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mattrempeswife · 3 days ago

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IN EVERY GENTLE WAY

pair: quinn hughes x f!reader

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, drama, domestic.

warnings: jealousy, disrespectful comments toward c-section delivery, brief mention of breastfeeding/milk clot pain, emotional vulnerability, but ends with comfort and love.

summary: on your first trip back home as a family of three, quinn is nervous but devoted, doing everything to protect you and finn. tension arises when a childhood friend makes a cruel comment about your c-section, bringing out a rare side of quinn. later, when a painful milk clot hits you unexpectedly, quinn reminds you once again that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for the two of you.

fia’s notes: once again, this little fic can totally be read as a standalone, no pressure to read anything before it! but if you have been following along, it also works as a continuation of ‘wait for me, little one.’ so basically, choose your own adventure vibes! either way, you’re getting a healthy dose of dad!quinn being soft, sweet, and so hopelessly in love with his little family. and honestly? i’ve been in the deepest dad!quinn spiral lately. like, the kind where i catch myself daydreaming about him holding a baby in one arm and a bottle in the other while looking all sleepy and shirtless. he’s just so gentle and attentive and ugh, it’s giving heart eyes all around. expect more content like this because clearly, i can’t get him out of my head.

“Quinn,”

You whispered, smoothing your fingers along the back of his hand as the car cruised down the road.

“Are you nervous?”

He glanced over at you from the driver’s seat, then at the rearview mirror where Finn sat strapped in, wide-eyed and content, his tiny fists wiggling beneath a soft blanket.

“Little bit,” he admitted.

“I don’t know why. Your family’s always been nice to me.”

You smiled, the sight of him in dad mode with his baseball cap on, one hand steady on the wheel, the other reaching over to squeeze your knee which made your chest bloom with warmth.

“I think it’s because this is the first time we’re going back with Finn.”

He nodded, expression soft.

“Exactly. I just… I want to do everything right. I know he’s only a few months old, but I want your family to see I’m taking care of you both. That I’m serious about being the kind of man you deserve.”

You reached up to touch his cheek.

“They already know that, Quinn. They love you. And so do I.”

He grinned, turning his head to kiss your fingers.

“Still doesn’t stop me from making a list of rules in my head. No strong perfumes, no passing Finn around without asking, no alcohol…”

You laughed. “The Great Hughes Rulebook.”

He laughed with you, but his eyes were still flicking back to Finn protectively.

“I mean it though. He’s tiny. I just want to keep him safe.”

By the time you arrived at your childhood home, the house was already full of guest, chatter and foods. Your mom opened the door with a squeal and immediate tears in her eyes at the sight of you, then zeroed in on Finn.

“Oh, my goodness, he’s beautiful!”

You let her hold him for a moment, after a thorough hand sanitizer session, per Quinn’s firm but gentle request and then introduced Finn to your aunts, cousins, and family friends.

It wasn’t long before Dean arrived.

Dean, the boy next door who once lent you comic books, helped you learn how to bike, and confessed his crush the summer before you left for college. You had gently, kindly said you didn’t feel the same. Since then, something bitter always brewed beneath his smiles, especially after Quinn came into your life.

You caught Quinn subtly shift closer to you when Dean entered, carrying a bottle of sparkling juice, per your no-alcohol request and that same forced, tight-lipped smirk he always gave Quinn. The tension wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but you knew your husband. You saw the small ways he shielded you by standing between Dean and you when conversation sparked, keeping Finn near.

Despite that, the evening flowed easily at first. People asked about Finn, your birth, future plans. You shared your story, how he arrived by C-section after a long labor, how brave Quinn had been in the room with you.

And then Dean, who had been quiet for most of it. spoke, tilting his head in that all-too-familiar smug way.

“Guess some people don’t push through the hard parts of motherhood, huh?”

It was a needle prick dressed as a joke, loud enough for the others at the table to go silent.

Quinn’s arm immediately stiffened against yours.

You didn’t need to look at him to know his jaw was tight. His hand found yours beneath the table.

He stood up slowly, cradling Finn who had just fallen asleep in his arms.

“You know,” Quinn said, voice calm but edged with steel.

“I’ve seen a lot of things on the ice. Broken bones. Knocked-out teeth. Guys playing with torn ligaments just to stay in the game.”

He glanced down at you before locking eyes with Dean.

“But I have never, in my life, seen anyone braver than the woman sitting next to me. She went through twenty-six hours of labor before being rushed into surgery. She let someone cut her open for our son. And I stood there, helpless, watching her bleed so that he could breathe.”

The room was completely still. Dean shrank a little.

“And you have the nerve,” Quinn said, now shifting his weight as if he needed to anchor himself, “to reduce all of that, her courage, her pain to a joke?”

His voice stayed quiet, but it hit like a punch.

“If you ever talk about my wife, mother of my child like that again,” he added.

“You won’t be invited to any room she’s in. And let’s get one thing clear, Dean, you weren’t invited to this family-and-friends-only event, so the fact that you showed up unannounced is not only out of line, it’s straight-up disrespectful.”

You reached for his hand, heart thudding at how fiercely protective he was. Quinn looked at you next and immediately softened.

He kissed your temple, then turned back to the group.

“Sorry, everyone. Just had to make that clear.”

And just like that, he sat back down, rocking Finn gently in his arms.

The rest of the night was a little quieter, a little tenser, but still filled with laughter and joy, especially when your little boy gurgled in his sleep and made your mom cry again.

Back home, your body began to ache.

It started as a dull throb in your breast, then tightened. By the time you were in bed, it was pulsing with sharp pain.

You tried to massage it gently, hoping it was nothing but the lump was firm and the ache unbearable.

“Quinn…”

You whispered, curled on your side, your voice small.

He was halfway through unpacking Finn’s diaper bag when he turned, already concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think… I think I have a milk clot.”

Quinn was at your side in seconds.

“Okay. Okay, come here, honey. Let me help.”

You were embarrassed, frustrated with the pain, with the leak that had already stained your sleep shirt, with the way the bed sheets were now damp. But Quinn didn’t even care. He helped you sit up, supporting you with one hand and grabbing a warm compress with the other.

Your breast leaked milk, and some of it got on his shirt.

“Quinn, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry, my love.”

he interrupted gently, cupping your face.

“Do you think I care about a shirt?”

He carefully eased the wet sheets off the bed, replacing them with fresh ones while you laid in the guest room for a moment. Then he returned, shirtless now, and helped you lie down again.

“Anything else I can get you?”

You shook your head, eyes glassy from the pain and exhaustion.

Quinn leaned over and kissed your forehead.

“You’re doing amazing, my love. I’ve got you.”

Once the pain had subsided and Finn was back to sleep, you rested against Quinn’s chest.

“You know,” he said softly, fingers tracing your arm,

“If I ever have to fight someone again, it’ll probably be over you.”

You chuckled tiredly. “You didn’t fight.”

“No, I did not” he agreed.

“But I wanted to. And I meant what I said. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known.”

You turned slightly to look at him. “Even when I make a mess? Leak milk all over the bed?”

He smiled. “Especially then.”

And before you could say anything else, he pressed a kiss to your collarbone, then lower to your scar, still healing, still tender.

“That’s the mark of the day I became a dad,” he whispered.

“There’s nothing more beautiful.”

Tears slipped from your eyes. Not from pain. But from love.

From Quinn.

Always, Quinn.

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lalo0 · 2 days ago

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INSIDE AESPA EP. 1 ┃ The Wrong Door

Male reader x Giselle

Word Count: 6.5k

Tags: squirting, dom/sub, rough sex, dirty talk, teasing

I didn’t even want to be here.

Concerts aren’t my thing. Screaming fans? Crowds packed shoulder to shoulder, sweating, pulsing to the bass of some pop anthem? No thanks. I like silence. I like my own space. And I sure as hell don’t like being herded like livestock through a stadium entrance just to watch people I’ve never even heard of pretend to sing over backing tracks.

But Jackson insisted. And Dev had already bought the tickets. “It’s not about the music,” they said. “It’s about the experience.”

The experience. Right.

Now here I was, drowning in noise and neon and perfume and sweat, trying to keep my breathing steady while Korean girls I didn't care about danced like their lives depended on it. The crowd—mostly teenage girls and a few dangerously enthusiastic fanboys—screamed every time one of them so much as flipped their hair. Phones were everywhere. Lights blinked like strobes. It was a full-on sensory assault.

And I? I wasn't interested. I was one wrong beat away from walking out.

I got lucky. The screen overhead blinked INTERMISSION — 15:00 and the music stopped. The crowd didn’t exactly calm down, but they started shifting, standing, stretching, running for merch and bathrooms and selfies. I used the opportunity to slip out the side aisle and into the nearest hallway marked RESTROOMS + VIP SUITES.

It was quiet almost immediately. Blessedly so.

The noise of the stadium dropped behind me like a curtain, replaced by sterile lighting and the low thrum of vents overhead. I passed the bathrooms but kept walking. I needed a breather more than anything, a second to think, to feel like myself again. I checked my phone—no signal—and kept walking down the hall.

That’s when I saw it: a door left ajar. Soft light spilled out.

I should’ve turned around. I should’ve thought, Maybe this is someone’s private space. But something about the glow—the hush, the mystery of it—pulled at me. I was curious. And when I get curious, I don’t stop.

So I pushed it open.

It took me a second to realize I wasn’t alone. The room was dim, expensive, quiet. Everything in soft gold tones and warm leather. A mirrored vanity glowed along one wall, surrounded by bulbs. The scent hit me next—perfume, heady and rich, wrapped around the chill of champagne. I was halfway through processing the velvet couch and the untouched strawberries on crystal glassware when I saw HER.

She was standing barefoot in front of the mirror, half-turned, her back to me. Her outfit was more lingerie than clothing—black mesh, sequins, leather straps. Her pink hair was up but imperfectly, pieces falling like silk down her neck. She was in the middle of unclasping something at the back of her neck, unaware of—or ignoring—me.

And then she spoke.

“You’re early.”

Her voice was smooth, low. American accent. A little amused.

I froze.

“I’m sorry,” I said, instinctively. “I think I’m—uh, lost.”

She didn’t turn right away. Just paused with her fingers on the clasp. Then she looked at me over her shoulder—one eye catching the light, sharp as a blade.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think you are.”

I blinked. “I really am. I was looking for the bathroom and I guess I just—”

“You opened a marked door.”

“I didn’t see any signs—”

“There were signs,” she said, finally facing me.

She was beautiful. I’m not saying that in the way people do when they meet a celebrity. I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t recognize her. I wasn’t starstruck. I was just... caught.

She had presence. Poise. Her body was slim but curved in all the places that made it impossible not to look. Her eyes didn’t smile, but they weren’t cold. They were calculating. Like she was building a character around me, testing how I’d react.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Mylo.”

Her head tilted slightly. “Is that real?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You don’t look like a Mylo.”

I smirked despite myself. “What do I look like?”

She thought for a bit. “Like someone who doesn’t belong here.”

“Believe me, I don’t. I was just leaving—”

“No,” she said again, softly. “Stay.”

That word—that tone—should’ve sent me walking. But it didn’t. I stayed.

She moved toward me slowly, a kind of predatory grace in her bare feet and parted lips. Her body language was relaxed, but deliberate. Every step said she was in charge. Not of the room. Of me.

And I let her.

I couldn’t explain why, not then. Maybe it was the way she looked at me—not like I was a stranger, but like I was hers. Like she already knew what she wanted to do with me and was just deciding whether I’d be worth the effort.

“You’re not one of the staff,” she said, mostly to herself.

“No.”

“You’re not with the crew. And you didn’t come with security.”

“No.”

She smiled. “Then what are you doing here, Mylo?”

“Wrong door,” I said again, but it sounded less convincing this time.

She took one more step, close enough now for me to feel the heat of her skin. Her eyes traveled down my body, not shy, not rushed. She lingered on my chest, my hips, the tension in my fingers.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asked.

“No.” I hesitated. “Should I?”

That amused her. I could see the moment her mask cracked and something real flickered beneath it—surprise, maybe. Or interest. Or something darker.

“No,” she said finally as if she didn't believe me. “That makes this easier.”

She didn’t move for a long time.

Just stood there in front of me, arms loose at her sides, one foot slightly forward like she was deciding whether to get closer or make me come to her. She didn’t blink much. She watched me like she was reading, not listening. And somehow, I was the one who felt exposed, even though I still had all my clothes on and she… didn’t, really.

There was a quiet sort of violence in the air. Not danger exactly. More like potential. She hadn’t said what she wanted. But I knew she wanted something.

She turned back to the mirror without another word and picked up a square of folded tissue, wiping under one eye with careful precision. Glitter dusted onto her collarbone like something expensive and accidental. The strap of her outfit was still hanging loose, but she made no move to fix it.

I wasn’t sure if I should speak. So I didn’t.

“You said your name’s Mylo,” she said, her voice low again, casual. “Where are you from?”

“Long Beach.”

“Not local, then.”

“Close enough.”

She nodded, then looked at me in the mirror.

“What are you doing now?”

“Wrong turn.”

“No.” She tilted her head. “Now. In life.”

I let out a breath, almost a laugh. “That’s a hell of a question.”

“I’m serious.”

“Right now I’m… working freelance. Web development. Bit of UX. It’s not exciting.”

She turned. “Then why did you say it like it’s a secret?”

I didn’t have an answer.

She stepped closer, slowly, like she was making sure I didn’t spook. And I didn’t. I stayed exactly where I was.

Her perfume hit me again—soft, floral, expensive. I still didn’t recognize her, but that was starting to feel irrelevant. She could’ve been an actress, a singer, a rich girl playing pretend. None of it would have changed the way she looked at me.

Like she was curious about how far she could push me before I’d say no.

“You’re nervous,” she said.

“I’m not.”

She smiled. “That’s cute.”

“I’m not cute.”

“No,” she said. “You’re not.”

Her hand brushed the front of her thigh, fingers trailing slowly along her skin, just shy of deliberate. My brain scrambled for something to say, something to anchor me to reality. I was in a stadium. There was a concert happening. There were fifteen thousand people and a very real possibility that someone would walk in and see this.

I didn’t care.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“You’ll find out when you’ve earned it.”

“Is this a game to you?”

“No.” She tilted her head. “But you’re fun to play with.”

Her foot arched slightly against the rug as she took another step forward. Close now. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of her skin, could see the light sheen of sweat at the hollow of her throat. I wanted to touch her. Just one fingertip. Just to know she was real.

“Don’t,” she said softly, like she’d read my mind.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Liar.”

A pause.

She looked down at the front of my shirt, then up again. “You don’t look like the type who follows orders.”

“I’m not.”

Her smile was slow and private. “Good.”

She reached for the strap still hanging loose on her shoulder. Slid it back into place. Not to hide. Just to reset the board.

“Sit,” she said, nodding toward the velvet loveseat.

I hesitated.

“I said sit.”

So I did.

She crossed the room without looking at me again, poured a fresh glass of champagne, dropped a single strawberry in like a garnish. Then she sat on the couch—opposite to me, one leg tucked under the other, facing me directly. Like we were equals. Like this wasn’t her room and I wasn’t the one trespassing.

“You ever break into places, Mylo?”

“No.”

“Shame. You’re good at it.”

I watched her run a finger down the side of her glass. Slow. Rhythmic.

“You think this is a mistake?” I asked.

She looked up. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “Me too.”

Neither of us moved.

She didn’t touch me.

Not at first.

“You’re being quiet,” she said.

“You’re being... a lot.”

Her smile curled slightly. “Too much?”

“No.” I shifted. “Not enough.”

She tilted her head, pleased. Her eyes dropped to my hands. I didn’t realize I’d been clenching them. She noticed everything.

“You like following orders,” she said.

I shook my head. “No. Not usually.”

Her smile didn’t fade. “But you’re not leaving.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I guess I want to see what happens next,” I said.

That seemed to satisfy her. She leaned back into the couch, legs crossed, and looked me over like I was both trespasser and specimen.

“Take off your jacket,” she said.

I didn’t move.

She gave me a look—subtle, expectant.

I took off my jacket.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was intentional. Like she was seeing how comfortable I could get under pressure.

“You ever think about what it would be like,” she said, “to be told what to do?”

“I’ve had bosses before.”

She laughed. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.”

A pause.

She stood. Walked over to me—slow, barefoot, measured—and knelt in front of the chair I was sitting in. Her knees brushed mine. She didn’t reach for me. Just looked up, eyes steady, close enough that I could see the darker ring around her irises.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said.

“I know.”

“But I am going to take you apart.”

My breath caught.

“And when I do,” she added, brushing her fingers just barely against the inside of my thigh, “I’ll expect you to say thank you.”

Still, I didn’t move.

Her eyes stayed on me.

She watched the way I exhaled. The way I shifted in my seat. She could feel the tension building, and she didn’t need to do a damn thing to feed it.

“You like restraint,” she said, almost to herself.

“You’ve seen me for ten minutes.”

“I don’t need more.”

I smirked. “And what do you like?”

“Control.”

“That’s obvious.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “Not power. Not winning. Just control.”

“Is there a difference?”

“One makes you loud. The other makes you patient.”

She stood again and walked past me toward the mirrored vanity to admire herself. This time, she didn’t check to see if I was watching.

She knew I was.

“I don’t usually let people in here,” she said.

“I don’t usually wander into strangers’ rooms.”

“Yet here we are.”

She turned, walking back—slow, sure, calculated. There was nothing casual about it. Her bare feet made no sound on the rug, but she moved with the intention of heels. Stopping just in front of me, she leaned in and placed both palms on the arms of the chair. She didn’t touch me. Not quite.

But her body was close enough that I could feel the heat coming off her skin. Her breath was just below my mouth. Her perfume wrapped around me like a second atmosphere.

“You want to kiss me right now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Say please.”

I hesitated.

And she smiled—knowing, satisfied.

“Thought so,” she whispered, and pulled back before I could say anything at all.

She sat on the edge of the couch again, back straight, watching me like a tiger lounging just out of reach.

“What do you do,” I asked, voice a little hoarse, “when you get bored?”

Her smile was a slow burn. “Get un-bored.”

She tapped the empty cushion beside her.

“Come here.”

I did.

She turned to face me fully, legs folding under her again, this time closer. Her thigh touched mine. Her hand landed on my knee.

“You’ve been good so far,” she said. “I think I’ll keep going.”

The air in the room tightened.

She moved slowly—her hand trailing up my thigh, featherlight. Her nails grazed the fabric of my pants. Her fingers reached the crease at my hip and paused.

“You can stop me at any time,” she said.

I didn’t stop her.

I didn’t want to.

She leaned in. Her lips were glossy and full and tasted like strawberries and something darker. The kiss was slow. Not greedy. Not desperate.

Commanding.

She kissed me like she was showing me how. Like I’d do it wrong if she didn’t teach me.

Her hand kept moving—along the inside of my thigh, up, then over. She didn’t grip me yet. Just touched. Just explored. The anticipation was maddening.

And then she whispered it, low against my mouth:

“Undo your pants.”

Her voice wasn’t loud. Didn’t need to be. It threaded into me like static. I looked at her—half disbelieving, half burning.

She arched one eyebrow, still calm. Still collected. Like we were discussing dinner options, not sex.

My fingers moved before I could overthink it.

Button. Zipper. The sound was deafening in the quiet. Her eyes never left my hands. She watched the reveal like it was a gift she already knew she’d earned.

“Good,” she murmured.

Her hand slid under my waistband, nails grazing skin, and that was the first real contact that made my breath catch. Her fingers were warm, deliberate. She wasn’t shy. She wrapped them around me like she’d done it a thousand times—but wanted to relearn this exact shape.

She exhaled softly, pleased. “You’re hard.”

“Of course I am.”

“Because I told you to be?”

“No.”

She smirked. “Liar.”

Her thumb dragged slowly over the head of my cock. I flinched—too much, too sensitive, too not-in-control—and that just made her smile widen. She leaned in again, kissed me with that same slow, claiming heat, and her hand stroked lazily, like she had all the time in the world and knew exactly how fast not to go.

I kissed her harder.

Tried to take some ground back. Hands moving to her hips, her waist, her lower back. But she broke the kiss and pulled back an inch.

“No hands.”

I froze.

She held my gaze, waiting.

And I let go.

Her smile told me exactly what that gave her.

She leaned in again and bit my bottom lip—just enough to leave a sting.

“You’ll touch me when I say you can.”

And then she dropped to her knees.

My breath left me all at once. I didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Her hands slid my pants down further, then my boxers, freeing me completely. Her eyes stayed locked on mine as she lowered her head and pressed the flat of her tongue against the base of my shaft.

Slow.

Upward.

Warm, deliberate pressure that sent a jolt through my whole body.

She didn’t rush. She licked. She tasted. She dragged her mouth along me like she was memorizing the shape of my shaft. Then, with the faintest hum of satisfaction, she took me into her mouth—just the head, just enough to make me want to shove my hips forward, just enough to make me hold still.

She knew.

She was watching for the twitch of my thigh. The clench of my jaw. Her hand stroked in time with her mouth, lazy, devastating, a rhythm designed to drive a man out of his body without ever letting him finish.

And she wasn't letting me finish.

Every time my breath caught, she stopped. Pulled back. Let her tongue flick once, twice, too lightly to give me relief. She kissed the tip like she was thanking me for the privilege. Then started again.

And again.

Until I was panting, fists clenched at my sides, every part of me straining not to move. Not to grab her. Not to fuck her mouth the way I wanted to.

She pulled back completely.

Wiped her mouth with her thumb.

Then looked up at me with those sharp, unfazed eyes and said, “Good boy.”

She stayed on her knees.

Not because she had to. Because she liked the angle. She liked the view. She liked that I was still sitting there, pants around my thighs, chest rising like I’d just finished a workout—and she wasn't letting me cum.

She dragged the back of her fingers up the length of my thigh, the touch so light it barely existed, like she was testing whether I was ticklish. I wasn’t. But I was sensitive. Every nerve tuned to her. Every inch of me vibrating from her touch.

She looked pleased with herself. No—she looked composed. Like she could’ve done that to anyone and stayed perfectly unaffected.

That bothered me.

Not enough to stop. Not yet.

“Still with me?” she asked, smiling like we were just chatting over coffee.

“Barely.”

“Good.” She stood. Slow again. Unbothered. She stepped out of the loose arc of my pants on the floor, hands smoothing down her sides as she crossed the room.

She didn’t go far. Just to the mirror again. Touched up her lips. Adjusted a strap. Like this was an intermission in her show.

She glanced at me through the mirror. “You’ve got a nice mouth when you’re quiet.”

“Thought you liked control.”

“I do.”

“Don't get used to it.” I said with a slight smile

That earned me a sharper look. But no protest. She let the tension sit.

Then she walked back to me, bent over, and kissed me again—harder this time. Her tongue pushed into my mouth with zero hesitation, and she moaned softly when I kissed her back like I meant it.

She tasted like strawberries.

Her body moved against mine—shoulders, chest, hips—grinding down slow as she pushed me back into the cushions. She swung a leg over and straddled me, her outfit brushing bare skin in all the right ways and none of the convenient ones.

She reached behind her, grabbed both my wrists, and pulled them up over my head.

“Don’t move,” she whispered.

I didn’t.

Her hips rolled against me once, then again. Her breath caught—just slightly—and I caught it, too. Her control wasn’t an act. But it had cracks. Beautiful ones. And I liked finding them.

She leaned down, mouth at my ear.

“You’re going to fuck me.”

I swallowed. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Not yet,” she said. “You’ll wait.”

Her hips shifted again—slow, deep grind, no friction where I needed it, just enough heat to scramble every thought in my skull.

“I’m going to ride you,” she said, like it was a lecture. “Until I’m done with you.”

I met her eyes.

“And what happens after that?”

She smiled.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She reached between us, tugging the crotch of her bodysuit to the side with practiced ease. I heard the slick stretch of fabric, the shift in her breath as her fingers slid down—coating her inner thighs, spreading herself open right above me.

She was wet.

Not fake-moaning wet. Not porn-scene wet.

Dripping.

She held me in place, pressed the head of my cock against her entrance, and then—

She sank down, inch by inch.

No rush. No pause. Just steady descent, her heat swallowing me whole, her breath catching, then stuttering out in a quiet, barely-there gasp. My hands gripped the sides of the chair so hard I thought the frame might crack. Her walls clenched around me like velvet and vice, her thighs tightening at my hips, her nails raking lightly over my chest as she adjusted to the full stretch.

She didn’t move right away. She stayed seated on me, full and still, like the moment itself was enough.

And then she whispered:

“There.”

Her hips began to move—smooth, controlled rolls, grinding down into me like she wanted to leave a bruise. Every time she shifted, I could feel how deep I was inside her. I could see the concentration on her face. This wasn’t for me. Not yet. This was her rhythm, her pressure, her high.

And god, watching her take it was better than any porn I’d ever seen.

Her hair came loose as she moved. Her head tilted back. She bit her bottom lip hard, and I wanted to suck it out from between her teeth. Her body flexed, sweat starting to bead at her chest, and I couldn’t decide where to look—her tits, bouncing just under the thin mesh of her bodysuit, or her face as she came closer and closer to the edge.

I held still. Let her use me.

And then she started talking.

“Harder,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “Faster—fuck—just like that.”

Her hands slid up my chest, to my shoulders, and she grabbed tight. Used me for leverage. Started bouncing, not gently now—driven, messy, beautiful. She moaned, cursed, clenched tighter with every bounce, until—

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, over and over. “Don’t fucking stop—”

She was riding me like she owned me.

And in that moment, I let her. I fucking loved it.

Her pussy was unreal—tight, soaked, gripping me like she wanted to wring every drop out of my body. Her thighs slapped down against me with each stroke, and the sound of it—wet, hot, shameless—made it impossible to think. I was deep inside her, over and over, my cock pulsing every time she ground down and stayed there just long enough to clench.

I looked up at her—body arching, lips parted, eyes half-shut—and I swear I could’ve come just watching her move.

She was into it.

Head thrown back. Moaning with every bounce. Fingernails dragging across my chest. Riding like she needed it, like she was getting off on the fact that I wasn’t allowed to move.

And I wasn’t. I didn’t grab her hips. I didn’t flip her. I held still and let her take it.

Because watching her unravel like this?

Fucking addicting.

Her hands found the back of the chair, bracing. She leaned forward and the change in angle made me groan—deeper now, tighter. Her tits bounced right in front of me, barely covered by her bodysuit. I leaned up, took a nipple in my mouth through the mesh, sucked hard.

She gasped. Bucked.

“Fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop,” she begged, riding harder, fucking me like her orgasm was right on the edge and I was the last thing holding it in.

I bit her. Just a little.

She lost it.

“Ahh! O.. Oh!... Aghh! AAAH!”

Her body locked down around me—tight, hot, pulsing as she came. Her moan was sharp, sudden, desperate. She grinded through it, wringing herself out on my cock until she was panting against my neck, shaking.

And then, breathless—still straddling me—she laughed.

Low. Lazy. Satisfied.

“God,” she murmured, “you fuck like you’re broke.”

That word hit different.

I blinked.

“What?”

She looked at me, smiling. Still high off it. “I mean it as a compliment,” she said. “You fuck like you need it.”

The air shifted.

She leaned in, playful, mouth against my ear. “Do you want me to take care of you?”

No answer.

“I could,” she purred. “You wouldn’t have to worry about anything. You could just do this—stay hard, stay pretty—let me keep you. I have a lot of mon-”

My hand shot up, wrapping around her throat—not hard, not dangerous, just enough to shock her system.

Her breath caught. Her eyes widened.

“Ah—!”

I shoved her back, flat on the couch, my grip still snug around her throat, and she gasped again, this time sharper. Her legs twitched around me. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something clever—but no words came.

“You think you can buy me?” I said, voice low, rough.

She shook her head slightly, lips parted.

“I was just teasing—”

“Bullshit.”

“Mylo…” Her voice cracked, breathy and high. “Wait—”

“No,” I growled. “You don’t get to lead anymore.”

Her pupils blew wide. Her chest rose faster.

But she didn’t push me off. Didn’t tell me to stop.

She wanted to know what it felt like when I wasn’t pretending.

I grabbed her wrists, pressed them hard above her head, and crashed my mouth down onto hers—biting, taking, tasting the gloss off her lips like punishment.

She moaned against me.

“Mmnh—fuck—!”

My hips slammed forward. She gasped again, eyes flying wide as I pushed back into her in one deep, hard stroke.

“Oh! Ohhh—f-fuck—!”

Her body jerked. Her legs reflexively wrapped around my waist, but I wasn’t gentle. I slammed into her again, holding her down, making her feel it.

“AHH—ah—Mylo!”

“You wanted this,” I snarled. “So take it.”

She whimpered.

“Yes—yes—fuck, don’t stop—!”

I gripped her hips and rolled them up, shifting the angle, and slammed in again, deeper this time. Her back arched and she screamed.

“OHHH! GOD—AAAH!”

Her whole body was starting to fall apart. Her voice was shaky, her hands scrambling for anything to hold. Her hair stuck to her flushed cheeks. Her tits bounced wildly beneath me with every thrust.

She bit her lip. Hard.

“Don’t hold back,” I growled. “I want to hear it.”

Her eyes fluttered.

And then she let go.

“…more…”

Her voice was barely a whisper, like it had to claw its way up from deep inside her.

But I heard it.

And I fucking delivered.

I grabbed her by the thighs, yanked her body to the edge of the couch, and stood up just enough to drive into her with my full weight.

“AHHH—!”

Her scream echoed.

She clawed at the cushions, gasping, moaning, totally undone.

Her pussy was soaked—wrecked—from her orgasm, still fluttering around my cock, begging for mercy it wasn’t going to get. I pounded into her, fast and deep, hips snapping against her ass, and the sound of it was obscene—wet and hot and perfect.

“FUCK—! Mylo—ohmygod—ohmygod!”

“You’re still talking?” I growled. “I thought you gave that up.”

“Ah—ahh—! I—I can’t—fuck—I can’t—”

“You’re taking every inch,” I said. “Don’t pretend you can’t.”

I pinned her thighs wide with one arm and leaned down, dragging my teeth across her chest before I sucked one of her nipples deep into my mouth. Her body arched.

“OHHH—oh fuck! Fuck—Mylo—yes!”

Her hands flew to my hair, pulling, scratching, grounding herself while I sucked hard, my hips never stopping. I bit down—just enough to make her cry out again—and switched sides, teeth grazing, tongue teasing, wet and relentless.

She was panting. Moaning. Whimpering.

Completely gone.

“Ahh! Oh—ohh fuck—I’m—I’m gonna—again—”

“Good,” I grunted. “Give it to me.”

I reached down, thumb circling her clit, tight and fast, no mercy.

“No—no no no—fuuuck!”

Her thighs clenched around me, hips bucking wildly, and then her whole body snapped. She screamed—

“AHHH—AAAHHH—OH MY FUCKING GOD—!”

Her pussy clamped down on me like a vice, her second orgasm crashing through her like it caught her off guard. She sobbed my name, twisting underneath me, heels pounding the couch, eyes squeezed shut as her whole body convulsed.

I didn’t stop.

I grinned.

“You’re not done.”

She whimpered—shaky, broken, breathless. “M-Mylo—please—!”

I pulled out.

She gasped at the sudden emptiness.

But I didn’t give her time to think. I grabbed her by the hips, flipped her over, and shoved her onto her knees.

Her hair spilled over her shoulders. Her back arched. Her ass was round, high, perfect—and dripping.

I lined up behind her.

“You’re gonna remember this,” I said.

And I slammed back inside her.

“AAAHHH! OH FUCK!”

Her hands clawed at the couch, knuckles white.

I gripped her hips and drove into her like I wanted to split her in half. Her pussy was tighter like this, deeper, hotter—perfect. She was shaking already, moaning like she couldn’t stop.

“F-fuck—yes—yes! HARDER—!”

“Like this?” I growled, slamming in faster.

“AHHH! FUCK YES—!”

Her ass slapped against my hips with every thrust, her breath coming in broken gasps, her cries bouncing off the walls.

“You love being used,” I said.

“YES—!”

“You love when I fuck you like this.”

“YES! YES—fuck—I’m yours—!”

My hand tangled in her hair, yanked her head back. I leaned over, chest against her back, lips at her ear.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “Fuck—Mylo—I’m yours!”

And then she broke.

Her whole body tensed, thighs shaking, pussy clenching so tight I nearly lost it.

“Ohhh—oh fuck—I’m gonna—gonna—AAAHHHH!”

She came again, louder than before, her voice hoarse from screaming, tears in her eyes, body jerking against mine like she couldn’t control it anymore.

I wrapped my arms around her and kept thrusting.

Long.

Deep.

Cruel.

She sobbed my name like a prayer. Like she meant it.

“Ahh… Mylo… ohhh—fuck—fuck—”

And I was still inside her.

Still pounding her. Still filling her. Still using her.

But slower now.

Crueler.

Each thrust was long, deep, deliberate. Dragging along every inch of her, making her whimper and gasp as her whole body melted forward against the cushions.

Her thighs were twitching. Her hands limp. She was trying to stay upright, trying to catch her breath—but I didn’t stop.

I wanted her at the edge. I wanted to fuck her into something wordless.

So I grabbed her hips and slammed into her again, harder than before.

“AHHH! Aghh—ohmygod—Mylo!”

She nearly collapsed. Her forehead hit the cushion. Her ass quivered with the shock of it. Her pussy clenched like she was trying to hold me in.

“You hear that?” I growled, pulling almost all the way out—then driving back in, fast, loud, wet.

Slap.

“F-fuck! Ahhh—yes—yes—!”

I kept going. Hard. Brutal.

My balls slapped against her with every thrust, heavy and obscene. Her moans pitched higher and higher—raw now, broken, no rhythm or performance left.

“AHH! AH! I-I can’t—! Mylo—I—”

“You can,” I snapped.

She tried to shake her head but her body betrayed her.

And then she started crying out.

Short, fast, choked cries between gasps.

“Ahh! Oh! O.. Oh! M-Mylo—I’m gonna—I’m gonna fucking—AAAHHH!”

I leaned forward, wrapped my arm around her waist, and hauled her up to her knees.

“Not yet.”

She sobbed. Literally sobbed.

“Mylo—I c-can’t—please—I’m gonna—”

I reached down and rubbed her clit. Just once.

That’s all it took.

She exploded.

Her whole body locked. Her mouth dropped open and a noise came out that wasn’t even human.

“AHHH! OHH! AAAHH—MYLO—FUCK—FUCK—FUUUCK!”

Her pussy milked my cock, hard. Over and over. Her orgasm ripped through her like lightning, twisting her body into mine, skin to skin, sweat to sweat. She was panting, trembling, completely wrecked.

I didn’t stop.

I pulled out—slowly, watching her body shake.

Then I flipped her over and dragged her down onto the rug in front of me.

On her knees.

Her face was red, glowing, dazed. Her lips were parted, shining with spit. Her chest rose and fell fast, tits marked from where I’d sucked them raw. Her thighs were trembling uncontrollably.

I grabbed my cock—wet, slick, twitching—and jerked it in front of her.

Her eyes fluttered open.

“I want you to see it,” I said.

She nodded. Barely.

I stroked. Hard. Fast.

She stuck her tongue out. Just a little. Just enough.

I groaned—fuck—I was close.

“Touch yourself,” I ordered.

Her hand slid between her legs instantly.

She moaned.

“Ahh… ah—fuck…”

Her fingers rubbed frantically against her clit, still sensitive, still soaked. She didn’t even try to play it cool anymore. She moaned like a whore—desperate, breathy, begging for it.

“Cum with me,” I said.

And we did.

I growled, jerked hard—and exploded.

Hot ropes splattered her lips, her chin, her tongue. She gasped, eyes closing, moaning as her own orgasm took her again—so raw she didn’t even scream this time, just shook, body twitching as I painted her skin.

She came without a word. Just noise.

“Mmhh… ahh… ahhh…”

She swallowed. Licked her lips. Eyes glazed, face ruined.

I dropped to my knees in front of her.

She leaned into my chest, breath hitching, heartbeat stuttering.

And for the first time that night—

She was quiet.

Curled up against me, silent, skin hot and flushed, her breath still uneven. I could feel her heartbeat through her chest, fast and light, ticking against my ribs like a metronome that hadn’t slowed down yet.

Neither of us spoke.

She didn’t need to.

Her body was saying everything.

The way she clung to me—legs tangled with mine, face tucked into the curve of my shoulder, one arm draped across my stomach like she couldn’t let go even if she wanted to. She felt small like that. Breakable. Even though five minutes ago, she was grinding on top of me like she was trying to kill me.

Now she was soft. Quiet. Bare.

My hand ran lazily up and down her back. Just skin and slow movement. Every few seconds she twitched, her hips jolting just a little—oversensitive, still riding out the shockwaves.

She made a little sound into my chest.

“Mmh…”

“You good?”

She nodded against my skin. “Mhm.”

“You sure?”

She laughed under her breath, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think my legs work.”

I smiled.

“I can’t feel my face, either,” she added.

I reached up and ran my fingers through her hair, brushing it off her forehead.

“Cute,” I said.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, nudging me with her nose.

But she smiled. I felt it.

We stayed like that for a while. Breathing. Cooling off. The tension between us had gone slack, melted down into something warmer. Calmer. Her body fit against mine like it was supposed to be there.

I looked down and kissed the top of her head.

She shifted, nuzzling against my chest like a sleepy cat.

“Seriously though,” she said after a while, voice scratchy and small. “That was…”

She didn’t finish.

“That was,” I agreed.

She laughed again, then yawned, and her leg slid between mine.

“God,” she said. “You’re kind of dangerous.”

“Kinda?”

“Yeah. You fucked someone you don't even know the name of.”

“I asked. It also didn't seem that important at the time.”

“Still doesn’t?”

I glanced down. “I suppose it does. Your name?”

She looked up at me, half-lidded.

“Giselle.”

We just stared at each other for a second. Neither of us smiling now. Just… seeing each other.

“I liked when you didn’t know,” she whispered.

“I liked it too.”

She rested her cheek on my chest again. Slower now. Breathing deeper.

“Just… don’t get weird about it.”

I blinked. “Weird?”

“Yeah. Like…” Her voice softened. “Don’t start acting different now that you know.”

I hesitated. “Know what?”

She lifted her head, squinting slightly. “You know… that I’m… in Aespa?”

I blinked. “What’s Aespa?”

She stared at me. Silent. Waiting for the punchline.

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

She blinked. Twice.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, half-laughing. “You really don't know!”

“Nope.”

“You came to our concert.”

“My friends dragged me.”

“Jesus.” She flopped back down on my chest, stunned. “I think I just came harder.”

We stayed like that for another few minutes. Her body pressed against mine, skin warm, lips still curled in that breathless little smirk. Every so often, she’d hum, or shift slightly, or let out this content, melted sigh like she still hadn’t landed yet.

“You’re insane, you know,” she murmured, tracing a lazy circle on my chest.

“Because I don't know who you were?”

“Because you don't care.”

I smiled, eyes closed. “Still don’t.”

Her fingers stopped moving. For a second I thought I’d said the wrong thing.

But then she whispered, “That’s probably the hottest thing you’ve said all night.”

I cracked one eye open. “That’s saying something.”

“Oh, I know. I was there.”

She leaned up and kissed me, slow and unhurried. I kissed her back, brushing my thumb along her jaw, letting her taste linger. She pulled back just an inch.

“So what happens now?” she asked, voice small.

I paused.

“Whatever you want.”

Her lips pressed together. Not uncertain. Just… thoughtful.

But then—

Knock knock knock.

Her entire body froze.

I lifted my head.

There it was again—three clean knocks, firm and casual.

“Giselle?” a voice called through the door. Female. Confident. “They’re waiting on us for the group shot.”

She swore under her breath and rolled off me, grabbing at the nearest sheet.

“Shit, shit—fuck, that’s Karina.”

“Karina?”

She gave me a wild look. “One of the girls. From the group.”

I blinked. “Oh.”

She scrambled for her phone and grabbed a tissue box off the vanity. I watched her wipe her inner thighs, dab under her eyes, fix her lips in the mirror. She still looked flushed. Hair tangled. But some of the damage was masked.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “I can’t walk out there looking like I just got wrecked.”

“You did,” I said.

“Don’t be proud of that.”

She shoved me toward the closet. “Hide. Please.”

I hesitated. She pushed again.

“Unless you want to get recognized and tossed off the balcony.”

That was enough.

I ducked into the small walk-in just as she called out, “Be right there!”

From inside, I heard the door unlock. Hinges creaking. Light footsteps.

“Everything okay?” Karina asked. Closer now. Her voice smooth. A little suspicious.

“Yeah,” Giselle replied, now perfectly calm. “Just needed a minute.”

A pause.

“You look like a mess.”

Giselle laughed, and it was almost too good. “Tried a new lash glue. Bad idea.”

Karina snorted. “It looks like you cried in a club bathroom.”

“I kind of did.”

“You want me to stall them?”

“No. I’m good now.”

Silence.

And then, just as the door started to close—

“You sure you were alone in here?”

My heart stopped.

Giselle didn’t flinch. “Of course I was,” she said, smooth as ever. “Why?”

Karina didn’t answer right away.

Then: “No reason.”

The door shut.

A lock clicked.

A few seconds later, the closet opened.

Giselle stood there—still glowing, still breathless, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she whispered.

I pulled her in for a kiss.

TO BE CONTINUED...

PART 2

#giselle smut #aespa #aespa smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader

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theorphicangel · 1 day ago

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papa!kuna getting up on stage when his daughter has stage fright.

she's been excited about her solo for weeks now, the endless rehearsals in the front living room on an early saturday morning. you ran through her lines almost everyday and helped her recite the songs just before she fell asleep.

it had gotten to the point where sukuna was humming her recital song in his own fucking sleep. but anything to make his baby girl happy, right?

she had wanted everything to be perfect and was excited to impress her parents. the night before she had her outfit all ready and waiting on the chair beside her despite the recital not being until the next evening.

but now she stands under the headlights of the school stage with many eyes peering at her and the piano instrumental playing in the background.

you had your camera up and ready for her solo but suddenly you place it down once you realise your child has stage fright. her kindergarten teacher prompts her to start, replaying the chord but the words seem stuck in her throat.

you glance at sukuna with worry in your eyes and he glances back with his face deadpanned but you know he's panicking inside. your daughter fiddles with her hands becoming more anxious with every second passed on stage in complete silence.

it's one of the worst feelings to experience as a parent; the panic of not knowing what to do or how to comfort your child in a situation and to be honest your heart just breaks.

before your mind could even comprehend to go and pick up your daughter Sukuna stands up with urgency and walks over to the stage. the whispers and murmurs continue until you see your husband getting up on stage and joining your daughter.

he kneels down and whispers something in her ears before taking her hand. the two of them face the crowd and before you know it their lips begin to move in time with the piano instrumental.

your confusion melts into a smile once you realise that the sukuna ryomen is...singing. on stage in front of everyone. for his precious baby girl.

his voice is gruff compared to your daughter's sweet tone but he's in tune and on time with the lyrics. you had no idea he had learned the lyrics this well. the words came to him naturally with so much ease and perfect timing right and everything. he accompanies her throughout the whole song and you watch her pick up her confidence with her dad by her side.

they finish the song and the crowd of parents and kids on stage clap with cheers and whoops. and your husband and daughter take their well deserved bow. coming off stage sukuna is praised by all the parents out there, standing immediately and patting his back.

'i don't know what i would have done if it was my kid, good job out there'

'mr ryomen I didn't know you could sing'

'you two were great! you should be very proud of yourselves!'

they quickly find you through the crowd of parents reuniting with their own children and lift your daughter into a hug.

you kiss her chubby cheek and congratulate her for doing so well out there and she gives toothy smile, 'i couldn't have done it without papa.'

'that's true, my love.' you grin, 'but you did so well, m'so proud of you for being so brave.'

sukuna stands by awkwardly, a tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks as all eyes seem to be on him in the room. but he keeps his focus on his daughter and shuffles her pink hair, ' you did well brat.'

'thank you papa.'

after letting your daughter run off and wave goodbye to her friends for the night, you turn to sukuna with a grin.

'wow...I didn't know someone had a good singing voice.'

'yeah, yeah, just don't make a big deal about it.' he groans under his breath, a hand scratching the back of his neck.

‘mr popular huh’ you murmur, watching as parents continue to give their congratulations. 'don't let the fame rush to your head now, kuna'

'if she wasn't part of it i'd make you delete that goddamn video.'

you hum along, 'You know I'll rewatch it tonight.'

'whatever, knock yourself out.'

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jobean12-blog · 1 day ago

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In Your Arms

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: ~900

Summary: Bucky's been away on a mission and when he returns, you're all he wants.

Author's Note: There are NO spoilers here. Just was so happy to see Bucky and enjoyed Thunderbolts and his beefiness! Those arms...my god. 🫠🔥Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: soft sweetness, kisses, mentions of minor injuries

The silence in the room is broken only by the soft pitter patter of rain on the large window that overlooks the gray skies blanketing the city. Your book lays limp in your hand as you stare out through the mottled glass, Alpine curled in your lap, warm against your stomach.

You reach for your phone but stop yourself with a sigh. How many minutes could have passed since the last time you checked? Instead, you lift your book and open to your book-marked page, the note he left you sliding down onto Alpine’s fur. You brush your fingers over his scrawled handwriting, smiling at his little doodles and sweet words. Settling back into the couch you start to read again.

“If I didn’t need to kiss you so badly I’d stand here and stare at you forever.”

Your head shoots up and you turn toward the sound of his deep and raspy voice. He leans against the doorframe casually, still in full gear and looking deadly but for the soft smile that pulls at his lips.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The book is discarded in seconds and much to Alpine’s displeasure you hastily remove him from your lap, walking straight toward Bucky.

“Hi.”

“Hiya doll face,” he replies, wrapping his arms around your waist and dragging you against him.

Your pulse skitters as you soak in every detail of him. Only one minor cut on his forehead and nothing else, but who knows what’s beneath his gear.

“You’re ok?”

“I am now.” His voice softens to the tone he only ever uses with you as he lowers his mouth.

He kisses you slowly and gently and you lean up to get closer, taking his stubbled cheeks between your palms. With more pressure from his lips, he slides his hand up your back, grabbing the nape of your neck and angling your face to claim more of your mouth. Your fingers slide higher and into his hair.

You feel his abs tense when you press yourself closer and you reluctantly pull back. He frowns, his eyes holding enough promise to make your entire body heat.

“Are you hurt?”

Your hands fall from his face, and you start to work open the buckles of his tack vest. He doesn’t stop you, keeping his hands settled firmly on your waist. You tug it open and rip his black shirt from his pants, lifting it until you can see his skin. There’s a large bruise just under his ribs and you dig your teeth into your bottom lip to stop your gasp, pressing your fingertips softly to the spot.

“Looks worse than it is,” he says softly.

You bend at the waist and kiss his stomach, feeling the muscles shift and flex. As you stand you grab the knife at this waist and pull it free, setting it behind him on the counter. Your hands slide behind his back, fingers curling around the hilt of a second knife that you remove and place down next to the first.

A slow, beautiful smile curves his mouth as he watches you. “Three more.”

Your fingers dance down his thighs, stopping at the hidden pocket on the left side. You carefully reach inside and pull out the third knife. Knowing there must be one in his boot you fall to your knees, your eyes lifting to meet his just in time to see them grow darker.

“I love you like this,” he murmurs.

You lift your shoulder demurely and pluck out the fourth knife in his right boot, sliding slowly back up his body.

“One more,” he whispers, running his knuckles along your cheek.

His gaze drops to your mouth, then skims over your features before his head dips and he brushes his lips to yours.

“No fair,” you whisper against them. “No distractions.”

He smiles but kisses you anyway. It’s soft and quick but still steals your breath.

You recover enough to slip your hands inside his tack vest, feeling around for the handle of the last knife. His own hands begin to wander, one cool and smooth, and the other grazing over your skin in a way that you can feel every callous he’s built from mastering the very blades you’re removing. You shiver in his arms but continue your search, a triumphant smile pulling your lips upward when you find the hidden spot near his ribs where his last knife is safely tucked away.

With practiced deftness you pull it free and set it down with the others then push his vest from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Your lips part to tell him exactly what you want to remove next, but his mouth is on yours before a word gets out.

A gasp catches in your throat at the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his clothing and then again when he deepens the kiss, like doing it is more vital than his next breath. Your hands slide over his biceps, fingernails digging into the bulging muscles as his lips slip down your throat, and he whispers, “fuck, I’ve missed the taste of you…the feel of you in my arms.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan

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jj-one · 3 days ago

Text

𖠿 ៹ ˚. ꒰ SKZ + WHERE THEY LIKE TO FINISH ! ꒱

this is smut do not interact if under 18 !

pairing: skz x fem!reader genre/tags: smut, slight dom/sub play, degrading, praise kink, perv!seungmin, kinda subby!felix, handjob, oral (m. receiving), t*tty f*cking, backshots, spanking, overstim, panty kink, c*mplay, hair pulling, piv, creampie, spit kink, dumbification (?), breeding kink, just a whole lotta nasty shit !!! words: 5.3k (got a little carried away.. my bad)

[ note. ] — so yeah i’m back in my smut era once again lolz. i got a random burst of motivation to get back into it so let’s see how long this’ll last ! enjoy my horny word vomit <3

✵ BANG CHAN — ( inside )

This man is most definitely a creampie enthusiast through and through.

He doesn’t even think about pulling out before he’s about to finish; he just wants to fill you up again and again until you’re stuffed to the brim with his cum, white streaks running down your inner thighs. He can’t help the fact that he’s always fantasizing about breeding you properly— to have your belly full of his babies, the way your tits would get bigger and more swollen with milk, how everyone will know just how greedy you were for his cock. It drives him crazy.

Your whole body feels like it’s been set on fire, going nonverbal the minute his cock sinks into your gummy walls, feeling you clamp around him instantly, the warmth of you already making him drunk off your pussy.

“Shit... loosen up baby, you’re squeezin’ me.” His breath hitches whilst he positions himself to go deeper, filling you up nice and easy. His broad frame hovers over your body as he picks up his pace, a sheen of sweat glistening over his abs. Your nails dug crescents into Chan’s biceps, gritting your teeth and feeling faint from how good he’s fucking you.

You could cry right now, it’s all become too much for you to bear, your limbs grew weak, your mind going blank. You’re a babbling mess and he loves every bit of it. The curve of his cock hitting you just right as the room is filled with nothing but heavy panting and the sound of your arousal, but you couldn’t stop now, you had no choice but to take it because you’re anything but a quitter!

“Nngh, m’gonna cum!” You whined loudly, cupping your tits and running your fingers along your hardened nipples, mouth going permanently agape as you feel your high approaching.

“Then be a good girl for me and cream all over my cock,” he lowly whispers into your ear, pounding so hard into you the only thing you could do was repeat his name over and over like a broken record. You were simply too fucked out to think or speak— too dumb, too stupid.

That was your final queue to let go, instantly obeying his every word. You were breathless, heart pounding, convulsing on the bed, arching against the sheets, and with a strangled moan escaping his throat, Chan shot thick spurts of cum inside as if he’d been holding it in for months.

He’s groaning as your cunt clenches around his thickness, milking him for all he’s worth, and it’s all too intense for him. He bites down on the juncture between your neck and your shoulder as an immense wave of pleasure washes over him. After he pulls out, he scoops some of the cum that’s dripping out of you on his fingers and pushes it back inside you, if only to chuckle at your choked out moan.

“Fuck.. pussy just made for me, you feel so good baby. You love milking my cock, don’t you?”

✵ LEE KNOW — ( on your ass )

We all know by now that Minho is an ass man at heart, he just loves how it molded into his hands so perfectly, the way it replied to any friction he applied to it on command. He loved how red it got once his hands launched across it’s surface and how he’d sometimes be able to see his own handprints— he absolutely loves to ruin you.

He’d have you bent over on all fours with your ass up in the air, practically salivating at the sight beneath him, he couldn’t help but grab a handful of ass, it’s pretty much second nature for him.

As much as he wanted to fuck you right here and now, Minho was always such a tease, rubbing his length between your dripping folds, your continuous pleas for him to put it in already simply falls on deaf ears. He’s never been one to give you what you want straight away, you’re gonna have to earn it in order for him to comply, and when he finally does slide it in you’re swallowing up every inch that he provides.

His hands grabbed both sides of your waist as he’s mercilessly pounding you from behind, feeling himself lose all self control after a few more sloppy hits against your heat. Even though you couldn’t directly see his facial expressions, you could just picture how pretty he looks in this moment. All sweaty, messy, disheveled hair, panting, muscles tightening and flexing— even that thing he does whenever he’s too focused on chasing his own high. The one where his eyebrows furrow upwards when he’s in pure, utter concentration.

His cock twitches whenever he hears you whine or beg for him, mocking all the dumb noises you make to send you into a further state of delirium. You felt like you were about to pass out when the acceleration of his hips drive into you, drool pooling from the corners of your mouth and dripping down to your chin, turning you into nothing but a brainless slut for him.

“So good, so so good!!” Your moans almost sounding like cries of help as you felt him balls deep in you, and even felt the recoil of your ass everytime he pounded into you. He was getting closer by the minute, watching himself disappear as he’s drilling ungodly amounts of his cock into you.

He can get real possessive in bed, wanting you to reaffirm who exactly you belong to. He already knows the answer, he just wants you to say it.

“Tell me you’re mine baby,” he rasps, hitting your walls precisely, feeling him bring a palm towards your right ass cheek to spank it, gripping it roughly as you sank your teeth into your bottom lip. “Only I get to ruin this pretty cunt, it’s all mine to destroy.”

“All yours Min-” you whimper, internally struggling to get a coherent sentence out, body trembling, unable to keep yourself stable. If it weren’t for him holding you in place you would’ve collapsed onto the bed by now.

“That’s right baby, only mine.”

Minho’s thrusts become weaker as he catches his breath, feeling the thread slowly unraveling within. He was about to burst any second, quickly pulling out to spill his seed all over your ass, pushing your body forward so he can get a better view of the scenery. He might’ve just came all over you but that doesn’t mean he was fully done with you yet. Sure you might be all sticky, overly sensitive, and albeit exhausted— but he wants to fuck you again and again until you physically couldn’t take it anymore.

“You really think I’m gonna stop at just one round? We’re not done until I say we are. I know you’ve got one more left in you, kitten.”

✵ CHANGBIN — ( on your tits )

I strike him as the type to be equally obsessed with all parts of your body, but he’s definitely got a preference of where likes to cum and it shows.

He himself isn’t sure if it’s the sight of his cum dripping down your cleavage or rather the possessive act of pulling out, only to cum onto your tits a moment later that he likes most, but he absolutely enjoys doing it. Especially if you’re kneeling in front of him, either wearing a cute little outfit or simply naked, and presenting your chest to him willingly after sucking him off— he’s a groaning, blushing mess, his hips stuttering as he coats your skin white and needy whines falling from his mouth.

Sometimes, the only way he’ll be able to cum is if he can have his cock between your pretty tits, it was his primary trigger in getting him to reach his climax. He can’t help it.. you just look so damn hot laying there all sweet for him, squeezing your tits together against his hard cock while he thrusts in between them.

“God..” he moaned out. “They’re so soft.. so perfect—” his breath caught in his throat, “could fuck your tits like this all night if you’d let me. You want me to, angel? Hm? Just look at them.. s’pretty and all mine.”

A loud grunt forces it’s way from his mouth as his head slightly falls back, but he couldn’t fully look away— not when you’re doing so good for him. Big, doe-like eyes staring up at him all innocently with his spit and precum on your chest acting as a makeshift lube, Changbin thought you looked you the prettiest like this. He was so far gone all he could think about was the soft, plushiness enveloping his dick in the most blissful way possible. He’s sorry for how hard he’s thrusting against your chest, but he wasn’t in the right state of mind right now, he was far too horny to think rationally; you feel too good all wrapped around his cock like this. Not to mention the cute little whimpers that you’d make as you work hard to hold them together against his force— you’re fucking spoiling him right now, god, he loves you so so much.

“Please binnie, wan’ your cum..” you’re begging for it at this point, wanting nothing more than to have his release spilling all over your bare chest, even your voice is tipping him further over the edge.

There’s only one way this was going to end, and that was by blowing several massive shots of his cum all over your boobs. Sticky, white ropes laced over your tits that’s now caked on your spit-slick skin. You looked so beautiful covered in his seed— so heavenly that he needs to sit back on your hips and admire it for a second.

He uses the tip of his cock to smear it around even more, gliding it over your nipples and prodding at the sensitive nubs. Chills running down his spine from that subtle stimulation, the view alone was enough to make his head spin. He doesn’t care how gross it is, he just wants to paint a pretty picture on them with his cum :((

“Fuck, princess, you’re so pretty like that; so gorgeous with my cum on your tits. Can’t believe you let me do this— you’re so good for me, please, babe—”

✵ HYUNJIN — ( in your mouth )

Enjoys cumming into your mouth or down your throat— he’s fine with both, though the latter is more convenient, given how the chance of you spilling anything is smaller. The sight of you swallowing his cum gives him an addicting power rush; he’ll even sometimes pull out after fucking you, only to reach his orgasm in your mouth instead of your cunt.

Hyunjin’s always so loud when you’re sucking him off too, (we love a vocal king!) just constantly praising and encouraging you to keep going. He’s so sensitive, he feels everything intensely. Shivers running along his spine as you spit on his cock to make it even messier, those pretty lips of yours working overtime to take more and more and more of him in. He’d unintentionally be pushing your head down further, making you gag around his length, feeling bad about it only for a second but when you’re still going at it all his worries instantly wash away.

He’ll never truly get over the way you look as you’re deepthroating him; just melts into a puddle of mush as you look up at him with nothing but adoration and obedience, solely devoted to making him feel as good as possible. Your sloppy mouth so wet and warm and welcoming, the feel of your hand squeezing his thigh so tightly, the sound of your wheezing, your choking, your gagging around his thick cock— it’s more than enough to make his brain short circuit.

“Gonna cum in that pretty mouth of yours baby.” He breathlessly pants, his mind all hazy, unable to think of anything but his imploding orgasm, “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

All you could do in response was keep sucking, this time picking up your pace a little bit to indicate that you want it— scratch that, need to milk every last drop of him. He’s breathing heavier now, strings of broken curses and soft sighs of your name leaving his lips like they’ve been waiting for the chance to come out. Small beads of sweat began sticking to his forehead as he scrunches up his eyes and lets his mouth part open for a low, drawn out groan.

It only takes a couple more thrusts to the back of your throat and efficient bobs of your head for Hyunjin to tighten his grasp on the sheets beneath him, for the knot in his stomach to tighten and for all his muscles to tense up. You can feel his abs flexing beneath the soft linger of your hand that’s resting along his abdomen, and you can feel the pull and push of his thighs flexing when your other hand uses it to brace yourself— you know him oh so well, well enough to know the telltale signs of when he’s on the brink of his climax.

You were making him see stars by this point, rutting his hips forward as you do your best to swallow around him. His large hand keeps your head steady against him as he sits up, his cock throbbing and his balls tensing as you feel his hot cum shooting inside your mouth, down your throat, using you to his pleasure. You release his cock with a doting smile on your face, satisfied of the outcome whilst bringing up a hand to wipe the excess spit on your cheek. Your lips are glossy and drooling with saliva, your eyes are watery and your hair’s a mess, and you’re completely worn out, breathing heavy, ragged and deep.

When he’s feeling extra cruel, he makes you stick out your tongue after he came inside of your mouth, ordering you to hold it there purely for humiliation purposes— it’s your own fault for looking this adorably, really.

“Ah, that’s a good girl. You always take what I give you so willingly. Come on, show me that you swallowed everything— and, I must warn you, if you spit anything out, I’ll make you clean it up with your tongue.”

✵ HAN — ( on your face )

He would cum literally any and everywhere on you but especially on your face. Whenever you’re sucking his cock, facials were practically mandatory— he thinks you look the prettiest when you have milky strings of white dribbling down your face.

You looked so sinful like this, kneeling in front of Jisung as you take your precious time with him. You knew how sensitive his balls were, kissing them, fondling and squeezing them, popping them into your wet mouth, sucking and humming loudly and appreciatively; loving how whiny he gets, his face all red and blushy. He’s just the cutest thing ever ;(

You wanted to be gentle with him at first, flattening your tongue against his veiny shaft as you slowly fit more of him in. He’s wincing at the feel of your tongue circling around his girth and making sure to coat everything with your spit. You’re looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, mouth full of his cock while hollowing your cheeks to pull back, only leaving his tip in.

Jisung is also an unintentional head-pusher, but it wasn’t his fault that your mouth felt like a dream, the way your plump lips wrap so perfectly around the tip of his cock, stretching lewdly as your small hand wraps around the base of his thick shaft. It’s your fault that you spend so much time riling him up so bad, so bad that it’s painfully pleasurable when you wrap your lips around his flushed tip, swirling your tongue and gliding through his slit before taking him in completely, until the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. The sounds he makes are so fucking pretty, placing his hand on your head, pushing you down just a slight bit more.

Aside from his entire body tensing, and his cock twitching and pulsating hotly in your mouth, he gets even noisier. The tiny whimpers and soft pants only become louder, his gasps and moans growing with desperation, needy pleas of, “fuck, please don’t stop,” and, “shit, you’re so fucking good— shit, shit— shit,” are endlessly slipping from his lips. He’s close, you can tell, he’s making it blatantly obvious.

You’re bobbing your head up and down faster now, his tip repeatedly hitting against your throat before Jisung let out a gutteral groan, pulling out of your warm mouth. He’s viciously pumping his cock in front of your face while you’re opening your mouth as wide as you can to make sure you’re able to catch some of it on your tongue. His cum shoots out everywhere, on your face, the sheets, his thigh, even getting in your hair to which you just washed not even a few hours ago..

“M’sorry, baby, didn’t mean to—” his chest is heaving as he attempts to catch his breath, lightheaded after having such an intense orgasm. “—can’t control where it lands..”

From between his legs, you simply roll your eyes. “Don’t apologize Ji. I know you’re not actually sorry.”

Weakly, he chuckles, laughs a little, and reaches out a hand for you to take. “I’m a little sorry..” he admits. Pleased to see you take his hand regardless, he tightens his hold on it and pulls you up, letting you settle all comfortable on his lap. From your position, you’re left looking down on him. Post-orgasm Jisung (well, Jisung at any point in time, but mainly post-orgasm Jisung) is a beautiful sight indeed. Flushed cheeks and swollen, parted lips and hazy eyes and messy hair.

He’s just looks so— fuckable.

The warm feeling of his seed painted on your face was to die for, sinfully looking, almost perverted in a way. For a moment he stilled his movements before smearing his cum over your left cheek. You’re closing your eyes, relishing on the feeling of him before sliding back down to now his softened cock, putting it back in your mouth to get another taste of him. He’s all hypersensitive after cumming, he feels like he’s going to pass out, but there’s no way he could resist you.

“Still hungry for more of my cock after sucking me off like that? Fuck.. you really are insatiable.”

Bonus !! (bc I love him sm and he’s everything to me): He absolutely loses his shit when you use your hand to get him off— he likes to make a mess all over them, watching his cum drip down to your wrists but he licks it up so it won’t go to waste. He enjoys seeing you suck the creaminess off your fingers but he also likes to do it too, tasting his own delicious nut while having your cute little fingers in his mouth <333

✵ FELIX — ( on your thighs )

He’s absolutely enamored by you. Everything about you is nothing short of pure perfection in eyes— but his main weakness? Your thighs without a doubt.

Felix’s hands are always on your thighs, whether it’s intentional or not, he somehow finds his way near his favorite body part on you as if he were drawn to it like a magnet. Caressing them while driving in the car, discreetly tracing shapes on them under the table at some fancy restaurant, or firmly holding them open while he devours you— the one thing he adores the most, though, is when you’re at home relaxing and resting your legs over his lap so he can massage them while you read or watch TV together. But in all honesty… he just wants you to suffocate him with your pretty thighs or better yet, letting him cum on them.

He loves nothing more than to have his cock buried deep inside your cunt, thrusting into you like his life depends on it. Felix loves leaving hickeys all over your thighs too. He claims he can’t help himself, he just needs to sink his teeth into them when you’re splayed out underneath him on his bed. Kissing your thighs lovingly while your legs are thrown over his shoulders, the tenderness clashing with the way he pounds you into the mattress. Lives for how vocal you get for him, a disgruntled moan slipping out when he hears your breathy whimpers and moans as he finds your sweet spot.

Tonight was much different though. He was in a daze, completely hypnotized by the slow roll of your hips into his. If the grinding motion was enough to set him into overdrive, then each pulse of your walls around his cock was enough to make him feel like he could actually combust. But he doesn’t, he can’t bear the thought of not having your skin on his, absolutely positive that he’d let you ride him like this all night.

He can’t get enough of your thighs, especially when wearing those short little skirts that drive him crazy. He’d have you sliding down his aching cock, holding onto your thighs with a muffled groan. Even when you aren’t on top, he’s obsessed with the way they lock around him when he’s fucking you, holding him in. It slightly throws him off rhythm for a second, but he makes a valiant effort to keep going, hips stuttering against yours as he rocks deeper into you, barely able to pull out for each stroke.

“Mmph.. Lixie..” you moan a bit louder when his hands spread to your ass as you ride him, your body falling limp against his when he grips the muscle a little tighter to stop the motion of your hips. The sluggish roll of your hips now becoming more desperate as your pleasure began to wash over you. “M’so close, be my good boy and finish with me.”

“Fuck y/n..” he curses under his breath, nuzzling his nose deeper into your neck as he pulls you in closer, breathing in your intoxicating scent, his mind absolutely fogged by thoughts of you and only you. “I’ll be good.. promise.. just don’t want this to end, need you all night.”

At this rate, it may actually be all night, as neither of you can exactly remember how long ago it was since you climbed onto his lap claiming you wanted to “take care of him” tonight. After all, Felix has been such a good boy for you all week; he deserves a little pampering in the form of you pinning him down to the bed and riding him until you both see stars. He’s too entranced by the curves and dips of your body and the way your features twist into the most beautiful expressions of pleasure as you lazily rotate your hips in a figure-8 pattern.

He’s has been mumbling rambles of praises all night, unable to form a coherent sentence due to the way his mind is clouded by you. He’s absolutely consumed by the way you feel wrapped around him, loving that he can watch you lose yourself on his cock with each languid, self-guided roll of your hips. He’s a wreck. A complete, utter train wreck.

It almost feels as if all the oxygen has been sucked out of the air for Felix, the hazy fog that clouds his head only makes his mind whirl more as he watches you fall apart on top of him. So beautiful, so perfect, and all his. He will always take whatever you give him; you have him wrapped so tightly around your finger and he swears he’ll always be your good boy if these are benefits.

The orgasm that you had been leisurely chasing was now near, unable to suppress the euphoric ebbing feeling that made your walls contract in delight. He messily jerks his cock, sporadically cumming everywhere from your sensitive clit to your plush thighs. He always apologizes for the mess by fucking your cunt with his tongue after, cleaning you off in the process.

“God, you’re so fucking hot. Could cum on these pretty thighs for the rest of my life and I’d die happy.”

✵ SEUNGMIN — ( in your panties )

When you two first started dating, you expected him to lean somewhat more on the vanilla side as he never struck you as the type to be overly sexual but you were dearly mistaken.

Little did you know that your boyfriend was lowkey a huge pervert, this man could sniff your panties all damn day— no seriously. The smell of you intoxicates him, sending flashes of dopamine through his receptors, even using them whilst he jerks off to one of the many photos of you that he has in his collection. Post-nut clarity always hits him the hardest right after, starting to feel some guilt for ruining your favorite pair of undies, but it isn’t like he could just buy you some new ones anyway!

Once you discovered this little fetish of his, Seungmin didn’t even bother to hide it anymore. Whenever the two of you would be intimate, it was almost routine for him to simply push your panties to the side, his tip beaming an angry, bright red and leaking with so much precum, sliding it against your saturated folds. A shudder runs through you as the friction just gets so much stronger, just as you needed it. He was grinding into your pussy, his tip eagerly pushing into your entrance, but never fully inside of you, testing your limits, making you tremble and whimper continuously.

He kept moving, his thrusts becoming sloppy and less controlled, giving you more and more. His hot tip couldn’t stop leaking, mixing his wetness with yours when he bumped into your clit, making you see stars. Just before you could even reach your high, he grabbed your hand and moved it away from touching your clit, guiding his tip inside of you with heavy pants, the feeling of relief almost washed over you, but he stopped. With only his blunt cockhead stretching you out he was frantically jerking himself off, moaning and praising you before he finishes.

That’s when you feel something sticky and warm is oozing into your panties and Seungmin pulled the fabric back once he pulls out, drops of his white release your already soaking your panties. His hands felt so soft, delicate against your skin when he readjusts your little dress, palming your clothed pussy to feel the mess he made between your legs, panties now soaked with loads of his cum.

He knows how dirty and disgusting he is, but does he seem to care? Absolutely not. It’s all part of the reason on why he finds it so ridiculously hot. He likes seeing you shuffle uncomfortably as the warm liquid rests against your pussy lips, making you walk around for the rest of the day with them on. To which all you do is complain.

“Seungie.. m’so sticky..” you whine to him while you’re out running errands together, but he only mocks you for complaining, cupping your cheek with his hand. His thumb brushes over your lip and coos at how you suck on his digit instinctively.

“I know, baby. I’ll clean you up when we get back home, okay?” He promises, discreetly moving his other hand up the hem of your dress to push his fingers flush against your hole, plunging his cum further into you.

Later in the day, he finds himself rubbing your clit through the fabric, using his previous release as a lubricant for the act. As much as you try to deny it, you find the filthy act just as sexy. That is why you keep letting him do it.

“Feel so dirty..” you pout from the fact you’ve been walking around with soiled undergarments for hours now.

“Aww, my poor baby. I’m so sorry I just needed you so bad.” He apologizes, sealing your lips into a kiss while rutting against him making the most pathetic sounds as Seungmin’s mess gets rubbed into you. “Go ahead and use me, doll. Payback for me being such a meanie.”

“So mean,” you moan, rocking on him while he holds you close and whispers sweet words in your ear. “Gonna cum... need to cum...”

“Shit. Gotta cum for me already?” He asks and you nod desperately. His hands tighten at your sides and he pushes you down onto his thigh. “That’s okay, princess. You can cum.”

“You’re such a dirty little slut. Love to act all innocent when we’re in public but you secretly love it when I make a mess in your panties, hm?”

✵ JEONGIN — ( inside )

Another fellow creampie enjoyer, ever since you let him hit it raw once he’s never looked back— he refuses to fuck you any other way.

Jeongin could feel every bit of sanity he has left slipping away the minute his cock is greeted with your warm walls, your cunt tightening around his length, sucking him in greedily. You can clearly hear his breathing getting heavier, the low grunts that leave his mouth once he fully bottoms out. You’re grabbing a fistful of the sheets beneath you to keep you stable, whimpering when he picks up his pace, jaw dangling open as he’s got your hair in a tight grip.

“Fuck.. you’re perfect.” He murmurs against your skin, his cock slamming into you with utmost force— all you could do is moan out in pleasure, so overwhelmed as you sank down further into the mattress.

He fucked you harder, hips colliding with your ass in a merciless rhythm, bringing his hand down lower, toying with your sensitive clit to make your eyes roll to the back of your skull. “I-innie,” you cried, broken and desperate, trying to say something, anything, but the words shattered every time he pounded into you. He knows you’re way too fucked out to speak, and that’s the whole point because he isn’t stopping— even when you’re begging for him to slow down, he won’t stop until you cream his cock.

You were a mess. Growing weaker and weaker, lips all puffy and worn out as you drooled onto the sheets, you made a grave mistake by trying to run from him— which only made him bully his cock into you deeper. A couple more strokes to your weeping cunt and Jeongin feels like he’s going to bust a nut already, he doesn’t tune down the harshness though, only upping it and focusing on painting your walls in the end. You were so completely full to the brim, his thickness hitting your g-spot just right, your arms ready to give out under your body as you whined and begged for him to let you cum.

You were caught by surprise when he suddenly pulls out and flips you over on your back. His large hand immediately snaking up to your chest to play with your tits, drawing a tiny bit of spit on them to create a string saliva that connects to his mouth. His other free hand presses down on your stomach, looking down as he sees himself thrusting back into you. You spasmed underneath him, muscles contracting, mind all numbed out, continuously moaning and mewling. Your needy hole clenching tighter around him as if it wasn’t currently being stuffed with his fat cock.

“Mmph— gonna cum, soso close!” He hisses, drilling into you harshly, “let go for me baby, cum with me.” You feel his cock throbbing as he’s helping ride out your orgasm with deep strokes that makes your vision almost fade to black. The once steady pace he upheld becoming more erratic and sloppier, fucking you so dumb until you’re full of cum.

With his permission, you finally let go. Legs violently twitching as you feel your release and his at the same time, plastering your insides with pearlescent ropes of white. He remains inside for a while, waiting for the tremors of your orgasm to pass, until eventually pulling out. He loves watching his cum leak out of you, it’s honestly his favorite part about sex with you; he loves it so much in fact he springs back up not even ten minutes later to do it all over again.

“Damn, baby, you’re so damn tight around me. M’gonna fill you up so good— yeah, that’s a good girl. Gonna have you dripping with my cum, doll, don’t you worry.”

finally back to posting more new headcanons, we cheered guyss ٩(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵๑)۶ i rlly hope this wasn’t too bad shgfsgsg i wrote most of this like a week ago and never bothered to proofread so if there’s any spelling mistakes that’s why.. but nonetheless i hope you enjoyed these and leave a like, comment, and/or reblog if you want ! (no presh) ♡︎

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fanficgirl429 · 3 days ago

Text

Back to You (Bucky Barnes)

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Prompt: An unexpected visitor returns to Louisiana to visit Sam and runs into Y/N, sparking feelings from the past.

-----

It was another scorching day in southern Louisiana, the kind that made the air shimmer and your clothes cling to your skin. You pulled your car up near the weathered dock, the tires crunching against gravel. The sun blazed overhead, unrelenting, its golden rays turning the bayou into a glistening sheet of light.

You stepped out, sunglasses slipping down your nose as a wave of heat wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. The distant hum of cicadas buzzed in your ears, mingling with the gentle slosh of water against the docked boats.

Sarah stood on her family’s boat, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, grease smudged on her cheek like a badge of effort. Beside her was her older brother, Sam—tall, broad-shouldered, and smiling that easy, familiar grin you hadn’t seen in too long. He placed a wrench down beside him and hopped off the boat, walking over to greet you.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice warm and welcoming.

You barely had time to reply before he swept you into a quick hug, the scent of sweat, sunblock, and motor oil clinging to him.

“How’ve you been? It’s been too long!”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’m good! What about you?”

“Can’t complain,” he said, pulling back.

“How’s the boat coming along?”

Sam let out a sigh, the kind that said it all. “She’s a mess. But we’re stubborn, so we’re not giving up yet.”

You smiled in sympathy and turned to glance at the boat—just in time to see someone else step up from below deck.

Your heart skipped.

Even before your eyes fully registered him, you knew. There was no mistaking that frame, that presence. Bucky Barnes.

He looked... different. His hair was cropped short now, the angry edge in his expression dulled. Last time you saw him, he seemed like he carried the world on his shoulders. Now, he looked lighter somehow. Like maybe, just maybe, civilian life had started to melt away some of his weight.

He stepped off the boat in one smooth motion and walked toward you and Sam. Up close, the change in him was even more striking—his posture more relaxed, his green eyes less guarded.

“Y/N, right?” he asked, his voice a low rumble as he gave you a quick once-over—not in a rude way, but like he was checking if the memory of you still matched the real thing.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Nice to see you again, Bucky.”

“You too,” he said, with the kind of sincerity that made your stomach flutter just a little.

Before you could say more, Sarah called out for help, and you gave the two men a friendly wave as you turned to go.

But just as you started walking away, Sam’s voice drifted to your ears: “Don’t even think about it.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling.

-----

“That’s the last of it,” Sarah said, wiping sweat from her brow as the two of you set the final box down beside the boathouse. “Come by for dinner, yeah? Sam’s grilling steaks.”

Your stomach perked up at the mention of food, and your heart perked up at the idea of seeing a certain someone again.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” you said with a nod.

----

The scent of sizzling steak greeted you, as you and Sarah stepped into the backyard. The air was thick with smoke and the sounds of summer—crackling flames, soft laughter, and the clink of beer bottles.

Sam stood by the grill, tongs in hand, while Bucky leaned against the railing nearby, arms crossed and watching him with clear amusement.

“You’ve gotta flip it now or it’s gonna burn,” Bucky told Sam, who scoffed.

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Bucky replied, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m smelling charcoal, not steak.”

“Hey boys,” Sarah called out. “Sam, maybe you should listen to Bucky for once.”

“Thank you!” Bucky grinned at her, then shot you a playful look.

Sarah pointed toward the house. “You two—grab the plates and silverware?”

You nodded, and without needing to say a word, you followed Bucky inside. The house was cool compared to the outside heat, and you leaned against the counter, watching as he moved around the kitchen like he belonged there.

He handed you a small stack of plates, then passed over the utensils.

“Hey,” he said, pausing. “For what it’s worth... it’s really nice to see you again.”

You looked up, surprised by the softness in his voice.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost shy. “That talk we had last time—I think about it more than I should. I don’t open up to many people, but with you... I don’t know. It felt easy.”

Your chest warmed. “I felt that too. I’m glad we talked. How long are you in town?”

He shrugged, giving a small smile. “Not sure yet. Long enough, I hope.”

“Bucky? Y/N?” Sam’s voice echoed in from outside. “Are you two coming or what?”

“Coming!” Bucky called, brushing past you with a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. You followed him out, your fingers brushing the door frame as you passed through.

-----

Dinner was everything Sarah promised. The steaks were perfect—juicy, charred just right—and Bucky had to grudgingly admit that Sam knew what he was doing.

But what made the evening linger in your mind was the way Bucky kept glancing at you from across the table. Like he was remembering the last time you talked... and maybe hoping there’d be a next time.

And if the way Sarah kept smirking into her drink was any clue, you weren’t the only one who noticed.

---

After dinner, the sun began its slow descent, painting the Louisiana sky in swirls of pink and orange. The heat finally started to fade, replaced by a cooler breeze that rustled through the trees and danced over the water.

You sat in a worn wooden chair near the firepit while Sarah gathered sticks to start a small fire. Sam headed inside to grab drinks, and Bucky… well, he lingered.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, nodding to the chair beside you.

You shook your head. “Go for it.”

The chair creaked slightly under his weight as he settled in. For a few moments, the two of you sat in companionable silence, the air thick with unspoken words and the faint scent of grilled food still drifting from the porch.

“I forgot how quiet it gets here at night,” he said finally, his voice softer now. “It’s kind of nice.”

“Peaceful,” you agreed, turning slightly toward him. “You don’t get this in the city.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, glancing sideways at you. “Makes it easier to breathe.”

You gave him a small smile, sensing the double meaning.

The fire crackled to life as Sarah lit it, tossing on a couple of marshmallows for good measure before excusing herself to go help Sam. It didn’t go unnoticed that she left you and Bucky alone.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into the flames.

“So… do you remember what we talked about? That last time?” he asked, his voice low.

Your heart gave a little jolt. “Of course I do.”

He glanced at you again, slower this time, his gaze lingering. “I was in a rough place then. Angry at everything. You didn’t try to fix me… you just listened. That meant more than I can explain.”

You felt the sincerity in his words—raw and unpolished, the way Bucky always seemed to be when he let someone past his defenses.

“I don’t think you needed fixing,” you said softly. “I think you just needed someone to see you.”

He smiled, just barely, and shook his head like he was trying to figure you out all over again. “You always say the right thing.”

There was a pause—thick and charged. He reached out suddenly, not quite touching you but close enough that you could feel the heat from his fingers.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Were you… ever into me? Back then?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. But the way he was looking at you—open, uncertain, hopeful—made it impossible to dodge.

“I think I still am,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

The corner of his mouth quirked, not quite a smile but something close. He leaned in, just slightly, like he was testing the air between you.

“I’ve been trying not to think about you like that,” he said. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”

“You do,” you said without hesitation. “More than you think.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your cheek with the lightest of touches.

“If I kissed you right now,” he murmured, “would that ruin everything?”

You held his gaze, pulse thrumming in your throat. “No,” you said. “I think it might fix something.”

And then—slow, deliberate, like he wanted to make sure you had every chance to pull away—he leaned in and kissed you. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was gentle, almost reverent. Like he was memorizing it.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment.

“I should’ve done that a long time ago,” he whispered.

“You weren’t ready then,” you replied, eyes still closed. “But maybe now… we both are.”

From inside, you could hear Sarah and Sam laughing, unaware—or maybe very aware—of what just happened outside.

And as the stars began to dot the sky, you stayed there with Bucky, his fingers intertwined with yours, the kind of silence between you that said more than words ever could.

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woso-dreamzzz · 23 hours ago

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Goddess

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: Alexia just can't help herself

WARNINGS: Minor sexual content

Alexia's mind doesn't wander during sex usually.

Why would it?

She's got you right where she wants you, like an angel as you moan out your pleasure.

You're beautiful in this position, perfect like you always are but, still, Alexia's mind wanders.

She's an attentive lover even as her gaze shifts to the bedside table.

It's from IKEA, she's pretty sure. She doesn't actually know. All she knows is you disappeared one day and came home with two flatpacks that you made Alexia build as you sat on the bed and watched tv.

You'd rewarded her with kisses, of course, but you'd also insisted she build them then and there and refused to make dinner until she did.

Your bedside table is cluttered now. There's a lamp that Alexia's never seen you use perched atop it along with your phone charger. All three of your drawers are filled to the brim with your jewellery - rings, bracelets, necklaces.

It's unfair really, Alexia thinks as she thrusts deeper, drawing a loud whine from your perfect lips as you bite at the pillow so the neighbours don't complain again.

It's so unfair that you can so easily switch between gold and silver jewellery. It's unfair that no matter what you wear, you always achieve that ethereal quality like how you always look like you've descended from upon high.

You can close your eyes, dip your hands, gentle and careful like always, into your bedside drawers. You can draw your jewellery out like they're sacred threads on a loom, reverent and awe-filled always.

It doesn't matter what you put on your body.

You have a timeless beauty that Alexia can do nothing but marvel at, in awe of you like always no matter what you're wearing, no matter what you're doing, no matter the time of day.

Marvel at you like she is now, momentarily pulled from her thoughts by you writhing under her, gasping and whining like it's all you can do.

She leans down, kissing your shoulder and hooking her chin over it so her lips can brush against the shell of your ear.

"Are you doing okay, beautiful?"

You whine, a beautiful, broken thing that has pride filling Alexia's chest.

"S-So good," You moan out as Alexia hits that one spot she could find blindfolded.

"Yeah? You feeling good?"

"Y-Yeah."

Alexia draws back, laying another soft, reverent kiss to your shoulder as she thrusts a bit harder into you.

Her mind wanders again, eyes lazily looking over at her bedside table.

Unlike yours, hers is neat.

There's no lamp on the top of it.

Her phone charger is plugged in elsewhere.

It's just a water bottle for her to drink from when she wakes up in the morning.

Her three drawers are practically empty. The bottom one holds her passport usually but that's currently packed away in her travel bag for her next away trip.

The other two are empty usually.

But not today.

They haven't been empty for the past two months actually, no matter what Alexia tells you.

Two things rest there.

Two potentially perfect things.

If Alexia could ever make a decision.

Sometimes she would open up the first ring box and stare, imagining the golden band and the beautiful diamond sparking in the early morning sun as you stretch out in the golden sunlight, sitting out in on the balcony with a coffee made lovingly by Alexia with a book that she'd recommended to you months ago.

But then the second ring box would catch her eye.

She can picture it so easily in her mind.

The silver band snuggly situated on your ring finger, bathed in the silver moonlight. You'd be fresh from your shower, wrapped up snuggly in Alexia's robe. Your head would be thrown back, laughing at whatever Alexia's said.

Both of the rings would look perfect on your finger and that's the problem.

You look perfect in anything. Any clothes. Any jewellery. Any makeup.

With or without it all.

You gasp under her and Alexia gently coaxes you down from your high, careful hands steadying your shaking body as she holds you so tenderly.

"Marry me," She blurts out when you pull away from the lazy kiss you share.

For a moment, Alexia's heart misses a bit, eyes grow wide at her own audacity.

You don't deserve a proposal like this.

You deserve to be wined and dined. You deserve a big speech filled with all the things Alexia loves about. You deserve all the promises Alexia knows how to make.

You don't deserve this even if your post sex glow has Alexia free falling for you, plummeting closer and the closer to the ground just so she can look up into the sky to gaze upon you, to look at you how you were meant to be viewed.

Like a goddess.

You deserve so much more than a post-sex proposal.

"Yes," You whisper against her lips," Do I get to choose my ring now? Or did you want me to wear each of them on different days?"

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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strawberrysannie · 3 days ago

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𝘼𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙕 𝙭 𝙁!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙉𝙎𝙁𝙒 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙨

A collection of spicy OT8 blurbs with links.

۶ৎ Pairing: ATEEZ (OT8) | F!Reader

۶ৎ Genre(s): smut, pw/op

۶ৎ Tropes(s) and AU(s): non-idol!au, established relationship!au

۶ৎ Warnings: graphic content (mdni!), piv, oral (f), handjob, fingering (f), facefucking

۶ৎ A/N: this is entirely a work of fiction and is to be treated as so.

HONGJOONG

He's not a lazy lover by any means, but one sure thing is that he'll never pass up the opportunity to sit back and relax, letting you take initiative and ride his cock after a hard day's work. He likes it more than he'll ever admit whenever you borrow one of his flashy cowboy hats, stripped bare of any other article of clothing. Don't mistake it as submission though; he's still the one controlling the pace, occasionally placing his hand on your hip as a reminder.

"Go slower, Sweetheart; take your time. Yeah, that's it...such a smart girl."

SEONGHWA

He's a giver. Pleasuring you is his priority, and he can spend a whole hour giving you what you need before he even thinks of sliding his dick inside you. Regardless of you begging for him to fuck you, he'll do you with his hands and mouth until he's satisfied. You have an entire collection of lingerie by now; he likes you all dolled up when your legs are spread open for him, panties pulled to the side as he's got his two fingers curled in your pussy. And you're gonna take it like the good doll you are.

"I'm not gonna fuck you 'til you cum around my fingers one more time, my love. Spread your legs wide for me."

YUNHO

A soft dom who's not afraid to be a little rough with you. He knows that you have full trust in him and would never dare push past the boundaries you've set. With that being said, fucking your throat just so happens to be within your boundaries, and it's a guilty pleasure you both share. He stands even taller and assertive than he already is when you're on your knees, cock shoved into your mouth as tears blur your vision. He holds your neck and fucks your mouth like it belongs to him, pausing between a few beats to soothe a gentle hand along your throat before he's going at it again.

"You all right, Honey? Pinch my leg if I'm going too hard on you, okay? Don't forget it."

YEOSANG

Yeosang is a big fan of displaying his strength during intimate moments. He's not much of a talker, letting his hips do most of the speaking for him. He loves holding you close, your arms bound by his strong arm while he uses it as leverage to fuck into you, hand on your throat and you're at his mercy. If you weren't in his arms, your quivering knees would've given out by the time he hit the right spot that has you creaming all over his dick.

"Did I make you feel good?" He asks when you're a recovering puddle of mess on the floor after being released from his hold.

SAN

Another soft dom who'll still fuck you like he owns you. Mounting himself over your pliant form with a deliciously firm grip on your hair. He'll rarely fuck you anywhere else other than a comfy, clean bed or couch; he needs to make sure you're still getting the princess treatment you deserve. You're not gonna suffer any pressure to your knees when you've got a nice, firm pillow under your hips. And all you gotta do is clear that pretty little head of yours, take a good pounding from his cock and listen to the sounds of skin slapping skin.

"What a good girl...taking me so well, Baby. I'm gonna go a little harder, okay? I know you can handle it."

MINGI

Just a big man who likes to be taken care of. Despite his ability to easily overpower you, you've got him wrapped around your finger. He'll let go of any control he has once you have your hand around his painfully hard cock, leaking pathetically with arousal while your sultry eyes bore into his own. For whatever reason he tries to hold back his moans, he soon forgets when he's reaching climax. He whines for you as he cums hard, semen spurting out in a mess on both your hand and his pants.

"I—oh, fuck! Make me cum, please...p-please let me cum. I need it."

WOOYOUNG

Of course, he needs to share a sweet kiss with you before he's shoving you back on the bed with your ass up sky-high. With his tongue languidly painting wet trails on your pussy, you can't help but let out blissful giggles, the blood rushing to your head leaving you dazed. Your voice makes him weak and your fucked out grin makes him weaker; soon you've got him chuckling while his lips are wrapped around your clit, and the vibrations bring you to a leg-shaking orgasm.

"You're so cute when you smile like that for me."

JONGHO

He loves having lazy morning sex with you; in a way, it's one of the most romantic things you've ever done together. There's something about being half asleep and vulnerable; with a nest on your head and a puffy face, and you probably have some serious morning breath that you're not too keen on fanning out in his direction. But he's not worried about any of these things, just wanting to be as close to you as possible. And what better way is there than being inside you? Though he's always up for looking into your eyes as he makes love to you, he's perfectly content with spooning you in his warmth too.

"I love you so much. You're beautiful; you know that?"

#ateez smut #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #yunho smut #yeosang smut #san smut #mingi smut #wooyoung smut #jongho smut

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marvelwitchergilmore · 1 day ago

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Dog Tags (2)

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You're still keeping his Dog Tags safe.

Disclaimer: This is Part 2. Part 1 can be found here. Mentions of injuries and blood, Bucky helps carry you to safety (kinda), little angst/hurt/comfort moments, some fluff moments plus friendship moments with Wanda and Kate. Not Proof Read.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kate asked you for the millionth time. “It’s just that those arrows…I know I make them but sometimes I can put a little too much after kick- Clint tells me I need to find a substitute but the black market-”

“Kate,” you smiled and held your hand on her arm. “I promise you, I’m okay.”

“But that blast was big. Like, big big.”

You nodded. “I know. But I’m okay, I promise.”

“Kate!”

She turned and looked down the jet.

“Go, I’ll be fine.”

She looked back at you, “You swear?”

You nodded, “I swear.”

Once Kate finally left, you let the wall drop for a moment. You didn’t blame her. The kick had been big, but it had also saved your life. Maybe you got a few bruises to remember it by, but you knew you’d be okay.

It would just hurt in the meantime.

“Here.” A voice spoke somewhere above you.

You looked around you until you found where the voice was coming from. Bucky.

What the hell did he want?

You looked down at the hand where he was holding an ice pack. “Take it. For your ribs.”

You swatted his hand away, “I’m fine.”

Bucky just stood and rolled his eyes. Even watching you lift your arm to swat him away looked painful. He’d seen the blast with his own eyes, which also meant he knew that if it was him in your position, he wouldn’t have walked out completely unscathed.

“You’re not fine.” Bucky broke the ice pack before shaking it as he crouched in front of you.

For a moment, you recoiled back. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m gonna help you. Would you let me help you?”

This time Bucky didn’t fully wait for an answer before he placed the ice pack against your ribs for you. And, for a moment, you recoiled from the cold until your body melted into it.

Okay. Maybe you were hurt, a little. But that still didn’t mean you needed his help.

“I can hold it myself.”

“You can barely lift your arms.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Bucky shrugged, “You’re getting it anyway.”

“Why?” The question left your lips before you could stop yourself. But it was a reasonable question.

Save for a few questionable moments outside of the ten minute window you and Bucky could be alone, you weren’t two people that helped each other. Fought with was probably the more likely statement.

“Because you need it.”

It was the best explanation Bucky could come up with at that moment. But it still gained him something.

You were looking him in the eyes. It was rare he ever got to be this close to you and actually see the colour of your eyes. He didn’t quite know how the feud between you and him had started out. But what he did know was that he would happily drown in your gaze.

And it was thoughts like that, that sent him into a spin.

So, regrettably, he looked away. But even that gained him something.

You watched as a smile ghosted its way onto his lips and you followed his eye line to the metal chain around your neck.

“You’re still wearing them.”

The Dog Tags. The one’s he thought he’d lost nearly three months ago, only to work out you’d had them all along. It had nearly been almost two months, alone, since that night in the training room.

You raised a hand to touch your chest. You could feel the outline of the tags underneath your clothes. “You told me to keep them safe.”

You watched as a corner of Bucky’s mouth slanted up slightly and, just for a moment, you let your mind wonder what it would be like if you kissed him right in that spot.

You shook your head and this time, you looked away. You dropped the hand from your chest just before a rattle came over the jet.

“We’re coming into landing.”

You just nodded, not trusting yourself to use words at that moment. But you gained them again when you stood to get off the jet only for Bucky to put your arm over his shoulder.

“What are you doing? I can walk on my own, Barnes.”

“You’d only collapse three feet from here. Thought I’d save myself the trouble of catching you.”

You scowled, “Like I told Kate-”

“So help me, God, if you tell me you’re ‘fine’ I’m gonna call Sam. You’ve got a sprained ankle, a few fractured ribs, if not, broken, and a lifetime of bruises to remember today by. And that’s just what I can see.”

You just looked at Bucky, your arm still over his shoulder, his hand still clasping yours. You didn’t know how or why, but you let him help you off the jet.

But when Wanda asked you about it later on, you just told her it was because you were too tired.

“It was a moment of weakness.”

Wanda hummed as she sat on the edge of your bed. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? What do you mean, ‘maybe’? There’s no ‘maybe’ about it.”

Wanda chuckled, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank you, Shakespeare.”

Wanda hit your leg before climbing up the bed to sit beside you. She grabbed a pillow and crossed her arms over it.

“Oh, come on. You and I both know you have feelings for him.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, he’s a massive pain in the ass.”

“Those aren’t the feelings I’m talking about.”

You stayed quiet for a few moments. “Stop reading my mind.”

Wanda was calm as she shook her head. “I don’t have to read your mind for this one.”

Your shoulders sagged for a moment and you looked at your hands, picking at your fingers. “It’s not like I meant to let it happen.”

“Nobody ever lets feelings happen. They just happen. It’s what makes you human.”

You just shrugged your shoulders. “He is still a pain in my ass.”

Wanda chuckled. “Have you ever thought to talk to him-”

“No! No. No, absolutely not. No. Never.”

Wanda hummed again. “Maybe it might help. Who knows? Maybe this isn’t a one sided love affair?”

You recoiled a little, again. “Love? Who ever said anything about love? I’m sure it’s just a stupid…work crush.”

Wanda looked at you. She didn’t have to read your mind to know that even you didn’t believe what you’d just said.

“Hey,” Wanda tapped your leg. “Can I get you anything? You know, since Sam has banished you here for the next week.”

You chuckled. “I’m still allowed to leave…when he’s not here.”

When Bucky had taken you to the medical bay, you’d been given a full diagnostic. A sprained ankle, two fractured ribs, a little bruising around your internal organs that would heal itself, plenty of pulled muscles and, like Bucky had put it, enough bruises to make sure you remembered the day for a lifetime.

Once Sam had found out, he’d doubled down on the Doctor’s orders to maintain bedrest.

A few hours after Wanda had left, you were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. And for a while, you just started thinking whilst absentmindedly fiddling with the dog tags still around your neck.

You thought about the ending of the movie you’d just watched with Wanda. You thought about the pain in your side. You thought about the feeling of Bucky’s fingertips gently pressing at your side as he held the ice pack in place.

He’d been checking to make sure nothing was broken. That was how he knew.

Then you looked at the dog tags. Like every night, your thumb traced over the letters.

Little did you know, the next time someone else traced their thumb over the letters, it was because your blood had been splattered across them.

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salthusiast · 2 days ago

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Who you truly are

Viltrumite Mark x Female Reader

Summary: When the Invincible variants arrived on Earth, you never expected to get involved. It’s not like you knew Invincible personally. What you didn’t know was that you’d ended up housing one of these variants, and you didn’t know for weeks. Basically Viltrumite Mark pretends to be the Mark you know.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: None! Maybe some violence, but if you watched the show, it’s basically nothing. Maybe slight ooc? In my defense this guy is pretending to be another person though.

Quick A/N: Hey, this is actually my first post on Tumblr so sorry if the formatting is weird or anything. Let me know if you guys want a part 2 :D

Life was so much simpler when you didn’t know. Who knew that in a singular month, your life would change so much? You could lie and say that you expected it to happen, but again that'd be a lie. Hell, even now you can barely believe the course of events that went down.

Sometimes you think about how many others got hurt during the war and its aftermath. You were so oblivious. You think about how he spared you like he did.

--------------------------

“Mark! Eve!” You call out, waving your hand to your friends across the hallway. Mark stops in his tracks, along with Eve.

Mark is more of your friend than Eve is, but you get along with her well. You walk purposefully to Mark, feeling like he may disappear if you take too long to get to him. It seems like he disappears all the time now.

“I haven’t seen you recently. Where have you been?” You approach him smiling.

Mark shares an indecipherable look with Eve, and chuckles awkwardly, “Around… You know, I’ve been busy with… stuff.” He says gesturing to his backpack. You raise an eyebrow seeing his backpack filled with books.

“Studying? You? My, we really haven’t talked in a while. The last time we all hung out, you bailed halfway through.” You smile teasingly, not truly mad, but more concerned than anything.

He grimaces, “I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just been so hectic lately.” He looks over at Eve once again, she seems to empathize with whatever Mark is going through. You can’t help but feel… insignificant.

Mark was once one of your closest friends. What happened for them to grow so close? You can’t even bring yourself to be mad, Eve seems to understand him way more than you ever could.

Perhaps at one point, you would have felt different about that truth, but Mark as your friend is more important.

“Woah!” You chuckle, “It’s okay, really. I just want to make sure you aren’t, ya know, dead.” You smile, jokingly gesturing to your neck as if it was slit. He smiles and shakes his head, “Nope! Still kicking. I’ll be around for a while.” He glances at Eve, who seems to find what he said extra funny.

You laugh, “Yeah huh... Hey, I was wondering if you’d wanna hang out with us sometime soon. You, William, me, maybe one of my friends? Serena perhaps?” You raise a finger for each person you talk about. “Eve is free to join us too of course.” You smile at her, which she returns in good nature.

Mark nods, “Yeah, I’ll make time for it. It’s been a minute since we’ve all hung out. Eve, would you wanna join?” Mark asks, turning to Eve.

“Sure. It’s been a while since we’ve all hung out as a group. I look forward to it.” She smiles at you. “I should be busy for a bit, but I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

You smile, “Great! That works for me!” You start to walk off before you stop abruptly and turn around. “You know we’re always here right?” You look at Mark and glance at Eve. He smiles back, but it looks more like a grimace.

”Of course.” Suddenly he stands up straight. “Oh shoot I gotta go.” He announces before looking at Eve silently expressing… something?

“No worries, see you guys…” They’re already speeding off to who knows where. They certainly have a mission in mind. They weren’t that rushed five minutes ago. Could whatever Mark forgot be that important?

(You didn’t know it at the time, but the reason he left was actually important. You later found out the reason on TV, even if you weren't aware it was him under the suit.)

“Hey, did you see what happened on the news?” Your friend, Serena, asks you later that day back in your apartment. She would often come over after classes to hang out.

You raise an eyebrow shaking your head, “No? Why? Anything interesting?” You sit down on the couch, leaning your head on the back as you respond.

“Somebody was trying to get Invincible’s attention earlier. He was talking for ages. Was claiming that he was the one who killed all those people in Chicago. I don’t know, he definitely has some issues he needs to sort out.” She waves a hand dismissively.

That catches your attention, “Really that happened today? How’d I miss that? Wait, he was mad that Invincible ‘killed those people,’ but he is trying to kill people to get his attention?” You ask, doing air quotes as you say “killed those people.”

“I’m not sure, it mainly just seemed like he wanted Invincible. I don’t know, I stopped questioning these villains a while ago. I only know the bare details.” She sighs.

You nod in agreement, “Fair enough.” You search for the remote and find it between the couch before turning on the TV. Perhaps this story is on the news?

“ . . . just in! The newest villain, going by the name “Powerplex” has been arrested. Invincible was there to stop him this time, but that did not come without a cost. There were two casualties during this specific attack by him, not even counting his other attacks during this week. The casualties of this attack were his wife and child, who were electrocuted to death. It appears he took them hostage to get Invincible’s attention. You will all be happy to know that he has been arrested. . .”

“That’s awful.” You frown. “Can’t believe he brought his wife and kids into it. That’s such a cruel thing to do… You think she knew what she was getting into with him?” You ask, turning toward Serena.

“I mean maybe he was just a good actor? Perhaps he was able to blend in for a while?” Your friend throws out suggestions. “She could’ve also known though. Not that it’s my business. We’ll never know, and I don’t think I want to know.” She sighs before standing up.

“It’s horrific in either scenario. Imagine living with somebody for that long and not truly knowing who they are.” Serena chuckles, but there is no humor. You both stare at the TV screen, watching as the reporter drones on about the details.

“I think I’m going to head back home.” Serena stands up, grabbing her keys and swinging them in her hand. You nod, “Okay, drive home safe… Don’t get electrocuted.” You give her a thumbs up and smile. Is it wrong to joke about events like this? Probably, but if you don’t laugh you cry so…

She gives you an unamused expression “Ha. Ha. Very funny.” She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, “I’ll see you later.” You wave as she walks out, turning your attention back to the TV.

You have no connection to Invincible or any of that “superhero” life. The idea of superheroes excites you, but after seeing what occurred in Chicago, you can’t help but feel like it’s not all it’s made out to be.

It’s not like you’d be able to help. You’d end up as a casualty, another body to clean off the field. The thought makes you shiver.

Every time you see a story like this you wonder if there is a universe where it was you that died. It’s easy to just brush these events off like nothing when you aren’t living them.

That was how most people do it nowadays. Doesn’t affect you? Not your problem. It was a frustrating way to live. You didn’t like to think about how people are dying every day due to these villains.

However, you can’t not think about them. Hearing about this whole situation with, what’s his name, Powerplex? It creates this feeling of dread, a feeling you’re unable to ease. Who is to say that you aren’t going to be the next casualty mentioned on the news?

It truly was easy for the whole world to live in that ignorance. It was easier for you to live in ignorance, then they appeared.

--------------------------

DAY ONE

Honestly, the first day wasn’t that eventful for you. It wasn’t until the late evening you even heard about it.

You didn’t live in an area that was immediately affected by the attacks, so it wasn’t as if your apartment suddenly came crashing down on you. Instead, you got a call from Serena. You raise an eyebrow before picking up the phone.

“Uh hey?” You wonder why she called you, it wasn’t like you got calls often.

”Oh my God, you’re okay.” She breathes out in relief, and now you know something is up. “Please tell me you’ve seen the news.” Her voice is filled with worry.

You stop moving, “No… You know I don’t check the news that often.” You respond. Admittedly, that's on you. You probably should keep up with the news more often.

She sighs, “Turn it on. There’s like over a dozen Invincibles out destroying major world cities.” You feel your heart drop before immediately moving to your TV and turning it on. You switch to the news.

No words are being spoken, they don’t have to. The screams of panic strike fear into your heart.

The camera shows a gigantic building in Chicago crumbling down. The cameraman focuses their lens on the figure floating above it all. Whoever it is, they’re wearing a white uniform.

The camera isn’t advanced enough to zoom in on their face, but you don’t find yourself doubting Serena’s information. Suddenly a white blur knocks the camera away, and it fades into static. You watch in horror.

“Oh shit…” You whisper to yourself, forgetting that you are still on the phone.

“It’s being recommended that we don’t exit our homes. We just pretend like nobody is home.” Serena’s words barely register, but you nod, forgetting that she can’t see your visual response.

“Okay… So we just sit here until they leave?” You ask, feeling stupid for asking the question. What else could you do? Fight them? You’d sooner kill a bear with your bare hands than somehow survive facing off one of them.

The silence between you two is loud, “Not like we have any other choice.”

--------------------------

DAY TWO

By this point, you had been living in relative darkness for a little over a day. Serena sent you a link to an article advising citizens what to do: keep the lights off, and stay away from windows. You don’t want them to know you’re there. You had occasionally gone to get some food and drinks from the kitchen, but besides that, you were pretty much locked in your room.

The small peeks you took of the outside world showed promise. Realistically, the chances of one of the variants coming to your suburban neighborhood to wreak havoc aren’t high.

You close the curtains and look away from the window. To be fair, they also aren’t zero.

After being bored and doing nothing for over a day, you were instantly aware when something changed in your environment. You felt your heart stop for a moment. It sounded like somebody entered your apartment.

You remain frozen as you try and listen for any more signs of life outside your room. Eventually, you hear something. A voice calling your name, whoever it is sounds familiar. However, that doesn’t mean you’ll come running out. You don’t respond immediately, sitting there in silence and fear, slowly inching towards the closet to hide.

On the way, you pass by your door, which was slightly cracked open. The intruder could walk in whenever they wanted. It wasn’t the most brilliant move you’ve made, but it wasn’t like you were expecting guests okay?

Your eyes widen as you take in who it is. “Mark?” You push the door open hesitantly. His attention immediately snaps to you. “What are you doing here?” You ask, exhaling slowly and calming your pounding heartbeat.

He stares at you stoically, before walking over to you, his steps are unhurried. Suddenly you realize that he left the door open behind him. You feel your heart rate spike up again.

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!?” You whisper yell as you push past him to the door. You accidentally bump your shoulder onto his while walking by, causing him to halt and falter in surprise.

”How did you get in? I thought you said you lost that emergency key I gave you.” You lock the door and turn to him again. He observes you silently.

“I found it.” He responds, tone even.

“Well yes, I kinda assumed that.” You respond dryly before feeling the anger leave your body.

“Hey…” You place your hand on his shoulder and he stiffens. “Are you okay? Did one of those variants attack you or your mom?” He finally looks you in the eye for the first time since he unexpectedly entered. His stare is piercing, it feels like he’s looking at your entire soul.

He pauses for a moment before answering, “They came through and destroyed my house.” His voice sounds detached like he’s somewhere else right now.

You feel your eyes widen and your heart drops, “Oh my God, is your Mom okay?!” You guide Mark back to your room, he seems to follow with no resistance. You sit on the floor, but he remains standing.

“She’s fine. She wasn’t there.” He responds, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“That’s good… I mean not good that your house was destroyed, but good that she got out of there. I mean have you seen the damage that these Invincibles have done?” Mark looks at you like he’s expecting something, and you feel slightly unnerved. Maybe he’s in shock? You can’t exactly blame him. You do feel kinda awkward though. How exactly do you comfort somebody who just had their home destroyed and almost had their mom killed?

“I was watching the news when it started, there was this one I saw. I think it was Chicago he hit?” Mark freezes slightly, his eyes narrowing in on you, but you don’t notice.

“It was crazy… He didn’t look like Invincible at all. However, judging by how many of the other attackers look like Invincible, I want to say that this one was probably some weird Invincible variant in white.” Mark gives you a weird look.

“What’s wrong? Still worried? Don’t worry we should be safe here. I don’t see why an Invincible variant would attack me. I don’t even know who is under that mask. We’ll be safe here if you wanna stay until it’s over.” You feel like you’re talking too much at this point, so you stop before you embarrass yourself more than you already have.

“So I can stay.” Mark eventually speaks, getting your attention. The phrase is less of a question, and more of a statement, like he needs you to reaffirm what you already said.

You nod, “Of course, stay as long as you need.” You smile at him. Mark stares down at you before nodding and sitting right next to you on the floor.

You raise an eyebrow, “You know you can sit on my bed right? You don’t have to sit on the floor.” He looks at you and slowly nods.

“Right…” He sounds hesitant, but eventually stands up walking over to your bed. He sits down on it and looks back at you. He stares at you expectantly. You feel scrutinized under his gaze.

"Uh, is there something on my face?" You ask. He continues to stare at you before he looks away.

"You look different." Well okay then. Is that an insult or compliment?

“Uhh, I don’t exactly look much different than the last time I saw you. Maybe it’s the lack of sunlight.” You joke. He looks at you like you’re stupid. “Hey don’t give me that. Come on wanna play a game or something? I’ve been bored out of my mind here.” You stand up stretching.

“A game…” He repeats dryly. “What ‘game’ would you wanna play?” He asks.

You hold your hand out giving him the “wait” gesture. He watches as you search around your room before finally finding what you're looking for. “Here we go!” You show him your deck of Uno cards.

“Uno?” Mark responds confused. “You want to play this... ‘Uno?’” He gestures to the cards. You raise an eyebrow looking back at the cards.

”Yes…? Something wrong with that? I only have the original one if that’s what you’re upset about. Couldn’t find the Seance Dog version, I must've lost it.” You sit next to him starting to shuffle the cards.

”That’s not the problem…” Mark starts to sound unsure looking at the deck of cards. ”Do you perhaps have its original packaging?” He asks.

You blink in confusion, “No, why?” You start giving him his cards.

”I just need to see its instructions.” He looks at the cards blankly.

You sigh, “No, stacking plus twos and plus fours is not in the rules. Yes, we will play with it anyway.”

You give yourself your cards before setting the giant stack down and flipping over the first card, it’s a green four. “I’ll go first.” You place a green seven down.

Mark stares at the cards, before looking up at you. He stares at his cards for half a minute. “You gonna play a card or are we just gonna sit here?” You joke.

“Just…” He sounds frustrated, “Just give me a moment…” He looks at the cards.

After another period of silence, you eventually break it, “Dude just place down a seven or green, please. Whatever strategy you’re thinking of, it clearly isn’t working.” You chuckle.

He looks at his cards before slowly placing a green five down. “Right… I was just planning something.”

You immediately slam down a blue five. “Yeah sure, try all you want. You aren’t gonna win this time.”

He looks at you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen on his face, “I wouldn’t count on that.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“HOW?! YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” You point at the stack of cards in the middle, telling you to take 14 cards.

“The rules are the rules. Take the cards.” Mark points to the deck of cards, his lips upturned slightly.

You glare at him before smiling. That was the first time he’s "smiled" today. He’d been off all day, and if losing a game of Uno was what it took to cheer him up, it was a price to pay.

You both play a few more rounds before you get tired of losing. “Okay, you never win this much. Are you cheating?” You jokingly ask.

He scoffs, “Cheating? I don’t need to cheat to win.” He taunts holding his singular card in plain view. The words "UNO" in the back taunt you for the seventh time. The trace of a smile is gone from his face, but you can see the mirth in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while you can.” You sigh placing down your only play. You look up at him, and he stares at you for a long moment.

“You know dramatically holding out your move doesn’t make you mysterious. Just draw more cards, I know you don’t have a yellow or two.” You roll your eyes.

He looks at his card and sighs in the most contrived manner possible, a stark contrast to the serious demeanor he had when entering the apartment. “You’re right. I don’t have either…” He places his last card down, a wild.

You look at him blankly, he returns the stare with a smugness he didn’t previously have. You place your cards down before walking out into the kitchen, Mark follows you. “What are you doing?” He asks, the smug tone gone.

“I'm gonna sacrifice myself to those variants running around, that fate might be better than having a seven-time losing streak.” You respond sarcastically.

“You know what,” You point out to the window, “at least I would beat them in Uno.” You say referring to the Invincibles out destroying the world.

Mark looks at you, then at the window, then back at you, “I doubt that.”

You lean back on the counter dramatically, feigning offense, “Oh how you wound me! I think I could beat their asses in Uno! I bet at least one of them doesn’t even know how to play it!”

“I’m sure.” He replies, there seems to be amusement in his voice, but you can’t imagine why.

“Hey, I beat you in Uno all the time. Consider this your lucky day.” You grab a bag of chips. “I was going easy on you today.” You say before you begin grabbing chips out of the bag. “Want some?”

Mark looks at the bag, his face turning to a grimace, “I’ll… pass.” You shrug and continue snacking before putting the bag away.

”Suit yourself. Feel free to eat whatever I have, just don’t eat it all.” You gesture toward your pantry, his gaze following the direction you point.

You start to walk away, “Where are you going?” He asks as you pause.

”Pillows? Blankets? I need to grab some extra for myself. You can take my bed.” You look into one of your cabinets, grabbing an extra couple of pillows and a blanket.

“Is it not your bed though?” Mark asks, frowning.

”Well, yeah, but you’re my friend and my guest.” You smile walking towards your room, and he follows behind you. “I mean with everything you’ve been through recently, I’d feel bad if I forced you to the floor.” Mark remains silent.

You start to create a pile of blankets on the floor, rearranging the pillows how you like them. Mark watches silently.

“Hey, could you turn my TV on? Make sure it’s muted. As long as the lights aren’t flashing too bright on it I think we’ll be okay.” You ask Mark, he gives a hum of acknowledgment before heading back to the living room.

You finish setting up the makeshift bed before joining him. You look around making sure all the windows are closed and secure before joining him.

“Oh my God…” You whisper as you watch different clips play out on the TV. These Invincible are destroying cities. You can only stare in shock, you watch as buildings topple over, skyscrapers crumble to the ground, citizens get buried under rubble, and nearby life burns.

What you saw that Invincible in Chicago do was a fraction of the damage.

Mark doesn’t say anything, and the initial glance you took towards him when you walked in reflects that indecipherable look once again. Who knows what he’s thinking? These monsters almost killed his family.

You look over to him to see if he’s watching, his gaze looks detached and uninterested. You turn back toward the TV. “I’m sorry…” You mutter, feeling his eyes turn toward the back of your head.

“For what?” He asks, and he sounds genuinely confused. “You didn’t do it.”

You look back at him, his eyes reflecting disbelief at an apology. “No, but I’m sorry it happened to you.” You look at the screen, showing the burning buildings. It feels like you can hear their screams despite the muted volume.

He looks at you, not that you can see, as if you're a puzzle. “Why apologize for something you didn’t do? Seems pointless.” He asks.

You look at him, your eyes meeting again, “Sympathy, perhaps.”

--------------------------

DAY THREE

You open your eyes to the blinding light of your window. You blink the sleepiness away before processing that your window is OPEN.

You stand up quickly, tripping over your pillow before you reach to close the window and curtains. You look at your empty bed, perfectly made.

”Mark?” You call out. You open your door to see him in the kitchen with a mug in hand, windows all open, and lights bright as day.

You gape for a minute before walking over and closing all of them. Once you close them, you turn off the lights, you can still see, but you will admit you kind of missed lighting like that. “What are you doing?!”

Mark looks at you, raising an eyebrow.

You gesture wildly to the house around you, “Uhh I don’t wanna burst your bubble, but we are not Invincible. What are you gonna do if one of those variants attacks us? The attack on your house proves that nobody is safe.”

Mark looks at you uninterested, “Nobody will attack this place.”

”You can’t guarantee that, Mark.” You respond exasperated. “If you could, you wouldn’t be here right now.” You frown as Mark stares at you stoically.

“Look, I’m sorry. I really don’t want to take this out on you, but it’s scary out there. I don’t want to be this paranoid, trust me, but I can never be too sure what will happen.” You sigh looking at him.

“Hell I mean, one of those Invincibles could kick that door down, and we’d be toast. I mean how many even are there?” You ramble.

“Sixteen total.”

“Sixteen?! Damn.” You exhale in disbelief. “That’s sixteen different Invincibles who could essentially destroy the world. Wait, how’d you even know there are sixteen?” You ask.

Mark gestures lazily toward the TV. “Righttttt, that was a dumb question.” You sigh. Suddenly you pause that train of thought, “Wait, what happened to Eve?”

Mark takes a slow sip of his coffee, “Not sure.”

You frown in concern, “Have you had contact with anybody since they invaded?”

”Just you.” He takes another sip.

”Damn, that’s sad… Do we want to try and contact her?” You ask hesitantly. It doesn’t seem like he wants to talk about Eve.

He shrugs, “Lost my phone.”

You frown, “Oh… Do you wanna. . .” You look up at him, his eyes dead set on you. “You know what, never mind.” You make a mental note to check if you have Eve’s number later, and maybe ask what his whole attitude is about.

“Anyway, were you up long before I got up?” You ask, changing the subject.

He shakes his head, “No.” He responds.

“Okay good, I was worried I had slept in or something.” You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You pull it out and see that Serena sent you a new link, you’re so grateful that she keeps up with news better than you can.

”Hey it seems like the variants disappeared from the cities.” You casually mention, Mark looks up, suddenly interested.

“Where did they go?” He asks. You shrug in response, reading the rest of the article. He walks over to try and read over your shoulder.

“It seems like they all left at roughly the same time, perhaps something called them. Maybe they have a ‘Boss Invincible’ or something.” You joke.

Mark chuckles humorlessly, “You think?”

“You don’t think that?” You retort, smiling.

“No, I mean you’re probably right.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “It just sounds strange.” He continues.

You nod understanding, “Yeah, but I mean what else could bring them together? They have to have a leader of some kind. This attack seems too coordinated to just be unplanned.”

Mark sips his coffee loudly, “I guess.” It sounds like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.

You feel your phone vibrate again. You check it and see a text from William. “Hey, William texted me! You’ll be glad to hear that he is okay.” You hear Mark hum in acknowledgment before opening the message.

It’s safe. They’re gone for good.

You look at the text message surprised. You have multiple questions.

How do you know?

Just trust me on this, I know some people who work with the government. The Invincibles are gone.

Mark notices your silence, “What is it?” He asks.

You turn towards him, “They’re gone gone. The Invincibles apparently vanished, completely. They didn’t just stop attacking the cities or get called away, they aren’t here anymore. They’re gone for good. ” This catches his attention.

“Are you serious?” He asks. His eyebrows furrow, is he mad?

”...Yeah.” You pause before confirming. “Are you okay?” You walk up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He immediately tenses up.

“Hey, they’re gone. They can’t do any more damage. Everything will be okay.” You try to reassure him.

He looks down before relaxing. “They’re gone.” He repeats, you nod. “All of them?” He asks quietly, you nod.

“All of them.”

--------------------------

“What do you mean they’re not all accounted for?” Cecil yells out walking down the hallway as one of the assistants follows closely.

“You mean to tell me that there is still one of those Marks out there?”

The assistant nods frantically, “We accounted for every single one that died, and the ones that were sent to that alternate dimension. There is still one here, and he’s not our Mark.”

Cecil stops walking, “Does Mark know?” He asks.

The assistant shakes their head, “No… We weren’t sure if we should tell him. I thought it was best to tell you first.”

Cecil nods in approval, “I’m glad you did… Do you know where he was last seen?”

“It was the Invincible that destroyed Chicago, he left after decimating that city. We aren’t entirely sure where he went. He could be on the other side of the globe, but we do know he hasn’t left the atmosphere.” The assistant replies.

"Good, we need to see if there’s a way to locate him. For all we know, he’s already aware that his counterparts have been banished. I can’t imagine he’d serve himself up on a silver platter for us to eliminate." Cecil starts walking towards Eve’s room, there’s a large chance Mark is still there.

“He can’t hide for long, sir. We’ll find him.” The assistant follows closely behind him.

"Like you already said, he could be halfway across the globe. We can’t leave a threat like that lying around ready to strike whenever. We need whatever leverage we can get right now. If we make it public information that he’s wanted, he might just leave the planet."

"I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly feel safe knowing an evil version of Invincible is out there somewhere in the universe. We were unprepared for this attack, next time we’ll be ready." Cecil walks down the hall watching through the windows as more ReAnimen are being created. He continues to walk past them.

“There’s only one of him. We’ll bide our time. Keep me updated on any status updates on him. If you hear anything that sounds like Viltrumite sightings, I need to know as soon as possible. I will spare no expense, understand?”

”Yes, sir.”

#invincible #invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #viltrumite mark x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x y/n #invincible x you

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eraserbread · 2 days ago

Note

so we have ex-husband nanami... WHAT ABOUT EX HUSBAND GOJO? 😋

you and gojo, split amicably... or, so he thought.

on the other hand, you were a mess. drinking every night, calling out of work, constant migraines, hangovers, and fatigue. it was as if this divorce was eating you alive. worst part is, gojo was doing great.

it was one of those nights again -- head hanging between your shoulders as the ground spins with drunkenness. you were too depressed to go to a bar, so you picked up quick, shitty mixed drinks from the convenience store and swallowed them whole. now, your phone was staring at you with a vengeance, begging for attention.

your lock screen is a picture of you two in kyoto when things were still good. it was taken by a friendly stranger. your arms are slung over his neck, and you smile in his face. he smiled back. you miss him so much.

blame it on your lockscreen, or blame it on the alcohol, but you reach for gojo's contact unashamed. you'd beat yourself up about it tomorrow, but if you didn't tell him exactly what you were feeling, that might kill you right now.

so, you call him, but he doesn't answer, not even mentioning that it's well past 3 a.m., but that doesn't really matter. gojo rarely sleeps; you know he's awake.

but you're still met with his empty voicemail box, swallowing when you realize you must speak to make yourself known. after all, it's been long enough—gojo could've deleted your number by now.

"uhm... hi." you slur, leaning forward into an empty palm. "gojo, it's me. i was just wondering how you were. it's all been a lot lately. but, um, call me back, okay? I lo—" you catch yourself. force of habit. "bye."

then you spend the rest of your night lying numb on your loveseat, arms wrapped around your lonely heart. minutes could've passed -- maybe it's an hour. all you know is the only thing that pulled you from your thoughts was the ding of a new message.

blearily, you reach for your phone.

from: gojo satoru you sound pretty bad. come over?

you should've known. you're gullible enough to take a taxi over here in the middle of the night hungry for reconciliation. instead, it leads to gojo pulling you into his home, glossy lips sucking yours into his mouth.

it's a kiss you haven't experienced in months -- needy, heady, loveless. his hands are all over you, the room is dark, his eyes are so bright. he doesn't even say a word.

but he leads you to his bedroom like he never left. it's what he knows you need -- to loose your mind with one orgasm after the next. he knows how to pull it out of you like a science now, and knows you loved being manhandled.

and it makes it easier to toss you into his unmade bed now that you aren't his doting wife. you're just a drunk hookup, panty-less and opening your legs long before he tells you to.

you feel like a whore, gojo doesn't talk, hardly looking at you when he stuffs his long cock into you. squelching against the rivers you exert for him, he doesn't even say your name, he just grips you harder.

and you fall into old ways, rutting like jackrabbits, bed screeching along the floor. pinning you to the mattress, arms raised high above your head, gojo drills you down in missionary, watching the way you're trembling and refusing to open your eyes and look.

you know gojo's vision is like x-rays, he'll read the shame in your gaze if you let him. it takes every ounce of self-control not to give in.

grunting into your ear like he's running a painful marathon, gojo pulls that first orgasm out of you in shivering cries and pleas of his name. he's fucking you so good, kissing your cervix raw with every thrust.

then, he's cumming in quick thrusts, grunts speeding up before evening out. it's all he's saying, tiny whispers of 'fuckin-' and 'yeah?' slipping from his lips if you're lucky.

and, it's so odd. when you were his, he used to purr your name, calling you every type of beautiful and magical in his presence. he used to take his time working you over, fingers light in fear of hurting you.

now, he's bruising you to the bone, fucking you like it was a sport and not even offering you his sensuality. your gojo is an entirely different person.

now, you're ashamed. it hurts to finally admit, but he didn't feel like your husband anymore.

#yes i love the ex agenda #lets keep spreading it #eraserasks #.satoruu <3 #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru x you #satoru x reader #gojo smut #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #.favs :o

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gtgbabie0 · 2 days ago

Note

pussydrunk reader eating vi out in the most sub way possible .. 💭 just teary eyed and begging im #normal

synopsis: {you just love your girlfriends pussy!}

!!-18//MDNI-!! raaahh #needthaaat! Thank u for requesting my lovely, muah muah! <3

warnings: sub!reader pussydrunk!reader softdom!vi I guess? very needy I need to crawl inside her ‘baby’ ‘doll’ proof read once im sleep deprived.

Heaven was lying between Violet's legs— her toned thighs caging either side of you, your head resting on her lower abdomen whilst her fingers play with your hair lazily. You could die happily right there and then, surrounded by nothing but her, her thighs in those damn boxers.

It wasn’t fair she was so biteable, god, you could just eat her up all day— and who could blame you for being so damn greedy for her all the time? you were just being a loving girlfriend!

And you did love her, the way her abs tense up before she orgasms, those delicious whiny moans you manage to draw out of her, the way her clit throbs against your tongue— her taste—

“Baby? What’re you wiggling for?” Violets gentle voice snaps you out of your thoughts as you nuzzle your face into her inner thigh— a traitorous whimper ripping through the back of your throat as you tilt your head to catch her gaze. Violet knows that look in your eyes far too well, “Mm, you're needy for something, huh?”

You would feel shame if it wasn’t for the way your panties were already drenched, heat pooling in your stomach just at the thought of getting your mouth on her— “Violet, please.” she doesn’t think you know just how pathetic you really sound when you whine her name out like that.

She all but coos your name in the same crooning tone, head tilted and soft blue eyes focused on you— the plumpness of her bottom lip all jutted out to mock you, and you live for it. “What does my pretty girl want, huh?”

All sense flies right out of your brain, ebbing away into nothingness and replaced with her— “Need to taste you, please Vi— let me eat you out, I’ll be so good, promise.” she’s not all that different when those words hit her, the way you nuzzle into her clothed cunt. “Need to taste your pussy.” your words muffled, panted hotly against her mound. It already has her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

“Fuckin’ hell— gonna be the death of me, baby.” She sighs, a noise that’s just shy of a groan as your fingers hook over the band of her boxers— looking up at her all glossy eyed pleading, on the brink of damn tears. “Go on, be a good girl n’take 'em off for me.”

Her hips lift and her boxers are off in a blink— your hands grasping at the toned flesh of her thighs as you practically nuzzle yourself into her cunt, whimpering incoherent nonsense against her slick folds, blabbering about how good she tastes as your tongue licks a broad stripe up to her clit.

Violet bucks up against your mouth with a sharp gasp, head tipping back into the pillows, thighs closing around your head gently as your hands squeeze her in response, preening further into her wet heat. “Baby— fuck—m’not going anywhere.” she rasps, voice all rough with pleasure as you flick your tongue over her clit, suckling the hard bud into your mouth.

“Mmf— y’taste so good, so good.” you slur, words muffled in between the kisses you press against her clit. A mixture of spit and her wetness coating your lips— hell it’s all over your chin, like you're trying to drown yourself in her sweet cunt. “Could do this all day, Vi— y’so sweet,” you whine, dragging your tongue along her folds, spreading her open and teasing her fluttering hole.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, grasping at the back of your head to feel you bob in enthusiasm— her legs trembling a little, stomach tensing as she gasps and pants above you at the feeling of your tongue pushing inside her, nose pressed up into her clit.

“Please cum— please, please.” you plead, getting all teary eyed, rocking your hips against the heap of blankets, desperate for some friction and fuck does the sight have her reeling— her hips moving with tandem of your mouth, feeling your tongue prod at her slick walls, clit rubbing over the tip of your nose as you push your face impossibly further into her with a broken moan.

Your movements get sloppier, the messy squelching of your mouth on her wet pussy filling your hazy mind— drunk on the taste of her as she cums, gushing hotly all over your tongue and you don’t waste a single fucking drop— working her through it until her body goes all slack and her hands are weakly prying you away from where you’re practically buried into her.

“C’mere— come up here, doll.” she groans, pulling you up closer, until you’re straddling her abdomen, so she can kiss her cum off of your lips, tasting herself on you, and you ever so eagerly kiss her back. “Did so good f’me, so good baby.” she sighs, her thumb brushing over your cheek to wipe away a stray tear, murmuring sweet nothings— then a hushed, “Come sit on my face, babe.” escapes her and you scramble without hesitation.

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dearjiwon · 2 days ago

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FOCUS ──── yu jimin.

── .✦ (🥥) late-night practice was supposed to help you clear your head. but when karina walks in without a word and locks the door behind her, you realize she didn’t come to watch—she came to touch. and now she’s not stopping until you lose focus.

.ᐟ ݁ pairing: dom!idol!karina x sub!idol!reader

.ᐟ ݁ warnings: fingering, mirror sex, nipple play, orgasm denial, semi-public setting, slight degradation, hair pulling, slight thigh riding

.ᐟ ݁ word count: 2.4k

the studio had fallen quiet long ago. the kind of look quiet that blankets everything — soft, low, and humming with the aftertaste of sound. it was late, later than you meant to stay, and the building had emptied little by little over the last hour.

footsteps down hallways, echoes of laughter, the gentle thud of doors closing — all of it had faded. you were the only one left.

you moved through the routine again, muscles aching, sweat clinging to your skin like silk. the overhead fluorescents had been turned off, replaced by the dim ambient lights tucked along the ceiling, casting warm gold across the walls.

it softened everything — the mirror, the shadows, the shape of your body as it turned, dipped, stretched. it made the space feel intimate. private. not just a room, but a refuge.

you weren’t even sure why you stayed behind. the choreography had been drilled into your bones since last week, but something about tonight felt different.

your body still buzzed with the residual energy of rehearsal, of wanting to get it right, of needing to feel it in a way you hadn’t been able to during practice.

and so you kept moving, not for the sake of perfection, but for the quiet rush of being alone — of performing only for yourself, stripped of pressure, unobserved.

except you weren’t.

karina had slipped into the room unnoticed, as silent as a breath, barely a shadow against the hallway light before the door eased shut behind her.

she didn’t announce herself. didn’t speak. didn’t even let her footsteps reach you. she only stood just inside the room, letting her eyes adjust to the low lighting, and settled into a slow, observant silence.

her gaze held you — locked, unblinking, drinking in every movement with a stillness that was almost predatory.

you didn’t notice, too immersed in your own rhythm to feel the weight of her attention. and yet, there was something in the air that shifted.

it wrapped around you like heat, invisible and creeping, making your skin buzz with something just short of awareness.

she watched the way your body curved with each movement, the subtle flex of your stomach when you exhaled, the way your shirt clung to the small of your back, damp and rising slightly with each sharp twist of your hips.

she noticed how your shorts had ridden up, barely clinging to the edge of modesty. and how your sweat shimmered against your neck, collected at your collarbones.

it wasn’t the routine that had her this quiet. it was the way you danced like you didn’t know you were being watched. the way your face softened, lips parted, lashes low, the kind of unguarded expression that performers only wore when no one else was around.

she lingered in that moment like it was art — your body a living painting, one she wasn’t supposed to touch. not yet.

when she finally moved, it wasn’t to say anything. it was to act. slow, deliberate. her fingers curled around the lock and turned it until it clicked into place, quiet but absolute. the sound was nothing more than a whisper under the hum of the lights. but you didn’t flinch.

her approach was soundless, precise. each step closed the distance between you in careful silence, like she was stalking a moment instead of a person.

the heat radiating off your body was the first thing she felt as she got close — the smell of clean sweat, the faint perfume of your skin, the rhythmic rise and fall of your breath as you continued, unaware.

her chest hovered just behind your back. her hand hovered inches above your waist.

to which she touched you with calculated precision. her hands settled on your sides with the confidence of someone who had imagined this exact moment a hundred times over.

her grip wasn’t tentative or testing — it was final. claiming. one palm spread across your lower stomach, pressing you gently but firmly back into her body, while the other slid upward beneath your tank top, finding your heated skin.

you froze at the first contact, body jerking slightly, breath catching in your throat. but she didn’t flinch.

her lips were on your neck before you could even turn your head. open-mouthed and slow, her tongue tasted the salt on your skin before her teeth followed—grazing the delicate line where your shoulder met your throat.

her mouth moved like she’d been starved for you, but her hands remained steady, mapping the terrain of your stomach, your ribs, the slow curve of your sides as she lifted your shirt inch by inch.

you inhaled shakily, eyes flickering to the mirror in front of you, and the reflection nearly knocked the wind out of you.

her. behind you. dark eyes half-lidded, jaw tight, arms wrapped around your frame like she was sculpting you from the inside out. her expression was unreadable,

but her body gave her away — the tension in her shoulders, the way her chest rose and fell against your back, the way her fingers trembled just slightly when they brushed over the curve of your bra.

your shirt came off slowly, tugged upward with expert care. her knuckles dragged along your spine as she peeled the fabric over your head, revealing you inch by inch to the low light and her hungry gaze.

she didn’t pause to admire — not yet. she simply dropped the shirt somewhere behind her, hands returning immediately to your waist, thumbs brushing under the band of your bra like she was testing whether you were ready to fall apart.

and you were.

her fingers curled under the fabric and eased it up, not frantic, not rushed — just slow and sure. each movement was deliberate, as if she wanted you to feel every inch of her skin against yours.

your breath stuttered when her hands cupped your breasts from behind, the heat of her palms seeping into your skin, thumbs dragging over your nipples with just enough pressure to make your stomach tighten.

your eyes fluttered shut, only to open again a moment later when you caught the sound of your own breath fogging the mirror. you looked at yourself, and what you saw made your cheeks burn — flushed skin, eyes already glassy, lips parted as your chest rose and fell against her touch.

karina pressed herself closer. her thigh nudged between your legs, a firm line of muscle you couldn’t help but grind against once. then again. the pressure made you whimper softly, and she felt it — the sound, the way your hips twitched. her lips found your shoulder, tongue tasting sweat before she spoke against your skin, voice a quiet, low hum.

“you’re already so worked up.”

her tone was calm, almost amused. but underneath it was hunger. restraint. the kind that made your pulse flutter.

she let you keep rolling your hips against her thigh, her hands still palming your breasts, teasing each nipple until they stiffened completely. when your rhythm started to stutter — hips searching for more friction than her leg could give — she shifted.

her right hand slid down from your chest, slow and smooth, dragging along your stomach until it reached the band of your shorts. she slipped inside without hesitation, her fingers brushing the damp heat between your thighs.

“fuck,” she breathed, soft and barely there. “you’re soaked.”

your body jolted at the contact. the first touch was featherlight, the backs of her fingers gliding over your folds —

just enough to tease, not enough to satisfy. her touch was confident, practiced, like she knew exactly what you needed and was going to take her time giving it.

then she pressed her fingers flat against your clit, and your breath hitched sharply.

she didn’t move quickly. her circles were slow, lazy, perfectly controlled. your hips rocked down into her hand, chasing the friction, and she chuckled quietly against your neck, her free arm curling around your waist again to hold you steady.

“keep watching,” she murmured. “i want you to see what you look like when i touch you.”

and god — you did. you had to. your reflection was the filthiest thing you’d ever seen: chest rising and falling, nipples peaked from her earlier attention, your face flushed and slack with pleasure as you ground your pussy into her palm.

she dipped her fingers lower. two of them slipped between your folds, slick with arousal, and then one pushed inside — slow, all the way to the knuckle. you gasped, grabbing at the mirror for balance as your walls clenched around her.

your forehead hit the mirror, your legs shaking already. her finger began to move, curling gently inside you with every stroke. then the second finger joined, stretching you open, fucking you deeper, harder. her other hand returned to your clit, resuming those sinful little circles that had your thighs trembling.

“that’s it,” she cooed, her mouth right against your ear. “just let me take care of you. don’t think. just feel.”

and you did. your body melted into her hands, back arching, hips grinding down into the friction she gave you. her fingers were soaked — every pump into your pussy pulling a wet sound from between your legs that made your face burn hotter.

“you hear that?” she asked, fingers thrusting faster now. “listen to how wet you are for me.”

you whimpered. it was all you could do. every nerve in your body was lit up, your hips twitching in frantic little jerks as her fingers worked inside you, dragging slick and hot and relentless, pushing you closer with each pulse of pressure. your body didn’t just want to cum—it ached for it. thighs trembling, stomach tightening, jaw hanging loose as your moans caught in your throat.

you could feel it—the orgasm clawing up your spine, tightening your muscles, cresting, burning bright in your core. it was there, right there, and you pushed your hips back into her hand, chasing it like instinct.

but her fingers… slowed. just enough. just subtle.

still inside you, still moving—but the tempo shifted. her thrusts shallowed. her palm lifted off your clit. she didn’t stop—no, that would’ve been merciful. she changed the way she fucked you. denied you with control.

“no,” she murmured, voice smooth against your neck, low and final. “not like that.”

you choked on a sound—something like a sob, something like a plea. your body kept trying to move, to finish what she’d started, but she held you in place.

her free arm locked around your waist, her other hand still inside you but moving slower now, stroking deeper, more deliberately.

you were twitching. squirming. your clit throbbed, untouched and aching. your pussy clenched around her fingers with every slow pull and push, sucking her in deeper like your body was begging for friction she refused to give.

“you’re close, aren’t you?” she whispered, almost condescending. “too fast. you don’t get to cum like that. not yet.”

you nodded, shaking, desperate. “karina—please—”

her hand moved lower again, fingers slipping out with a lewd sound, coated in your slick. she let them drag against your folds, featherlight, brushing your clit just once and watching you jolt against the mirror. her mouth was at your shoulder now, breathing steady, calm. completely unaffected while you shook for her.

then—her tone changed.

“you want to cum?” she murmured. “then take it like i want you to.”

and suddenly, everything changed.

she fucked her fingers back into you—deep, fast, filthy. her pace was unforgiving this time, like she was making up for every second she’d held back.

her other hand pressed flat against your lower stomach, holding you steady, pushing down to keep the pressure tight inside.

her fingers curled up, right there, right into that soft, spongy place that made your knees buckle. your hands slapped the mirror again, your breath fogging the glass as you gasped, choked, whimpered out her name.

and then she added pressure.

her palm ground into your clit now—hard, perfect. not teasing, not circling. just firm, unrelenting pressure that made your hips snap forward, your thighs shaking as your whole body tried to fight what was coming.

you were moaning now—loud, desperate, the kind of sound that wasn’t even words anymore. your body trembled, sweat dripping down the backs of your knees, your hair sticking to your temples, chest heaving.

she kept going. her fingers thrust faster, deeper, curling just right as her palm rocked into your clit with every movement.

you couldn’t even speak anymore. couldn’t beg. couldn’t breathe.

she kissed your shoulder again, sweet and mocking, and whispered, “there you go. now you can come.”

and you did. your body exploded. your orgasm hit with no warning, no build-up left—it had been building. and now it was everything.

your muscles locked, your back arched so hard it hurt, your thighs clamped tight around her hand as your pussy clenched and gushed around her fingers.

you screamed. sharp. hoarse. your vision went white, your body convulsing like she’d pulled the orgasm straight out of your soul.

her fingers never stopped. they kept going, stroking you through the crash, milking every wave until your legs collapsed beneath you.

she caught you.

one arm held you up, the other still buried in your cunt, now wet and twitching and spent, your thighs slick with your own cum.

your head fell back against her shoulder, mouth open, drool slicking your chin, your eyes unfocused. your chest heaved.

and karina just smiled—soft, smug, her breath hot against your cheek.

your body sagged against the mirror, too drained to hold yourself up. your breath came in shallow, uneven pulls, lips parted as you tried to gather yourself—tried to remember what it felt like to not be unraveling.

her hand slid from your waist to your back, tracing gentle lines over your spine as if she could soothe the trembling away.

she didn’t say anything at first. just let the silence sit between you, heavy and humid, like the echo of what had just happened still clung to the walls.

then, softly, her mouth brushed your temple.

“next time,” she murmured, “i want you to keep your eyes on the mirror the whole time.”

her thumb tilted your chin up, breath tickling your jaw as her voice dipped lower, firmer—

“and focus.”

377 notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 2 days ago

Text

Yeah, 'Cause Maybe Then You'd Want Me Just As Much

Sylus x Mephisto!Reader

In the actual Nightplumes memory, Mephisto actually gets along with the dove but um fuck that, we want it to hurt. Also wanna say the "I'm busy right now" line is from the actual game, which inspired this tbh

Title from "Girl Crush" by Little Big Town

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, jealousy, self-esteem issues, self-worth issues, body dysphoria, shapeshifting, biting, fear of water, storms, pet names, crying, possibly ooc

Word Count: 3,699

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Ugh, doves. They think they're sooo perfect just because they're so round and cute and everyone loves them. Those pathetic little coos. A bird should make real noise, not just those dumb sounds.

So why is Sylus - a man whom you were led to believe had good tastes in avian creatures - giving it so much attention?

You bite his earlobe. His head jerks away on reflex, a soft hiss escaping through his teeth. "Behave," he chides. Doesn't even look at you.

You glare down at the pathetic dove again. Somehow it hurt its wing. And for some godforsaken reason Miss Hunter brought it to Sylus to look after. You know for a fact she has a doctor friend, why not foist it on him until she gets back from her trip? Yeah, Sylus is great with animals, but that's beside the point.

You bite his ear again. He sighs. "Do I have to send you on a mission?" You bristle at the question, feathers standing on end. His brow is furrowed as he gets back to examining the dove's wing. It's not even a bad break; it'll recover in no time.

So why can't he spare a second on you?

You try a different approach. With a more delicate touch, you preen the ends of his hair. He still doesn't glance your way. "I'm busy right now. Go entertain yourself for a bit."

Oh...

You step awkwardly on his shoulder, feeling suddenly too out of place there. Your wing almost clips his head as you take off for your perch. Even here, the wood just feels wrong under your feet. Your feathers are ruffled. They can't seem to relax. A chasm opens in your heart. Synthetic as it may be, you can still feel it. Like a black hole, sucking in all the light.

The dove coos. You can't stay in here. You slip out of an open window and fly off. Where to, you have no idea. Anywhere but here.

"Anywhere" lands you outside the window of a fourth floor hotel room. The light is still on, just a small lamp by the bed, but it's enough to see a familiar figure sitting against the headboard reading a mission brief. You tap on the glass.

Miss Hunter looks up with a start. The surprise quickly turns to a frown. She gets up in a huff and jerks the curtains closed.

You can hear a phone ringing inside a second later.

"Sylus! What have I told you about sending your bird to spy on me?!"

The faint crackle of Sylus's voice answers with a sharp scoff. "I haven't told Mephisto to do anything," he retorts.

"Then why is it outside my window right now, huh?!"

"Why don't you ask?" he teases dryly. "Maybe they missed picking fights with you."

"You-!"

"Goodnight, kitten."

The beep of an ended call. You tap on the glass again, softer this time.

Miss Hunter huffs inside. Moments pass, but the curtains remain drawn shut. You can't tell if the lamp has been turned off; you can't even hear her moving around. Maybe she's decided to take the "out of sight, out of mind" approach. Unsurprising, really. If she isn't ignoring you, she's shouting abuse at you.

A large crack of thunder rumbles through your circuits, stirring the air with electricity. You hadn't even noticed the weather - the clouds are dark, covering every sliver of sky for miles.

You tap on the glass more urgently.

The first droplets of rain begin to fall. Slow, random. And then more and more, all at once in a barrage of water. You press yourself tighter to the window and tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap-

The curtains are thrown open. The window lifts from its sill. Before she can angrily ask why you won't leave her alone, you fly in as quick as you can. Just in the nick of time, it seems, as the rain turns into a proper storm, lightning firing through the sky in a burst of light. You tumble onto the end of the bed, feathers ruffled.

She huffs as she slides the window shut, ready to tease you or yell at you, but another loud boom of thunder makes her flinch and close the curtains quickly, words stolen. "Fine! I guess you can... stay the night," she relents. She rounds the bed to sit back down where she was before. She picks up the tablet with her mission data and holds it up, pointing at you accusingly. "And no telling Sylus about anything you see here, got it?"

You caw back at her. You don't wanna tell Sylus anything right now. It might distract him from his sweet, precious dove...

Knees bent, she sets the tablet on her thighs and starts reading again. Rain hits against the window, picked up by a growing wind that slams it into the hotel building. Another shock of thunder. She curls slightly more into herself.

You preen your feathers. Align them all once more, clean them from the long flight here, soothe your nerves. All the while watching Miss Hunter's reactions to the storm. With every boom of thunder, she's startled from her reading. She does well trying to hide it. You can see the twitch in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders and hands as she holds tighter to the tablet, the way her knees pull in slightly more. It doesn't take a genius to see what's happening. The real question is why she's not doing anything to deal with it. Is it because she's trying to play it cool with you around? Not giving anything away so you'd have less to report back with?

You look around the room. It's nothing special. Certainly nothing as luxurious as the suites Sylus stays in. A suitcase is on the floor by the tv stand. A work bag is set on the desk. The perfect amount of stuff for a week-long work trip, you suppose.

You fly over to the desk, nails ticking against the wood.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

You poke your beak into a few of the pockets on the bag.

"Leave that alone! Don't go through my stuff!"

You wonder for a moment how soundproof these walls are, and just how confused someone listening in would be when she's answered by the caw of a crow.

You finally find what you're looking for in a side pocket and pull it out. It doesn't really fit well in your beak, but you make do. She's just tossed her tablet aside to jump up and bolt over to you, but she stops when you fly back over to the bed.

She blinks at you, confused. "What are you...?" You hop across the cheap bedding and hold out the item to her. She hesitantly accepts your offering, and you drop the earphone case in her hand. Understanding dawns on her. "Oh... thanks."

You walk to the other side of the bed, going around the tablet to roost on top of the untouched pillow. It's kinda hard and lumpy, but at least you're not outside. With that much water, you'd certainly shut down. You have no idea how Sylus would retrieve you if you had, way up here. A bitter part of you wonders if he would.

Miss Hunter watches as you tuck your beak under your wing. You don't really sleep during the night, but you'll manage. She slips the earphones in her ears and plays some music on her phone. The storm outside, the faint pulse of music, and her tapping on the tablet are the only sounds.

She opens the window for you in the morning, when the storm has passed. With one last warning not to follow her or report back to Sylus, she heads out for her mission and you take your time flying back home. She asked about the dove only once during your stay. A bandaid around her finger reminds her not to ask again.

"What time did you get back, pretty bird?" Sylus crosses the room from the doorway, fully dressed for the night and reaching out to scratch you under your chin.

You scoot away, further down your perch, glaring at the pretty white thing on his shoulder. He doesn't try to reach you. He lets you step away, hand dropping and eyebrow raised. "Are you going to be this feisty all week?"

You caw indignantly. Of course you are! That should be you perched up on his shoulder! You should be the one preening under his attention! Instead, Miss Hunter brings along a new, cute little thing, pestering him to take care of it "for her", and now it's the only bird around here he cares about.

He tsks. "You don't have to be jealous, sweetie. It's only for a week. As soon as she gets back, you'll never have to see it again."

The dove flies down from his shoulder to the perch. Your perch! You caw obscenities as you take its place on Sylus's shoulder - your rightful place. He winces at how loud you are directly in his ear, wings spread to give you a larger appearance as you speak your mind to the little dove that seems to only stare up blankly at you.

He smoothes a hand down your back. For a moment you forget how angry you are with him, too, for indulging Miss Hunter with this stupid task. For pushing you away in favor of caring for the pretty little dove. For not saying more when she called him about you. For just that moment, the firing synapses of your circuitry tingle pleasantly where his fingers brush over your feathers and seeing the dove on your perch becomes bearable as you stand on his shoulder, your favorite perch of all.

"Easy, pretty bird. It knows this is your territory," he assures. "It's still young, that's all."

And then you remember that none of this would be happening if this damn bird wasn't here.

You caw one last time at the dove, nibble harshly at Sylus's ear, and retreat through the living room door. You follow the familiar twists and turns up into the tallest heights of the base, into an alcove full of your treasures and soft bedding. You don't come up here often anymore, but it feels safe. The one spot of the house that really is just yours; no matter what Sylus says, this is his territory, you're just given more allowances than other people. And thanks to the times in the past when the twins would try to toss things up as a competition, tossing pebbles and jewels and even bullets, you have the privilege of pulling shut a little door, fully isolating yourself in your sanctuary.

Small lights turn on at the flip of a switch that makes a pleasant click. They shine and shimmer against your piles of trinkets. Coins, jewels, jewelry, a shell casing or two - all in their respective piles.

You hop over to your nest: the finest twigs woven together into a bowl shape, with strips of soft fabric lining the inside. Laying in it is like resting in cupped hands. You imagine they're Sylus's hands, clean from ever having held any other bird in his lifetime. His thumbs smoothing down your sides until your feathers are fluffed and eyes are relaxed shut. Pressing soft kisses to your head as he talks to you. You want to be cared for like that. Is the dove getting that same attention?

You get up from your nest. You can't think about it. Can't allow yourself to linger on the thought for any longer than you already have. So you sort through your things. You begin dividing them up into new piles with a different organization system. One by one, everything is shifted over. You're not sure how long it takes. You don't care.

But once you've finished, it feels wrong. Settles uneasily in your gut. Everything is out of place, even though it's all organized. Everything isn't where it should be. You spend even longer sorting it all back.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Tighten your hands into fists. Dig your nails into your palm as you will your shape to change. Grit your teeth as metal panels try to shift in unusual ways. Synthetic feathers standing up along your head, neck, back and arms, shuttering with the strain.

You release a breath and everything comes back together; metal in place, feathers laying flat, body un-tensed. You pant softly. Inhale deeply, and try again.

It feels wrong. It's like trying to squeeze into a too-small shirt. It won't happen, and the more you try to force it, the more it hurts, the more uncomfortable you are, and the more the fabric strains at the seams.

You gasp deeply. You're lightheaded. You wobble where you sit on the roof, supporting yourself unsteadily against the snow-laden tiles. It takes a minute to pass. Your skin feels misaligned, like a twisted sock. You try to ignore it; it just means you're a little bit closer to succeeding.

"I thought I might find you up here."

You turn away from the voice. From the sound of Sylus's shoes against the roofing. He sits down a few feet away, eyes never giving up their gaze on you. You hate it. For all the time you've known him, his attention on you has never made you uncomfortable or unsettled. Now, you wish he'd just look anywhere else. Go anywhere else.

Secretly, deep down, you're glad he's finally looking at you again.

He tilts his head. Frowns at the strange way your feathers stick up, and the odd shift of the synthetic skin on your back. "The dove is gone," he says.

You nod. "I know."

Quiet.

"Do you want me to apologize?" he asks.

You shrug. "Doesn't matter. It's gone."

"But you're still upset."

You pull your knees to your chest, but you can't pull them up as far as you'd like to. It's like there's too much strain. A rubber band drawn too far out and waiting to snap or break under the tension. You try to ignore it. Play it off. Pretend everything is normal and that this is intentional.

He doesn't buy it for a second. It's the curse of growing up with him. Of being by his side most of your lives. Of course he knows something is wrong.

You listen to the shifting of fabric behind you. Nearly jump at the feeling of cloth placed on your shoulders. His heavy black coat, long and still warm from his body. You don't feel the falling snow. Yet you can't stop yourself from pulling the front closed around you.

His fingers skillfully brush along your feathers, soothing them down with ease. And yet they keep standing back up a moment after, revealing the distress of your thoughts. Before he can say anything, you do.

"Do you wish I was a dove?"

His hand stops, pausing mid pet. He reaches out to turn you toward him. One hand on your knee to face you to him, the other on your shoulder. You wince as he does. And he notices - of course he notices. He's frowning, brow furrowed, as he pulls aside his coat to expose your legs further. You don't meet his eyes, but you feel them.

"Is that what you've been trying to do up here?" he questions, voice tight with concern and gravity. "You can't force yourself into changing-"

"But if I could, would that make you happier?"

You meet his gaze. Imploring, begging him to tell you. Tell you that he's been distant this week because he realized just how much better doves are. Because he realized how much trouble you are, mechanized and synthetic and fake. Because you aren't enough now that you can't be anything more than you are.

His large hands rise to your face, holding your cheeks, keeping your attention on him. He leans forward slightly, foreheads not quite touching. "If you could change again, I would be happy to see you become anything you wanted. Whether that means becoming a dove, or a hawk, or a hummingbird. The shape you take doesn't matter to me, because I fell in love with you. Crow, or dove, or human. Just you."

You search his eyes. Those pretty garnet eyes. Searching for any hint of a lie. But you already know he means it. "You were so dismissive of me..."

He frowns, brow pinched, but he nods. He doesn't deny it. "I know. I'm sorry."

Emotion chokes up in your throat. "You didn't even ask Miss Hunter about me. Or- Or keep that dove from getting up on your shoulder." You hate that you can feel your face crumpling as tears bite your waterline. See the pain in his face as he diligently wipes away the ones that slip free. You hate that you're so emotional over this - over a stupid bird, but- "I don't want to be replaceable. I don't want to be just a pet to you."

"You're not-"

"Then act like it!" His eyes widen, shocked by your outburst. "Just stop pushing me away for Miss Hunter. Stop... stop waving me off and ignoring me. You're all I have, Sylus. I can't- I don't want to be replaced."

A sob tears its way out of you. Sylus can't recall a time he ever saw you crying - before or after the experiments. You were always happy, or curious, or angry. But never had you cried. Synthetic tears wash down your face, and it's his fault. An ache clenches his heart like a closed fist. He did this. He pushed you away, he made you feel unworthy, unimportant. Let a dove take liberties in your territory.

He draws you into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around you. You don't resist, even as he feels your feathers standing on end. They shudder with your cries. He smoothes his palms over them. Brushes them down, scratches the nape of your neck as he gently shushes you. You press your face into his collar. Your fingers curl tightly into his shirt. You hold on. Cling to him like he'll disappear if you loosen up for even a second.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your head. He means it. Deeply. "I should have acted differently. You are my closest friend. My beloved. And I ignored you."

He rubs your back overtop his coat, slowly. Feeling along your spine, your shoulder blades. It's still misaligned. Shifted out of place. You're in pain - because of him.

He's careful as he gathers you into his arms. He scoops you up, cradles you against him while doing his best not to hurt you further; he can't bear the thought of making things worse than he already has. Snow crunches beneath his feet as he stands on the tiles. He turns and begins carrying you inside.

"Let's take care of you now, pretty bird."

Just like trying to squeeze into a too-tight shirt, the removal can be tricky. Sylus makes it seem easy.

He rotates your legs until they pop back into the ball-joint, never lingering any longer than he has to. You lay on your stomach, quietly sniffling, while he seems to massage your back, slowly easing the metal into place. Each fix releases the strain. Each soft click eases your feathers back into a resting position.

When he's finished, he helps you sit up. Your legs overhang the table, dangling in the air. He doesn't look at you at first. Busies himself with grabbing a cloth. But then he looks you in the eye as he wipes away the watery formula of your tears. His brow is tight. Lips pulled down into a frown. His eyes, filled with remorse. You can almost see the plan formulating: all the auctions he could go to to buy the shiniest, most interesting things you love to cheer you up; of all the jewels in his treasuries, which would you like the most, if he doesn't just give them all to you; where will Miss Hunter be and when to give you the perfect opportunity to play tricks on her.

You don't want any of them right now. After a week of being pushed aside, of being distant, all you want is right here in front of you.

You nudge his hand away. He obeys without hesitation, dropping the cloth to the table and holding it there, restraining himself. He watches, slightly bewildered, as you reach out for him. You wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him down to your height, and hold him there.

He stands still. Doesn't do anything.

You squeeze him around his shoulders and he finally moves. Arms circle your waist, hands resting open against your back. You breathe him in, soak in his warmth. Your feathers finally relax. You finally relax.

"I don't hate you," you whisper beside his ear.

He releases a long breath, shoulders sagging under your arms. He's still tentative, still careful as he brushes his nose against your temple. "How can I make it up to you?"

A thousand diamonds. A million. No amount is too much. Nothing too far for him to reach. He would bake in the sun for a week if you said. Fly across the globe in search of the perfect pebble. Give you a whole new set of feathers, darker than midnight and softer than a kiss. He's prepared to give it all - what lengths will you have him go to absolve himself? What would it take for you to forgive him? How can he fix the damage he caused?

"Stay with me."

"You can ask for anything."

You shake your head. Turn your head to bury your face solidly in his neck. "I just want you again."

'Again' tears his heart to shreds. He scoops you up once more, trading places so he sits on the edge of the table with you in his lap. Your territory. "You'll always have me," he swears. "And I will spend lifetimes making sure you never doubt that ever again."

---

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