, and alignments with rebel factions of Berlin’s literati. They also developed groundbreaking gender affirmation surgeries and the first hormone cocktail for supportive gender therapy.

Nothing like the Institute for Sexual Sciences had ever existed before it opened its doors—and despite a hundred years of progress, there has been nothing like it since. Retrieving this tale has been an exercise in pursuing history at its edges and fringes, in ephemera and letters, in medal texts, in translations. Understanding why it became such a target for hatred tells us everything about our present moment, about a world that has not made peace with difference, that still refuses the light of scientific evidence most especially as it concerns sexual and reproductive rights.

[end sample]

I wanted to add a note here: so many people have come together to make this possible. Like Ralf Dose of the Magnus-Hirschfeld-Gesellschaft (Magnus Hirschfeld Archive), Berlin, and Erin Reed, American journalist and transgender rights activist—Katie Sutton, Heike Bauer. I am also deeply indebted to historian, filmmaker and formative theorist Susan Stryker for her feedback, scholarship, and encouragement all along the way. And Laura Helmuth, editor of Scientific American, whose enthusiasm for a short article helped bring the book into being. So many LGBTQ+ historians, archivists, librarians, and activists made the work possible, that its publication testifies to the power of the queer community and its dedication to preserving and celebrating history. But I ALSO want to mention you, folks here on tumblr who have watched and encouraged and supported over the 18 months it took to write it (among other books and projects). @neil-gaiman has been especially wonderful, and @always-coffee too: thank you.

The support of this community has been important as I’ve faced backlash in other quarters. Thank you, all.

NOTE: they are attempting to rebuild the lost library, and you can help: https://magnus-hirschfeld.de/archivzentrum/archive-center/

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aquaticmercy · 5 days ago

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Sleeper

Summary : When Bucky falls in love with the antihero he’s sleeping with, he offers her a place in the Thunderbolts*.

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x antihero!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Violence, death, sex (a prominent theme but not graphic), cursing. Borderline obsessive behaviour. Congressman Barnes as per the Thunderbolts teaser. Batman/Catwoman-like dynamic. (Let me know if I miss anything.)

Word count : 6.5k

Note : This fic was genuinely written because of the van scene in the Thunderbolts trailer. That’s it. That’s how down bad I am for Thunderbolts Bucky. Reader is an antihero called ‘Sleeper.’ The Thunderbolts are referred to as ‘the team.’ The reader and Bucky first met a little bit before FATWS. I also have a cap! Sam fic coming out soon because my god. I am drooling over these two. Enjoy!

Bucky first heard of your existence in whispers.

He had heard your codename in hushed tones when he got off the ice in Wakanda, after Shuri helped rid his brain of the trigger words that haunted him.

Several of the Dora Milaje had crossed paths with you in Ivory Coast, and they had told everyone in the palace about how terrifyingly efficient—and violent— you had been. They said you finished the job before they even got there.

Your codename was nothing but silent rumours by those on the fringes of the intelligence community. They called you ‘Sleeper’— it wasn't a name you chose for yourself, but you have chosen to embrace the fear that people associated with it.

You were an antihero, a vigilante who left rivers of blood in your wake.

Four years ago, you started tracking down the same corrupt officials and Hydra remnants that Bucky was trying to arrest.

The difference: Bucky set out to turn them in, you had your heart set on killing them, fast and efficient, as you always have been.

The first time you crossed paths with the former Winter Soldier, it was in a crumbling KGB safehouse in Eastern Europe. Bucky had taken down most of the guards, ready to haul the high-ranking operative to a jail cell in DC where he can await his trial. He was tired, the strain of therapy and sleepless nights holding him down, but this mission kept him focused.

But when he reached the operative’s office, the target was already slumped over his desk, cold and lifeless.

"Guess I beat you to it, soldier," you said, voice laced with a confidence that made his stomach twist. You let him process the sight of you—fitted black suit, gloved hands, and a smirk that told him you were not only dangerous, but damn well aware of it. A mask obscured your eyes, but even with half of your face covered, he could see how smug you looked.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he said, voice low.

“Good thing I wasn’t asking for you permission.” You tilted your head, the ghost of a laugh in your voice. You were watching him, sizing him up with those sharp eyes that felt like they could through see every part of him he tried to keep hidden.

“Sergeant James Barnes, right?” You said his name with a familiarity that sent a jolt through him. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Never thought I’d actually run into you, though. Lucky night for me.”

He narrowed his eyes, not trusting this mysterious stranger, though he couldn’t deny he was intrigued. “And you are…?”

“I have no name to claim for myself,” you shrugged, leaning back against the wall, “but people call me Sleeper.” You let the name linger, knowing he’d recognize it.

His memory reeled back to Ayo and the Dora Milaje, who had warned him of you: ruthless, volatile. A ghost who disappeared without a trace, always a step ahead. He’d just never expected Sleeper to be… so easy on the eyes.

“I didn’t ask for your help.” He repeated with no conviction. He narrowed his eyes at the body. “Especially not like this.”

You shrugged, pushing off the wall and strolling over. “Relax, soldier,” your gaze met his, “I only go after the ones who deserve it. Just because I do it my way doesn’t mean I’m the villain here.”

“Still doesn’t make it right,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of curiosity underneath his stormy blue eyes.

“Then stop me,” you challenged softly, leaning close enough to feel his breath. “If you can.”

His breath hitched ever so slightly.

You grinned, a spark of intrigue lighting up in your gaze. “I’ll be waiting, James.”

And before he could respond, you were gone.

He knew he should’ve stopped you— but some part of him was glad he hadn’t.

As you disappeared, he felt something he hadn’t in a long, long time: excitement.

—

From that day on, Bucky couldn’t get you out of his head.

At first, it was frustrating. You were hard to track, ruthless—and yet there was a sickening righteous principle to your actions that he couldn’t deny.

As the weeks went by, something else rooted in his brain when he thought of you. Fascination.

His mind often wandered about you during his quiet, sleepless nights, wondering who you were beneath the mask, beneath the mystery and the whispers.

Sam noticed, of course. He'd raise an eyebrow whenever Bucky lingered too long over case files where you'd been mentioned. He’d nudge if he seemed overly eager to volunteer for missions that involved your typical targets.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll show,” Sam teased once, nudging Bucky. “She’s dangerous, though. Is that your type?”

Bucky scoffed, but he knew Sam was right. And maybe that danger was part of what kept him intrigued.

—

The next time you crossed paths, it was in a dark alleyway, both of you dripping with sweat and breathing heavily after taking down an underground fighting ring.

“You know,” he’d said, “killing them doesn’t make it justice.”

“You think turning them in is enough?” Your voice had cut through the air like a knife, but there was no malice behind it. You wanted him to understand your line of thinking, wanted him to know. “People like them are everywhere. They’ll get out. They’ll come back.”

“So you think you get to decide whether they live or die?” he challenged, jaw tight.

“No,” you said, readjusting your mask. “But I do it anyway.” There was a flicker of sadness in your gaze that he noticed, even if you tried to hide it.

What had happened to you? He thought to himself. What have you been through?

In that moment, he noticed the pain behind your eyes, the kind of pain he knew intimately. You weren’t just someone who killed for vengeance; you must have had your reasons. You must have carried scars that ran deep, maybe deeper than his.

—

From that point on, Bucky made it a habit to look for you on every mission. It was like an unspoken game, this cat-and-mouse chase. Every time he saw you, the tension between you grew.

Sometimes, he’d get there first, managing to intercept before you could execute the target. Other times, you’d arrive at the same time. He’d try to talk you out of it, to make you see things his way, but you’d laugh him off, the kind of laugh that hinted at more than your fair share of heartache.

And sometimes, you’d tease him, push boundaries he wasn’t sure he should cross.

“You like this, don’t you, James?” You’d whisper it low, close enough for him to catch your scent, a faint hint of gunpowder and vanilla perfume. “The chase. Getting to play the hero while I get my hands dirty.”

He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t.

—

Bucky grew obsessed, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Every encounter left him more and more drawn to you. He’d search for files on you for days on end without sleep, but all he found were reports with no concrete evidence. He found himself looking for excuses to track your movements, hoping he’d be there to stop you but not quite sure he wanted to succeed.

One night, after another close call, you leaned into him as he pushed you up against the wall. He could feel the heat radiating off you, the electricity charged in the space between you. You looked up at him, the smallest hint of vulnerability peeking through your mask.

“Why do you keep doing this, James?” you asked, voice softer this time. “You can’t save me.”

“Maybe not,” he replied, frowning as his eyes looked down to the edge of your lips, “but I can try.”

That night, he wondered just how long he could keep up this dance before one of you finally gave in.

—

One night, while you were on a caper in Prague, everything changed for the two of you.

The mission had been bloody, chaotic, and a little too close to mayhem for Bucky’s liking. You had taken down an entire network of arms dealers, setting fire to one of their last remaining munitions blocks and leaving it to burn.

Bucky had arrived too late, frantically trying to contain the chaos you’d left in your wake, alerting local authorities, making sure the flames didn’t spread to a nearby market.

When he caught up to you, adrenaline ran hot through his veins.

He'd followed you through winding streets and up dark staircases, up to the hotel you were holed up in. He followed you into your room, locking you both in.

His voice was tight, anger simmering beneath. “You’re careless.” His blue eyes were striking underneath the european moonlight, “you could’ve taken out half the neighbourhood, and for what?”

“I got the job done, James.” You shrugged, trying to look unbothered. “It’s not pretty, but it works.”

He stepped closer, and you held his gaze, “You know, I’d turn you in if you weren’t so…” he paused, his voice faltering, as if the words were lodged in his throat, “Weren’t so…”

Your pulse quickened. “If I weren’t so what?” You snapped, daring him to finish, to admit what had been hanging between you two since the day you met.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled you into a fierce, bruising kiss.

You didn’t hesitate—you kissed him back with just as much fire, your hands tangling in his hair.

Bucky’s hands found your waist, fingers digging in with enough pressure to leave marks. He pushed you back until your shoulders hit the wall, lips moving down your jaw, then hot against your neck. His breaths were ragged, matching your own, and he was holding you as if letting go would mean losing control entirely.

You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips as his mouth found a sensitive spot on the dip in your collarbone, his hands roaming possessively over your back, down your sides.

You pulled him back to your mouth, desperately needing that connection.

When you finally broke apart for air, his forehead rested against yours. You untied your mask and threw it across the room.

Fuck. he thought as his eyes widened, taking in your full facial features for the first time. You were even more beautiful than I imagined you to be.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought to himself, I’m done for.

He was ready to throw you in jail cell. Instead, he ended up in your bed.

That night, in the dim light of your cheap hotel room, clothes were shed in hurried, frustrated movements, and all that pent-up tension finally found its release.

That first time had been desperate, raw. Both of you were driven by the need to let go, to feel something other than the weight of the cold blooded kills and the darkness you both carried.

Ever since then, every time you crossed paths, it was the same: adrenaline-fueled clashes and heated conversations about morality turned into hotel room rendezvous, hands grasping, lips colliding, both of you seeking the kind of solace you could only ever find in each other.

—

You’d never admitted it out loud, but Bucky had an effect on you. When he was around, you found yourself hesitating just that split second longer before slicing your target’s arteries and leaving them to bleed.

You didn’t feel the need to wipe out every enemy anymore, and his disapproval of your methods had started haunting you in ways you’d never expected. Maybe that was why you’d started allowing him to find you more often, taking on jobs you knew he’d be there for.

It was a dangerous game, but you kept playing it. He was obsessed with finding you, and you weren’t about to stop him.

He’d learned to read you better, your patterns, the places you tended to show up. By the time you landed in some city on the opposite end of the globe, he’d be there like clockwork, showing up right before you finished a job, confronting you before you could disappear into the night.

But the nights you spent together were… different.

You never asked about each other’s pasts; you kept it in the here and now, keeping him at a safe distance even as you let him pull you under the covers time and again.

Every time he asked your real name, you’d smile and brush him off, deflecting his curiosity with a kiss or a teasing answer. He didn’t press, but you could see the questions in the way his brow furrowed, could feel the affection in the way he lingered in the mornings after, with a soft smile in his eyes that made your heart beat faster.

Each time, he told himself it was just catharsis, just a release of frustration for both of you, nothing more. But that excuse had worn thin over the years, and Bucky knew it as well as you did.

He knew it wasn’t one sided either. He wasn’t blind to the way you’d look at him as he drifted to sleep next to you. Once, he caught a flicker of something vulnerable in your eyes before you put the walls back up.

And God, was he drawn to you, to the side of you that fought so fiercely, that showed just enough vulnerability to keep him coming back. He was so fucking desperate to understand you better, to see more of the person underneath the mask.

—

One night, after a mission in Manila, you’d both ended up in a small, worn-down cheap hotel room overlooking the city lights. You were leaning against the headrest of the bed, a hint of sweat clinging to your skin, breathing still unsteady as you came down from the high you gave each other.

He watched you, his gaze lingering on the barely-perceptible rise and fall of your chest.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, voice thick with exhaustion. There was a tremor in your tone, a flicker of something vulnerable that he wasn’t sure you meant for him to hear.

“Like what?” he asked, nuzzling closer to you. His now long hair was tied back in a low bun, your hair tie holding it together because he didn't have one of his own.

“Like you want something from me that I’m too broken to give,” you said, refusing to meet his eyes. But he reached for you, tipping your chin up until you had no choice but to look at him, and there it was—that flicker of affection he knew ran just as deep in you as it did in him.

“Maybe I want it anyway,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. “You ever think of that?”

“This is just a release, James.” Your gaze softened for just a second, long enough for him to catch it before you shook your head, pulling yourself from his grasp. “It’s just something we both need.”

Even as you said it, you weren't convinced. He reached for you again, pulling you close, and kissed you because that was the only thing you’d let him do.

You melted into him once more, you found yourself wondering just how much longer you could keep him at arm’s length.

—

The shift in Bucky’s life had been as dramatic as it was unexpected. You’d never pegged him for politics—neither had he, to be fair—but here he was, representing his district, looking sharp in a suit that cost more than the last few hotels you’d met in combined.

He’s upgraded. Freshly elected, polished up, all suited and respectable as a congressman, fighting for reform from a marble office by day and for justice in dark alleys by night.

But tonight, with that half-smile he only gets with you, he’s still the same— still carrying that simmering tension in his lips, his hair tousled from a long night of pursuing you through the shadows.

After a mission that had you both knee-deep in an abandoned bunker hunting a rogue assassin, you found yourself together once again. Only this time, the hotel he’d booked was far from cheap.

He brought you to a five-star suite. The bed was massive, the sheets soft, and the view from the window sprawled out over the city skyline, a stark contrast to the dingy rooms you’d gotten used to.

Now, lying beside him in the rumpled silk sheets, you watched him catch his breath. You moved off of his lap to lay next to him, euphoric from the guilty pleasure you both indulged in.

“You know, the second someone finds out Congressman Barnes has a relationship with a violent vigilante, you’re out of office.”

He looked over at you, eyebrows raised. “Relationship?”

Fuck. He caught you slipping up. He caught you thinking about a relationship with him.

“Casual sex is still a relationship, James.” You shrugged, trying to save face. You turned to him, with a lazy, unconvinced smile, “Strings attached or not, it counts.”

He shifted, the corner of his mouth twitching as he watched your wall break, even if only one brick at a time. “Casual,” His fingers traced idle patterns along your bare shoulder. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Unless you’re pretending you don’t want it anymore.” You paused, leaning closer, “Or maybe you just like that I could ruin everything. That I could say one word to the press, post one picture online and your reputation is finished. You’d be back to square one.”

He chuckled, his fingers grazing down your arm. It was terrifying, how comfortable he’d become with you. “I trust that you wouldn’t,” he said softly, voice laced with that steady confidence, like he knows you better than you know yourself.

His declaration hung in the air, and you felt guilt striking in your chest.

This wasn’t supposed to be part of this arrangement. Trust was for partners, for couples, for people who wanted things that lasted.

You shook it off, leaning back, a little smirk tugging at your lips as you lifted a brow. “You’re right. I do have a soft spot for you, Congressman Barnes,” you added, the title rolling off your tongue with a touch of sarcasm, “Consider it my gift to democracy.”

He laughed, letting his head fall back against the pillow. His hand drifted down to catch yours, holding it in a way that felt too natural, too comfortable for what you were supposed to be.

You both knew, despite the banter and the invisible boundaries, this thing between you was already past casual. It was the reason he keeps showing up where you showed up, the reason you’re letting him into your life in ways you never let anyone before. You were both just too stubborn to say it.

He pulled you closer, pressing his lips to yours in a way that feels almost… affectionate. For a moment, you let yourself sink into it, forgetting the consequences, the danger, the fact that this man might just unravel you completely and you would have no say in it whatsoever.

When you pulled back, his fingers trailed over your bare waist. “Maybe it’s more than just a soft spot,” he suggested, his voice barely above a whisper.

You raised an eyebrow, heart beating out of your chest. “Let’s not get sentimental, James,” you brushed, letting your fingers graze his jaw as you murmured, “You’ve got an image to protect, after all.”

He lets out a sigh that’s part laughter, part frustration. He knew you were deflecting. “Right,” he said, brushing his lips against yours again.

“You and your image,” you chuckled, “Out there, shaking hands and making speeches about justice while you sneak off to hotel rooms with someone like me.”

He grinned, not a trace of shame in his expression as he turned his gaze back to you. “Someone’s gotta keep you in line. Even if it takes…” His voice lowered, dropping into that deep, teasing tone that made your stomach knot. “…a hands-on approach.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the last person who’d ever get me in line, James.” You leaned closer, though you didn't believe a single word you said.

There was a long silence for a while. He eventually reached out, brushing a lock of hair back from your face, his thumb tracing over your cheek.

“Maybe you’re right,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe that’s why I keep coming back.”

As the city lights cast a faint glow over the room, you lay there in silence, limbs tangled together in a way that felt a little less no strings attached every time.

—

The next time you meet, you were on a late-night operation on the dark outskirts of the city. You’ve tracked down a group of mercenaries. They’re as ruthless as they were careless, leaving a trail of devastation across the criminal underworld. But tonight, their recklessness will end with you.

You moved through in silence, precise, methodical. One by one, you took them down, not killing, but incapacitating them. Your fists were quick, your strikes precise. It’s what you’ve done for years, a grim pattern of efficiency that never required a second blow. Just as you reached the man who hired them with your knife drawn—a local crime lord—you felt his presence before you saw him.

“Think twice, Sleeper,” Bucky said from behind you.

You froze, heart pounding as you stood over the crime lord begging for mercy. It would be so easy to end this now, but with Bucky watching, you hesitated.

You lowered the knife.

Instead of killing him, you tied him up alongside the other mercenaries, ignoring the questions in their fearful eyes. Bucky made a call, alerting local authorities to pick up the mess you’ve left behind.

“What now?” you asked, walking away from the carnage. You were expecting the usual pattern: another hotel room, a brief reprieve from the violence, nothing more.

But he surprised you, lacing his hand in between your fingers, warm and secure.

He had never, ever, showed affection outside closed doors.

“Come with me.”

—

You didn’t expect Bucky to take you back to his place, but soon you were standing outside a sleek high-rise in the heart of the city. You followed him up to his penthouse apartment. It’s almost disorienting— the polished floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You found yourself standing in the quiet entryway of his home. The walls were painted in light, earthy tones, and the furniture was clean, modern, yet warm.

You glanced around, taking in the small details that hinted at Bucky's life beyond the missions. There were bookshelves lined with novels and memoirs, some old and looked like first editions, others barely touched. A few black-and-white photographs decorated the walls—New York City at dusk, a forest path, a beach sunset. It was an oddly peaceful place for a man like him. Certainly too peaceful for someone as broken as you.

“This is risky, James,” you said, looking up at him as he closed the door behind him, “Showing me where you live.”

“No, it's not,” he replied, his conviction absolute. “I trust you.”

There it was again. That word. Trust. The thing you never quite knew what to do with, especially coming from him.

You studied the way his favourite leather jacket was tossed on a chair, a half-read book by the couch. It felt like stepping across an invisible line. You set your mask down on the table before he grabbed your waist and pulled you close.

“This feels like crossing a boundary, James,” you admitted. You knew he should pull back, give you a chance to retreat. But you didn't want him to.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he cupped your face as he tilted your chin up gently. “What boundary?” he asked.

He knew that there were nothing separating you two. Not anymore.

The space between you vanished as his lips met yours. You kissed him back, losing yourself in the process of tasting him. His hands slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer. Kissing him felt like falling— like surrender.

You made your way to his bedroom, bodies tangled together, a blur of heated whispers and gasping breaths. Clothes fell away, discarded like old skin. The way he looked at you, it was like he was memorising every inch of you.

In that moment, you realised: the boundary had never been there. Not for him. Maybe not for you either.

—

The room was quiet as you lay tangled up in Bucky’s sheets. The duvet smelled like him, unlike the neutral, sterile scent of the usual hotel sheets.

You’d never admit it, but it was intoxicating.

The satisfied pulsing in your body had put a hazy filter over everything.

Bucky smiled softly, kissing your forehead before reaching to his bedside drawer, pulling out a small glass box, placing it gently on your palm.

"Here," he murmured, almost shyly. He opened the box to reveal a hair tie inside.

Oh. You recognised it. The ends were a bit frayed, the colour faded.

It was the hair tie you’d given him in Manila, a lifetime ago, a little piece of you that he’d tucked away in a corner of his home

You blinked, caught off guard. "You still have that?"

He shrugged, but his eyes wouldn’t meet yours. Was he… embarrassed? "I thought it was... worth keeping."

"Careful, James,” you couldn't help but tease him, nuzzling closer into his arms. “Keep this up and you might just start falling in love with me."

You felt his breath hitch.

He looked up, finally. Nervously.

Instead of denying it, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, warm whisper. "Would that be so bad?"

His fingers brushed against yours, sending a shiver through your spine. Your heart fluttered irregularly, your head spinning in a daze as you tried to keep your thoughts down.

No.

You couldn’t let him see that he was getting to you like this, so you did what you always did: you deflected, grinning forcefully and rolling your eyes.

"Yeah, right," you said, brushing off the moment. As much as it broke your heart to deny the truth, you were doing it for his sake and yours. "I'm not that easy to love, James."

He chuckled softly, the warmth of his breath brushing your skin as he pulled you closer, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "Maybe that's why I do."

You shifted away from him, wrapping yourself in the sheets as if they could shield you from what he was offering — and from the ache in his gaze.

"We can’t…" you said, voice barely above a whisper. "We can’t do this."

Bucky's eyes darkened, but he would be alright. He expected this from you.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to collect himself. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between his desire for you and something else… there was something bigger.

"I need to tell you something," he said quietly. “I have… a team.”

That caught you off guard.

Bucky? On a team? He’d always seemed like a lone wolf, just like you.

“There’s a couple of former Widows, who you’d get along with. Two other super soldiers. And someone who can… phase. Quantum experiment gone wrong.” He paused, “We’re trying to make something real here. And it’s missing someone.” His fingers trailed down your forearm, eventually clasping your palm in his, “It’s missing you.”

He pushed a strand of hair behind your ears, trailing your jawline delicately with his metal hand, “I need you.”

The invitation went unanswered for a moment. You swallowed, caught off-guard by how badly he seemed to want this, how he wanted you to be part of it.

“I work alone, James,” you said, brushing off the offer with a small, bitter smile. “You know that.”

“But why not?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “Why won’t you let someone else in for once?”

The frustration in his tone was raw, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of pain flash across his face from this rejection.

“This is your chance to do something good the right way,” he pressed, and there was a quiet urgency in his voice. “No more hunting down bad guys with no direction. No more living like you’ve got nothing left to lose.”

His words sank in, and your walls felt shakier than ever. The idea of leaving the past behind, of actually building something… you hadn’t let yourself imagine it in years.

“Just think about it,” he said softly, placing his forehead on yours. “You don't have to decide now. Just… consider it.”

You gave a noncommittal shrug, but the truth was that his offer echoed in your mind, louder than you wanted to admit. He smiled at your dismissiveness, recognizing the crack in your armour. He didn’t push further.

You realised that for the first time in a long time, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to say no.

—

The next time you saw Bucky was in the middle of a mission neither of you had wanted.

Just a week had passed since you’d spent the night in his apartment. Since then, you had told yourself you shouldn’t return. You couldn’t. You were getting too close, feeling too much.

It was getting dangerous.

But then Bucky had reached out to you, voice tight and desperate, the kind of desperation that stripped away all his pride. It was a vulnerability even you hadn't seen from him before. His team was in over their heads, he’d said. He needed you.

You’d agreed to help, but you’d been careful to remind him that this was a one-time thing. One mission, and that was it.

But then everything went wrong.

It happened so fast, you barely understood how everything had gone wrong.

You were with Bucky, fighting side-by-side, the two of you moving as if connected by some invisible thread.

You had taken a blow, separating you from everyone else. You tried standing up but fuck! The impact had shattered your ankle, sending a searing pain through your leg. Your nerves were on fire in a way they had never been before.

You couldn't move.

You couldn't get up. Couldn’t run.

And then the ground shifted, an explosion roared from behind, and the next thing you knew, a van was thrown across the road, hurtling straight toward you.

For a single, frozen heartbeat, you realised this was it.

It was over.

You saw the faces of bystanders staring from the sidewalk, their eyes wide, too horrified to look away. You let go of the cold steel of your knife still gripped in your hand. The acrid taste of smoke on your tongue intensified. And the truck—a wall of twisted metal hurtling closer, closer, impossibly fast.

You’d spent so many years brushing so close to death that you always thought you’d be ready.

But now, all you felt was regret.

Regret that this was how you’d die: in the middle of a cold, empty street, surrounded by strangers who would never remember you, never know who you were or what you’d done.

Alone.

You thought of Bucky in those last seconds—his quiet smiles, the way he’d look at you like he could see through every wall you put up, the silent crutch he’d offered without expecting anything in return. Bucky, who’d trusted you, who’d somehow cared for you even after everything you’d done.

For the first time, you felt regret for every life you’d taken, every person you’d left to die in your wake.

Your life had been nothing but survival and bloodshed. You had told yourself it was necessary, that it was the only way. But here, now, with your own death inches away, it all felt hollow.

You’d given up hope, abandoned the idea of redemption long ago—because you were too broken.

And yet, with Bucky, something had changed. He had looked at you and somehow seen past it all. He’d made you feel as if maybe, just maybe, you were something more than the ghost you’d become. Maybe, instead of running, you could have found a way to fight for something real, something that mattered.

Maybe you could have been someone better.

You would never know now.

The world narrowed, and you braced yourself for the inevitable, hoping it would be quick and painless. Your fingers tightened, clinging to the memory of him in those last, precious seconds as you waited to feel the impact—

But it never came.

Instead, there was a rush of air, a deafening crash, and then—silence. You blinked, dazed, your heart still hammering, and when you looked up, Bucky was standing there, his metal arm outstretched, braced against the van that he’d deflected away.

He turned to face you, his expression raw, worry carved deep into his features as he scanned you, checking for injuries. For a moment, he just stared, his breathing uneven, as if he’d been the one facing certain death.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice panicked.

You tried to answer, but the words tangled, caught in your throat. You managed a nod, barely able to process what had just happened.

“Shit,” he kneeled next to you, “Is your ankle broken, can you walk?”

You stared at him, trembling as he tore a part of his shirt and wrapped it around your injury for support.

Bucky had saved you. He had thrown himself in front of a hurtling vehicle without a moment of hesitation, as if your life were worth that sacrifice.

He had saved you.

You were alive because of him.

Alive, when you’d already accepted that you were going to die alone.

No one had ever done that for you. No one had ever saved you—not like this, not without asking anything in return. Hell, you never thought that you deserved to be saved.

“You’re okay, Sleeper,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was reassuring himself as much as you. “I’m here.”

His words settled into the cracks that had broken open inside you, filling them in ways you hadn’t thought possible. You hadn’t realised how empty you’d felt until now, how long you’d carried the weight of loneliness, of believing that this life—this endless, solitary fight—was all you deserved.

Bucky made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to be alone. That maybe, even after all you’d done, there was a place for you outside the shadows.

“Don’t call me that,” your voice trembled, “I don’t want you to call me Sleeper anymore.”

Bucky stopped for a second, confused. “What do you want me to call you, then?”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Something inside you broke, raw and vulnerable, and the name you’d hidden for years slipped from your lips before you even realised it. Your real name—your last, fragile piece of self you’d kept locked away, hoping one day you’d be able to reclaim it.

It felt right with Bucky, like you could trust him with it, like you could let yourself be seen.

Bucky’s eyes widened, his face softening as he repeated it, almost reverent, like he wanted to remember how it felt to say it.

Hearing him say your name, like a prayer, like it was sacred, like it mattered— tore down whatever walls you had left. He’d given you something you didn’t know you could have: the feeling of belonging to yourself again. The feeling of belonging to the world again.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers shaking. He moved, pulling you closer. His touch was grounding, steady—a lifeline that anchored you to the moment, to this fragile reality where you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

You pressed your lips to his, but this kiss was different— it wasn't casual or sexual as it has always been. This time, it was gentle, carrying something other than desire, something precious and fragile.

Something worth nurturing.

When you finally pulled away, he looked at you lovingly.

“I’ll join you,” you said, the words coming from some deep part of you that had been waiting for someone to give you this chance, this choice.

Now you realised that this choice was yours all along. All you had to do was take it.

And you did, because maybe, instead of running from yourself, you could find a way to make things right. Maybe you could fight for something greater than yourself.

For the first time, wrapped in Bucky’s embrace, you believed that maybe you could be someone worth saving.

—

A month later, you were all gathered around a small campfire, tucked away in a quiet corner of nowhere.

The night was cool, the fire warm, and laughter bubbled up from the group as you shared bits and pieces of each other's lives.

“Team bonding,” John had said.

John passed around a nearly empty bag of marshmallows, Alexei poked at the fire, and Yelena and Ava exchanged eye rolls at everyone else’s antics, though they leaned closer together under the same blanket.

Eventually, the conversation drifted, as it often did, to you and Bucky.

“So… how did the Winter Soldier and Sleeper even meet?” Yelena asked, raising an eyebrow as she threw another marshmallow into her mouth.

The moniker you had adopted still twisted in your stomach every time you heard it, but it had lost its edge. This time, you felt in control. Like you owned it.

"I have theories,” Alexei nodded, crossing his arms, “but I have to know."

You shared a look with Bucky, a small smile creeping on both your faces. “There was a Hydra agent we were both after.” you began, biting back a frown. “And… well, I was angrier back then.”

He placed his arm on yours, a comforting gesture.

“You wanted him alive,” you said. “I had… different ideas.”

“After that—” Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “—She was all I could think about. I kept showing up wherever she was, trying to figure her out.”

“So basically,” John said, trying to hold back a laugh, “Bucky is a bit of a stalker.”

“A stalker?” Bucky echoed incredulously, “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘dedicated.’”

“No, no,” Ava interjected, “you followed her everywhere did you not? ‘Stalker’ is the right word, Barnes.”

“Fine,” he admitted jokingly, “But what can I say? It was love at first sight.”

Yelena gagged theatrically and John clutched his stomach in a fit of laughter.

Alexei just chuckled and muttered something about “American romance.” Ava made a face, disgusted but secretly amused.

You couldn’t help but laugh along with them, leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, looking down at you with a quiet smile.

In some way, this still felt too good to be real.

For the first time, you realized you’d found exactly what you’d been missing all along. A home. Maybe even the closest thing you’ve ever had to a family.

A place where you belonged.

And you knew, looking at all of them—especially at Bucky—that this was just the beginning.

-end

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rodolfoparras · 12 days ago

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PLEASEJADGW I AM NEW, SPEAK ABT THE THE SOFT COCK FOR ME AGAIN

Thinking about hooking up with a divorced father whose only company for the past years has been the bear bottles in his fridge.

He’s greedy as ever as he sloppily licks into your mouth, lips tasting of whatever he had at the bar, practically moaning like a little slut while grinding down on your cock. His poor worn out coach is barley able to hold your weight but he couldn’t care less about that as he continues to hump you like some horny teenager.

Everything’s going well or at least you think so and soon you find yourself nestled between his thighs, hands swiftly pulling down his pants along with his boxers, hungrily watching as his cock spills out.

There isn’t much to the size but there’s some girth to his dick, shaft flushed an angry red and tip already weeping from just a little teasing.

Suddenly you find yourself eager as ever to get your mouth around him. However you don’t get much further than that before you feel him go soft in your mouth, with the older man looking absolutely horrified, apologizes rolling off of his tongue as he tries to get out of your grasp “fuck fuck- I’m so sorry I don’t know what happened,”

You don’t respond nor do you loosen your grip leaving the man looking both frazzled and confused where he lays pinned beneath your body. “What are you doing son? Let me go!”

Before he can say or do anything else you sink back down on him again, leaving the man loudly gasping as he bucks up into you “ahah! Fuck!”

As you work your mouth on him, you can’t help but notice how much smaller he feels. Cock fully soft yet so girthy. The weight of it on your tongue leaves you feeling numb but instead of having it be a frigid cold that encomposes your bones it’s a certain warmth that starts from the top of your head and works its way down to your toes.

The man beneath you seems frozen in place, looks at you with wide eyed and mouth agape as if he can’t believe this is happening. “ Jesus Christ You like this huh?” You hear him say but there’s no bite to his words, sounding more in disbelief if anything as his hand tentively cradles your skull.

Instead of responding you take him all the way down, obscene squelching sounds mingling with his whines and whimpers, only fully stopping when you’re buried in the fringe of curls and you got his balls pressed snug against you.

“Okay okay fuck you really like this yeah? Show me ah - show me how greedy you are for this soft cock then,”

Without wasting another second you do as he says,this time going at a much slower pace since your goal isn’t to get him off anymore but rather to feel all of him, and that’s exactly what you do as you bob your head down, mind focused on how hot and velvety he feels under your tongue.

“Fuck just like that, suck this old man’s cock,” he says through gritted teeth, the hand in your hair turning rougher as he yanks on it. “You know my wife never liked it when I got soft, fuck- she ah- she even left because of that but you? God you suck it like you were made for it,”

His words paired with the bitter taste lingering on your tongue makes you hungry for more and before you know of it you find yourself sucking harder, head bobbing erratically and losing yourself in the feeling of him jerking against the roof of your mouth, the way you can easily take more and more and more of his soft cock without chocking up, and the feeling of his spit slicked balls sliding against you with every thrust.

“God yes ah yes yes,” he gasps out but it’s not long before he pulls you away from his cock and you’re almost ashamed of the pitiful sound that escapes your mouth.

“Shh shh easy there, “ he coaxes out as he strokes your head “we’re going to have plenty of fun I promise, go and get that bottle of lube for me yeah?”

#cod x reader #cod x male reader #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #satoru x reader #satoru x male reader #suguru x reader #suguru x male reader #toji x reader #toji x male reader #Nanami x reader #Nanami x male reader #ghost x reader #ghost x male reader #price x reader #price x male reader #sub male reader #dom male character

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ja3yun · 3 months ago

Text

Melting Point | Bonus Chapter

ice skater!sunghoon x gf!reader warnings: smut (mdni), oral (f.rec), pussy muncher hoon is back, unprotected sex, very bad descriptions about ice skating, cheesy and wholesome (not sorry one bit), not proofread, if i missed any lmk! w.c: 12k synopsis: with sunghoon and minhee competing at the winter olympics, you're in the most romantic city in the world. your nerves are strung high for both of them but your boyfriend has a surprise once everything is said and done. masterlist** a/n: hi! my melting point lovers, this is for you and only you! i hit 4k followers on this blog and i thought, what better way than give my lovely people a bc of the fic that got me my first 1k followers! plus, i missed them like crazy and i felt like this was a nice wrap to their story. as always, comments, feedback, reblogs and likes are all welcome.

** if you haven't read mp then this will probably not make sense to you but if you really wanted to, you could read it as a stand alone. this is also dedicated to 🌊 anon bc no one loves mp quite like them 🙏🏻

Kicking your feet, you sit at the edge of the hotel bed, watching your boyfriend pack the last few costume pieces into his gym bag. He looks so pretty in front of you; his dark hair is freshly cut but still long enough that some of his fringe dangles in front of his face. His body is strong and dependable, just like always, and his concentrated look adds cuteness to him despite his typical handsome charm.

The room is filled with the quiet rustle of fabric and the faint scent of his cologne, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. Your heart swells with affection as you watch him, every detail etching itself into your memory - the ripple of his muscles under his shirt, the furrow of his brows, and the gentle way he handles even the most delicate pieces.

"I miss you," you blurt out, the words slipping past your lips before you can stop them.

Sunghoon stops packing and looks up, his thick eyebrows raised in confusion. "Sweets, I'm standing right in front of you," he says, pointing to himself with a puzzled expression and a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

“I know, but we’ve hardly seen each other,” you begin, rising from the bed and approaching him with a slight pout. “We’ve been in the most romantic city in the world for the past four days, and I’ve seen you for a collective twenty minutes.”

Chuckling softly, Sunghoon shakes his head. “I mean, I am competing at the Olympics. That kinda requires my attention,” he explains, though the playful glint in his eyes betrays the lightness of his tone.

“I require your attention,” you counter, sulking slightly, though you’re aware of the unfairness in your complaint. He’s been relentlessly training for the biggest and final skate of his professional career, and here you are, feeling neglected because he is rightfully busy. You should be cheering him on and savouring every moment you get to spend together, especially since the competition is this afternoon.

Despite your unreasonable grumbling, Sunghoon's expression remains warm and understanding. With a gentle sigh, he pulls you into his embrace, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting your head against his chest. You can feel the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat and the slight rumble of laughter he’s holding back, a comforting vibration against your ear.

"Paris isn’t all that anyway. I mean, what is there to see anyway? Nice restaurants? The Louvre? The Wall of I Love You? Sounds awful if you ask me." The sarcasm in his voice is dripping with humour, each word teasing you softly.

You lift your head to look up at him, unable to suppress a smile at his exaggerated complaints. His eyes, filled with a mix of affection and mischief, meet yours. “You’re impossible,” you say, shaking your head but feeling your heart lighten.

Sunghoon leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “And you’re my favourite distraction,” he murmurs, his breath warm and reassuring against your skin. “But I promise, Sweets, after this competition, we’ll have all the time in the world to explore Paris. And I’ll make sure to give you all the attention you deserve.”

His eyes gleam with the love he always shows you, but there’s a subtle shadow of uncertainty behind them. Though you haven’t been able to spend much time together since arriving, you’ve been by his side for months leading up to this moment. You understand how much this means to him.

Sunghoon’s training for this prestigious event has been nothing short of gruelling. Hours upon hours spent perfecting his routines, pushing his body to its limits, and honing his skills have left little room for anything else. It was his decision to leave the competitive world of figure skating after the Winter Olympics, shifting his focus to coaching and leading a less hectic life - a choice he is content with. However, this final performance carries immense weight, and the pressure is almost suffocating. Once it’s over, he can finally breathe, but for now, his lungs and heart are trapped in a cage of nerves and anticipation.

“How are you feeling about it?” you ask softly, pressing gentle kisses over his heart, hoping to soothe the tension you know is building inside him.

“Fine,” he replies, but the tightness in his voice betrays him.

You give him a pointed stare, silently urging him to be honest with you. His facade crumbles, and he lets out a heavy sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Shitting myself. If I fuck up, I don’t have a chance to redeem myself. This is what I’ll be known for forever.”

The weight of this final performance hangs heavily on Sunghoon’s shoulders. The relentless drive to be perfect, to deliver a flawless routine, feels almost unbearable. The thought of a single misstep, a minor flaw, is paralysing. He knows that in the world of figure skating, this performance will be his legacy. The pressure to be remembered as a champion, to leave the ice with no regrets, is a relentless force pressing down on him. His heart races at the mere thought of stepping onto the ice, every nerve in his body taut with the anticipation of the moment that could define his career.

“Hey,” you say softly, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to meet your gaze. “You’ve already proven yourself time and time again. No matter what happens, you’ve achieved so much. I believe in you, and everyone who loves you believes in you too.”

He shakes his head, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “It’s not just about what I’ve done. It’s about how I finish. Everyone remembers the ending, and if I screw this up...”

“You won’t screw it up,” you interrupt gently. “You’ve worked so hard for this. You’re more prepared than anyone else out there.”

“But what if I’m not?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly. “What if I stumble, or fall, or miss a beat? This is my last chance to get it right. There are no do-overs.”

You tighten your hold on his face, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. “Listen to me, Sunghoon. You’re human. Perfection isn’t the goal, that is still the lingering words of your mum talking; it’s about doing your best and knowing you gave it everything you had. You’ve done that already. You’ve pushed beyond limits, and you’ve inspired so many people, including me.”

He closes his eyes, absorbing your words. “I’m so scared,” he admits, his vulnerability laid bare. “What if it’s not enough?”

“It is enough,” you say firmly. “You are enough. And no matter what happens, I’ll be right here, proud of you. Always.”

It’s not often you see your boyfriend doubt himself like this, not since his mum has been out of the picture and he has actually started to enjoy skating again. But you can understand why he is so nervous and self-diminishing his abilities. This is the Olympics, something that he has been dreaming about since he was a little boy. That would put a weight on anyone’s shoulder never mind it being the definitive.

You lean up and press a tender kiss to his lips, pouring all your love and reassurance into the gesture. He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening as if drawing strength from your unwavering support. When you pull back, you see a flicker of resolve in his eyes, a reminder of why he’s made it this far.

Sunghoon’s expression softens, a gentle smile spreading across his face. He nuzzles his nose against yours, a sweet and intimate gesture that makes your heart flutter. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmurs, his eyes glistening with affection as they lock onto yours.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, feeling a wave of warmth envelop you. “Well, good thing you don’t have to find out,” you reply, your voice laced with both tenderness and playful teasing.

He pulls you closer, his arms encircling you in a protective embrace, his fingers digging gently into your t-shirt. “I love you,” he whispers, his breath warm and comforting against your ear. “So freaking much, Sweets.”

“I love you too,” you murmur back, letting the words settle between you like a shared secret.

Sunghoon’s smirk suddenly makes an appearance, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Alright, but seriously,” he says, leaning back slightly to meet your gaze with a teasing glint. “Who are you rooting for to win? Me or Minhee?”

The question catches you off guard, and you blink at him in surprise. “I’m rooting for both of you, obviously!” you protest, your tone a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

Sunghoon arches an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Come on, Sweets. Let’s say the stakes are higher. Gun to your head, who takes the top podium: me or Minhee?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, swatting at his chest playfully. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? Minhee is my brother but also my client. It’s literally in my job description to root for him!”

Sunghoon chuckles, the sound resonating deeply from his chest, warm and infectious. “So, what you’re saying is, if it weren’t for your job, you’d be rooting for me?”

You roll your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips despite your best efforts to stay serious. “None of you will let this rivalry go, huh? It’s like you both live for these little competitions till this day.”

Shrugging, Sunghoon picks up his bag, slinging it effortlessly across his shoulder. "Old habits die hard," he replies, a sly twinkle in his eye. He reaches out and pinches your cheek gently, his touch light but affectionate. “But I’ll just say you want me to win.”

As you open your mouth to retaliate and defend yourself, he leans in and plants a quick, playful kiss on your nose. The unexpected touch makes your face flush with a delightful mix of embarrassment and affection. You blink up at him, momentarily disarmed by his endearing gesture.

Sunghoon’s grin widens, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Gotta go,” he says, stepping back with a playful wink. “Remember, I’m competing right after Minhee, so try to stick around that area so I can see you. Can’t win without my good luck charm rinkside.”

He makes his way toward the hotel door, his confident stride carrying him with an air of excitement. Just before he exits, he glances back over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and warmth. “I love you, Sweets.”

“I love you more, Hoon.”

_____

The moment Sunghoon walks into the changing room, he is hit by a mix of heat, sweat, and deodorant. It’s not like he isn’t used to it, every sports locker room is the same, even when he used to share it with the hockey boys at the Albion. Sunghoon is a particularly clean person, however, so the sight and scent are still disgusting to his senses.

What is a sight for sore eyes though, is his best friend Minhee sitting under his assigned peg as he ties the laces of his black, shiny skates, his facial expression serious though the task is mundane and easy to carry out.

That’s the thing about competition day, everything is charged to 100 and even the simplest of actions can feel like a monument. And since this has been Minhee’s ambition - even competing at the Olympics never mind winning - he is feeling the pressure like he is a car under a compressor, two seconds away from being crushed scraps and thrown into the heap with the rest of the junk.

Despite that, when he hears someone approaching, he looks up to see his rival-turned-friend-turned-rival for one last day and plasters a smile on his face, hiding the tension in his frame.

“Hey, Hoon,” he greets simply, straightening up to look at him, squinting his eye slightly at the overhead light casting a heavenly glow around the skater. He doesn’t know what watt they have in Paris bulbs but he sure as hell misses the dullness of the Belmore, never complaining about the flickering yellow and burnt bulbs again.

Returning his smile, Sunghoon sits beside him, clasping a hand onto the boy's shoulder and rubbing it slightly, emitting a similar feeling to a brief massage. “Hey, Min.”

“How is my lover this morning?” Minhee winks, enjoying the relief from Sunghoon’s hand. He knew he should have taken up the offer for Wonyoung to give him a full body massage, but he didn’t want to get too loose, or the real reason, fuck her until his alarm blared cruelly in the morning.

Shaking his head, Sunghoon retrieves his hand and sighs, running it lazily through his locks. “Shitting a brick, to be honest. You?”

Spitting out a laugh, your brother nods. “Same. Once this is over do you want to get into construction? I’m shitting enough bricks to build a mansion.”

The sarcastic notion allows Sunghoon to relax and laugh alongside his buddy, the air a little lighter with the ease of the conversation. For Sunghoon, growing up with no friends in this field meant he only had his mum to confide in, who wouldn’t even let him air his worries, stating that it created a negative mindset and would ruin his chances. So having Minhee by his side is a welcomed change.

Your brother and boyfriend have gotten so close since Nationals that you have practically become the third wheel when they are together. You understand, though; as much as you love and empathise with the gruelling training and pressure, you will never understand them the way they do one another.

And with Minhee now crazily in love with not only your boyfriend but his girlfriend Wonyoung, it means you get to spend time with her too. She’s been teaching you how to skate and sharing insights from her own experience managing herself, which has been incredibly helpful for your role as Minhee’s manager. You love having her around, and double dates have become some of the highlights of your life.

Unzipping his duffle, Sunghoon begins to retrieve his handmade costume, looking at it with unfiltered awe. Rina outdid herself this time, the black sheer top with black and red gemstones splattered over it in the shape of a deconstructed heart fits perfectly with his heartbreak-themed performance. You had come up with the idea to skate to a song that signifies farewell but nothing obvious like Adele or Lewis Capaldi, something that people would remember. Eventually, after listening to hours of playlists curated on Spotify, some named after ex-lovers or ‘songs to get over One Direction too’, he finally settled upon Porter Robinson’s Goodbye to a World. It’s not what he is used to, the electronic track a stark contrast to his usual melodic symphonies, but with the song signifying a bittersweet end that promises brighter days ahead, he couldn’t think of a better song.

Once your best friend and Sunghoon’s self-proclaimed stylist heard the song, she came up with this jewelled masterpiece. She felt heartache with a slice of redemption in the lyrics, hence, the heart isn’t broken or whole, it is simply there to feel how it wants to as it trails up his side and over his chest.

Minhee glances over at the top and smiles brightly. “Looks good, man. I’m going to steal her once you retire,” he jokes, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his eyes. He had already messaged Rina the moment he found out she was the one who designed the famous blue National outfit.

“I’m sure she’ll be more than willing,” Sunghoon replies fondly, hooking the top behind him. “She’s changing her final project to costume design. You can be her model. Just be prepared to give her some freebies from those new brand deals you have.”

Ever since you became Minhee’s manager, you’ve done a far better job than your mom did in her 15-plus years of managing him. Brands lined up at the door as soon as Nationals were over, eager to partner with Korea’s number one skater. The initial wave of attention was overwhelming. Your first day on the job was filled with countless emails about potential sponsors and multiple love letters asking you to play matchmaker.

But you made it clear to Minhee that these decisions were his to make. After years of your mom forcing him into deals he didn’t care about for quick cash, you insisted that he choose the ones he genuinely wanted, and you would handle the details. Being the brother you know and love, the first sponsor he accepted was Aston Martin. The promise of a new car to impress Wonyoung was too tempting to resist.

Laughing, Minhee nods in agreeance to Sunghoon’s statement, already planning to steal some cosmetics from the Black Rouge shoot he has in two weeks.

Finishing up his laces, your brother stands and checks the stability of his skates, wobbling back and forth a few times. “I can’t believe we need to get dressed and everything just to wait around for hours,” he complains, thinking about the long wait ahead. The pair have at least 5 hours to wait before they can even take to the ice, and with no practice rink like the Nationals, it’s a waiting game.

“I know,” Sunghoon agrees, beginning to get changed, discarding his casual clothes. “Y/N was hinting at spending some time together this morning. I felt so bad leaving her when I could have taken her to that La Bossue cafe she was talking about on the plane here,” he says regrettably, sleeking his black slacks on.

If anyone understands, it’s Minhee. This is his and Wonyoung’s first holiday together, even though they’re both competing. He wants to spend time sightseeing and kissing her outside Sacré-Coeur Basilica.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he picks up one of Sunghoon’s skates and starts unhooking the strings. This is a trust that had to be rebuilt, especially after what happened between them, but it’s a gesture Minhee likes to do as a constant apology for his previous actions.

“How is my Bubs anyway?” Minhee asks, referring to you. Your absence when he woke up this morning meant he hadn’t seen you yet. It’s not very professional from a client-manager perspective, considering this is the biggest skate of his life, but he’ll let it slide since Sunghoon probably needs your presence more right now.

“Adorably clingy and beautiful as always,” Sunghoon replies, his tone filled with adoration as he recalls your pout when he said goodbye this morning.

The love painted on Sunghoon’s face makes Minhee’s expression fall into fake annoyance. The older skater pretends to gag, a running bit he does whenever you and your boyfriend get a bit too mushy for his liking.

Once Sunghoon has his sparkly costume fully on, he notices Minhee’s antics and rolls his eyes. “Oh, get over it, Min. We’ve been together for over half a year now,” he smirks, snatching his skate from Minhee.

“Don’t I know it? I’ve been stuck watching you both eat each other’s faces for the past four months,” Minhee grimaces in disgust.

“Well, I hope you haven’t been watching me eat your sis-”

“Right, that’s my cue to get the fuck out of here,” Minhee interrupts, raising his hands in mock surrender. The playful banter and easy camaraderie between the two skaters are a testament to how far they’ve come. Sunghoon's laughter fills the room, rich and genuine, a sound that brings warmth to the moment.

“I’ll meet you out there, save me a seat,” Sunghoon says, settling back onto the bench to lace up his skates. His fingers move with practised precision, threading the laces through the eyelets with ease. He glances up briefly, his eyes meeting Minhee’s, a silent communication of mutual respect and friendship.

Minhee pauses at the door, turning back with a mischievous grin. “Do you want anything from catering?” he asks, his eyebrows quirking in a playful challenge.

Sunghoon’s response is immediate. “Yeah, grab me a chocolate muffin.”

Minhee’s expression shifts to one of exaggerated horror, his eyes widening theatrically. “The ones Henrik guards with his life? You want me to die?”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Sunghoon’s mouth, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Minhee laughs a deep, infectious sound. “Give me a kiss and I’ll think about it,” he teases, leaning in with puckered lips, his face comically close to Sunghoon’s.

Sunghoon pushes him away with a playful shove, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Get out of here, you idiot,” he chuckles, his tone filled with affectionate humour.

Minhee backs away, still laughing. “Alright, alright. I’ll see what I can do about that muffin. But if Henrik comes after me, I’m blaming you,” he says, pointing a finger at Sunghoon before disappearing out the door.

Sunghoon finishes lacing his skates, a fond smile lingering on his lips. Talking with his friend like this has helped ease some of the lingering apprehension and doubts in his mind. If Minhee can remain calm, or at least fake it, when this skate means just as much to him, then Sunghoon can do it too.

He’s going to make everyone proud out there, especially himself.

_____

You stand nervously next to Minhee, holding his hand impossibly tight as you both await his first Olympic skate. Honestly, you might be more nervous than him. For months, you have watched him batter and bruise his body attempting to perfect the hardest move in his routine—the Quadruple Lutz.

At Nationals, Minhee did the impossible and landed a quadruple Axel, a feat almost unheard of in figure skating. The moment was surreal, the entire arena holding its breath as he launched himself into the air, his body spinning at a dizzying speed. For what seemed like an eternity, he hung in the air, a blur of motion and grace. When his blades touched down on the ice with a clean, precise landing, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar. It was his greatest achievement, a moment of sheer perfection that few skaters ever reach.

Despite this triumph, Minhee knew better than to put his faith in landing it again at the Olympics. The stakes were higher, the judges more stringent, and any minor mistake could cost him dearly. The fluidity and overall performance were crucial here, and a fall on such a difficult jump could overshadow the rest of his routine. Instead, he had decided to go with the Quadruple Lutz—a move that, while safer than the quadruple Axel, was still incredibly challenging and demanding.

For months, he has landed on his ass, the echoes of his chosen song "Home" by Daughter becoming his laughing track until finally, he was able to do it with some ease. Minhee has a habit of getting his blade caught in the toe before launching, a flaw that Coach Kim has grilled him over time and time again because it is a stupid mistake that can easily be remedied.

That is what is weighing him down. He feels confident in his routine, but that one slip could be the difference between standing on a podium and leaving with his tail between his legs. Resting your head on his shoulder, you offer silent encouragement as you see one of the coordinators come over, signalling that it's almost time.

"Minhee," you whisper softly, lifting your head to meet his eyes. "I believe in you. You've worked so hard for this, and you've overcome so much. No matter what happens out there, you’re already a champion in my eyes.”

He turns his head slightly to look at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of nerves and gratitude. "Thanks, Bubs. That means a lot," he murmurs, a small, appreciative smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You squeeze his hand gently, your thumb brushing reassuringly over his knuckles. "Remember, it’s not just about the jumps. It’s about the story you tell out there. Skate like you’re sharing a piece of your heart with everyone watching. And if you get nervous, just think of Wonyoung and me cheering you on. We’re with you every step of the way."

“Y/N, you’re not gunning for my job too are you?” Coach Kim interjects with a teasing tone, poking his head from behind Minhee. You were so wrapped up in nerves you almost forgot he was there. “She’s right though, Min, performance is key here, if you think you can’t do any of the jumps, substitute it and we’ll take the deductions. They will be less than if you crash.”

Minhee takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He nods, a determined glint returning to his eyes. "I don’t need to sub, I can do everything,” he replies with arrogance but you can see the tremble in his chin as he speaks, nerves seeking their way out of his body in any way they can.

“You have been spending far too much time with Park, your cockiness is extra heightened.” Coach Kim slaps him on the back, touch lingering there for added assurance. If anyone believes in him as much as you do, it’s Coach.

The coordinator gives the final signal, and Minhee stands up, releasing your hand but not before giving it one last, firm squeeze. "See you on the other side, Bubs," he says with a wink, trying to infuse some lightness into the moment.

You watch as he heads towards the rink, feeling a mix of pride and anticipation. "Go get em’, Mini," you whisper under your breath, knowing that whatever happens, Minhee is ready to give it his all.

He steps onto the ice, and the world narrows down to the crisp sound of his skates carving through the surface and the soft, haunting melody of his chosen song filling the arena. The starting pose is simple yet powerful: Minhee stands tall and poised at the centre of the rink, his back straight and his gaze distant. His arms are extended slightly, creating a frame of elegance around him. The music begins softly, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment, drawing in the calm before the storm.

As the music swells, Minhee starts his program with a series of intricate footwork sequences. His movements are fluid and precise, every step and turn executed with grace. His body flows seamlessly from one movement to the next, the choreography reflecting a deep, emotive connection with the music. The audience is captivated by the narrative unfolding on the ice—a story told through every glide, spin, and leap.

Minhee’s first major element is a series of spins, beginning with a fast, clean camel spin. He transitions into a sit spin, his body folding gracefully as he maintains a steady, controlled rotation. The audience watches in awe as he moves effortlessly between the spins, his form perfect and his speed unbroken.

The anticipation builds as he nears the pivotal moment of his routine - the quadruple lutz. Minhee takes a deep breath, his focus sharpening as he glides toward the takeoff point.

He picks up speed, his skates slicing through the ice with powerful, rhythmic strides. As he approaches the takeoff, you can see the concentration etched on his face. The quadruple lutz requires a precise and powerful launch, and Minhee’s years of hard work have led him to this moment. He performs a deep, smooth edge before leaping into the air.

From your vantage point, the moment feels almost surreal. You can see the determination and the slight tension in his body as he completes each rotation. His landing will determine the success of this routine. As he descends, his blades graze the ice with a delicate touch. You watch with bated breath, the entire arena silent, waiting for the impact.

He lands the jump cleanly, his body absorbing the impact with a controlled grace. There is a brief pause as he glides out of the jump, his movements smooth and confident. The audience erupts into gentle applause, filling the arena. Minhee’s face lights up with a mix of relief and elation, his eyes briefly searching the crowd for a glimpse of familiar faces.

When he comes across yours, a blur due to the rapidness of your jumping, he knows he’s done enough to make you proud, which wouldn’t be hard, but it’s nice to see you buzzing with glee now that he has successfully landed his hardest move, giving him enough confidence to finish his performance with intentional but relaxed tension.

As the music reaches its climax, Minhee performs a series of intricate step sequences, his footwork sharp and precise. His movements are quick and expressive, reflecting the emotional high point of the routine. He concludes with a final pose - his arms extended, his body arching gracefully as he holds the position for a heartbeat before the music fades.

The final note lingers in the air as Minhee holds his ending pose. The arena is a sea of applause and cheers, and Minhee takes a moment to soak in the overwhelming response. He smiles, a mixture of relief and pride evident in his expression, as he skates to the edge of the rink to greet his coach and the one person who has been by his side every step of this journey.

You watch with tears of joy in your eyes as Minhee glides toward you, his performance complete. The routine has been a triumph, a testament to his dedication and skill. Whatever the final score, you know that this moment will be remembered as a defining achievement in his career. After all, he had just performed a flawless routine at the Winter Olympics.

Minhee approaches the side of the rink and his face reflects a mix of relief and exhilaration. He bends down to carefully slip on his protective blades. The clinking sound of the skates against the ice seems to punctuate the end of his extraordinary performance. Once he's secured his blades, he makes his way toward you, his steps light but purposeful.

Without a word, you rush forward and envelop him in a tight, joyous hug. The embrace is fierce and full of unspoken pride and admiration. Minhee’s arms encircle you, holding you close as he buries his face in your shoulder. For a moment, the world around you fades away, and it’s just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of shared triumph and emotional release.

When you finally pull back, you can see the glistening in Minhee’s eyes, his smile wider than you’ve ever seen. “You were incredible,” you whisper, brushing a stray tear from your cheek.

He grins, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Bubs.”

“Sure you could have, you’re the Kang Minhee after all.”

“Who is nothing without the Kang Y/N,” he retorts, ruffling your hair playfully as the emotions in his body swirl and threaten to overflow through his eyes. But he holds it together, knowing that he still has to wait for the score, easily the most nervewracking part.

As the scores are about to be announced, you both sit with Coach Kim in the waiting area, hearts racing in unison. The scoreboard flickers to life, and the crowd holds its collective breath. The numbers slowly come into focus, each digit reflecting the culmination of months of hard work and dedication.

You glance at Minhee, who is watching the scoreboard with a mix of hope and anxiety. The realisation that he has done everything he possibly could, that his performance was nothing short of spectacular, brings a surge of pride and love.

The first number flashes, followed by another, and then the total score is revealed: '324.60'. The audience erupts into a thunderous roar, and you can barely contain your excitement. Minhee’s face lights up with an ecstatic grin as he takes in the numbers, a little dumbfounded to believe it.

Your eyes quickly scan the leaderboard, and you see the name Yuga Kagiyama at the top. The Japanese skater has posted an even higher score, placing him just ahead of Minhee. But Minhee’s score is nothing short of extraordinary, putting him in a close second place. The competition is fierce, but Minhee’s performance has clearly made a significant impact, and with only Sunghoon and one other skater to take to the ice, his chances of snagging an Olympic medal are high.

“You did it, Minhee!” you exclaim, hugging him tightly again, overwhelmed with pride. Your brother is about to be an Olympic medalist, something you have heard him go on and on about since you were little, and here he is achieving it with you by his side.

You and Minhee embrace, the weight of the moment sinking in. Your eyes brim with tears of joy as you hold your brother, feeling his heart pounding against yours. Coach Kim wraps an arm around both of you, his normally stern face softened by pride and emotion. The three of you stand there, on a small triumphant island amid the chaos of the cheering crowd.

Coach Kim gives Minhee a shining smile, his voice thick with emotion. "You've worked hard for this moment, Minhee. This is your victory. You've earned it with every drop of sweat and every ounce of effort."

Thankful, Minhee puts his hand on Coach Kim’s shoulder and sighs a final breath of relief, happy to have the pressure off his shoulders. "We did it, Coach," he murmurs, a smile playing on his lips. Coach Kim nods, giving Minhee a firm pat on the back, his pride evident.

After a few more moments of celebration, officials signal that it's time to move. As you're escorted towards the exit, Minhee suddenly stops and jerks his head back towards the rink.

"Sunghoon is on next," he says urgently, his eyes locking onto yours. "He’d want you there. Go be by his side."

You hesitate, looking around. "But they won't let me since I'm not part of his team." The rule is that only managers and coaches can be at the rinkside to see off and greet their skaters, and since you are none of those things, the chances of you being able to sneak back and be there for him are slim.

Minhee shakes his head, determined. "He's only got Coach Lee, trust me, he needs you there with your disgusting puppy love eyes to give him support," Minhee jokes, pushing you back the way.

You laugh despite your nerves, touched by Minhee’s playful yet sincere encouragement. "Alright, alright, I'm going!" You rush back towards the rinkside, heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. The official looks puzzled as you approach, but you quickly explain, "My boyfriend, Sunghoon, he’s on next and it’s his last ever skate before retirement and if I’m not there by his side I would be such a shit girlfriend and he would never forgive me and we would break up and then you would be responsible."

The words tumble out your mouth at record-breaking speed, hearing the announcer already calling out your boyfriend’s name through the tannoys. You don’t mean to guilt trip the poor girl but you’re desperate and couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t try. Either this works or you will throw a tantrum until she has no choice.

Luckily, The official nods quite willingly, allowing you through. “If anyone asks, I never let you by,” she whispers in a thick Parisian accent, stepping aside to let you bolt through. With a quick thank you, you weave through the throngs of cameramen and other personnel to find Coach Lee standing with his arms crossed and face serious.

Once he sees you, his expression lightens, and he tucks you in under his arm. "Glad you made it, Kiddo," he says, his voice low. "He'll be happy to see you here. Give him an extra boost."

Sunghoon glides onto the ice, his face a perfect blend of focus and determination. The music begins, his ears infiltrated with the electronic beats as he hears every word, ready to skate his last competition and start a new life, one where you are his main focus and not the ice.

Sunghoon starts with a series of fluid crossovers, gaining speed before launching into a triple axel, landing perfectly with barely a sound on the ice. The crowd gasps and then applauds, already captivated. Without missing a beat, he transitions into a combination spin, showcasing his flexibility and control, his body a blur of movement. He looks regal out there, the gems from his top catching the light and adding another layer of beauty to it.

As the music swells, Sunghoon prepares for his next big element - a quadruple toe loop. This was difficult for him, something Coach Lee had suggested as his power move, which he spent forever perfecting, both in the rink and out. For a few weeks, he even attempted it on a trampoline to get the projection right. He was so dedicated to making this work that you feel his nerves bouncing off each glide on the ice and straight to your chest.

You hold your breath, watching as he launches into the air, rotating four times with precision before landing smoothly, his blades slicing the ice like a whisper. You resist the urge to cheer loudly, knowing it can throw him off, so instead, you settle for the audience etiquette of light applause.

He moves into a complex footwork sequence, his feet dancing in intricate patterns across the ice, each step perfectly synchronized with the music. His expression is intense, every movement telling a story of passion and struggle, triumph and heartache, beginning and end.

The middle of his routine is marked by a stunning triple lutz-triple loop combination, each jump executed with flawless technique. His body seems to defy gravity, hanging in the air for what feels like an eternity before descending gracefully back to the ice.

Sunghoon's artistry shines in the next segment, a series of choreographic elements that flow seamlessly, his arms and upper body movements expressive and emotive. He glides across the ice in deep edges, his body language conveying the emotion of the music, drawing the audience deeper into his performance.

As the final crescendo of the music approaches, he gears up for his closing element, a breathtaking quadruple salchow. He takes a deep breath, pushes off, and flies into the air, rotating perfectly before landing with strength and grace. The audience erupts in applause, unable to contain their awe at the sheer perfection of his routine.

Sunghoon finishes his performance with a dramatic final pose, the music reaching its climactic end as he holds the position, his chest heaving with effort. The arena is filled with the sound of thunderous applause and cheers, the crowd on their feet in a standing ovation.

He bows deeply to the audience, his face flushed with exhilaration. When he straightens up and turns around, his eyes immediately find yours. His expression changes instantly, his eyes widening in surprise and joy. A brilliant smile spreads across his face, mirroring the elation in your heart.

Without a moment's hesitation, Sunghoon skates over to you at speed, his movements as graceful and powerful as they were on the ice. He reaches you in what feels like no time, pulling you into his arms with a mix of laughter and tears in his eyes. It was the perfect passing-the-torch moment, leaving the ice behind to run to you and your future together.

"What are you doing here?" he questions, still trapping you in an iron grip, his voice filled with amazement and joy.

"I couldn’t not be here, it's your last skate," you explain, your voice trembling with emotion. "I had to see it up close. I had to be here for you."

His grip tightens, his head burying into the crook of your neck, grounding himself in your presence. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I’m so fucking happy you’re here.”

You hold him tightly, feeling the rapid thud of his heart against yours. Tears of pride and happiness stream down your face as you soak in the moment, the culmination of all his hard work and dedication. He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours, and you see the deep gratitude and love reflected in them.

"You were perfect out there," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "Every single moment was incredible. I've never been so proud of you."

“I love you like crazy,” he confesses with the same amount of passion he put into his routine. His lips find yours in a kiss filled with fervour and emotion, the world around you fading away. The noise of the crowd, the flashing cameras, and even the bright lights of the arena all dissolve into a blur as you lose yourself in the kiss.

Sunghoon's hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the heat and intensity of his love. The kiss deepens, each of you pouring all the emotions of the night into this singular, powerful moment. It's a kiss that speaks of triumph, of shared dreams, and of a future together that you both can see so clearly.

When you finally pull back, breathless and flushed, you rest your forehead against his, your eyes locked onto his. "I love you too, Sunghoon," you whisper, your voice full of conviction and tenderness. "More than anything."

Just then, an official approaches, reminding Sunghoon that it's time to get his score. He looks at you, a mixture of reluctance and determination in his eyes. "I have to go," he says, his voice steadying. "But meet me in the hotel lobby at 7pm? I have something planned for you,” he says ominous, a mischievous glint twinkling in his dark orbs.

You mindlessly nod, head racing to come up with conclusions to his riddle. But you know better than to try and guess what Park Sunghoon has in store, instead, you give his lips one final kiss before letting go. “I’ll be there.”

He nods, taking a deep breath as he turns towards the judging area, taking the same spot that Minhee did moments ago. He just had to get in the 310s to get bronze, which is by no means feet. But you know he secretly wants the gold, knowing that it’s the perfect icing on the cake for his career.

You glance up at the board, nervously switching between biting the skin around your fingers and your lip. Of course, you were nervous for Minhee, but he had at least one more shot at Olympic gold, Sunghoon didn’t. That mounts immense anxiety onto your chest, hoping that he can achieve victory the way he wants.

The first number flashes on the screen, followed by another, and then the total score is revealed: "331.75." The audience erupts into a thunderous roar, the sound almost deafening.

Sunghoon's eyes widen in disbelief and joy as he takes in the numbers.

He won…first place.

The realisation is gradual, knowing that no matter how good the next skater is, beating a score like that is near impossible, with their average being 287.20, he knows he’s secured gold. Jumping up from his seat, Coach Lee crushes him in a bone-breaking hug, lifting him so his skates are off the ground.

“My fucking champ! I knew you could do it!” he shouts loud enough that the cameras pick it up and probably has to be bleeped to the millions of viewers on the other end, yet, you know they can probably make out how excited and proud the coach is despite the redacted words.

Laughing, Sunghoon nods, eyes roaming the area for you. He wants you to be the first thing he sets his sights on because, without you, this wouldn’t be possible. Your expression is a mix of gratification and pride, your gazes meeting as they whisper poems of love and adoration, even through the distance.

He owes you his entire life for making him see the joy in this strenuous sport once again, and he is going to do everything in his power to repay you for it, and he has his entire life to do so.

_____

Waiting in the lobby at precisely 7pm, you anticipate the arrival of your gold medal-winning boyfriend. In the time between his victory and now, you’ve managed to doll yourself up a bit. While he and Minhee were training the past few days, you took some time to go shopping, picking up a few bits and pieces. Your brother is generous with manager fees, so you can afford to spend a little extra while you’re here.

Now, you are clad in a stunning black Krysta Tulle Mini Dress, reminiscent of the one you wore at your award ceremony back in August, but this one is a bit shorter and more revealing. Sunghoon earned it, after all, and the least he deserves is some cleavage with whatever he has planned.

Speaking of his plans, you’re still in the dark about what he has in store for you. Your mind wanders to the obvious choices like the Eiffel Tower—perhaps he’s managed to get a private dinner booking like you see in movies, or maybe the Louvre instead. Perhaps he’s planned a romantic walk across the love lock bridge; although you can’t participate and adorn the bridge with a new lock that signifies your love, it’s still romantic to see all the lovers of the past and how their stories are still shared.

Suddenly, there is a gentle tap on your shoulder. You turn around to see your boyfriend standing there, looking as handsome as ever. His hair is styled in the side parting you always liked, with that one strand curving over his face, somehow highlighting the bridge of his nose which you love so much. Those freckles mark frequent kissing spots.

You’re glad you decided to dress up because Sunghoon is wearing a fitted suit, chic and beautiful, perfectly matching the city’s aesthetic. He looks like a vision, your mind swirling with love and a hint of desire. You’re just a girl, after all—it’s only natural to see your man in a suit and the first thing you want to do is rip it off.

Sunghoon’s breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes widen, and for a moment, it’s as if the entire world falls away, leaving just the two of you standing there in the softly lit lobby. He’s always known you were beautiful, but tonight, dressed in stunning frills under the gold-hued lobby of this overly expensive hotel, you look breathtaking.

His heart pounds in his chest, and he feels a wave of emotions wash over him - pride, adoration, and a deep, overwhelming love. The dress hugs your curves perfectly, the short length showcasing your legs, and the neckline draws his eyes to your exposed collarbones and the soft swell of your cleavage. It’s alluring without being overt, and he can’t help but marvel at how effortlessly you pull off such a look.

“You look...wow,” he finally manages to say, his voice filled with awe. His eyes trace over you, taking in every detail - the confident way you hold yourself, the sparkle in your eyes that mirrors his own excitement, and how your heart is beating in synch with his.

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he whispers, low enough that only you can hear it.

A laugh erupts from your chest before you swat him with your hand. “You are not getting out of taking me out in Paris just because you can’t keep it in your pants. You roll your eyes to convey annoyance but it’s hard to even feign being stern with him when you were thinking the exact same thing about him.

That fuck buddy sex drive you had never left once you got into a relationship, that much is evident.

“Well,” Sunghoon says, taking your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, “I’m not exactly taking you out in Paris.” He turns around, leading you back the way you came from. His sheepish tone is accompanied by an apologetic look flashing across his face as he walks you towards the elevator.

“Hoonie, I swear to god, if you made me get all dressed up just to take me back to your hotel room to fuck, I will be so mad. I-,” you struggle to think of a bargaining chip in this fight. “I won’t let you eat me out ever again.”

Sunghoon stops dead in his tracks, turning to you with wide eyes and an even wider mouth, his free hand dramatically resting over his heart. “How dare you threaten to take away my favourite activity? That is cruel, so cruel, even for you.”

You can't help but laugh at his theatrics but by Sunghoon’s standards, this is actually quite tame considering the cards you have dealt. He can’t go three days without being between your legs so the punishment you would inflict by taking that away from him is worse than any torture interrogation method.

“Well, you deserve it if you think you can just drag me back to your room.”

Smiling and slightly proud, Sunghoon resumes his position, walking you to the lift and pressing the button. “It’s not my room. It’s a surprise. Just trust me, okay?”

Of course, you do trust him, but your heart beats quicker as you realize you really have no idea what you are getting yourself into.

Stepping into the elevator, Sunghoon presses the rooftop button and you eye him curiously. “The rooftop?” you question, but before you can guess further, he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Shhh, don’t try and spoil the surprise I worked so hard for,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your neck. His lips trail soft, teasing kisses from your jawline to your collarbone, each one sending shivers down your spine.

“Sunghoon,” you whisper, a mix of adoration and desire in your tone. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the anticipation is killing you. His hands roam gently over your back, pulling you even closer until there’s no space left between you. The warmth of his body and the intoxicating scent of his cologne make it impossible to think straight, any questions about the roof now gone.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Sunghoon reluctantly pulls away, yet a satisfied smirk sits on his lips as he leads you out onto the rooftop.

To your surprise, the usually bustling terrace is completely empty. Instead of the usual crowd, there is a single, elegantly set table for two. Soft fairy lights twinkle around the perimeter, casting a warm glow. A bottle of champagne sits chilling in an ice bucket on the table, and beyond it, the Eiffel Tower stands majestically, its lights shimmering against the night sky.

You walk forward, admiring the view of the city from this vantage point. It’s full of night tourists and young lovers who share the same depth of feelings as you and Sunghoon do. Never has a place taken your breath away. Granted, you haven’t ventured much out of your home country, but this is unlike anything you could have imagined.

Leaning over the stone balcony, you let out an almost inaudible 'whoa' and cherish the view. “Sunghoon, this is beautiful. How did you manage this?”

He chuckles, pulling out the cork of the overly-priced champagne. “I have my ways. Why would I take you to something a million and one couples do when I can give you something unique?” Sunghoon’s pouring skills leave much to be desired, the overflow of the liquid spilling onto the ground, splashing on his shoes.

Although it should slightly ruin the moment, you can’t help but tear your eyes away from the city and laugh at the less-than-aesthetic scene before you. Sunghoon looks up at you with a sorrowful expression and hands you the damp glass anyway.

“You know, I was aiming for elegance,” he says with a playful pout.

Taking the glass from him, you grin. “I’ve learned you can only do elegance when it comes to skating, it’s okay, baby.”

He relaxes, the tension easing from his shoulders as he joins you at the balcony. Together, you raise your glasses, the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the background. “To you,” he grins brightly, tilting his glass to be clinked with yours.

“To me? Shouldn’t it be to your gold medal?” you ask a little incredulously. This night should one hundred percent be about your boyfriend and his deserved win, so why on earth is he cheersing to you right now?

“My gold medal doesn’t mean anything compared to you.” Sunghoon is so sweet with his words, to the point you wonder if he came straight out of a romance novel. But knowing your boyfriend better than anyone, you have a sneaking suspicion about something, more precisely about something possibly around his neck.

Narrowing your eyes, you lower your glass and hold it close to your chest, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re wearing that medal right now, aren’t you?” you challenge, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

Sunghoon attempts to play it cool, shaking his head with a feigned look of innocence. “What? Me? No way. I’ve not got an ego,” he says, but the slight twitch of his lips gives him away.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a knowing look. “Sunghoon, I can see right through you.”

He sighs, realizing there's no use in denying it. With a sheepish grin, he dips his hand into his shirt and pulls out the gleaming gold medal, letting it sit in the lights for a moment before tucking it back in. “Fine, you caught me,” he laughs.

You give him a weird look, your confusion evident. “Why are you wearing it under your shirt?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, a playful glint in his eyes. “What? I like the way it feels,” he admits, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Not everyone has a gold medal.”

You shake your head in disbelief, eyes rolling as you take your first sip of the golden liquid. With the city of love sprawled out beneath you and the Eiffel Tower twinkling like a thousand stars, the moment feels perfect. Sunghoon wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer as you both gaze out at the stunning view, savouring the magic of Paris and the joy of being together.

“You know,” he begins, placing his flute down, “I also like the way you feel,” he breathes out seductively, both hands twirling you to face him. As mesmerising as the city is, the look of need in your boyfriend’s eyes trumps it all.

His hands rest on your hips, fingers gently kneading as he draws you even closer. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “How did I get so lucky?”

You smile, feeling a flutter in your chest, like a million butterflies have just escaped their cocoons and are roaming free around your ribcage. “I’m the lucky one,” you reply softly, tracing your fingers along the edge of his jaw.

Sunghoon’s eyes darken with intensity as he tilts your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, passionate kiss. The world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in each other’s embrace. The night air is cool against your skin, but his touch is warm, grounding you in this perfect moment.

The kiss deepens, becoming more fervent with every passing second. Your heart races as his hands roam your body, caressing and squeezing in all the right places. You clumsily place your glass down beside his, but it’s hard to concentrate because his hands are everywhere - one gripping your waist, the other sliding down to cup your ass. He pulls you closer, pressing your bodies together, his need palpable in every touch.

His mouth moves hungrily against yours, each kiss more intense than the last. You can feel his desire, his longing, in the way he devours your lips. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you can’t get enough of him and the only way to be satisfied is to crawl into his skin. His kisses trail down your jawline, nipping and sucking gently at your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

When he reaches your neck, you gasp, your head tilting back to give him better access. He takes full advantage, his lips and teeth working magic as he moves down your throat. His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling you against him as he nibbles and licks at your sensitive skin. Your breath comes in short, desperate gasps, the sensations overwhelming.

Just when you think you can’t take any more, he drops to his knees in front of you. Panic flares in your chest, and you glance around, worried about being seen. “What if someone sees?” you whisper, your voice shaky with a mix of fear and excitement.

Sunghoon looks up at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Then I’ll make sure we put on a show,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. The thrill of his words sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but tremble in anticipation.

He hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, pulling them to the side. The cool night air hits your exposed skin, making you shiver. But his touch is warm, his fingers gentle as they slide against your most sensitive places. He looks up at you one last time, his eyes filled with desire and mischief, before he leans in, his mouth pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against you.

The sensation is electric, his tongue teasing and tasting, driving you wild with need. Your hands grip the stone balcony for support, your legs trembling as he works his magic. He’s relentless, his mouth and tongue working in perfect harmony.

Just like the first time he ever tasted you, he’s losing himself in your flavour, manually putting your legs around his shoulders to allow him deeper access to your dripping cunt. The juices that are leaking from your body are better than any gold medal. Each cry that passes your lips is accompanied by more of your sweetness coating his tongue.

You can’t help but grip his hair now, holding him in place as he lavishes attention on your aching clit. He savours your taste, his tongue flicking and circling with expert precision as he laps you up. Long, slow licks are interspersed with quick, teasing flicks, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He knows exactly what you need, and he gives it to you without hesitation.

Sunghoon's mouth moves with purpose, sucking gently at your clit before delving back with his tongue, exploring every inch of you. He hums against your skin, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation that has you arching your back and moaning his name. The heat builds inside you, an inferno that only he can control.

He intensifies his efforts, his tongue pressing harder, his movements more deliberate. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady as you writhe against him, completely lost in the pleasure he’s giving you, forgetting that with every mewl of his name, there is a greater risk of this entire hotel knowing what you’re up to. Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you.

Finally, the tension that’s been building inside you snaps, and you cry out, your body shaking with the force of your release. Sunghoon doesn’t stop, his mouth and hands guiding you through every wave of pleasure until you’re spent, leaning back against the balcony for support. Sunghoon shoulders most of your weight as you fold in on yourself, your feet still dangling over his broad shoulders.

Sunghoon wastes no time. He gently places your feet back on the ground and rises to his full height, his eyes dark with desire. He captures your lips in a searing kiss, and you taste the remnants of your own release on his lips, mingling with the champagne. It's intoxicating, the mix of flavours and the intensity of his kiss making your head spin.

All apprehension goes out the window as you begin to undo his trousers, your fingers fumbling with the button and zipper in your eagerness. You pull out his cock, feeling its hard length throbbing in your hand. His eyes remain locked on yours, the connection between you unbreakable as you guide him to your entrance. The city lights behind him create a halo around his head, making the moment feel almost surreal.

He pushes into you slowly, and your breath hitches at the sensation. Your eyes remain focused on one another, the world around you fading into the background. The feeling of him filling you is overwhelming, the connection between your bodies electric. The city behind you twinkles in the night, a backdrop to the raw, passionate scene unfolding.

Sunghoon starts moving, his pace quickening as he finds a rhythm that makes you both gasp with pleasure. Your body responds to his every touch, your legs wrapping around his waist to allow him to reach deeper. His thrusts become faster and more desperate, the sound of skin against skin mingling with your moans and the distant hum of the city below.

"God, you feel amazing," he groans against your ear, his voice thick with desire. "I could stay inside you forever."

You grip his shoulders tighter, your nails digging into his skin as you feel the pressure building again. "Sunghoon," you whisper, your voice breathy and needy, "don't stop."

"I won't, I’ll never stop fucking you. I’ll never stop loving you," he promises, his thrusts becoming even more intense, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body. His hands roam your back, one slipping down to squeeze your ass, the other tangling in your hair to pull your head back, giving him better access to your neck.

In a moment of heated passion, he takes his gold medal from around his neck and places it over yours, the cool metal resting against your heated skin. He uses the ribbon to pull you closer, bringing your lips together in a bruising kiss. The weight of the medal and the intensity of his gaze make you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

Leaning on the balcony behind you with your elbows, you try your hardest to jerk your hips in rhythm with his, the motion causing him to hiss into your mouth as he tip punctures your cervix a few times, giving him a taste of something more. It’s too dangerous to throw your legs over his shoulders and have you balancing on the edge, he never wants to put you in danger, so he thinks if the next best thing.

Without warning, he flips you around, pressing your front against the cool stone of the ledge. He enters you again from behind, his thrusts more intense, driven by a primal need. The contrast between the roughness of his movements and the serene beauty of the city below is stark, making the moment even more exhilarating.

You brace yourself against the balcony, your moans echoing in the night as he pounds into you with relentless enthusiasm. His hands grip your hips, guiding you back onto him with each thrust, his cock hitting deeper than ever before. The force of his movements sends shivers down your spine, your body completely surrendering to the pleasure he's giving you. The city behind you is a blur of lights and sounds, but all you can focus on is the man who is driving you to the edge once more.

Sunghoon's hands grip your hips with a possessive strength, his fingers digging in as he drives into you with a relentless pace. Each thrust is purposeful, his body moving with a precision born of passion and familiarity. His breaths come in staggered gasps, his face pressed against your shoulder, lips brushing against your skin. The rough stone of the balcony presses into your chest, adding a contrasting chill to the searing heat of his body. The city lights below seem to blur as the intensity of the moment takes over.

"I'm gonna love you until the day I die," he growls into your ear, his breath hot and needy despite the sweetness of his words. The weight of his desire is palpable, sending shivers down your spine. "I can’t wait to make you mine."

His words are a catalyst for the pleasure that courses through you, intensifying with each powerful thrust. Your body is on fire, a taut string being pulled to its limit. You can feel the pressure building to a breaking point, the sensation almost overwhelming as he keeps up his relentless rhythm. The sheer force of his movements pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

"I'm yours," you gasp, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own moans. "I’m already yours, Hoonie." Your hands grip the railing tightly, knuckles white, as you brace yourself against the force of his thrusts. The night air is cool against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the burning desire you feel.

Sunghoon’s breath becomes ragged, each inhalation coming in quick, shallow bursts. His fingers slip around your body, finding their way to your clit with a precision that makes you cry out. The touch is electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure through you with every stroke. He moves his fingers in tight, swirling motions, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive you wild.

The combination of his skilled touch and the unrelenting rhythm of his thrusts is too much to handle. Your body trembles violently as you spiral into another intense climax, the sensation causing you to scream his name into the night. The release is all-consuming, leaving you feeling as though you’re floating in a sea of pleasure.

The intensity of your release acts as a trigger for Sunghoon, who is lost in the frenzy of the moment. With a final, deep, and forceful thrust, he comes inside you, his body tensing and shuddering as his climax overtakes him. His grip on your hips tightens, his muscles flexing as he rides out his orgasm. He collapses against your back, his breathing ragged, and you can feel his warmth spread across your skin.

Both of you pant heavily, your bodies slick with sweat. The city below remains a beautiful, shimmering backdrop, but the focus of your world is now on each other. The contrast between the intensity of your passion and the serene beauty of the Parisian night is almost surreal.

Sunghoon pulls you gently against him, his lips trailing soft, tender kisses along your neck as you both come down from the high. His hands caress your sides, a soothing contrast to the earlier fervour. “I love you so much, Sweets.”

The confession passing his lips isn’t new and you’ve heard it umpteen times just today but somehow this one means a lot more than previous. Maybe it was the setting or the fact his cock is snuggly inside of you, but either way, you cherish it just like the rest.

“I love you, too, Hoonie.”

Sunghoon’s movements are gentle as he pulls out of you, his touch tender and careful. He reaches for a soft napkin from the table, using it to clean both of you with practiced, considerate strokes. The contrast between the cool fabric and the warmth of his skin creates a soothing sensation, a calming end to the intensity of your shared experience. His eyes are locked onto yours with a depth of affection that makes your heart swell. It’s a gaze so filled with love and tenderness that it feels almost surreal, as if you’re both suspended in a perfect, unblemished moment.

“This was perfect, Sunghoon,” you murmur, your voice soft and filled with genuine appreciation. The night has been magical, a blend of romance and intimate connection that feels like a dream. “Thank you.”

Sunghoon’s face lights up with a beaming smile, his eyes twinkling with an emotion so raw and pure that it almost makes you catch your breath. He shakes his head in a modest gesture, though the joy in his expression is unmistakable. “Believe it or not,” he says with a playful glint in his eye, “this wasn’t what I had planned.”

“Oh?” you reply, your curiosity piqued as you watch him with a mixture of surprise and intrigue.

With a dramatic flourish, Sunghoon reaches into the pocket of his suit and retrieves a small, elegant box. He presents it to you with a blend of excitement and nervous anticipation, his hands trembling slightly. “I have something else for you,” he says, his voice a blend of excitement and tenderness.

Your fingers tremble as you take the box from him, the weight of the moment sinking in. You open it slowly, revealing a delicate necklace with a beautiful ring attached. The ring sparkles softly in the low light, its beauty undeniable. Sunghoon’s eyes are fixed on you, his expression a mixture of hope and love.

“I wanted this day to be unforgettable,” he begins, his voice steady but emotional. “When I first saw you that day, crying in Belmore, I knew I needed to protect you from anything and everything bad in the world. I know, our start was rough and we had way too many close calls that tore us apart. But we did it, we got through it which makes me think we can really get through anything.”

He breathes out slowly, before taking his glass from earlier and downing it for dutch courage, causing you to laugh through the bubble of emotion in your throat.

“I thought now, that everything is done and I’m not going to be Ice Prince Park Sunghoon that I need a new title and that could be Y/N Kang’s husband?” The smile grows on his face as he imagined being addressed in such a way, wearing it as a badge of honour. “So I got you this. You can wear the necklace for now, and when you’re ready to be my wife, you can take the ring off and put it on your finger.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the significance of his gesture. The necklace is elegant, the ring a symbol of commitment that transcends the ordinary. Tears of joy well up in your eyes, and you struggle to find the right words. “I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, overwhelmed by the depth of his love. “This is...it’s beautiful.”

Sunghoon’s gaze remains locked on you, his expression a blend of adoration and nervousness. He watches as you carefully lift the ring from the necklace and slide it onto your engagement finger. The fit is perfect, and as you look up at him, your smile radiates happiness and awe. “What if I’m ready now?” you ask, your voice trembling with emotion.

Sunghoon’s face softens, his eyes shimmering with tears of joy as he reaches out to cup your face in his hands. His touch is gentle and reassuring, and he leans in to press a tender kiss against your lips. “If you’re ready now,” he mumbles against your lips, his breath warm and comforting, “then I’m ready for forever.”

The world around you blurs into insignificance as you both embrace, the enormity of the moment enveloping you. The city lights below shimmer like a vast constellation, their brilliance echoing the love and joy that fills your hearts. In the perfect Parisian night, amidst the twinkling lights and the soft glow of the Eiffel Tower, you and Sunghoon stand together, united by a love that feels as boundless as the city itself. The promise of the future stretches out before you, a journey you’re ready to embark on together, hand in hand and heart to heart.

perm taglist (sorry if you didnt read the series): @immortalvee @sunpov @heeseungspookie @monstanctiny21 @strawberrysavi @diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan @dollyyun @iluvikeu @deobitifull @yawnazzz @st1llm0nster @woorcve @heeseungsbm @star-hoon

#enhypen smut #enha smut #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #sunghoon x reader #melting point #aj writes

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infictionalwonderland · 6 months ago

Note

Hiii, not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this, but could you do Eloise Bridgerton with a fem! royal! reader who is completely smitten with Eloise and is very open about being a lesbian? And her family supports her (shes Queen Charlottes favorite niece)

(they are open! and absolutely i can do this for you babe x)

“She’s here!”

The Queen, your aunt, rolled her eyes fondly at you as you scuttled away hastily—a secret smile pulling at her lips at the sheer happiness on your face.

You waded through the mass of people in the ballroom, a smile practically stretching from ear to ear. Some turned to look and curled their lips in disgust at you, knowing very well who you were walking to. Others looked at the raw joy on your face and smiled with you.

You stopped a bit away from your girl and her family, taking the time to admire her. Her hair was in a ponytail of curls with two pulled out the side and her fringe framing her face—lips a soft ruby and skin sparkling under the light. She was dressed in a soft mint green dress, a delicate necklace adorning her neck and resting on her chest, her arms covered with long gloves.

(You were in love)

“Ah.” Daphne spoke first, as she saw you. Her lips curled into a secret smirk, clasping onto her husbands arm and hiding her face half behind his bicep to conceal herself.

Simon looked down at her fondly, eyes practically glimmering.

“Hello Bridgertons.” You beamed genuinely, all the family returning your expression with equal truth.

As you had done her, Eloise could not help but stare at you in awe. Your skin looked glowy and wonderfully soft under the lightening, your smile the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen—eyes squinted with the force of it. Your dress was otherworldly, although to her, anything you wore would be and she just wanted to run her fingers through your hair.

“How do you all find yourself fairing tonight?”

“Yes, yes, very good. Blah—blah.” Benedict immediately waved the question away with an easygoing smile, gently taking his sisters arm and pushing her towards you. “We know which Bridgerton you are truly here fo.” He rolled his eyes playfully.

Eloise flustered, unused to such attention but you smirked back at Benedict. The whole family watched with smiles on their faces as their stone cold Eloise who detested marriage and had no true belief in love, melted against you as you took her hand, staring at you with wonder in her eyes.

“I’m beginning to realise it was never love she loathed—“ Anthony mumbled to Kate at his side, “just men.”

“Yes, and who can fault her that?” Kate questioned, head tilted.

All smiles, you looped your arm through Eloise’s and the both of you gracefully walked off—well, you glided effortlessly, from years of training and Eloise’s steps were harsh and careless against the floor, an endearing sense of her own unique grace about her.

“How are you today, Miss Bridgerton?” You smiled at her cheekily, eyes twinkling in a way that immediately disarmed her.

“I—yes, I am quite well, thank you.” Eloise stumbled, a fluttering feeling settling deep within her stomach, heart spiking as she was unable to look away from your eyes. “And yourself, your—your grace?”

“I could be your grace if you would like.” You emphasised pointedly, a mischievously sweetened smile curving at lips. You snatched a flute of alcohol from a passing servers platter, daintily looking into the eyes of the woman you admired.

She gulped slightly, a charmed blush warming her skin.

“I’ve had a genial day so far, my lady.” You giggled softly. “Although it has become all the more enjoyable when graced with your wondrous presence.”

“I can say much the same for myself.” Eloise rushed out genuinely, a smile at her lips as your eyes sparkled in response. “I find being in your proximity a most precious experience.”

“Perhaps you should venture in closer,” you offered almost offhandedly, taking another sip from your flute as you observed her, “you discover that to be an even more precious time.”

Eloise laughed a tad too loudly, nerves escaping her, but—with a timid smirk curving into her plush mouth, she edged closer towards you.

“And?” You encouraged amusedly, smiling.

“I—Your presence is even more powerful from here.” She grinned crookedly, “perhaps a tad too powerful—“ she joked, moving to take a teasing few paces away.

Your gloved hand caught her own and you both breathed in sharper at the contact. Without taking your eyes from hers, you traced almost absently on the silk material and she shallowly breathed in, feeling the sensations of your touch as though they were against her bare skin.

“Stay close, please.” You simply stated, tugging her back towards you gently. “If you would like.”

“I would like very much.”

You raised an amused eyebrow at her immediate reply and she battled back embarrassment as she made direct eye contact you, unabashed in the truth of her words.

“Your Grace, you look enchanting tonight.” Eloise complimented truthfully, admiring you. “I am only disheartened I have to share this awe-inspiring view with others.”

“You could admire me further in private, if you simply ask to do so.” You shrugged, a smirk on your lips.

Eloise blinked innocently, narrowing her eyes (cutely) as she attempted to recognise the hidden meaning—your words and tone making her feel warm all over.

She was about to open her mouth to adhere to your request when another approached.

“Your Grace,” a well dressed man you did not know walked to you both, bowing to you deeply while staring. “Lady Bridgerton.” He shortly acknowledged.

“It is indeed a pleasure.” Eloise muttered with a tight, bitter smile as she stepped closer to you—feeling dismay at how this man was staring at you.

“Quite.” He agreed, still gazing at you. “It has come to my attentions that your dance card is still empty, Your Grace—“

“Is it?” You interrupted, tilting your head innocently. “Allow me.” You implored to him, holding you hand out for his quill that a man was required to bring, to scribe on a lady’s dance card.

He blinked, a smirk crawling to rest on his mouth as he wielded to you his quill. You took it and immediately turned to Eloise, who grinned crookedly at you when you extended your wrist to her with the man’s quill.

The gent sputtered and flailed usefully in your peripherals but you could frankly give less of a shirt—staring at Eloise as she gently clasped your wrist in her hand, writing hurriedly onto your dance card with a triumphant grin upon her lips.

Fuck. You wanted to kiss her.

“This—this is hardly—“

“Enough? I do quite agree.” You aunt announced as she made her rare appearance on the ballroom floor, glowering superiorly at this unknown man. “I will organise more dances for you and your beloved. Now, shoo, shoo.” She turned to you, ushering you to the floor as a new dance began, a secret wink shot at you.

You and Eloise clasped hands, running away and towards the rest of the couples, giggling like children as you left the treacherous man with your darling aunt.

“You are a marvel.” Eloise laughed out softly, cheeks burning with joy, eyes crinkled as you stood across from one another—curtsying to each other. “I could not have asked for a better partner—in well, everything.”

“Oh, El.” You beamed, an enamoured giggle leaving your throat. “Believe me, it is I who is the lucky one.”

“Rubbish.” She rolled her eyes playfully, “never had I envisioned, even in my wildest fantasies, that—that I could. . would feel this way for another. But, you have invoked such—such emotion in me, it is almost a miracle.” Eloise laughed sheepishly. “You are not only angel in beauty and mind alike, you are also a miracle worker. . Are you not simply all a woman could ever want?”

“If you insist, Lady Bridgerton—“ You grinned widely, shrugging playfully at her.

You both laughed together, garnering sneers and smiles alike, although none of it was noticed. Lost in your own little bubble, hearts and butterflies practically fluttering around the pair of you.

In a spur of the moment, you decided to break from the traditional dance, pulling Eloise impossibly close to you before twirling her out—her dress billowing: she yelped in shock before you were both laughing giddily, others on the dance floor stumbling in bewilderment.

All eyes were on you both but you could not care, did not notice. You spun Eloise around before twirling her back to your front, swinging her playfully as she laughed loudly and you grinned uncontrollably down at her.

The sudden lack of chatter caused your shared laughter to slowly die out, looking about only to realise all eyes were on you both.

People blinked owlishly at the pair of you and you could feel Eloise begin to tense defensively before a sharp whistling erupted—followed by whoops and claps.

Everyone turned to see Benedict, fingers to his lips as he whistled uproariously. Kate was whooping and cheering happily, smiling ear to ear and Anthony, arm around her waist, was following her lead. Violet was politely clapping, a barely noticeable sheen of happy tears at her eyes at seeing her daughter to happy—Lady Danbury at her side, was applauding wholeheartedly as well. Colin was grinning, cheering—Penelope at his side was similarly expressing. Daphne and Simon were clapping loudly: The Queen, back on her platform, was engaging in a secret applause of her own, concealing her smile with Brimsley at her back doing the same.

Eloise and You blinked.

“Yes, yes!” Eloise snapped over the cheering, concealing her own smile and touched emotions. “We are quite besotted, thank you all for noticing, if you could return to your prior engagements that would sincerely appreciated.” She shouted, glaring at everyone.

The people of the ton twitched and blinked and fumbled in fear of the Bridgerton girl, returning to what they were doing—some sneaking looks back at you both.

When Eloise turned back to you in a pouty huff, you were beaming at her, mischief in your eyes.

“Besotted—?”

“Shut up!”

As your combined laughs echoed beautifully once again, all the Bridgertons and their extended family traded genuine smiles.

Their Eloise was incredibly happy, so it seemed: as were you.

#eloise bridgerton imagine #eloise bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #bridgerton #wlw #benedict bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine

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lipglossanon · 7 months ago

Text

Shimmer

Leon S. Kennedy x Fox Fem!reader <one shot>

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, very little world building, smut a plenty 😆, Leon POV, hybrid reader, teasing, flirting, kissing, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, nipple play, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, mommy kink, unprotected sex, creampies

not proofread ✌️ just a smutty hybrid au

title from Shimmer by Fuel

Leon couldn’t believe his eyes. You wind around the trunk of a tree, bright eyes locked on him as a little smile hovers on your lips like a secret. He swallows, tracking your movement, tenebrous colored tail flickering in and out of the tree line. He didn’t know he’d see a pretty little fox this far out.

Leon planned for his four day weekend to be a relaxing hike in the local mountains, camping for a night (maybe two), and then heading back home to veg out in front of the tv before the next work week starts. He’s been out here in the forest for a few hours now and finally found a place to bed down for the night when you appear. A gray fox isn’t as common as the red, but he’s heard people in town talk about the few that have been spotted out here in Arklay.

Leon doesn’t consider himself a hardcore outdoorsman, but he at least knows enough about the local wildlife. The closer you get to his little campsite the more enraptured he becomes; you’re absolutely captivating. His fire crackles and keeps him warm despite the chill permeating the night air; he’s afraid to move once you take a graceful seat on the opposite side of his fire pit, flames highlighting the hollows of your face.

“Hi,” you smile, sharp little fangs glinting at him.

“H-hi,” he croaks, throat dry so he tries to clear it.

“Camping, hmm?” Your gaze lazily drifts to his tent and satchel before landing back on him.

“Yeah, needed a break,” he shrugs, hands clasping together to give them something to do, “you live near here?”

“Now why would I tell a stranger where I live?” You laugh, a throaty sound that makes Leon’s blood run hot.

A flush overtakes his cheeks, “Sorry, I-I’m just making small talk.”

You laugh again, tail shifting to drape across your lap, “You’re cute. What’s your name?”

“Leon. What’s yours?”

He listens as you answer but his eyes can’t stop darting between your perked ears and soft tail.

“Do you want to pet me?” You grin, tail swishing back to your side.

“What—no, I mean, maybe,” Leon’s sweating bullets, mesmerized by you but also terrified you might rip his throat out with your sharp little teeth.

Smiling even broader, you stand up and make your way to him, folding down into a crouch in front of him. This close up, Leon quickly takes in your facial features before noticing the small black collar wrapped around your neck; his eyes trace down the modest sundress to your bare legs and feet.

“Aren’t you cold?” He murmurs, blue eyes roving back up to your curious gaze.

“No,” you smile, “but I’ll be sure to let you know if I am.”

Leon blushes and you look delighted, kneeling closer to peer up at him.

“You’re pretty far out for camping, little Leon,” you fingers graze over his jeans, sharp nails making his pulse race, “aren’t you scared you’ll run into some big scary animal?”

Swallowing, he shakes his head no, “I-I brought bear mace and I’m sticking to the game warden trails.”

He watches your head tilt as one of your ears flick back, listening to the dark forest behind you.

“Hmmm, you should be safe enough then,” your smile returns and Leon feels your tail brush across his arm, “want to see how soft it is?”

With hands steadier than his heart, Leon carefully strokes over the soft fur. It’s more silver than grey with a streak of black that ends at tip of your tail. Some white highlights catch his eye as his hand softly glides down the length.

“It’s lovely,” he murmurs, dazed eyes coming back up to lock on your bright ones.

“Thank you, Leon,” you purr, flicking your tail away behind you, ears perking forward, “you’re no slouch yourself.”

You let your nails brush across his sandy blonde fringe before pulling away. Leon doesn’t know what it is but he’s so drawn to you that his defenses are completely down. So he makes no move to stop you when you drag those sharp claw tips across his scalp and down his neck.

A low groan slips from his mouth and he jerks away, an embarrassed blush crawling up his neck. You laugh and inch closer, hands moving down to skate up his jean clad thighs before resting on his chest.

“Little Leon,” you coo, “are you feeling flushed? You look red.”

“I’m,” he coughs, trying to cover up his nerves, “maybe I’m just too close to the fire.”

“Do you need help to your tent?” You hold his gaze, your little grin showing off an incisor, “don’t want you to pass out.”

Your fingers drum across his pecs and he has the intrusive thought of you ripping into his shirt to tease his nipples. Biting back another groan, he nods jerkily.

“I should probably lay down,” he clumsily stands, watching as you easily stand next to him, hands hovering over his shoulders.

“I’ll help,” you take his arm and guide him the few feet away over to his accommodations for the night.

Pulling back the flap, you help Leon ease down onto his knees so he can kick off his boots before placing them inside next to the opening. Before he can thank you, you crawl in next to him, tail brushing across him as you splay out on his sleeping bag.

“Comfy,” you pat the space next to you, “come lay down, Leon.”

His cock twitches in interest and he quickly zips the tent closed; the light glow of the fire can still be seen through the mesh. Moving over to you, he copies you, lying on his side with his head propped against his arm.

“Figured you might like some company tonight,” your eyes drop down to his mouth, “don’t want you to feel scared.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, pulse thundering in his neck as you shift closer, legs tangling with his.

“Maybe,” you murmur, lips ghosting across his, “you should get comfortable for bed.”

Without any other prompting, he quickly shucks off his jeans and socks before taking his shirt off just leaving him in his briefs. His cock sits half hard against his thigh and he watches as your greedy eyes take him all in.

“Mmm, not bad,” you grin at him, tail waving back and forth behind you.

He settles back where he was and you move into his space, lips kissing across his jaw before pressing softly against his own mouth. With a groan, Leon lets your hot tongue lick into his mouth, hips rolling forward until you finally push him on his back and lay atop him. You break the kiss once to stare down in his face while you rock your wet little cunt against his bulge before lapping at his parted lips.

Kissing you messily, Leon can’t stop from moaning and groping your ass through your sundress. The hard press of your nipples against his chest makes him grind against the apex of your thighs even rougher. Pulling away, you raise up into a sitting position over his lap. Your sharp nails tease across his pink nipples and his whole body jolts like he got an electric shock.

“Oh, Leon,” you grin.

He feels powerless while your fingers pinch and tug his stiff buds until he’s mewling and rocking up into your ass. Hands grabbing onto your thighs, he presses your dress up until he can see your bare cunt coated in clear slick that makes his mouth water.

“Sit on my face,” he pants, “fuck, sit that fucking chubby pussy on my face, please.”

“What a dirty boy,” you lean forward and bite his nipple.

Leon keens in his throat, a sharp high noise he’s never made in his life. Fuck, he thinks he might cum from just you abusing his nipples. His eyes flutter as your wet little mouth decides to suckle and tease his swollen buds; your sharp teeth scraping across them has his cock weeping precum, staining his briefs.

“I-I’m gonna cum if you keep that up,” he finally gets out, hands tangling in his own hair, “fuck, please baby, sit on my face.”

“I guess since you’re being so good,” you sigh, sitting up to pull your dress up and off, nude body coming into view for the first time.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes out, eyes sweeping down your body.

Your ears twitch and you smile, “You’re so sweet, Leon. Now sit back so I can ride your face.”

“Please,” he whines, helping you crawl up his body.

As you move, Leon shimmies his briefs down and off his legs. Your knees then rest on either side of his head and you gently sit your fat dripping cunt down onto his face. With a moan, Leon’s lapping and sucking up all of the slick coating your pussy lips, tongue running up and down your slit. Settling more of your weight down, you relax against him and he humps the air, cock drooling everywhere as he licks your pussy.

“So good, Leon,” grinding your cunt down on his mouth, he flattens his tongue letting you rut against the slick muscle.

He moans, hands cupping your ass to keep you from moving off of his face. Even if he suffocated, Leon would die a happy man. Chillbumps race down his body when your tail brushes over his chest and stomach. The soft fur of your tail eventually drapes itself over his stiff and leaking cock making him lap eagerly into your cunt, tongue fluttering against your pussy walls.

“Right there,” you purr, nails carding through his hair and scratching at his scalp, “suck on my clit and I’ll cum all over your pretty mouth, Leon.”

More precum leaks from his slit, cock so swollen it aches. His eyes shut in an effort to control himself, control his thoughts before he cums all over himself like some virgin. You rock and grind down on his tongue, low moans filling the tent as he laps along your clit before sucking it into his mouth. Keening, you press your bodyweight down, making sure he stays suckling your swollen bud until your orgasm finally overtakes you.

Leon moans just as loudly as you do, drinking up your slick like he’s a man dying of thirst. You undulate in place until the overwhelming feeling of his mouth has you shifting back down into his lap with a pleased little hum.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he rasps, eyes blown out as he takes in your relaxed posture.

“Glad to know,” you tease, running your hands down his pecs and across his puffy nipples.

He lets out a low hiss but doesn’t stop your touches. Your soft hands drift down to the thatch of hair at the base of his cock before sweeping down his thighs.

“Finally,” you sigh, one hand slowly stroking his dick while the other cups his balls, “a nice fat cock.”

Said cock jerks and leaks even more into your palm, balls throbbing as Leon watches you play with his dick.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, slowly rocking his hips up, “you like it?”

“Mm hmm,” you purr, “I’ve had lots of men over the years, but you have the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.”

A spark of jealousy lights in his chest but it’s washed away by the twist of your wrist around his tip making him lose all train of thought.

“I’ve been looking for someone like you,” you whisper, eyes flashing, like it’s a secret— Leon supposes it might honestly be, “someone to mate.”

His cock kicks, a glob of precum dripping over your fingers where they’re wrapped around his length. You use the sticky wetness to glide your hand more easily up and down his dick, slowly jacking him off. He groans, hips pumping but you only loosen your grip with a sly little grin.

“Please,” he murmurs, “it hurts.”

“Does it?” You pout, hand softly massaging his sac before tracing the seam down to his taint, “poor little Leon wants to cum?”

“Uh huh,” he drops his head back with a broken moan, “please, w’nna cum for you.”

“Oh?”

The way your voice piques with interest has his gaze lasered back in on your face. Your attention is focused on his cock but he sees the want sitting as heavily on you as he feels.

“Since you’re being so sweet,” your eyes flick to his and you hold the connection as you rub his cock over your slippery clit, mouth dropping open to pant.

“God, you feel so good,” he grunts, hands grabbing your waist, thumbs digging into your hip bones, “please, please.”

You press his cock against his stomach and glide your soaked cunt up and down—the world's most torturous pussy job he thinks dazedly. His tip leaks so much there’s a small sticky puddle of precum forming on his stomach as your slick coated pussy lips part around his cock, hole dripping and rubbing against him.

“You’re going to stretch me open so much,” you coo sweetly, tail swishing excitedly behind you, “hope you don’t cum too soon.”

Before Leon can even argue, you tilt his cock up and sink your pussy down on him; he knows he’s gripping you too hard, but he can’t let go when your hot little cunt’s sucking him in so agonizingly slow.

He’s babbling too, but fuck if he knows what he’s saying; whatever it is, you don’t mind since you’re giving him that same throaty laugh from earlier that makes him wanna spill deep in your greedy hole.

It feels like a lifetime before you start to bounce on his lap, pussy squelching deliciously, making his mouth flood with saliva knowing what you taste like. The pace picks up and before he can blink, you’re riding him rough and fast, pussy clamped down on his cock like a vice.

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts, hands going to your hips ready to pull you up and off so he can spill all over your pussy.

He feels like a fucking teenager, not able to hold back on cumming inside your pussy like he’s never fucked a woman before. Hybrid pussy must be something else, he thinks dizzily, cock throbbing as your slippery walls pulse and throb around his thick length.

“Cum inside,” you moan, nails digging into his forearms so harshly blood runs down his arms.

The pinprick of pain makes him buck up harder into your spasming hole. His brain fizzes in arousal, dick buried balls deep in your soaked cunt.

“Can’t,” he gasps, “fuck, what if you get pregnant?”

His cock thickens at the thought, balls tight against his body, at the hint of knocking you up. You laugh, that throaty sound that makes Leon throb, and you grind harder down on his lap.

“Then mate me, little Leon, spill your seed deep inside and give me kits,” your lips spread in a smile so wide your fangs show, “breed my pussy like your cock’s begging you to.”

“Oh god,” he whines, “I-I can’t,” but he doesn’t stop himself from fucking into your pussy harder and deeper, balls aching to shoot his load.

“Aww you can’t?” You mock, guiding his hands up to grab your breasts, “can’t fill my cunt with your thick cum? Can’t breed a wet pussy that wants it so bad?”

He’s losing the battle. It just feels too good inside your fluttering walls while he rabbits his hips against yours, cock stuffing you on every thrust. He squeezes his hands until your tits spill over his fingers, nipples hard against his palms.

“Make me a mommy, Leon,” you croon, voice saccharine sweet in his ears and he nods before even realizing what you’ve said.

“M-mommy?” He slurs out, body flushed and overheated as he fucks up into your cunt.

You giggle and lean forward, “Mm hmm, you like mommies, Leon?”

He gasps, eyes rolling back as he leaks heavily inside your hole, “Ye-yes. Love mommies.”

“Good boy,” you murmur, dropping a dizzying kiss to his lips and he chases your mouth with a moan.

“Mommy, want you to be a mommy,” he babbles out, brain complete mush now from the arousal, “want you to be my mommy.”

“Ohh?” You sigh gustily and lean forward more, pressing your breasts into Leon’s face.

Taking the hint, Leon’s hand shift down to your ass so he can mouth and suck at your tits, licking and suckling your nipples as he thrusts sloppily.

“Mommy,” he murmurs, tongue lapping at the soft skin of your breasts before sucking a nipple into his hot mouth.

Whining, his eyes flutter shut. If he breeds your cunt, you’ll leak milk from these gorgeous tits. He moans loudly, the thought turning him on so much he can’t stop sucking your nipples. He pumps his hips up into your soaked cunt, feeling you drip slick down his cock to drip off his balls.

“So hard, Leon,” he distantly hears your voice, “being such a good boy for me, fucking your mommy so good.”

Mewling against your breasts, he bites the puffy bud in his mouth, tongue lashing against it until you’re squeezing and rocking down on his dick. He could fill you to the brim, bust his load deep in your pussy and keep you on his cock til it takes. Eyes rolling in pleasure, he swaps to your other breast, mouth greedily suckling the hard nipple into his mouth.

He pulls away, mouth brushing across the stiff peak as he looks up at you, “Mommy, gonna cum for you, gonna cum so hard in your pussy.”

“Good boy,” you smooth back the sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead, “if you fill me up you can keep me, a mommy all to yourself.”

His eyes drop to your collar and you grind down hard on his cock making him moan.

“This is to keep people from getting any ideas,” you smooth your hands down his chest, nails scratching at his abs and making them tense, “you can put your own collar here if you want.”

Leon closes his eyes, trying his best to behave. Having you in a collar he picked out? Coming home to you waiting for him, maybe even splayed out in his bed, wet and wanting his cock. Shuddering, he blindly mouths at your chest nuzzling until he finds your nipple to pull into his mouth with a rough suck.

“Mommy, ‘m so close,” he groans, “wanna keep you on my cock forever.”

You pull yourself from his lap with a loud wet suctioning noise that makes his balls draw up tight. The words to keep you sitting on his cock die in his mouth as you kneel down at his feet with your back facing him. You dip at the waist to press your chest into the sleeping bag as you arch your ass into the air. Your tail mesmerizes him for a minute before he scrambles up onto his knees behind you.

“So pretty,” he slowly strokes his hand down your tail and you moan longingly, spreading your knees to present your wet little cunt to him.

“Breed me, Leon,” you look back at him, ears twitching and teeth biting your bottom lip, “want you to fill me up.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, notching the head of his cock at your opening before slowly sinking inside.

His hands grip the fat of your ass, eyes unable to pull away as he watches your pussy eagerly suck his cock back into your slick soft heat. The first few thrusts are slow and deep, letting him luxuriate in the feeling of burying his cock in your hot little pussy.

“Harder,” you whine, hips pushing back, “give it to me, Leon.”

He lets out a pained grunt as he pumps his cock in and out of your tight hole. Leaning forward, he braces one hand on your shoulder to pin you down as his other grips your hip. The new angle lets him piston his dick deep and hard into your slick greedy hole. Moaning, Leon rabbits his hips faster and faster, balls smacking your clit on every thrust and making you squeeze his dick.

Moving the hand from your hip, his fingers seek out your slippery swollen clit and rub soft circles across the pudgy bud.

“So good, such a good boy,” you pant, nails clawing his sleeping bag to shreds, “god, you’re gonna make me squirt.”

The words turn Leon on so much he nearly blacks out. Chills race down his back and he teases your clit from side to side, dipping down to wet his fingers from the slick leaking from your stuffed cunt before pinching your bundle of nerves.

“Your pussy is so perfect,” he gasps, leaning back as he slides the hand from his shoulder down to grab the base of your tail, “gripping me so fucking tight.”

He tugs lightly and you keen, body thrashing wildly as your pussy clenches rhythmically around his cock.

“Fuck that’s hot,” he groans, chin dropping to his chest to watch him fuck your cunt.

The more he pets and tugs on your tail, the harder you squeeze down on his dick. Leon’s fingers also never let up on teasing and rubbing your clit while the fat tip of his cock kisses your cervix and makes you squeal.

“Leon, ungh— fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you slur out, drooling on the slick material of the sleeping bag.

“Please cum for me,” he keeps the same breakneck pace paired with circling your clit and tail, “want that fat pussy creaming my cock, mommy.”

Your body locks up underneath him and Leon feels a gush of slick push his cock out and wet thighs; quickly recovering, he shoves his dick back inside your spasming walls and humps your pussy fast and hard.

“You fucking squirted,” he whines, “never had a girl squirt on my cock and you fucking—god, I’m cumming, fuck, this chubby fucking pussy is making me cum, oh mommy—”

Leon nearly collapses as he presses himself as tight against your ass as possible, balls drawn up tight and pulsing as he spills deep inside your cunt. Your slick walls milk him for every drop— his dick spurting rope after rope of thick hot cum until it’s dripping from your used hole.

When he goes to pull out, you whine and press your ass back against him.

“Stay,” you sigh, “don’t want a mess just yet.”

Shuddering, he groans as your walls flutter and hug his cock. In no time, he’s just as stiff and hard as he was ten minutes ago.

You moan low in your throat, “You can go again?”

“Yeah,” Leon’s breathless reply surprises himself, cock flexing inside your pussy and making you whine.

The second time Leon creampies your pussy is rough and nasty.

Pulling out, he flips you onto your back and slips his cock back inside your cunt. Slick and cum ooze out around his fat cock, but he’s too busy pressing your legs up and over his shoulders to notice.

Mewling against his messy kisses, you clench and whine from Leon’s rough fucking. At this point, he can’t stop himself from giving it to you hard and fast.

“Gonna fuck your little cunt all night, mommy,” he knows he has no filter at this point, completely pussy drunk, but it doesn’t stop him from talking, “you’re gonna be stuffed to the brim, stuffed full of my cum.”

“Leon,” you moan, nails digging into his back and making him buck harder, dick knocking into your cervix roughly.

“Yeah? Like that? I’m gonna pound this hot little pussy til you can’t take it anymore. Fuck, ‘m gonna give my mommy what she needs,” he growls out, feeling your heels bounce against his back with his thrusts.

“Want it,” you grin wickedly up at him, “give it to me, Leon. Be a good boy for mommy.”

He’s too wound up from earlier so in no time at all Leon’s cumming inside your pussy for the second time that night. His fingers pinch and rub your slippery clit until you’re clamping down tight on his cock, milking him into overstimulation as he finishes spilling his seed in your sticky walls.

Pulling out with a grunt, Leon collapses next to you with a sigh. Laying there in the quiet, he lets his heart rate drop back to normal before turning to you.

“You really want to get pregnant?”

You smirk and it makes his pulse race.

“No, that little issue has been fixed,” you kiss the tip of his nose, “but it’s fun to pretend, right?”

Leon’s cock twitches against his thigh and he nods.

“Yeah,” pink blooms across his cheekbones, “I liked it.”

Curling up into his side, he softly runs a finger across one of your ears.

“Can I really keep you?” He whispers.

Night sounds slowly seep back into his awareness as a cicada screams nearby.

“Can you truly keep a wild thing?” You muse humorously, head tilting back so he can see your bright eyes.

At his contemplative silence, you run your hands through his hair with a half smile, “But I want to go home with you, Leon. If the offer is there.”

“Please,” he blurts out, not caring if he sounds desperate or whipped, “I’d love for you to come home with me.”

Smile softening your features, you brush the fringe from his eyes, “Then, I’m yours.”

Relief and excitement fills his chest and he grins, “Perfect.”

#hybrid au #hybrid!reader #fox!reader #leon s kennedy #leon smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x hybrid!reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x hybrid!reader

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lilmissnatcat24 · 1 year ago

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yes yes i love shakarian because those two just understand each other intrinsically. but i am foaming at the mouth for more cross-cultural differences that don't quite translate. i want garrus to be horrified by the idea that milk comes out of humans and babies drink it. i want shepard to be grossed out that turian parents chew up food for their babies and spit it in their mouths. i want shepard to not quite realize that when she arches her neck it's actually super suggestive and "uh babe, why are you flirting with my father like that?" "what, no, i'm just stretching." i want garrus to not 100% understand sarcasm because humans don't have subvocals and why would they ever just lie boldly like that? i want shepard to get used to the idea that turians have never once evolved to use utensils when they eat (hello? they only have three fingers?) and has to come to terms with garrus gnawing at huge chunks of blue, way too undercooked pieces of meat with his claws. i want garrus to be awestruck with the different amount of ways that humans can style their hair, and how does that not hurt? you're yanking your fringe and clipping it back? are you sure that's comfortable? i want shepard to turn her translator off every now and again so that she could hear the little chirping noises garrus makes to himself when he's concentrating. i want garrus to secretly adore watching shepard curl into chairs and twist her limbs onto couches because there's simply no way he could ever bend like that and be comfortable. i just want more.

#shakarian #shepard x garrus #mass effect #femshep #garrus vakarian

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hbdttg · 2 years ago

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“Hold the elevator!”

The elevator doors are mere inches from closing, but Steve dutifully shoots a hand out to stop them. They slide back open, revealing a flustered-looking man about Steve’s age on the other side.

He’s dressed head to toe in black, decked out in a simple black pullover with a modest V-neck, snug black jeans, and all-black leather Chucks with a messenger bag slung across his chest. The messenger bag is, unsurprisingly, also black, but covered in a collection of tough-looking patches and pins in varying shades of—well, it’s mostly red, dark red, white, and some yellows, but the pops of color still stand out against his otherwise monochrome ensemble.

His dark, curly hair reaches a little past his shoulders and he’s got this frankly outdated fringe that, despite its very 80’s vibe, frames his face perfectly. His eyes are large and expressive, and he’s got this frantic energy about him that reminds Steve of a live wire. He’s nothing like the buttoned-up suits Steve usually shares his elevator rides with each morning, and it’s a refreshing change of pace.

The man gives Steve a thankful look before stepping into the elevator and leaning against the side wall. “Thanks,” he says, a little distractedly. He’s got a pair big of headphones on and Steve realizes he’s in the middle of a phone call when he adds, “No, not you, Gare, I was thanking the guy who held the elevator for me. Yeah, this building’s crazy. There’s a whole-ass sixtieth floor—guess I’m kind of a big deal now.” He lets out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, reaching for the panel beside him.

As the doors close and the elevator starts to slowly ascend, Steve notices the man pressed the button for the floor above his. Both the fifty-second and fifty-third floor buttons are lit in a halo of green.

“You know I didn’t want to leave you guys,” the man continues, a bit more quietly now that he and Steve are sharing the same small space, “but shit, I couldn’t turn down the pay.” He scoffs. “Ugh, listen to me, just another cog in the capitalist machine. Man, if high school me could see me now. High school Eddie used to talk big about forced conformity and rising up against the man, and now here I am—”

Steve tries not to listen to the one-sided conversation going on beside him, but it’s difficult when a moment later, he hears his own name.

“—clocking in for my first day at fuckin’ Harrington Hargrove Hagan. The pretentious bastards can’t even shorten it to an acronym or something. God forbid they have to miss out on the sound of their own names.”

Steve manages to hold in the obnoxious snort that threatens to escape him. He’s starting to think he might like this guy—Eddie, his mind supplies helpfully—but Eddie’s next words have him freezing in place.

“And it’s nepo baby central. Yeah, pretty sure all the H kiddies are hotshot brokers with the company. All the biggest accounts—gee, I wonder why.”

Steve can feel the back of his neck burning hot with a mixture of annoyance and shame as Eddie cracks a caustic joke about silver spoons and trust funds.

“You’re kidding, one of them works at this branch? Damn, I guess I’ll just keep an eye out for the guy who most looks like he’s got a giant stick up his ass.”

This is quickly becoming the longest elevator ride of Steve’s life. He grits his teeth and stares fixedly at the floor display panel above the elevator doors, watching the numbers climb higher and higher. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.

“Listen, I should go, but let’s grab a drink at the Hideout later. Cool, see you then. Bye.”

Forty-one. Forty-two.

Eddie removes his headphones and shoves them into his bag, angling slightly toward Steve. “Sorry about that, man.”

“You’re good,” Steve says shortly, not looking away from the changing numbers. They reach the forty-seventh floor, and all the while, he feels Eddie’s gaze on him.

It’s not like he’s openly staring, but there’s a certain weight to his furtive glances that completely counteracts his attempts at subtlety. It’s the type of gaze Steve’s familiar with, one that he’s been on the receiving end of since his sophomore year of high school when he hit a growth spurt and actually learned how to style his hair. Assessing. Appreciative. Interested.

And in any other situation, Steve would gladly engage. He’d turn on the charm, quirk the corner of his lip up in that way Robin always rolls her eyes at but reluctantly acknowledges as ‘passably effective’, and maybe even make up an excuse to sidle a bit closer.

But he’s not giving this guy his A-game.

Instead, Steve waits in stifling silence until the fifty-second floor is announced and the doors slide open. He steps forward to exit, but at the very last moment stops in the doorway.

He initially wasn’t going to say anything—though, a past version of himself would have definitely spat something biting and bitchy to Eddie about his snark, would have snootily told him to take his little assumptions and shove them where the sun don’t shine—but sooner or later Eddie’s going to realize he and Steve are colleagues, and he’s going to remember shit-talking him in an elevator on his first day of work, and it’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable.

Steve’s just speeding up the timeline, pushing for the sooner rather than the later, when he decides to spin around and fully face Eddie.

“I think you pressed the wrong button,” he says, all sweet and helpful like he’s talking to Dustin’s mom over a sink full of soapy dishes. “Couldn’t help but overhear that you work at Harrington Hargrove Hagan. It’s on the fifty-second floor, not the fifty-third.” Then he takes a small step backward, moving out into the carpeted hallway.

“Oh.” Eddie scrambles for his phone, unlocking it and scrolling quickly until he finds something that has him straightening up and smiling gratefully at Steve. “I guess I remembered it wrong. Thank you.” He pushes away from the wall, takes a step forward to follow Steve out, but then stops dead in his tracks.

Steve gleefully notes the line of Eddie’s gaze, how it lingers at the breast pocket of his shirt, where, clipped to a retractable badge reel, his building keycard hangs. Eddie evidently hadn’t noticed it during the elevator ride up, but he’s certainly fixated on it now.

Perhaps on the abstract yet easily recognizable Harrington Hargrove Hagan logo in the top right corner.

But more likely, based on the positively mortified look growing on Eddie’s face, on the name clearly printed underneath Steve’s photo in bold, black lettering: STEVE HARRINGTON.

Slowly, Eddie drags his eyes back up to Steve’s face. He stares in silence, eyes bugging nearly out of his head, face turning a concerning shade of pink, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and his reaction is extreme enough that a small part of Steve is almost inclined to take pity on the guy and laugh it all off.

Unfortunately for Eddie, a bigger part of Steve thinks Eddie looks kind of cute all red-faced and embarrassed like this. So he glances down at himself thoughtfully before turning his attention back on Eddie. “Wow,” he says with exaggerated astonishment, “now that you mention it, I guess I do look like I’ve got a giant stick up my ass.”

As if on cue, the elevator chimes in warning. The doors begin to close, but Eddie just remains rooted in place with that same wide-eyed, horrified expression.

When it becomes clear he has no intentions of actually exiting the elevator, Steve chuckles and wiggles his fingers in a cheeky little wave. “Welcome to the team,” he says airily, before Eddie’s still-blushing face disappears behind the elevator doors.

/ Now with a Part 2!

#stranger things #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #modern office au #corporate steddie au #eddie's in IT #HHH is a commercial real estate firm #but steve's not a hotshot broker he's literally just a guy who makes copies all day or some shit #i personally just want to see all of eddie's baseless assumptions shattered as he gets to know steve #fic writing #hbd #actually i've never read a corporate steddie fic before so if anyone has any recs i'd love to hear them

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bunicate · 10 months ago

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⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ BOUNDED TO. belphie x fem reader

warnings ꒱ྀི incest. mild dub-con. blowjob. minor hairpulling. jealousy. sis-con belphie. repost / 18+

“luci says you’re not supposed to come in my room anymore.”

you kept your position on the bed. you lay on your slightly exposed belly with your back facing the door. you didn’t see the point in directing your gaze behind you when you were expecting this very moment to happen.

it’s been a few days since your last exchange, and it was only a matter of time before he’d seek you out once more. still, you maintained your weak show of defiance.

belphie chuckles dryly, amused at your attempt.

"well, for one, luci isn’t even here," he sneers.

he recoils at the nickname, annoyed at how sweetly it rolls off your tongue while he spits it out of his. jealousy hangs off the fringes at the mention of his elder brother, and it’s only quelled when he remembers his access to you. it dampens his anger, though only by a bit.

“and why am i not allowed here? did you tell him all the dirty things i did to you?”

you tense up at the words he utters, saturated with taunt, and your face begins to warm.

he watches as you become rigid, knowing that memories from just a mere few nights ago were running around in your head, and he took that as his invitation to keep going.

“did you tell him how i sucked your fat little cunt until you squirted?”

and incoming—you chuck a pillow at him with your demonic strength hoping that it would somehow drive a hole through his head for being so crude.

“shut up! you said you wouldn’t make fun of me for it."

belphie smirks as he catches the pillow with ease and he tucks it under his arm.

regret settles in the pit of your stomach, but more importantly, embarrassment.

you recall that night in such vivid detail. he parted your folds, in awe at the puffy thickness. he sucked at your chubby mound, flicking his tongue against your lips until he delved in deeper, warming your hole with his mouth. he used such sensual descriptors, calling your cunt succulent and sweet until your cream coated not only his tongue but the entire lower half of his face.

you feel ashamed that even recalling the event begins to arouse you. your thighs squish together without your permission, and you hope it snuffs out the remaining desire.

"it's nothing to be embarrassed about. it was sexy—cute even.”

belphie teases, and you audibly groan.

he was different from beel in many ways, and you questioned how he could be the twin of such a sweet and friendly glutton until you realized the extent of belphie's insatiability.

he would never admit it, but he inexplicably craved you. his utter desire to pull you apart and put you back together for his own pleasure. he wanted you all to himself, which struck you as odd.

he’s mean; he teases you, pulls your hair, calls you names, and then, when you’re on precipice of exploding, suddenly you’re his ‘darling little sister.’ he'd whisper praise against your lips, making you forget why you were mad in the first place. he’s mastered riling you up and talking you back down, but it was exhausting—he's exhausting.

you settle on ignoring him, preferring to kick your feet back and forth on the bed while you busied yourself with whatever had your attention.

he lowers his head to peek underneath your oversized shirt and perversely looks between your bare thighs before locking the door behind him.

he walks towards your relaxed frame, remaining a good distance away but close enough to peer over and glance at what had you so occupied.

“are you mad at me?” he questions, tossing the pillow to the side.

“when am i not?”

you shrug off his pathetic attempt to ease your anger, as you are used to his patterns by now. you hum the measly tune playing and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, refusing to look at him. “what do you want, belphie?”

“who says i want anything? can’t a big brother hang out with his little sister?”

you scoff.

“nice try, but we don't 'hang out' and no, co-napping doesn't count.” you lock your phone and put it on the nightstand.

“just tell me what you want.”

his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

“is that any way to talk to your big brother?”

he reels back some of his attitude hoping it comes across as playful. he didn’t want you to be too upset because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to calm you back down. thankfully, you didn’t seem angry—just bothered, and somehow belphie hated that more.

“you’re only older than me by like a month and that’s not anything to brag about.”

he sucked his teeth. always eager to remind him that, while he was older, it was just barely –as if he cared.

“doesn’t matter. i’m still your big brother.”

there’s a brief moment of silence before you sigh. “whatever you say.”

you're appeasing him; it's like you didn’t actually believe it yourself. his annoyance spiked, and you enjoyed it. it was nice to give him a taste of his own medicine for a change, and see him so worked up , especially over something so trivial.

“look at me when i’m talking to you.”

you choose to play coy and ignore his demand until you're suddenly startled.

the bed abruptly dips as he settles on top of you.

you finally turn around to protest, but he barely gives you a chance. your bewildered eyes meets his firm gaze. his mouth connects to the spot just under your ear, his breath fans your skin, and a shock travels down your spine, resting in your lower back.

his hands weaves around you and digs into the sheets, trapping you against the bed.

“don’t be like that.” his voice is much lower and more inviting, but still authoritative.

he takes his other hand to lift up your shirt to your surprise. he admires the cute and skimpy pajamas and how the shape of your slit was visible as you futilely kicked at him.

embarrassed, you reach to pull your shirt down.

“b-belphie! stop !” you shriek.

he snickers at your expression. his lean and languid body drapes over you as he burrows into you. his nose and lips caress your skin, inciting goosebumps. it prods you lightly, making you shift from being abashed to giggly.

you can’t stop the laugh from bubbling up inside; you bite your lips to muffle them, but when he licks at your neck, you can no longer hide it.

“that tickles,”

“yeah?”

the skin around your eyes wrinkle and your body twitches from his teasing.

“if that’s the case . . .”

he moves too quickly for you to process. his knees settle on either side of your hips, his chest to your back, while his hands pin your wrists down. you’re so used to seeing belphie so idle that his agility catches you by surprise.

his mouth latches on the back of your neck and begins to plant spit-covered hickeys on your skin.

“n’more marks . . .” you whine, but he doesn’t listen. he hoped lucifer would see them.

if there was one thing he hated more than lucifer, it was the relationship you had with him.

you were different around each other. the lucifer he knows is cold and calculating, except when he speaks to you. It’s gentle, reassuring, and sickeningly tender—it's disgusting. he babies you, and you lapped up his affection like a puppy.

belphie supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. you’re the youngest and the only girl—the only sister—and you’re lucifer’s favorite. you're docile and soft-spoken around him and lucifer treated you like you were as fragile as a quaint flowers. he’s always careful— worried that if he were too rough, he’d pluck you from the ground and you’d wilt.

you were a demon; you could withstand much more, but the avatar of pride didn't care.

he didn't care that you were spoiled, bratty, and foul-mouthed, and maybe lucifer was blind to it. he couldn’t realize that about his precious sister when he was too busy fucking her.

dinners were especially tortuous. he wonders if you can feel him staring daggers at you when you obediently take your seat next to lucifer and proceed to give him all of your attention.

he hates how you play with your hair and cross and uncross your legs, like you’re nervous. what could you possibly be talking about with him that turns you into a fidgeting mess?

why should he even care? he doesn't care; actually, it didn't matter. you can pretend all you want; he knows what type of girl you are and the naughty things you likes

belphie's teeth scrape and lightly prick your skin to prove a point —it’s not deep enough to bleed but just enough to bruise and hear your mewl. he’s so close that his lashes gently feather your cheek. the smell of your hair and faint perfume lingering cause belphie to become feverish. it annoyed him to see how his body reacted to yours.

his cock pulsates against his pants, and he presses into your behind. you’re soft and pretty and sweet enough to taint.

“I need you to do something for me, baby sis.”

he struggles to ask. he didn't want what you believed to be about him to be true. he's only around you when he needs something, but he swears you are a drug. he can’t help the tent in his pants and how aroused he gets when you’re angry and pissed off at him.

you twist your neck as much as he’d allow to look at the demon behind you.

“w-what?” you stutter, too focused on the way his hips grind against your ass.

your shirt rides up, but this time from his movement. you can feel his eyes burning on the skin of your butt, and you couldn’t pull the fabric back down to hide.

"you know what i want.”

belphie leaves a trail of kisses on your body. tugging down your collar, he nibbles on your shoulder.

“I need your pretty little mouth,” he whispers right by the shell of your ear. his nose digs into you, tracing vertical lines while he inhales your scent. “i want to feel it around my cock.”

you tutted.

"we can’t anymore. we’ll get in trouble.” you wiggle against him, attempting to shut your legs to ease the throb in your lower region.

“we won’t.” he promises. “I just need to cum in my little sister’s throat.” he eyes the length of your neck, eyes hazy like he was imagining it. “i need to fuck it.”

you blush profusely at the demand. “nuh-uh” was your defiant reply.

in response, belphie unpins one of your wrists and instead tangles his fingers in your hair to pull it. your head is thrown back from the force, and you cry out. “hurts..”

yeah, of course it does. he wonders how angry lucifer would be if he saw how he roughhoused you.

your plump lips are slightly parted, and your eyes are glossy. he looks between the two of them.

with an open mouth, his lips find yours to press a sloppy wet kiss. he couldn’t resist you, and he wouldn’t even try to.

“we won’t get in trouble as long as you don’t tell anyone, okay?”

he knew someone would notice the number he did on your nape, but you didn’t need to fret about that, at least not now. he loosens his grip on your strands while his hips still move at a slow pace, cock-humping your backside for his gratification and to encourage you.

“b-but—”

“but nothing. you’re going to suck me off because i’m your big brother and you love me, right?" the exalting feelings you possess for him can’t be questioned, but you remain hesitant. you know it’s wrong, and yet you nod anyway.

“ i love you so much, belphie.”

he smiles at your obedience. you’re always more likely to listen when your cunt is weeping for him. he didn’t have to see it to know that you’re soaked.

“good.” he pats the side of your cheek.

you study him with glossy and affectionate eyes. your lips are pursed and trembling like you want another kiss. he’s learned how to read your silent pleas, and so he grants you another peck.

“love you.” you say it again, but with the innocence that belphie craves. you hope he melts at the sound of your voice, but he doesn’t. he crumbles.

“love you too. i love you so fucking much, you have no idea,” he mumbles it against your soft lips, his orbs staring deep into yours with such desire and fondness. he kisses you once more and then twice, rubbing your chin softly.

“my perfect little sister isn’t that right? you're going to do what your big brother says.”

and his mouth is hot against yours. his tongue, used to such venom, felt sweet for a change and it makes you wet.

your back arches as he continues to kiss you. his tongue caresses the roof of your mouth; it's messy and audible, and you croon at the sensation. you felt sensitive; even your nipples brushing against the cotton of your shirt were enough to draw out tiny squeaks.

“big brother...” you mewl it against his mouth, and belphie fucking groans.

“f-fuck.” he’s zipping down his pants.

“i'm so fucked up. you have no idea how fucking hard that makes me.”

he spanks you on your ass and removes his body from on top of you. he lays on his back, crossing his arms behind his head to rest on your pillows.

he’s relieved when your dainty hands pull down his pants and his cock springs free. slender and long, tilting slightly with thin veins on the sides, a rosy pink tip coated in a thin layer of pearlescent white.

your mouth puckers and sucks on his leaky slit for a few seconds before you bury him in your throat. the friction is familiar, and the burn forces you to produce more spit. your drooling mouth deepthroats him, suctioning around his shaft with your tongue flicking on any vein it comes across.

you keep going even as his cock kisses the back of your throat. when he hears you gag, his hand rests on your head to keep you still.

“I want to feel you choke, baby. cmon suck it.”

bucking into the vice that was your mouth, your hair fans out around his thighs. belphie thinks to tug on it when he wants to fuck your face even harder.

“gonna empty my cum in my little sister’s throat,” he groans gutturally just as soon as your lips touch his coarse hairs. your tears threaten to spill.

he calls out to you, continuing to hump your warm mouth.

“call me big brother again.”

you look up at him with that precious, messy cock-sucking face as you swallow around him.

you try to straighten your back , attempting to remove his length from the slick opening of your throat, but the firm hand on your head keeps you still.

“say it.”

you feel a wave of anxiety. you try to keep the drooling from overwhelming you, but it doesn’t stop. you swallowed around him reactively, aware of how much he was stuffing and stretching your mouth. you’re careful to prevent yourself from choking as you struggle to speak, but you gag a few more times.

“b-bwig b-bwother.”

filthy ribbons of spit and cum drip for your mouth ruining your clothes and sticking to your chest.

your tiny mouth struggles to take him. it’s far from perfect, it’s sloppy and messy, but belphie thinks you never looked more beautiful.

#૮꒰ ๑´ତ `๑ ꒱ྀིა #kinda abrupt ending oopsie :<#tw:incest #belphie x reader smut #belphie x reader #belphegor x reader #belphegor x reader smut #obey me smut #obey me #obey me x reader #female reader

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