#just like… the weight of it on your tongue???

[moondustbaby]

Backseat Confessions

Bsf!Rafe x Bsf!Reader

cw: smut, piv, oral (f. rec), unprotected sex

mdni 18+

Summary: A late-night drive with your best friend turns into something filthy and unforgettable when years of tension finally snap in the backseat of his truck — and Rafe makes it clear he’s done pretending you’re just friends.

⸻

The truck was too quiet.

Engine ticking softly in the heat-soaked silence, windows cracked just enough to let in the summer air. My thighs stuck to the leather of the passenger seat as I shifted, trying to ignore the way Rafe kept glancing at me every few seconds — like he was waiting.

Like he knew.

We hadn’t even planned to go anywhere. Just ended up driving around after the bonfire like we always did, the two of us laughing too loud, avoiding the weight of everything that hung heavy in the pauses. His music low, my feet on the dash. Same routine we’ve had since we were sixteen.

But tonight was different.

“Why’re you all quiet now?” Rafe’s voice cut through the stillness, low and cocky. “You were talkin’ my ear off ten minutes ago.”

I glanced at him, heart ticking faster. “I’m not quiet.”

He smirked like he didn’t believe me. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console — close enough to touch. “Yeah, you are. You only get quiet when you’re thinking about doing something you shouldn’t.”

I swallowed hard. “Do you always have to say shit like that?”

He leaned back in his seat, turning his head to look at me fully now. That lazy grin. That look in his eyes — like he was already inside my head and had no plans of leaving.

“What, am I wrong?” His voice dropped. “Tell me I’m wrong, baby.”

I hated the way he said that. Baby. Like it meant nothing and everything at once. Like it was some inside joke between us and I was the only one laughing nervously at the punchline.

I looked out the window. “You think you know everything.”

“I know you.”

The air thickened.

“You been squirming in that seat since we left the party. Wearing that little dress—” he dragged his tongue over his bottom lip. “Knew I shouldn’t’ve let you leave the house lookin’ like that.”

I turned to him slowly. “Let me?”

His smirk widened. “You know what I mean. All those guys staring at you and you still ran back to me the second it was over. Wonder why that is.”

I hated how much I loved hearing it — the me in his voice, all cocky and territorial. I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

Rafe leaned closer, voice low and dirty. “Bet you’re soaked, aren’t you?”

I choked on my breath.

His hand slid across the seat and landed on my bare thigh, hot and possessive. “C’mon, don’t lie to me now. You been sittin’ over there all quiet, all flustered — got that look on your face like you want me to do something about it.”

“You’re not serious.”

His hand crept higher.

I shivered when his fingertips brushed beneath the hem of my dress. He raised a brow, daring me to stop him — knowing I wouldn’t.

“You gonna make me check for myself?”

God, he was filthy. Shameless and smug, and I loved it. Loved the way he looked at me like I was his even if we’d never said the words out loud. Not just friends, not yet lovers. Just two people tangled in something too hot to name.

“You’re all talk,” I muttered.

That did it.

Rafe shifted fast, climbing over the console with zero hesitation, forcing me back against the door as his mouth crashed into mine. Hot. Desperate. Possessive.

I gasped when his hand cupped me over my panties, his thumb pressing right where I needed it. “Yeah?” he growled against my mouth. “Still think I’m all talk now?”

“Fuck—Rafe—”

His fingers moved with purpose, slow and taunting. “You wore this little dress just to tease me, didn’t you?” His lips trailed down my jaw. “Knew you weren’t wearing a bra the second I looked at you.”

I whimpered when he pinched my nipple through the fabric, making me arch into his touch.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Always actin’ like you don’t want me, then you let me touch you like this. So fuckin’ easy for me.”

“You’re such an asshole,” I breathed.

He smirked. “Still lettin’ me feel how wet you are, though.”

He slid my panties to the side and dipped two fingers into me in one slow, slick motion. I gasped, nails digging into his arm.

“That’s it,” he murmured, curling them just right. “So fuckin’ tight. Been thinking about this for months. You have no idea.”

“Then why didn’t you do something?” I whispered, breath shaky as he fucked me slow with his fingers.

“Didn’t wanna ruin it.” His mouth found my neck, tongue dragging over my pulse. “Didn’t wanna fuck it up.”

“You already did,” I moaned. “The second you touched me.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I breathed.

He pulled his fingers out and sucked them clean, slow and filthy, eyes locked on mine the whole time.

“Backseat. Now.”

My whole body jolted.

I scrambled clumsily into the back as he shoved the front seats forward, watching me with hooded eyes and a grin like he’d won a prize. By the time I sat back against the door, he was already between my knees, tugging my dress up, dragging my panties down and tossing them somewhere in the dark cab.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he muttered, pressing open-mouth kisses to the inside of my thigh. “How fuckin’ long I’ve been dreaming about this exact moment.”

I bit my lip as he licked a stripe up my center, slow and possessive. “Rafe—”

“Say it,” he growled. “Say you’ve thought about it too.”

“I have,” I gasped. “God, I have—”

“Say it.”

“I think about you all the time,” I confessed, panting. “When I’m alone. When I’m—fuck—when I touch myself, it’s only ever you.”

That made him snap.

He dove in, tongue working me over like he was starved, moaning against me like the taste of me was his new religion. I cried out when he sucked on my clit, when his fingers slid back inside me and curled just right.

“I’m gonna come—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t let up until I was shaking, legs clenching around his head, hands fisting in his hair as I came hard against his mouth.

When he pulled back, his face was flushed and wet and smug. “So fuckin’ pretty when you come for me.”

He undid his belt with one hand, the other stroking himself slow as he watched me come down from it. He was thick. Hard. Leaking at the tip.

“C’mere,” I whispered, already reaching for him.

“You sure?”

“Rafe,” I breathed. “Please.”

Instead he pulled me onto his lap, my knees bracketing his hips as I lowered onto him inch by inch. The stretch made me gasp, made him groan.

“Fuck—so tight—so fuckin’ wet for me—”

When I sank all the way down, our foreheads touched, breath mingling.

He didn’t move right away. Just held me there, his hands on my waist, his chest rising and falling like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispered.

I kissed him soft, slow, until he started to move — thrusting up while I rode him hard enough to make the whole truck rock. The windows fogged. The air turned thick with moans and skin and gasped confessions.

“Fuck—fuck, you were made for me,” Rafe grunted, fucking up into me harder. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else touches you like this, you understand?”

“Yes—Rafe—please—”

He pulled my dress down to free my tits, sucking one into his mouth, then the other, moaning around them like he was worshipping me.

“Gonna fill you up,” he gasped. “Gonna come so deep inside this pussy you’ll feel me for days.���

“Do it,” I whispered, clawing at his shoulders. ��Come in me, Rafe, please—”

He growled and fucked me faster, rougher, until my vision blurred and I was coming again, crying out his name as he spilled inside me with a curse and a moan that sounded like ‘mine’.

We stayed like that, panting, trembling, stuck together in the heat and sweat and quiet.

Then he kissed my shoulder. My collarbone. My mouth.

“You ruined me,” he whispered. “There’s no going back now.”

“I don’t want to.”

He smiled against my lips. “Good. ‘Cause you’re mine now.”

And I knew — with the way his arms locked around me and his come still dripping down my thighs — that I’d never belong to anyone else again.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this fic is brought to you by sexual tension, a hot truck, and the complete inability to act like normal best friends. rafe went feral and honestly? good for him. if your bsf isn’t fingering you in the passenger seat while saying insane shit like “you’re mine now,” what’s the point. thank you to my brain for cooking this up at 2am and thank YOU for reading my backseat filth.

♥️ lani

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𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@psychicnatural @superlegend216

[rafesangelita]

♡ when frat!rafe is embarrassed to ask bitchy!kook!reader to choke him, but she does it for him anyways..

warnings: sub!rafe, choking, degradation, unprotected sex, asphyxiation, handjob, overstimulation, slight humor

“why do you keep putting my hand around your neck?” you laughed, your hips coming to a stop as rafe gazed up at you with pleading eyes. you were currently seated on top of him, his cock buried balls deep inside your cunt as you rode him like he didn’t have icky friends who could hear everything in the next room. you watched rafe’s cheeks turn red, his jaw ticking as he continued pressing your hand to his throat. arching a brow, you gave his throat a squeeze, a look of relief washing over his face as you tightened your grip. you could’ve sworn you felt him twitch inside of you, a teasing smile gracing your lips as you shook your head.

“oh, so this is what you wanted?” you scoffed, “who would’ve thought that the misogynistic, cocky frat boy liked to be choked? i’d be embarrassed too if i were you..” rafe groaned, your degrading words only turning him on even more. leaning all your weight on the hand you had propped up on his chest, you started bouncing on him once again, this time making sure your nails dug into his skin as he let out a string of curses.

“you’re so fucking pathetic,” you half moaned, “i bet you feel like a real tough guy, huh? you go around bullying your new pledges and making them feel like they’re beneath you, but really you’re the lowest of them all. i wonder what they’d think of you then if they saw you like this, just being used for your cock. that’s all you’re really good for, anyways.” rafe gripped your hips, his eyes screwing shut as he took the blows of your insults to his ego. he had never been talked down on like this, and as sick and embarrassing as it was, you were becoming his newest obsession with every word you spoke against him.

“ah, fuck— please! please let me cum inside you!” he blurted out, his vision growing fuzzy as you pressed down on his windpipe. sliding off of him, rafe hissed as you scooted down and kneeled between his legs, his eyebrows knitting together as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch you. “sorry, i don’t let losers cum inside me.” rafe let out a shaky breath when you took him in your fist, a protest sitting on the tip of his tongue as you started stroking him. “no, please, i’m begging you.” he whimpered, his bangs sticking to his forehead as he started feeling the pounding thumps in his head from the lack of oxygen.

“shut the fuck up,” you stroked him faster, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his hips bucked, “you should be grateful i’m letting you cum at all.” rafe felt like he was on the verge of passing out, his chest caving in as he felt the coil deep in stomach snap, a groan leaving his lips as you finally let go of his neck. rafe was convinced he wasn’t here anymore, his body convulsing as the force of his high wracked through his limbs, his cum decorating his torso as you made no effort to slow down your movements. “f-fuck! wait—” he gasped, black dots spotting his vision as he shook under your touch, “i can’t no more!” he shouted through gritted teeth, his abs constricting as overstimulation set in.

letting go, you left him to go through the aftershocks of his orgasm as you got dressed, slipping your heels back on before throwing your purse over your shoulder and checking your hair in the mirror. rafe turned around, his eyebrows raising as he watched you walk towards his bedroom door. “wait where are you going?!” he shot up, nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled to put some shorts on, “you didn’t— you know.. finish..” he whispered the last part, his face just centimeters away from your own. pecking his cheek, you opened the door halfway, “yikes, i must not be the first girl you’ve said that to.”

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[delicatebarness]

Omg pleaseeee can we have a super soft buckyxreader are in bed together (after activities) and he is having doubts about the New Avengers and his role leading them, reader comforts and reassures him. Anyway she wakes up the next morning to find him getting dressed into his new suit and they have a super soft/fluffy moment? Thank you sm!

someone worth following | bucky barnes

Summary: ^^ Request

Warning: Possible Thunderbolts* Spoilers | Bucky's Anxiety and Self-Doubt | Implied Intimacy / Non-Explicit

Word Count: 678

A/N: I fear I will never stop thinking about Bucky in Thunderbolts*. Also, I hope I did your request and Bucky justice! <3

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

It was long past midnight, and the whispered praises and tangled limbs had settled into a peaceful quiet. The room was warm, the kind of sticky heat that lingered after Bucky opened himself up to you—something he never allowed until you. 

He lay beside you, one arm wrapped around you. His vibranium fingers traced a lazy pattern along your spine, leaving goosebumps to raise in their wake. The other arm was tucked under his head. Your body shifted closer to him, and you let out a content sigh. But you felt it—the tension under your weight. He wasn’t in the room with you, not really.

“Bucky?” you murmured, resting your chin against his chest to look up at him. “Is everything alright?” 

For a second, he paused his fingers. And you thought that maybe he might pretend to be asleep. Until a slow exhale released what seemed like years’ worth of weight. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke. 

Your brows furrowed, suddenly feeling wide awake. “With what?”

“This—” The arm which was previously under his head, now gestured around the room. “This team. Being their ‘leader’. Being an Avenger.” The title sounded bitter falling from his tongue. “Steve made it seem so easy. Why me? They’re all looking at me for answers I don’t have. Shit, I’m still trying to figure out who the hell I am.” 

“Bucky…” you whispered, lifted from him slightly to look at him properly. His blue eyes were fixated onto the tall ceiling like it held the secret cure to all his problems. After brushing a stray strand of his hair back from his forehead, your hand rested on his cheek. “You don’t have to be Steve.” 

“I know,” he said, yet there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “I just—I don’t want to let them down. I can’t get anyone else hurt. Or killed.” 

Leaning in closer to him, your fingers traced over the letters of dog tags and kissed his shoulder. Then his jaw. “You care, James Bucky Barnes. And that already makes you a better leader than most.” 

He turned toward you then, his eyes searching yours and his vibranium grip on your hip tightened.

“You’re steady even when you’re unsure and it’s hard. You think before you act… mostly. You listen. And you’ve never taken this role lightly. They trust you to lead them because they see your worth. And so do I.” 

He blinked, not responding straight away, at least not verbally. Something unreadable passed through his eyes before his arm tensed around you. Bucky pulled you in until you were chest to chest, nose to nose. 

“I’m scared,” he admitted in a breathy whisper. 

“I know,” you nodded. “But you’re not alone.” 

The other side of the bed was cold when you woke a few hours later. With a frown, you blinked against the morning light spilling in through the curtains. “B-Bucky?”

You alerted your attention over toward the vanity mirror upon hearing a rustle from the direction. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze landed on him.

Bucky stood, adjusting the collar of a dark, sleek suit near the mirror. It was black and matte, a subtle, modern armored texture adorning his broad frame. Tailored to him, in every way possible. A red star lined his right arm, catching the light, while his left—gold-and-black vibranium arm—shimmered, bold and unmistakable. The new Avengers insignia sat high, proudly on his chest. 

He looked strong.

Commanding. 

Like a leader. 

His expression softened when he caught your eye in the mirror. 

“You look incredible,” you said, unable to hide your smile tugging at your lips. He turned, and you watched his cheeks pink just a little. “Like someone worth following.” 

He chuckled quietly, crossing the room and leaning down to kiss you. He was soft, lingering. Your fingers reached up to his hair, scraping your nails over his scalp gently.

Pulling back, he rested his forehead against yours. “Dinner tonight?” 

You smiled, nodding. “Don’t leave me waiting.”

___

[vanilleandclove]

playoffs; jack abbot x f!trauma surgeon!reader

pittsburgh has a vibrant pub scene, being of true east coast fashion. when it’s playoff season for the steelers, that can only lead to bar brawls and broken tooths, most times. sometimes it’s bloody knuckles and misogynists. + as jack’s 49th birthday is around the corner, you book him a solo-vacation. 

warnings: violence, harassment towards women, misogyny, alcohol consumption, language, comments on body image/weight by others, talks of the menstrual cycle, trauma induced infertility, postpartum depression symptoms mentioned (non-reader), age gap: reader is 33, jack is 48. word count: 4.7k notes: these are based on two different anon requests! i merged the ideas :) — anon transcript at the end. cenote = natural watering/sinkhole, i’m from the bajío lands of mexico, michoacan to be exact- my family is purely purépecha, and have only been to a cenote twice once in michoacan & cancun. 

Winter dawned onto Pittsburgh with an iron fist, near subzero temperatures, black ice, alcohol flowing into everyone to keep their blood warm, tree lighting ceremony, and most importantly, the Steelers made the playoffs. 

It became a tradition for the Pitt’s senior employees to pass the grunt work off to anyone R3 and under for the night shift and have the new attendings run the emergency room, all to gather around and watch the first game of playoff season. 

You and Heather stood at the bar, patiently waiting for the bartender to serve the three pitchers of beer. She knew you both were regulars, you thank the entirety of 2015 and 2021 when you had Abbot troubles and she had Robby issues, all around, it made for good conversation and excessive gratuity. 

It was crowded, gross, and musty. You almost wanted to scream “Go Pac, go!” just for the shoulders of the blue collared men to stop piercing into your spine. 

“I’ll get you ladies next, as well as those fancy cherries you like hon” Sara pointed at you as she walked into the back to grab the pitchers. You loved maraschino cherries, mostly because you wanted to prove you could tie the stems with your tongue to Jack who doesn’t believe you. 

“I thought boarding was worse, Sara must be swamped” Heather spoke up, yelling a tad from the loud noise around you both that could drown out her words. 

“I know her paycheck is fat during this time of the year” you shouted back, resting your hands onto the bar, glancing down at your engagement ring. 

It's been a long year with Jack, you couldn’t wait for it to be over with just so you have the false sense of a new era starting with your lover; it made for good motivation. 10 years he’s been in your life, a decade, now that made your lower back feel as stiff as a board. 

“Care to explain why we were left out of this?” Dana scooted between both of you, Bridget already occupying the extra chair you brought out for the booth. Dana’s husband was bulky and tall, like a lumberjack- pure midwest, he beelined his way to the bathroom as Dana conversed with you and Heathers

“Since when did you let the girls out to play?” you commented, giving her a hug with your outside arm, it’s been awhile since you’ve had day shift so seeing Dana was sparse. 

“Honey it’s date night, my kids are fast asleep with my eldest babysitting, the girls get to come out” she responded, giving Heather a hug before making her way to the booth. 

You smiled as it filled you with hope. Despite all of the years, kids, stressful jobs Dana and her husband had, they still had time for themselves.

“Can I buy you ladies a drink?” a stranger's voice peeked through, you could smell the alcohol seeping from his pores, his T.J. Watt jersey stained.

“No we’re good, thank you” you responded faster than you could think. 

“Really not even one?” his voice was nasally, grosser than the fact that his hot breath was directly in your face, “Could make y’all have a good time” he got a little too close to your ear. 

Jack made you carry a Swiss Army Knife- specifically the Swiss Champ on you at all times, he even gave you a 30 minute lecture on how to use it, even though you were mainly concentrating on his biceps and triceps flexing at the movement. He clipped them to your car keys, when you wore your jeans he put them on a carabiner with your keys and clipped them onto the belt loop.

“What about you darling? Want a drink with me, I know the perfect way to do jell-o shots, start at the cli-“.

“Okay, I already told you no, just go dude” you cut him off, sensing Heather’s uncomfortably from behind you, “Seriously you reek” you didn’t care for the fact that he towered over you, if he was bulky and the fist he started to make could land you in a worst spot than Dana in August. 

“You have no say for your friend missy” he pressed, anchoring his next to be at eye level to you. In your peripheral, you saw Jack straighten his back, sticking one leg out of the booth, ready for anything if you needed him. “Who knows, maybe I could take both of you”.

You made sure Heather was behind you, beginning to shield her with your arm slightly just so he wouldn’t fully register. “I bet your pussy is tight, soaking from all the attention you’re getting”. 

Within seconds you clocked his jaw, the act leading him to push you by the chest into Heather hard, getting the wind knocked into. Jack and Robby immediately got up and made their way in between you, just before you pounced onto him to throw another punch directly to his nose, the punch only making him more angry to the point where the punch that was supposed to land on your abdomen missed as Robby shoved him and led the punch to land directly on Jack’s arm that shielded your chest. 

You felt the blow nonetheless, cushioned, you still heard a groan leave Jack’s mouth. Just as Jaime, the bouncer, put the man in a citizen's arrest and quickly threw him out, Sara didn’t charge you for the pitchers or cherries, even threw in espresso martinis for you and the girls.

You all sat around the booth, Bridget in the chair, watching the Steelers versus the Packers, it was barely the second quarter. “How’s your arm?” you nudged your elbow lightly into Jack’s waist as his arm draped over your shoulders, holding your free hand and playing with your engagement ring.

“It’s fine, nice punch” Jack complimented, gaining a peck from you in response, “What even happened?”.

“You don’t wanna know” you responded, his eyes not leaving yours. He took your word for it even if it did bother him of not knowing. 

“So Rambo, I guess we should add Rocky onto your list of nicknames” Robby joked, his arm draped around Heather’s shoulder. 

You chuckled, taking a sip of Jack’s beer that you swore always tasted better, “I ain’t from Philly Robby” you deadpanned sarcastically.

“What about Rocky Marciano? He's a pure Masshole” Dana’s husband budded in smoothly. 

You nodded, “Brockton ain’t Boston” you shrugged, refusing to have another nickname of a Sylvester Stallone character, “On the other hand, we could go has Rocky and Adrian for Halloween next year” you added looking at Jack.

“I’m not putting on a red beret”.

“You’re breaking my heart Adrian” you feigned a Stallone voice only for Jack to shut you up with a kiss. 

“Do you guys have a date set?” Bridget popped the question everyone was dying to ask for the past two months since he proposed in October- after three back to back surgeries and while you were eating pizza from the same place your old apartment was next to.

You half-loathed the memory as your hair was greasy and disheveled, the makeup you had on was haphazardly wiped off with the spare makeup wipes you left in your glove compartment, your reading glasses on, and you had just pounded down a Dr. Pepper and needed to burp. 

“Not yet, I’d get married to her in the damn courthouse tomorrow but this one’s insistent on a ‘longer engagement’” he mimicked you. 

You sighed, “I want to get married in Nantucket- or Rhode Island, heaven forbid I want both our families there except his brother” you breathed the last part.

“What’s wrong with Abbot’s brother?” Heather inquired, Dana nodding as she wanted to know as well.

“You wanna tell them about Thanksgiving or do I?” you pressed, looking back to Jack.

He exhaled, “My brother made a comment on her ass- told her she must be pregnant ‘cuz her hips were wider than normal”.

“Not just that!” you added on, “He told Jack’s mom only for her to touch my stomach and ask if it was a boy or girl, it was a complete hazing ritual!” you laughed as you recalled the memory.

You did take a pregnancy test that night, only for it to be negative. Jack did assure you it’s probably just your ovulation coming, he had a bad- well good habit of knowing your cycle just by your body. 

During follicular, your nipples would darken, skin become a bit firmer than usual and you felt at ease from the in between of your period to ovulation. Luteal, especially the few days leading up to your period, you craved salt, and sex- a mix of the two and you’d have him laying down as you sucked him dry, you were insatiable during the time, your breasts heavier. Your period came during the night most times, so you’d wear a pad just in case the day before, sometimes you’d beat the hormones and start first thing in the morning, he noticed your hair would dry faster after the shower and you’d sleep more peacefully with his hand right onto your bare lower stomach. Ovulation sent him on a frenzy, truth be told he didn’t care about where in your cycle you were, if you wanted him, you had him. Your breasts were fuller, you felt more energized and sure enough, your hips widened. 

“Yikes” Robby broke the silence as they all digested what was told, “So, Nantucket?”.

“He wants Martha’s Vineyard but even for both of our salaries and older families, all that accommodation may just send us straight to the gutter” you elaborated, “Should’ve gotten married when I was 30 and we weren’t on the verge of a recession” you joked. 

“Just for that, no wedding ‘til you’re forty”.

“Speaking of big birthdays, what y'all doing for your 50th?” Dana smiled and nodded towards Jack.

“Nasty sex and barbecue?” you joked, Jack pointed at you just as he was about to speak up.

“And that is why I’m marrying her” Jack laughed, “It’s in a year, we’ll figure it out”.

The Steelers ending up advancing in the playoffs, you did eventually prove to Jack the cherry tie, only under a different roof. The next day, you all were swamped during the night shift as it approached 10 pm. 

You couldn’t lie, the engagement led you to be far more touchy. At any given moment, you wanted your hands on Jack. 

“40 year old male, TMGSW, he was stable upon arrival but during transport he kept crashing, gave him 50 of fent” the EMT ran over, it was an odd night to be running the trauma rooms.

Jack loved seeing you work, technically, you were his boss after Greene handed over the trauma department to you. He got a kick out of it as he claimed it made him a trophy husband. 

As the EMTs left, you and Ellis took over as you did an exam, only to realize his blood wasn’t circulating to his legs. “Blood flows unstable, can you call and see if there’s an OR available?”.

“They’re all filled, three with general, four with peds, I think a couple are ortho” an intern responded, only gaining a ‘tsk from you. Gloria gave a briefing to the surgical department earlier this week on maintenance in the operating rooms, leading for several of them to be closed.

“Fuck it, gown me, authorized personnel only, Parker you with me on this?” you shook your head.

“Want me to get Abbot?” she clarified as the nurses gowned and gloved both of you. 

“No- I need all the interns and med students to go to Doctor Abbot or Bridget, they’ll place you on a different case” you announced, clearing the room. “Have you ever seen a thoracotomy?” you asked.

“You and Abbot did one together my intern year,” Parker responded. 

“Good, so you know I’m not bullshitting” you replied, “I need a surgical tray and rib spreader”.

It took 30 minutes for you and Parker to complete the patient’s thoracotomy, never before have you seen her that intrigued. She held a heart in her hands- a beating heart.

“Excellent work Doctor Ellis” you told her, removed your gown and gloves as you sent the man to the ICU for observation and comfortability, you forced them to give him a bed. 

“I don’t know who’s more badass, you or Abbot”.

“He’s got the combat medic thing to bring to the table, I have the magic hands” you joked, dismissing her to do her own work as you met up with Jack at the nurse’s station.

“Your future wife just did a thoracotomy successfully with Ellis” you lightly bragged, your hand finding its way to his bicep, giving it a squeeze. Jack smirked, removing his eyes from the charts. 

“You know our shift isn’t over until 7 right?” he teased.

“I’m on an adrenaline high, sorry for being so needy for my insanely sexy fiance” you breathed, only to hear the beloved voice of none other than Myrna.

“I hear congratulations are in order for the happy couple!” you both haven't seen Myrna since before the engagement, she usually spends her times with the day shift.

“Not married yet Myrna, he’s still all yours” you responded to her, your hand finding itself resting on his forearm as he continued to chart. 

“Honey, lock him down, there’s patients all over the place ready to take him” she smiled at you, “If you guys have a daughter what will her name be?”.

“Haven’t decided yet Myrna” Jack intervened, “Might just have to get those baby name books from the gift shop” he looked into your eyes as he said the last part. 

Myrna wheeled off, leaving you two to yourselves. Jack was still doing yours and his charts which he seldomly enjoyed, took the heat off him while it could. Your hand caressed up and down his forearm, a bruise was forming on where the punch landed.

“How’s the arm baby?” you whispered to him.

“Fine, a little sore, nothing I haven’t felt” he told you, “You know you’ve gotten exceptionally clingy” he added, only for you to remove your hand when you noticed, “It’s not a bad thing, the amount of years I resisted, I’m surprised I haven’t taken you in a spare room”.

“I don’t know… It just feels good” you confessed, “You’re all mine and I got something tangible to prove it”.

“Me being around all the time wasn’t tangible enough? Or the nurses gossiping about our dirty talk that’s enough for a HR complaint if this department was anyway normal?” he quirked a brow.

“Give me your children and we’ll have another tangible thing” you teased.

“Playing with fire Doctor L/n” he responded.

“Oh you love it Doctor Abbot”.

Since August you and Jack had some instances where you thought you were pregnant, ever since Heather told you about her miscarriage, you refused to see a fertility doctor until you’ve run out of every possible option. However, your gynecologist said you were in good shape fertility wise, she made the claim that the more you expect it, the less chance it’ll happen.

Nevertheless, Jack got his labs done, perfectly normal, if anything, his sperm count was high. His therapist was shocked when he brought it up last session, thinking the trauma of his job and past were enough to shock his nerves and stunt fertility. Maybe it was all just timing.

Until Jack got even more panels done, only to reveal that his therapist was correct, he was the problem. Not having the heart to tell you, he saved it for a better day to come, hoping it was all temporary. 

The shift continued on, bar brawls and black ice, in true Pittsburgh fashion during football season. He drove you both home, seeing you dozed off in the passenger seat, he loved the days he worked with you. 

Jack enjoyed carrying you, though his back would hate him for it later, came with the job description. Your bags on both sides of him and you asleep in his arms as he made his way to the bedroom.

You groaned upon him sitting you down on the living chair. Remembering the one nonnegotiable rule.

Never take work to bed- physically and metaphorically speaking. He took your scrubs off, almost ready to give you a sponge bath because you gained clarity and consciousness. You did the rest, after extensive nights, you both settled for showering together, he washed you, you washed him. He gripped onto the support bar and you, it was a routine. He loved it. Gave him a chance to feel you all alone, he loved sex with you, just as much as he loved being nonsexually intimate with you.

The man would cut your toenails if asked, when you get sick once a year he’d gladly discard the tissues filled with snot, and didn't mind a single thing about living life with you. 

As he brushed his teeth while sitting on the stool, you took it upon yourself to massage his shoulders. 

“You know when you get lab work done it gets sent to my work email?” you brought up, kneading the knots in his shoulders as your comment made him anxious. He chose to remain silent and you understood, “Baby” you honestly didn't know about the labwork until you had to contact a patient to see if she could come in for a follow up.

He spat out the toothpaste, feeling your sensitivity towards him, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath before finally choosing to speak. “It could be temporary, maybe I just need to lower my stress levels”.

You looked at him through the mirror before crouching down to be at eye level with him in your eyes, staring into his eyes. “You know I love you regardless of if we have kids or not” you told him, “Don’t beat up yourself over things that are minuscule”. 

“I want them just as much as you do” Jack sighed, resting his forehead on yours, gripping the nape of your neck, “I have an appointment on Monday, gonna see what’s going on with me”. 

You sighed, “Maybe it’s a sign for an extended vacation” you hinted, “Get away for a few weeks, come back home to me…”.

“Like I’d go anywhere without you” he scoffed, only to realize the look on your face was sure “You’re not serious are you?”.

“Babe, we're together 24/7, it’s good to have your own time. Away from sperm tests, OB-GYNEs all up in there, fuck and work, Jack Abbot you’re not a soldier anymore sir” you told him, lightly joking, “For the past month you’ve been working on adrenaline-infused autopilot. I love you, but you can rest sometimes you know?”.

When you were met with silence you decided to speak up again, handing him an envelope with a plane ticket to Tulum that you hid in your gym bag. “Take a break, relax. At least sometime in the near future, I’m not going anywhere- hell I might just have Heather fill in for you so I don’t sleep alone” 

“Baby..” he opened the envelope, “Weren’t we saving this trip for Fourth of July?”.

“Already cleared it all with Bridget and Dana, I’m taking your caseload” you shrugged, you had the idea of him going on a vacation alone since last year, knowing he needed it. “You leave in a week from today” you smiled at him as relief washed over him, “It’s only for a week but when you get back maybe you and Robby can have something together, regain your groove”.

“Honey, I have my groove” he nodded, “I can’t go to Tulum without you”.

“Eh, we’ll do Cancun during the summer, a couple weeks, go exploring” you shrugged, “Have poolside sex in the private pool, fuck me proper” you whispered in his ear. “Oh! And the food”.

“You have quite the dirty mouth”.

“I wonder who influenced me”.

Truth of the matter was, you wanted to surprise him for his birthday. Wanted to throw a bigger get together than what you both originally planned and the only way Jack wouldn’t be at home or in Pittsburgh is if you were both on vacation or his brother convinced him to spend more than 2 hours with him.

“That 400k a year really does work wonders” he commented, “You can’t just go with me?”.

“Then it wouldn’t be alone time would it?” you told him, helping him get up from the stool holding him secured by the elbow. “Let me do this for you”.

He nodded, “You sure you can handle both our caseloads though?” letting you lead the way to the bed. “It’s just a huge ask hon”.

“Nothing I haven’t had before” you shrugged, letting him sit on the edge of the bed, “Don’t worry about baby” you noticed his sense of worry, “Plus when you get back, birthday sex”

“Oh god” he groaned, smiled from the thought but also realized he will be 66 at the kid’s graduation if you guys have a kid now after doing the math.

But that would certainly be a miracle. 

“49 isn’t that big of a deal” he spoke up, placing you between his leg and stump, planting kisses on your lotioned stomach.

“It is with the year we had” you ran your fingers through his grey curls. Hands never leaving him. You weren't wrong, with Pitfest and your near breakup, this past Halloween when you got alcohol poisoning after a stressful week, the week after Thanksgiving when Jack had inconsoble back pain from stress and work. Everything positive was a big deal.

The rest of the week passed, you had dropped Jack off at the airport Tuesday night, telling him to text you when he made it to Denver for his layover. He didn’t wanna leave you, but you knew it would be best for his own sanity. 

It was an interesting week without Jack. He got hooked on facetiming you every single night, sometimes twice a day, before and after he showered. Most of the time you were swamped at work, trying to not show your stress visibly. He knew it beyond the screen, could see the stress lines form between your brows, the lack of sleep prevalent under your eyes.

“Baby just go home” he sighed, he knew Gloria was on your ass the entire week and since you were already working overtime- 2 hours to be exact, the surgical department had separate scheduling most days. The logical decision would be to book it. Jack was awake bright and early for a tour in the cenotes of Tulum, it was 7:30 for you and 6:30 for him. 

You nodded, holding your phone towards the ceiling as you talked to your patient Sadie, she came in with a kitchen knife lodged in her wrist. She was a new mom and the sleep deprivation and postpartum only led to her lack of concentration while cooking. 

“Babe, I’ll call you back when I get home, gotta check up on my new mom” you told him, he looked calm and tanned through the phone. Couldn’t deny your mind, your future husband looked perfect. He understood you better than anyone, understood your job and life. 

“Okay, stay safe, I love you” he told you over the phone, he knew you were tired to the point where it didn’t register and you just hung up, your brain on autopilot.

“Hey hon, everything okay? Want me to get you anything? Any questions?” You asked lightly, checking her I.V. and antibiotics. 

“Do you know when I’m getting discharged? My sister’s at home but she’s leaving at 6:50 before my husband gets off work” she muttered, her throat dry from the intubation tube during surgery. 

“The knife was poking near your ulnar artery, a centimeter closer, you’d be in grave danger in a matter of minutes. Your body took a considerable amount of an adrenaline boost that led your blood pressure to skyrocket and your heart to go into what we call a silent heart attack” you told her, “Thankfully we caught it as it occurred and were able to reverse any damage but two operations in less than 24 hours- especially a strenuous one in the heart, I morally and medically can’t discharge you for at least two days” you looked at her in the eye, “I’m going to ask Bridget, my charge nurse, to transfer you to the post-op wing, it’s a bigger room and more comfortable- if not, I’ll go there myself to get you a bed”. 

“You’re a godsend” she sighed, her eyes swelling up with tears, “Do you have one?”.

“Hm?”.

“A baby” she clarified. 

“Oh no- not yet” you smiled at her, standing at the edge of her bed.

“You’re going to be an amazing mother” she complimented. 

“Thank you” you breathed, “Day shift staff will be coming in a few minutes. I’ll ask my resident Doctor Mohan to check up on you, she’s a really smart and kind person, very easy to talk to” you smiled back at her. You needed a coffee, swearing you would pass out behind the wheel.

It took a few minutes while you were back at the computer ready to clock out to realize you hung up on Jack without saying “I love you”. That was enough for you to start crying at the computer, tired and overwhelmed, and just in time for Gloria and Robby to walk up to you, greeting you with a good morning.

“You okay Rocky?” Robby quirked a brow, placing a coffee cup right next to you.

“Doctor L/n, go home, you’re almost 3 hours overtime” Gloria spoke up, earning a concerned look from Dana, Heather, Robby, and Samira.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Whitaker blurted, the poor kid, heart in the right place except his shift was going to start in 5 minutes.

“Nah it’s okay kid, I’m fine” you wiped your tears, they couldn’t tell if your eyes were bloodshot from the tears or lack of sleep.

“I’m going to ask if Emery can fill in for your surgical cases, Jamie can take Jack’s workload” Dana told you, “Now get the hell out of here before we call your union rep”.

You chuckled, getting your bag from the corner of the desk, letting your hair down for the first time in hours. “Doctor Mohan, I have a new mom, accidentally stabbed herself with a kitchen knife- the adrenaline triggered her BP to boost and she had an MI while on the table. She’s in South 3, I told her you’d be the perfect doctor to talk to when I clock out. Please check up on her?” you spoke to her as you walked off.

“No problem!”.

You made your way to Jack’s truck in the parking lot, choosing his truck over your car because it smelt like him all over. 

He'll be back soon; you mumble to yourself. Made all the exhaustion and stress feel a little bit tolerable. 

dividers by @cafekitsune

anon #1: Jack Abbot x fem reader. Everyone at the Pitt is having drinks at some bar after the shift. Until some assholes got touchy and angry when one of the girls and she just defended them despite having the boys over too. Jack only observe since he knows his gf can handle it. He would interfere when things got out of hand. Badass gf, asshole, violence. Do however you want to. Thanks!!! :)))

anon #2: Hey!! Love all your fic for Jack Abbot❤️❤️ Can I request Jack Abbot x fem reader? Whoever loves language is touched and Jack just accepts the fact that she is. Especially when she visits the Pitt, she would be close to him, hold his hand/arm/back/every where she could touch and Jack just let her despite everyone who knew him, that he's never letting anyone touch him like that. Just something cute, soft, kisses, suggestive. Thanks!!! :)))

[elswhore]

KEEP EM' ENTERTAINED

summary ── you, the daughter of a powerful man who owns the city, navigate a growing, intense attraction with ellie, a new hire tasked with cleaning your family's mansion.

warning ── mdni. class difference. older ellie. rough sex. fingering. face sitting. unrequited feelings. forbidden attraction.

you lean against the polished mahogany railing of the staircase, your fingers tracing the intricate carvings absentmindedly.

from your vantage point, you can see ellie moving through the foyer below, her movements, trying not to disturb the space she occupies.

the new hire.

the cleaner.

her auburn hair is tied back in a messy bun, a few strands slipping free to frame her face as she kneels to scrub the marble floor.

she’s thorough, focused, but every now and then, her eyes flick upward toward you.

it’s not the first time you’ve caught her staring.

yesterday, when you passed her in the hallway, her gaze lingered just a fraction too long, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

today, it’s bolder.

her green eyes hold yours for a heartbeat longer than they should, sharp and searching, before she ducks her head back to her work.

your stomach tightens, a slow coil of heat you can’t quite name.

you shift your weight, the floor creaking faintly beneath your boots, and her head snaps up again.

this time, she doesn’t look away.

the rag in her hand stills, forgotten, as her eyes trace the lines of your figure.

there’s something raw in her expression, something that makes your pulse quicken.

you could call her out, demand to know why she’s looking at you like that, but you don’t.

you let the silence stretch, let the weight of her stare settle into your bones.

she stands slowly, wiping her hands on her jeans, leaving faint smudges of soap suds.

the distance between you feels charged, like the air before a storm.

you’re the daughter of the man who owns this city, everyone in town knows your name, your face, your power.

people don’t look at you like this.

not with such unguarded intensity.

but ellie does.

and it’s unraveling you in ways you didn’t expect.

you take a step down the stairs, your movements deliberate, testing the waters.

her eyes follow you, unwavering, though her jaw tightens slightly, like she’s bracing herself.

you pause, one hand resting on the banister, your body angled toward her.

the space between you is still vast, but it feels like nothing at all.

you can see the faint flush creeping up her neck, the way her fingers flex at her sides, like she’s fighting the urge to move closer.

or maybe to run.

“ellien” you say, your voice low, testing the sound of her name on your tongue.

it’s the first time you’ve spoken to her directly, and her reaction is immediate, her breath catches, her shoulders stiffen, but her eyes don’t leave yours.

they’re darker, pupils wide, and you swear you can see the pulse jumping at the base of her throat.

“yes, ma’am?” her voice is rougher than you expected, a little husky, and the formal address lands strangely, like it doesn’t belong in this moment.

it’s polite, deferential, but there’s an edge to it, a challenge hidden in the way she says it.

like she knows you’re untouchable, but she’s daring to push anyway.

you don’t answer right away.

instead, you tilt your head, letting your gaze roam over her, her faint scar cutting through her eyebrow, the freckles scattered across her nose.

she shifts under your scrutiny, but she doesn’t break eye contact.

the tension is a living thing now, coiling tighter with every second that passes.

you could step closer.

you could tell her to get back to work.

you could do anything, and she’d have to listen, because of who you are, because of the power your name carries.

but that’s not what you want.

not really.

the grandfather clock in the corner ticks loudly, each second stretching the moment thinner.

ellie’s lips part again, and for a fleeting second, you think she might say something to break the silence.

but she doesn’t.

she just watches you, waiting, her eyes burning with something you can’t quite decipher but can’t look away from either.

you take another step down.

the gap between you shrinks, and the air feels hotter, heavier, like it’s pressing against your skin.

her fingers twitch, and you wonder what it would feel like if she reached out, if she closed the distance.

you wonder if she’s thinking the same thing.

the tension snaps like a taut string when your father’s voice booms through the house, warm and commanding.

“little doll! im off to work, come see me!” his words echo up the staircase, pulling you out of the charged moment with ellie.

your head turns instinctively toward the sound, but before you move, you glance back at her.

ellie’s still standing there, rag clutched loosely in her hand, her eyes locked on you.

the intensity in her gaze hasn’t faltered, but theres a flicker of disappointment, maybe, or frustration, like she knows this moment is slipping away.

her lips press into a thin line, and for a split second, you think she might step forward, say something, anything, to hold onto whatever this is.

but she doesn’t.

she just watches, her chest rising and falling a little too quickly, the flush on her neck still betraying her.

you hold her stare for a beat longer than you should, your own pulse hammering in your ears.

there’s a pull in your chest, an urge to stay, to see how far this unspoken thing can go.

but your father’s voice lingers, a reminder of who you are, of the world you belong to.

you turn away, the motion feeling heavier than it should, and start down the rest of the stairs.

your fingers tighten around the banister, grounding yourself as you cross the foyer, your polished shoes clicking against the marble.

your father’s waiting in the grand entryway, his tailored coat draped over one arm, his briefcase in hand.

he’s a towering figure, the man who owns this city, his presence filling the room with effortless authority.

his smile is wide and fond as he sees you approach, oblivious to the storm of tension you’re leaving behind.

“there’s my girl.” he says, pulling you into a quick, familiar hug.

“ill be gone a week this time, business in the capital, keep things in order here, yeah?” you nod, forcing a smile.

your father’s driver opens the door, and he’s gone in a flurry of instructions and the clink of his watch against his cufflinks.

a huff escapes your lips, the sound swallowed by the vast emptiness of the estate.

the loneliness creeps in, familiar and heavy, settling into your bones like the chill of the early morning.

he’s gone for a week, and while that should feel like freedom, it only amplifies the quiet, the way the house seems to hold its breath without him.

you pull your blazer tighter around you, the fabric doing little to ward off the feeling, and turn back inside.

the heavy door shuts behind you with a soft thud, the warmth of the foyer wrapping around you but doing nothing to thaw the restlessness stirring in your chest.

you pause, your eyes sweeping the space, and there she is ellie, standing near the base of the staircase, her cleaning supplies neatly packed away in a bucket at her feet.

she’s done for the morning, it seems, her flannel sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing the faint outline of a tattoo peeking out from under the fabric.

her auburn hair is still tied back, but a few more strands have slipped free, catching the light filtering through the tall windows.

she doesn’t notice you at first, her head tilted slightly as she wipes her hands on a rag, her movements slow and methodical.

the sight of her, so at ease in a space that feels too big for you today, pulls you toward her almost against your will.

the boredom, the loneliness, the lingering heat of her earlier stare, it all collides, pushing you to close the distance.

“ellie.” you say, your voice cutting through the quiet.

her head snaps up, and there it is again, that sharp, searching look in her green eyes, the one that makes your pulse skip.

she straightens, tossing the rag into the bucket, and you catch the faintest flicker of surprise in her expression before it smooths into something neutral, respectful.

“ma’am?” she replies, her voice low and rough, the word carrying that same undercurrent of defiance you heard earlier.

it’s polite, but it feels like she’s testing the boundaries, seeing how you’ll react.

you take a step closer, your boots clicking softly against the marble, and gesture vaguely toward the foyer.

“you’re done already? you’re quick.” she shrugs, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but her eyes don’t leave yours.

“not much to do today, place was already pretty spotless.” there’s a pause, and then, quieter.

“figured i’d get it done before you needed the space.” you nod, but the silence that follows feels too heavy, too loaded.

the boredom gnaws at you, and the idea of retreating to your study or wandering the empty halls alone is unbearable.

you tilt your head, studying her, the scar on her brow, the freckles dusting her cheeks, the way her hands flex slightly at her sides, like she’s not sure what to do with them now that she’s not working.

she’s older than you, you realize, though you’re not sure by how much.

there’s a steadiness to her, a quiet confidence that feels out of place for someone in her position, and it intrigues you.

“how old are you, ellie?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can overthink it.

it’s a simple enough start, something to break the monotony, to keep her here a little longer.

her brows lift slightly, like she wasn’t expecting you to care about something so mundane.

she shifts her weight, leaning against the banister, and the movement is casual, almost too relaxed for someone speaking to the boss’s daughter.

“twenty-three.” she says, her tone even, but there’s a spark in her eyes, like she’s curious about why you’re asking.

“you?”The question catches you off guard, no one asks you things like that, not so directly.

“nineteen.” she nods, and you swear you see the corner of her mouth twitch, like she’s holding back a smile.

“young to be running a place like this.” she says, her voice careful but laced with teasing.“i don’t run it.”

you say, a little too quickly, your tone sharper than you intended.

“my father does... i just… keep things in order when he’s gone.” her eyes flicker over you, taking your posture, the way you’re standing just a little too stiffly.

“could’ve fooled me.” she murmurs, and the words feel like they carry more weight than they should, like she sees more than you want her to.

the air between you shifts, the tension from earlier creeping back in, slow and deliberate.

you should walk away, go back to your study, let her get back to whatever she does when she’s not working.

but you don’t.

instead, you take another step closer, close enough now that you can see the faint sheen of sweat on her temple, the way her fingers curl slightly, like she’s fighting the urge to reach out or pull back.

“what’s it like?” you ask, your voice softer, conspiratorial.

“Working here, i mean.. in this house..in this town.” her expression shifts, something guarded flickering in her eyes, but she doesn’t look away.

“it’s… quiet..” she says after a moment, her voice low, like she’s choosing her words carefully.

“people don’t talk much, not to me, anyway, but i see things, hear things, your family’s got a lot of eyes on them.”

you feel a jolt, like her words have brushed against something raw.

she’s not wrong, everyone in this city watches you, waits for you to slip, to prove you’re more than just your father’s shadow.

but the way she says it, the way her eyes hold yours, makes you feel exposed in a way you’re not used to. “and what do you see?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it, your voice barely above a whisper.

ellie’s gaze sharpens, and for a moment, you think she might deflect, might retreat into the deference she’s supposed to show.

but instead, she leans in just a fraction, her voice dropping to match yours.

“i see you,” she says, and the words land like a spark on dry tinder.

“not just the fancy clothes or the big house, you’re… different, like you’re waiting for something.” your breath catches, and the space between you feels impossibly small now, charged with something you can’t name but can’t ignore.

her eyes are locked on yours, unflinching, and you feel the weight of her words settle into you, heavy and warm.

you could step back, break the moment, remind her of the lines that separate you.

but you don’t.

you stand there, caught in the pull of her gaze, the loneliness you felt earlier dissolving into something sharper, something that feels dangerously alive.

──────────────────────────────

the second day without your father dawns quieter than the first, the sprawling house still cloaked in that heavy, expectant silence.

you’ve retreated to your art room, a sunlit space tucked away in the east wing, where canvases lean against walls and the air smells faintly of turpentine and dried paint.

it’s one of the few places in the mansion where you feel untethered, where the weight of your last name doesn’t press so hard.

today, you’re trying to paint yourself, a self-portrait, an attempt to capture the restlessness churning inside you.

the canvas stares back, half finished, your features rendered in soft, uncertain strokes.

it’s not right.

it’s not you.

you’re perched on a stool, wearing a loose, sleeveless dress that clings lightly to your frame, the neckline dipping lower than you’d wear in public, the hem riding up your thighs as you shift to adjust your brush.

the fabric feels like a rebellion against the polished blazers and tailored slacks you’re usually seen in, a small act of defiance in this too big house.

you’re so focused on the canvas, on the way the light hits your painted cheekbone, that you don’t hear the door creak open.

“knock knock.” ellie’s voice cuts through the quiet, low and teasing, pulling you out of your thoughts.

you turn, paintbrush still in hand, and there she is, leaning against the doorframe, her flannel unbuttoned at the collar, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

her auburn hair is half loose today, brushing her shoulders, and her green eyes flick from you to the canvas with a spark of curiosity.

you raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumps at her sudden presence.

“didn’t realize you were invited.” you say, but there’s no real bite in your tone.

you’re glad she’s here, even if you won’t admit it.

the boredom has been gnawing at you all morning, and her arrival feels like a gust of fresh air.

“figured I’d check on the boss lady.” she says, stepping into the room, her boots scuffing softly against the hardwood.

“see what you get up to when you’re not giving orders.” her eyes linger on you for a moment, catching the exposed curve of your collarbone, the way the dress hugs your thighs, before she glances at the canvas.

“that you?” you nod, setting the brush down and wiping your hands on a rag, smearing a streak of ochre across your knuckles.

“trying to be, not sure it’s working.” you tilt your head, studying the painting, then look back at her.

“what do you think?” ellie steps closer, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans, and you notice the way her gaze sharpens as she takes in the canvas.

her lips twitch, and for a second, you think she’s going to laugh.

she catches herself, but not fast enough.

a low, stifled chuckle escapes, and she covers her mouth with one hand, her eyes glinting with mischief.

you huff, crossing your arms, the motion pushing your cleavage up slightly, though you don’t notice.

“what’s so funny?” you demand, your voice edged with mock indignation.

“go on, say it.” she shakes her head, still fighting a grin.

“it’s… uh, it’s not bad,” she says, her voice betraying her amusement.

“just… doesn’t look much like you, too stiff, you’re not that…”

she gestures vaguely at the canvas, searching for the right word.

“posed.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips.

her honesty, blunt and unfiltered, is a stark contrast to the careful deference you’re used to from everyone else.

“fine, artist.” you say, tossing the rag onto the table and leaning back on the stool, your thighs shifting slightly, the dress riding up another inch.

“if you’re so good at it, why don’t you draw me?” ellie’s smirk falters for a split second, her eyes flicking to you, then away, like she’s suddenly aware of the challenge she’s walked into.

“me?” she says, pointing to herself, her voice a little higher than usual.

“draw me, let’s see if you can do better.” she hesitates, her gaze darting to the sketchbook, then back to you.

“alright.” she says, her voice dropping into that low, rough register that sends a shiver through you.

“but don’t blame me if it’s worse.” she crosses the room, picking up the sketchbook and pencil, and pulls a chair over to sit a few feet away, facing you.

you adjust your pose, leaning back slightly, one hand resting on the edge of the stool, the other brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

the dress shifts again, the neckline slipping lower, exposing the soft swell of your cleavage, the hem barely covering the tops of your thighs.

you don’t think much of it, you’re in your own space, after all, but ellie notices.

her eyes flick down, just for a moment, before she forces them back to the sketchbook, her jaw tightening.

she starts to sketch, her pencil moving in quick, precise strokes, but you can tell she’s struggling to focus.

her gaze keeps drifting to you, lingering on the curve of your neck, the exposed skin of your chest, the way your thighs press together as you shift.

each time, she catches herself, her cheeks flushing faintly, and she looks back at the paper, her strokes growing less confident.

“tou okay over there?” you ask, your voice teasing, but there’s a warmth to it, a curiosity you can’t suppress.

tou lean forward slightly, and the motion draws her eyes again, her pencil pausing mid line.

“yeah,” she says, too quickly, clearing her throat.

“just… trying to get the angles right.” but her voice is strained, and you can see the way her fingers grip the pencil a little too tightly, the way her eyes keep betraying her, darting to the soft lines of your body before she yanks them back to the page.

you tilt your head, a slow smile curling your lips as you realize what’s happening.

she’s distracted, undone by the sight of you, and the power of that knowledge sends a thrill through you.

you shift again, deliberately this time, letting one leg cross over the other, the dress riding up just enough to expose more of your thigh.

“take your time.” you say, your voice softer now, almost intimate.

“im not going anywhere.” ellie’s breath hitches, barely audible, and her eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment.

there’s that spark again, that raw, unguarded intensity that makes the air feel too small.

she doesn’t laugh this time.

she doesn’t even try to play it off.

she just stares, her pencil hovering over the sketchbook, and you can feel the tension coiling tighter, a thread stretched to its limit, waiting for one of you to pull it taut or let it snap.

time has slipped away, the minutes stretching into what feels like hours as ellie works, her pencil scratching softly against the sketchbook.

the sound is hypnotic, a quiet rhythm that lulls you into a drowsy haze.

you’re still perched on the stool, but your posture has softened, your body slumping slightly, your head tilting as your eyelids grow heavy.

the loose dress still clings to your frame, the low neckline and hiked up hem exposing your cleavage and thighs, but the earlier thrill of teasing her has dulled into a warm, sleepy haze.

you’re half-asleep, caught in that liminal space between awareness and dreams, the tension from earlier simmering beneath the surface but softened by exhaustion.

ellie’s voice breaks the quiet, low and a little hesitant

“done.” the word pulls you back, your eyes fluttering open as you blink away the fog.

you straighten slowly, stretching your arms above your head, the motion tugging the dress even higher on your thighs.

you don’t miss the way her eyes flicker down, just for a second, before she busies herself with the sketchbook, her fingers smudging the edges of the page as if to distract herself.

you slide off the stool, your bare feet brushing the cool floor, and cross the short distance to where she’s sitting.

“let’s see it.” you say, your voice still thick with sleep, but there’s a spark of curiosity there, a need to know what she’s captured.

ellie hesitates, her grip on the sketchbook tightening for a moment before she relents, flipping it around to show you.

you lean in, close enough to catch the faint scent of soap and something earthier on her, like pine or cedar.

your eyes fall on the drawing, and for a moment, you’re silent, caught off guard by what you see.

it’s good.

really good.

the lines are confident, capturing the soft curve of your jaw, the tilt of your head, the way your hair falls in loose waves.

she’s drawn you with a kind of raw honesty, your sleepy eyes, the slight parting of your lips, the relaxed slump of your shoulders.

the way she’s shaded the hollow of your throat, the delicate lines of your collarbone, the suggestion of your cleavage, it’s not overt, not crude, but it’s intimate, like she couldn’t help but linger on those details.

the dress is there, clinging to your form, the hem high on your thighs, and she’s captured the vulnerability of it, the way you look both powerful and exposed.

it’s not just a drawing of you, it’s how she sees you.

you glance up at her, and she’s watching you, her expression unreadable but her eyes betraying a quiet intensity.

her cheeks are faintly flushed, and her fingers twitch against the sketchbook, like she’s bracing for your reaction.

the air feels thick again, that familiar tension coiling back to life, sharper now because of the drawing, because of what it reveals about how she’s been looking at you all this time.

“not bad.” you say, your voice softer than you mean it to be, a teasing lilt creeping in despite the way your heart hammers.

“didn’t think you had it in you.” her lips quirk into a half smile, but it’s strained, like she’s trying to play it cool and failing.

“told you.” she says, her voice rough, her eyes flick to the drawing, then back to you, and for a moment, you think she might say something more, something that would tip this moment over the edge.

but she doesn’t.

she just holds your gaze, her breath steady but shallow, waiting.

you step back, just enough to break the spell, but the heat of her stare lingers on your skin.

your dress feels too thin, your body too exposed, and yet you don’t move to cover yourself.

instead, you tilt your head, letting a slow smile curl your lips.

“you should keep it.” you say, nodding toward the sketchbook.

“might be worth something someday.” ellie’s eyes widen, just a fraction, and then she laughs, a low, nervous sound that makes your chest tighten.

“yeah, right.” she mutters, but she doesn’t tear the page out or close the book.

she just sits there, the sketchbook still open, the drawing of you staring up at both of you like a secret neither of you is ready to name.

the tension hums between you, alive and electric, and you know this moment is a turning point, one you could push, one you could pull back from.

─────────────────────────────

the night has crept in too quickly, the hours slipping through your fingers like sand.

outside, the wind howls, rattling the tall windows of the mansion and sending a chill through the walls that no amount of heat can fully banish.

the cold air seeps into your bones, amplifying the loneliness that’s been gnawing at you since your father left.

the house feels too big, too empty, its grandeur a hollow reminder of your isolation.

you prepare for bed mechanically, slipping into a soft silk nightgown that brushes against your skin, its delicate straps and short hem offering little warmth against the chill.

you pull the heavy duvet over you, curling into the center of your oversized bed, but the loneliness clings tighter than the cold.

the darkness of your room feels oppressive, the shadows pooling in the corners like they’re watching you.

you close your eyes, willing sleep to come, sleep finally claims you, but it’s not peaceful.

a nightmare claws its way in, vivid and suffocating, you’re running through the house, but the halls stretch endlessly, doors vanishing as you reach for them.

something’s chasing you, formless, relentless, and your father’s voice echoes, calling you “little doll” but twisted, mocking.

you stumble, your nightgown catching on something sharp, and the cold air burns your skin as you fall into darkness, alone, trapped.

a scream tears from your throat, muffled by the pillow as you jolt awake, your heart pounding so hard it hurts.

your breaths come in shallow gasps, the room spinning as you clutch the duvet, trying to anchor yourself.

the nightmare’s grip lingers, your skin clammy, your body trembling.

the silence of the house is deafening, broken only by the faint creak of the floorboards outside your door.

then, a soft knock.

“hey… you okay in there?” ellie’s voice, low and cautious, cuts through the haze of fear.

the door creaks open before you can respond, and she steps inside, her silhouette framed by the dim light spilling in from the hallway.

she’s in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, her hair messy like she’s been roused from sleep, but her eyes are alert, scanning the room before settling on you.

you sit up, pulling the duvet higher to cover yourself, suddenly hyper aware of the thin nightgown, the way it clings to your chest and leaves your shoulders bare.

“i’m fine.” you say, but your voice shakes, betraying you.

you swipe at your damp cheeks, embarrassed by the tears you didn’t realize were there.

“just… bad dream.” ellie hesitates in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame, her gaze softening as she takes you in.

“sounded like more than just a bad dream” she says, her voice gentle but firm, like she’s not buying your attempt to brush it off.

she steps closer, her bare feet silent on the rug, and the room feels smaller with her in it, the air charged with a quiet intensity.

“you sure you’re okay?” you want to snap back, to reclaim the armor you wear so easily during the day, but the nightmare’s aftershocks are still rippling through you, and her presence is oddly grounding.

you shake your head, a small, reluctant admission.

“it’s stupid,” you mutter, looking away, your fingers twisting the edge of the duvet.

“i just… i don’t like being alone in this house sometimes.” ellie’s quiet for a moment, and you half-expect her to leave, to mutter something polite and retreat back to the staff quarters.

but she doesn’t.

instead, she moves to the edge of your bed, sitting down carefully, keeping a respectful distance but close enough that you can feel the warmth of her presence.

“not stupid.” she says, her voice low, almost a murmur.

“this place is huge, creepy as hell at night, i’d get spooked too.”

you glance at her, searching for judgment, but there’s none in her expression.

her green eyes are steady, warm, and there’s a faint curve to her lips.

“you don’t have to stay.” you say, though the words feel hollow, like you’re testing her.

you don’t want her to go, not really, not with the cold and the loneliness still pressing in.

she tilts her head, studying you, and there’s that spark in her eyes again, the one that makes your pulse quicken.

“i’m not goin’ anywhere unless you tell me to.” she says, her voice rough but sincere.

her gaze flickers over you, taking in the way you’re curled up, the thin straps of your nightgown, the way your hair falls messily over your shoulders.

it’s not blatant, but it’s enough to make your skin prickle, to remind you of the power you felt earlier when you caught her staring.

the room is quiet again, save for the faint howl of the wind outside, and the space between you feels heavy.

you could send her away, retreat back into the safety of your role, your name.

or you could lean into this, let the tension unravel, see where it takes you.

“sleep next to me.” your voice trembles, a mix of lingering fear from the nightmare and the aching loneliness that’s been eating at you.

you’re still curled under the duvet, the silk nightgown clinging to your skin, your heart pounding as you wait for ellie’s response.

she freezes, her silhouette still on the edge of your bed, her green eyes catching the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains.

for a moment, you think she’ll say no, that she’ll retreat back to the safety of her role, the hired help who shouldn’t cross this line.

but then she nods, her voice low and steady.

“yeah, okay.” ellie shifts, kicking off her boots and sliding onto the bed, keeping a careful distance, a friendly, respectful gap that feels like a chasm despite the tension crackling between you.

she lies on her back, one arm tucked behind her head, the other resting on her stomach, her t shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin above her sweatpants.

the bed is massive, but her presence makes it feel impossibly small, every rustle of the sheets amplifying the heat building in your chest.

you try to close your eyes, to focus on the steady rhythm of her breathing beside you, but sleep won’t come.

the nightmare’s shadow lingers, and so does the memory of her drawing, her gaze, the way she looked at you like you were more than just the boss’s daughter.

the silence stretches, heavy with unspoken words, and you can feel her awake beside you, the air thick with anticipation.

you turn your head, and your breath catches.

she’s already looking at you, her eyes glinting in the dark, wide and unblinking, like she’s been watching you this whole time.

the intensity in her gaze pins you in place, stripping away the pretense, the distance.

you hold her stare, your pulse hammering, the space between you shrinking with every second that passes.

beither of you speaks, but the pull is undeniable, a current dragging you closer.

then, ellie moves.

it’s slow at first, deliberate, like she’s giving you a chance to pull back.

but you don’t.

she shifts closer, her body turning toward you, her hand brushing against your arm under the duvet, sending a shiver through you.

her face is inches from yours now, her breath warm against your lips, and you can see the question in her eyes, the hesitation.

you don’t give her time to overthink it.

you lean in, and she meets you halfway, her lips crashing into yours with a hunger that steals your breath.

the kiss is deep, urgent, her mouth hot and insistent, tasting faintly of mint and something uniquely her.

her hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer, her fingers tangling in your hair as she presses herself against you.

the kiss swallows the tension, replacing it with a raw, desperate need that’s been building since the moment you caught her staring.

ellie pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark with want, her chest heaving.

“you sure?” she rasps, her voice rough, like she’s fighting to keep control.

you nod, your own voice failing you, and that’s all she needs.

she surges forward, kissing you harder, her tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you.

her hands roam, sliding under the hem of your nightgown, her calloused fingers grazing the soft skin of your thighs, making you gasp into her mouth.

she’s not gentle, but there’s a purpose to her touch, a reverence in the way she explores you, like she’s been imagining this for days.

she pushes you onto your back, straddling your hips, her weight grounding you as she kisses down your neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin above your collarbone.

your nightgown is bunched up around your waist now, and she pauses, her eyes raking over you, taking in the exposed skin, the way your chest rises and falls.

“fuck.” she mutters under her breath, almost to herself, and the raw desire in her voice sends a pulse of heat through you.

her mouth is on you again, but this time it’s different, hungrier, rougher.

she spits into her hand, her movements deliberate, and you feel the slick warmth of her fingers as they slide between your thighs, teasing you open.

you moan, the sound swallowed by the dark, and she smirks against your skin, her fingers circling your clit with a precision that makes your hips buck.

“so fuckin’ wet,” she murmurs, her voice low and filthy, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes you.

she doesn’t tease for long.

her fingers slip inside you, two at first, stretching you with a slow, deliberate rhythm that has you arching into her touch.

she’s relentless, curling her fingers just right, her thumb pressing against your clit in time with her thrusts.

the bed creaks under you, the sound mingling with your gasps, the wet slick of her fingers, her low, ragged breathing.

she’s fucking you like she means it, like she’s staking a claim, and you’re helpless beneath her, your body responding to every touch, every thrust.

her other hand grips your thigh, spreading you wider, and she leans down, spitting directly onto your cunt, the act so brazen it shocks you into another moan.

the added slickness makes her fingers glide faster, rougher, and you’re unraveling, the coil in your core tightening with every second.

she’s watching you, her eyes locked on your face, drinking in every twitch, every gasp, like she’s memorizing you.

“ellie!” you choke out, your voice breaking, and her pace quickens, her fingers driving deeper, harder.

you’re close, teetering on the edge, and in the haze of it all, the words spill out, raw and unfiltered.

“i- love you.”Her movements falter for a split second, her eyes widening, a flash of shock, fear, maybe disbelief, crossing her face.

“what? no…” she says, her voice rough, almost panicked, but she doesn’t stop.

if anything, she fucks you harder, her fingers relentless, her lips crashing back to yours to silence you, to drown out the weight of your words.

tou don’t care.

you’re too far gone, your body chasing release, your hands clawing at her shoulders, pulling her closer.

the orgasm hits you like a wave, crashing through you, your body shuddering as you cry out, your nails digging into her skin.

ellie keeps going, drawing it out, her fingers slowing but not stopping until you’re trembling, oversensitive and gasping beneath her.

she finally pulls back, her hand slick and glistening, her chest heaving as she looks down at you, her expression unreadable.

you’re still catching your breath, your body buzzing, the room spinning.

the weight of what you said hangs between you, heavy and unresolved, but she doesn’t say anything else.

she just watches you, her eyes dark, her lips parted, like she’s caught between running and staying.

the cold air feels sharper now, the loneliness you felt earlier banished but replaced with something new—something fragile, something dangerous. You don’t know what she’s thinking, but you know this moment has changed everything.

your heart is still racing, your body trembling in the aftermath of your release, the air thick with the weight of your confession.

the words “i love you” hang between you like a live wire, raw and exposed, and you’re scrambling to take them back, to undo the vulnerability you’ve just laid bare.

“i-im sorry, i didn’t know why i said that—” you stammer, your voice shaky, your cheeks burning as you try to meet ellie’s gaze.

she’s still hovering above you, her t shirt rumpled, her hair a mess, her eyes dark and unreadable.

her chest heaves, her slick fingers flexing at her side like she’s trying to ground herself.

for a moment, you think she might address it, might confront the words you let slip, but instead...

“sit on my face.” she says, her voice low and commanding, rough with desire.

the bluntness of it steals your breath, your apology dissolving into a startled gasp.

her eyes lock on yours, unyielding, daring you to hesitate, to shy away.

there’s no room for shame in her tone, no space for the awkwardness you feel creeping in, just raw, unfiltered want.

you blink, your mind catching up to her words, your body already responding despite the nervous flutter in your chest.

“w-what?” you manage, but it’s weak, more reflex than resistance.

the idea sends a fresh wave of heat through you, your thighs clenching instinctively, and she notices, her smirk widening.

“you heard me.” she says, shifting to lie back on the bed, her hands resting casually behind her head, her posture all confidence, like she’s already picturing you above her.

“c’mere. i’m not done with you.” her voice is a challenge, a pull you can’t resist, and the way she’s looking at you, like you’re hers, like she’s claiming every inch of you, makes your pulse pound.

you hesitate for a heartbeat, the vulnerability of your earlier confession still stinging, but the heat in her gaze, the way her tongue darts out to wet her lips, drowns it out.

you want this.

you want her.

slowly, you move, climbing over her, your nightgown still bunched around your hips, your skin flushed and sensitive from her earlier touch.

her hands find your thighs as you position yourself, guiding you, her fingers digging into your skin with just enough pressure to make you shiver.

you hover above her face, your breath hitching, suddenly hyper aware of every detail, her freckles, the scar cutting through her eyebrow, the way her eyes burn with anticipation.

“ellie…” you murmur, half a question, half a plea, but she doesn’t give you time to second guess.

“down.” she says, her voice a growl, and she pulls you closer, her strength surprising you as she guides you until you’re straddling her face, your thighs trembling on either side of her head.

the first brush of her mouth against you is electric, a jolt that makes you gasp, your hands flying to the headboard for balance.

her tongue is relentless, lapping at you with a hunger that feels like it’s unraveling you from the inside out, her hands gripping your hips to keep you exactly where she wants you.

you’re a mess of gasps and moans, your body moving instinctively, grinding against her mouth as she works you with a precision that’s almost brutal.

she’s not gentle, she’s devouring you, spitting against your clit before sucking it hard, the wet heat of her mouth driving you higher, faster.

your thighs shake, your nails dig into the wood of the headboard, and the tension from earlier, the unspoken weight of your words, dissolves into pure sensation.

“fuck, ellie!” you whimper, your voice breaking, and you feel her groan against you, the vibration sending another shockwave through your core.

she’s relentless, her tongue circling, her lips closing around you, her hands urging you to move, to take what you need.

the room spins, the cold air forgotten, the loneliness banished by the heat of her mouth, the strength of her grip.

you’re close again, too fast, the coil in your core tightening until it’s unbearable.

your hips buck, and she doubles down, her tongue plunging deeper, her hands bruising your thighs as she holds you in place.

the release hits you like a storm, a cry tearing from your throat as you come, your body shuddering above her, waves of pleasure crashing through you until you’re gasping, boneless, clinging to the headboard to stay upright.

she doesn’t stop, not immediately, her tongue slowing but still teasing, drawing out every aftershock until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and trembling.

finally, she pulls back, her lips glistening, her eyes half lidded and smug as she looks up at you.

you slide off her, collapsing onto the bed beside her, your chest heaving, your mind blank except for the lingering buzz of your orgasm.

the silence returns, but it’s different now, less heavy, more charged.

she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her breathing still uneven, and glances at you, her expression unreadable but softer than before.

the weight of your earlier confession lingers, unaddressed, but for now, it’s buried under the raw intensity of what just happened.

you don’t know what this means, what tomorrow will bring, but as you catch her eye, you know one thing for certain.

the two of you are not finished.

[imnez-daydreams]

listen, have i watched sinners ? no. do i know anything about the movie beyond uhh there's vampires ? also no. do i even know what remmick looks like ? still a no. am i still gonna devour this fic i stumbled upon on my feed ? you bet i am !!!

“Ain’t you—” you began to say, but he beat you to it, laughing low in his throat as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Lord, you spook easy,” he said, voice thick just soft enough to make you lean in without meaning to. “Didn’t mean to startle you, sugar. Though I s’pose I got a knack for it.”

okay well im already melting. "sugar" ?? reader leaning towards remmick from his soft voice is so real.

"You didn’t even get another sentence out before he titled his head, slow and deliberate, and stepped in just a tad closer."

ooo he's already eyeing reader like a predator eyeing his prey. tilting his head slow, moving into reader's space.

He took a step closer, and you backed up, your heart pounding faster. But your feet wouldn’t move. You wanted to run, but your body was paralyzed. The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe. “You don’t just walk away from me, sugar,” he said, his voice smooth like silk, but each word felt like a weight. “You don’t follow me into the woods and think you can just... leave.”

gosh the transition from polite image yet a sense of something off to cold, heartless and hungry is written so well !! the smile that doesn't reach his eyes, the kind words that don't fit quite right when leaving his mouth. then that last line, can feeeeel the possessiveness already rolling off his tongue.

“You wanna know what it felt like?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing. The way he looked at you then—like he was studying something precious, something fragile—made a shiver crawl down your spine. “What it felt like to kill Mrs. Hatcher?”

i like the juxtaposition of his gaze to his words. looking at reader with a gentle gaze yet talking about committing a violent crime.

“You should’ve stayed away,” he murmured, taking another step closer, and your body lurched, the terror of it all finally making your feet move. But not fast enough. “But now it’s too late darlin’ cause I intend to keep you for myself now.”

hey mister if you keep calling reader those sweet pet names you can keep me !! jokes aside the build up to the chasing is soo good ! the realisation dawning on reader that this man isnt even a man, something darker and unexplainable. that cold realisation turning into dread when he  stakes his claim.

Behind you, his footsteps didn’t rush. He wasn’t chasing. He was following. Like a predator who already knew exactly where you’d end up. “Keep running,” he called, voice almost playful. Almost. “It’ll only make me want to fuck you harder.” You didn’t scream. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight with terror, your body buzzing with the kind of panic that drowns thought.

sorry for being depraved on main but this is so hot i cant even lie akdhsidke. LISTENN. remmick not even running, just leisurely following after reader. knows he can easily catch up so its like he's savouring your fear, your hopeful naivety thinking you can escape him. then him playfully telling reader continue running. then, then that statement about how running is just gonna make him fuck reader harder. hello. (me when)

"He yelled out your name—how’d he even know your name? There was a guttural edge to his voice—low, primal—that tore something loose in you. You cried silently, not daring to make noise, not out of fear, but because your body didn’t know what else to do."

omg been watching and listening !! and reader has been none the wiser all this time. i like how reader's reaction is realistic too, those times when tears just escape you not cause of the sadness or fear but because the situation you're in seems so hopeless, tears just make their path down your face.

He takes his hand from your neck, and you barely register when it slips beneath your long nightgown. One hand forcefully parts your thighs—rough and possessive—while the other holds your wrists captive above your head. "You don’t even know," he murmurs, his voice almost gentle, as he continues "You're fortunate that I want you all to myself."

remmick what is that supposed to mean mister. are there worse monsters than you ? but again i really like the duality of it all, gentle and soft voice with the backdrop of violent and rough hands.

And as his lips brush against your ear, whispering promises of pleasure and pain, you can't help but wonder what fate has brought you to this moment, where his will dominates your own and the line between fear and longing blurs into something dangerous and intoxicating.

goodness that wholeee last line is so beautifully described. even though its a long one it doesn't even feel dragged on, just a string of pretty words dancing.

"Don’t look away," he breathed, his nose brushing yours with each slow, deliberate motion—like he needed you to witness what he was doing. You did, though your vision blurred with the weight of it all. Maybe it was instinct, maybe something deeper—but you obeyed. Looking into his eyes was like staring down a storm: wild, old, and wholly untamable.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured again, breath hitching against your cheek, his drawl low and possessive. “Ain’t no one ever gonna see you like this but me, you understand?”

EYE CONTACTTTTT. i go crazy over this. feral even. love love love. the smut was so good !!! how reader feels that pull, can't stop wanting it even though the warning bells are ringing. the possessiveness, the claiming. grrr.

“You’re mine now,” he breathed, voice coated in something reverent and frightening all at once. “Ain’t just sayin’ that either—I felt it in my bones the second I saw you. Like God carved you out just for me.”

ohhhhhhhdndkdjeiedklfl. im a sucker for religious themes this is so good. reverent ??? as if reader was carved by God just for remmick ?????? in shambles this is delicious writing.

phew that was a ride !! thank you ada for introducing me to sinners :DD this was sooo good and well written, it really makes me wanna read other works of this character ! dont mind me snooping through remmick's tags after this hehe. thank you for writing, splendid work ada <3

Baked In Blood

summary: Driven by kindness, you walk to a secluded house every day, leaving freshly baked pies for the mysterious man who never shows himself. But when your neighbor, Mrs. Hatcher, is violently killed one night, everything changes. As fear spreads through the town, the man you've been silently serving steps into your life—and the true, terrifying nature of his obsession begins to unravel.

warnings: non-con, dub-con, explicit content, dirty talk, mentions of blood and murder, forest sex, prey and predator dynamics

pairing: dark!remmick x fem!reader

words: 6k

based off this request

The air was thick with that early morning quiet — not cold, but not warm yet either. Just still. Hushed. Like the world hadn’t quite decided to wake up. The pie in your hands was still warm, warmed in a red gingham towel that gave a slight aroma of sugar and cinnamon. You carried it like you always did, how you carried it to his house every morning. Steady, careful, both hands under the dish so the heat didn’t slip through and burn your fingers.

You took the long way, even though you didn’t have to. Past the lot where the hydrangeas used to grow, Past the old gas station that hadn’t sold gas in years. The street was empty, save for a squirrel darting across the sidewalk and a newspaper half soaked in dew.

You liked mornings like this. Quiet ones. Nobody needing anything from you yet. 

His house sat at the far end of the block, past where the road cracked deeper and the shade settled in early. You could barely see the roofline through the trees most days. No cars in the drive. No signs of the sun shining into his house in the mornings, windows and curtains closed. Just that porch with the crooked step and the step and the front door that never opened. 

You didn’t know who he was. No one really did. 

You’d never seen him up close. Never heard his voice. Just a name once, muttered by a neighbor who looked like she regretted saying it the second it left her mouth.

But none of that mattered. Never mattered to you. 

You climbed the creaking and worn steps like usual, pie in hand, the porch groaning under your weight. You paused at the door. Knocked once… twice then three times and that was it. Never more. 

SIlence only met you. Not even a sign of a curtain drawing back. Though you waited just for a few seconds more. Long enough to maybe give him a chance to open the door and accept the pie you usually baked.  

There were signs he took the dishes you left on the little table posted by the chair on his porch. And you needed him to open the door sooner or later in the future because you sure were running out your plates and dishes. 

So you crouched down slightly, set the pie down on the small round table. You adjusted the towel, smoothed it down with your fingers. And then left like you always did. Same way you came. With your back turned you never saw the figure that stood by the window– shifting the curtain ever so slightly to watch you leave.

It was a good twenty five minutes by the time you reached your gates, your rhoughts still back at that old house. You’d never gotten anything in return except for an empty door. But it didn’t stop you. Some things couldn’t be helped, and kindness was one of them. It was just who you were.

You didn’t know why you were this way– always looking out for others, always taking the time to lend a hand, even if it meant nothing in return. Maybe it was because your mama had always taught you that small acts of kindness could make all the difference in a world that could be a little too harsh and unyielding sometimes. Or maybe it was just your heart, too damn big for its own good.

You’d seen people look at you strangely when you held the door open for them or when you offered a smile to the grumpy old guy who owned a small grocery store cross the street who barely even returned the smile. But you didn’t mind. You’d always been this way, and you’d always keep doing it— whether it was helping your neighbor Mrs Hatcher with her groceries or just leaving one too many baked goods for a man who never even bothered to show his face. 

As you reached the steps of your porch, you noticed Mrs Hatcher was sitting outside again, her rocking chair creaking steadily. The morning sun barely touched her, casting her face in a sharp light that made her look even more critical than usual. You almost didn’t want to stop, but you were too polite, so you gave her a quick wave as you neared the gate. 

She didn't wave back. Not like how she would regularly do so. Instead, she looked you up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly, and for a moment, the silence between you both felt a little too thick. “Been out walking again, huh?” she said, her voice carrying the same sharpness it always did, but now there was something else in it— a little more judgement, a little less warmth than usual.

You nodded. “Just dropped something off.”

Her eyes flickered toward the street, and she took a slow drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling up into the air like it had a mind of its own. “And what’s that, exactly? Your ‘good deed’ for the day?” You shifted on your feet, a little uncomfortable, but you didn’t want to seem rude. “Just took the guy that lives in that old house near the woods a pie. I baked it in the morning.”

Mrs Hatcher raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair as if shw was trying to make some sense of you. “That house,” she started slowly, like she was comprehending her own words in her head before letting them out, “It ain’t one for pies, sugar. And it ain’t one for kindness neither. You might want to stop before you‘re the only one left out there handing things to a ghost.” 

You felt a small flutter in your chest, but you didn’t show it. Sure you’ve heard the whispers about that house— from the strange way it sat, half hidden behind thick trees, the rumours that no one had ever seen the man who supposedly lived there. People called him strange, distant, dangerous even, but it didn’t faze you. You didn’t need to know him to know that everyone deserved a little kindness. 

“I’m sure he’ll like it,” you said simply, smiling. “He’s always been taking them in.” 

Mrs Hatcher’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Is that so huh?” She leaned forward, the creaking of her chair louder now, her tone dripping with a subtle challenge. “Well, maybe he don’t mind. But I’m telling you sugar, one day you’ll find out kindness don’t always come back around the way you think it will.”

You didn’t know why, but there was something in the way she said it that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Something that didn't sit right. But you ignored it, like you always did with her not bothering to listen to any of the bullshit any more, you just gave a simple smile and nodded. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you said, offering a half smile before stepping toward your front door. 

The last thing you heard before you entered was Mrs Hatcher’s voice, barely above a murmur, like she was talking to herself. “Just be careful, girl. There’s kindness… and then there’s being a fool for it, and that’s you right now.”

You didn’t let it bother you. It was just Mrs Hatcher, always watching, always waiting for something to go wrong. But somehow, her words hung in the air, and for the first time in a while, you wondered if there might be more to her warning then you realized.

Everyone was shocked to hear the news, but nobody could say they were surprised. 

It wasn’t the kind of thing that was completely unexpected in a place like this. The kind of place where people get to be known by their routines, their quirks and their habits. So when the sheriff made his rounds, grim faced and speaking low, people leaned in a little closer, nodding pretending they didn’t already know.

Mrs Hatcher had been found in her chair— rocking still, like she was just taking one of her usual evening naps. But this time, her chair wasn’t creaking from the wear of decades. It was still in a way it never had been before. Her neck, torn open, blood spread thick across the porch, pooling like dark wine against the old wood. 

It was late, the street bathed in that heavy hush. The silence clung to the scene, to the dark windows and the front door that creaked ever so slightly due to the wind. 

But it wasn’t just the manner of her death that had the town rattled. It was the fact that it had happened right there. Just a few houses down from where you could practically hear the crickets and see the stars in their endless stretch above. Mrs Hatcher had never been the type to keep quiet. She knew too much, talked too loud, watched too long— and all her sharp words, there was always a thin, hidden thread of fear running underneath them. 

The sheriff said it was too early to say much. But you didn’t need to be a damn detective to know that whatever had happened to Mrs Hatcher, it had come from the deep shadows beyond the streetlight’s reach. And that, as always, made you nervous. 

You stood at the edge of the gathering, the murmurs of the townsfolk was a distant hum as your eyes were just fixed on Mrs Hatcher's porch. The air was thick with the scent of iron and something else— something you couldn’t quite place.

As you begin to take a cautious step closer, a sudden chill ran down your spine. You turned slightly, sensing a presence behind you. 

Remmick stood there, half shrouded in shadow, his eyes reflecting the dim light with an unsettling gleam. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth when he saw your reaction to him somehow startling you.

“Ain’t you—” you began to say, but he beat you to it, laughing low in his throat as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Lord, you spook easy,” he said, voice thick just soft enough to make you lean in without meaning to. “Didn’t mean to startle you, sugar. Though I s’pose I got a knack for it.”

You didn’t answer right away— couldn’t, really. It wasn’t just that he’d come out of nowhere. It was that this was the first time you were actually seeing him. Up close. And he wasn’t what you expected. He was just a normal man. Tall, wth skin pale like it hadn’t met sunlight in years. But it wasn’t his looks that held you. It was something else you couldn't quite take hold on. 

“You’re…” The words trailed from your lips, thin and uncertain,

“Remmick,” he offered, with the faintest tilt of his head, the smile still ghosting at the corners of his mouth. “Though it sounds like folks ‘round here prefer other names for me.”

He glanced across the street, toward the sea of curious people that had gathered in front of Mrs Hatcher’s house. The porch light burned too bright now, casting hard shadows over shaken faces and murmured prayers. Someone was crying, but no one had dared to step past the old woman’s front gate. No one even noticed him. Not with the chaos. Not with the way the fear made them all look anywhere but the dark.

“Hell of a night,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice curing like smoke in the stillness. 

Then he looked back at you. “You been bringing those baked goods, didn’t you, specially the one today?” 

You blinked. “What?”

“The one in the red towel. Sugar and cinnamon.” His gaze lingered. “Tasted real good.” 

Unease tightened in your chest, and something more but you weren’t sure if it was fear or something colder.

He chuckled again—low, almost fond. “Meant to bring the dish back. Got a mind like a cracked jar, though. Things slip out easy.”

You swallowed, unsure if you meant to nod.

“If you’re not too spooked to walk back with me,” he said, voice light like he was asking you to fetch a paper off the porch, “I could hand it off now.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then added with a crooked smile, “Seems like nobody’s watchin’ but you anyhow.”

You cleared your thrat, trying to keep your voice steady. “That’s alright, I can just come by in the mornin’ and pick it up.” 

You didn’t even get another sentence out before he titled his head, slow and deliberate, and stepped in just a tad closer. “Nah,” he said, low and smooth, like he was talking to some skittish animal. “Best do it now.” There was something in the way he said it—not harsh, but final. As if he was the one deciding for you instead. 

You tried to laugh it off, light and easy. “It’s no trouble really. I don't mind—” 

“But I do,” he cut in, still smiling. “Ain’t polite, lettin’ a lady like you walk all the way just to fetch her own plate back. ‘Sides, I got somethin’ for you.” That made you pause. “A gift,” he added, like he was sweetening the offer, though the word came off strange in his mouth, like he’d never had much reason to use it. “For all those baked goods. Seemed only right.” 

You hesitated, eyes flicking toward the crowd again that was still buzzing around Mrs Hatcher’s porch, not a single one of them looking in your direction. His voice dropped slightly, though the smile stayed. “AIn’t nobody gonna notice you’re gone, sugar. Not tonight.”

And it was true. They wouldn’t. The streetlamps were dim, the shadows stretched long, and everyone’s attention was wrapped up on what had happened. You could simply leave easy right now, and nobody would even call your name. 

You swallowed, throat dry.

He turned then, back toward the narrow path leading toward the woods. “C’mon,” he said over his shoulder, his husky and slow with a soft roughness to it. “It’s just a short walk. You already know the way.” 

Yeah a short walk… a twenty five minute short walk with a guy you baked for but he never did have the face to open the door, and suddenly he’s asking you to follow him home after the events that took place tonight. But you didn’t give it a thought any longer, telling yourself you were just now paranoid. So you just followed behind him.

The road felt longer this time. Each step kicked up dust that didn’t seem to settle, and the cicadas had gone quiet, like even they didn’t want to listen in. You kept a few paces behind him, watching the sway of his shoulders, the way he didn’t look back once—not even to make sure you were still there.

You told yourself it was fine. He was just being polite. Returning a dish, offering a gift. That’s all it was.

But the dark felt thicker out here. Heavier. Like it was pressing in, one slow breath at a time.

It was a good ten minutes before either of you spoke.

Just shoes on the forest floor. The occasional creak of a distant fence outside of the trees shifting in the wind. You were starting to think maybe he wasn’t much for small talk—maybe he’d changed his mind about that “gift” entirely—when his voice finally cut through the dark.

“You always that generous with folks who don’t bother sayin’ thank you?”

You blinked. “Figured you were just shy.”

That made him huff a laugh. “Is that what they’re callin’ it these days.”

You could see the back of his head tilt slightly, like he was chewing on whatever thought came next. Then he added, “Truth be told, I didn’t expect you to keep bringin’ those goods. Thought you’d give up after the second one went untouched.”

“They weren’t untouched,” you said quietly.

Another beat of silence.

“No,” he said at last. “No, they weren’t.”

And that was all he said.

Just enough to make your skin prickle.

You kept walking, telling yourself you were just tired. Just tired and rattled from everything with Mrs. Hatcher. But still, something in his voice made you wonder if the pies were all he’d been taking.

The road narrowed as you walked, the trees leaning in closer like they were listening, their bare branches creaking softly in the wind as though whispering to one another. Crickets had gone quiet somewhere along the way. You didn’t notice when. Just that the silence had started to hum, low and constant, like something was holding its breath.

“You always walk this way alone?” he asked, voice low like he was afraid to break something in the dark, or maybe like he hoped he would.

You glanced at him. “Most mornings.”

“Brave,” he muttered, though it didn’t sound like praise. “Folks ‘round here talk too much and see too little. That kind of silence’s dangerous when no one’s listenin’ right.”

“You listen?”

“Sometimes,” he said. Then, with a half-smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “Don’t mean I always like what I hear.” You didn’t answer that. Just kept your eyes ahead, the trees curling over the path like ribs, and the moonlight catching in strange, pale flashes on the gravel. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken this road, but it felt unfamiliar now, like the dirt had been stirred different, like something unseen had stepped ahead of you first and left the path colder behind it.

“Why now?” you asked suddenly, the question clawing out before you could think better of it. “All this time, you never said a word. Never showed your face. Then tonight, after—” you didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to. The name didn’t need to be said again out loud.

He took his time responding, just like he took his time walking. “Reckon I just figured the timing was right.”

“That because of Mrs. Hatcher?”

That smile again. Crooked. Sharp at the edges. “Didn’t say that.”

You stopped walking for a beat, not because you meant to, but because something in your chest pulled tight. “But you didn’t say it wasn’t.”

He looked back at you slowly, eyes gleaming in the dark like wet stones, and for a second, his face was half-lit by the moon, carved in angles and shadows that didn’t look entirely human. “You ask a lot of questions for someone still walkin’ beside me.”

That stopped you more than anything. Not the words, but the way he said them—calm, like he was commenting on the weather. Like he already knew you’d keep walking anyway.

And you did.

Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe it was that same part of you that kept leaving pies at the door of a man you’d never seen, even when the dishes never came back. That stupid softness your mama used to call your ‘God-given curse.’ Either way, your feet moved before your mouth could argue.

Ten more minutes, you told yourself. Just ten more minutes. And then you’d turn around.

But deep down, you already knew you wouldn’t.

The woods felt suffocating, each step you took making the air grow thicker, heavier, as though something in the darkness was pressing against you. It wasn’t just the trees, it wasn’t just the silence. It was him.

Remmick walked ahead of you, so calm, so assured—like this was all part of some twisted game, and you were the only one who didn’t know the rules. His back was turned, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of you, every movement of yours, every step you took.

Finally, you couldn’t do it anymore. The weight of his presence, the heavy silence, the way he didn’t even seem to care that you were still walking behind him—it all piled up. You had to say something.

“I think I’m just gonna head home,” you said, your voice shaky, betraying the panic you were trying to keep under control. “You can just give me the dishes and gifts another time.” Your words felt like a desperate attempt to break the tension, but they fell into the woods like a pebble into a deep, dark well—no echo, no response.

For a moment, there was nothing but the low rustling of the trees, the soft whisper of the night wind. Then, without turning to face you, his voice cut through the air—low, dark, chilling.

“Daft.”

It wasn’t a word. It was a sentence. A judgment.

You froze. His voice, though soft, felt like it was wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make it hard to breathe. Your heart skipped a beat, your skin prickling. You couldn’t tell whether it was fear, the cold, or something else entirely making your body shudder.

Your mouth went dry, but you tried to force out something—anything to break this moment, this growing nightmare. “I—I'm just not feeling well. I think I should go.”

You took a step back, but he wasn’t having it. He didn’t even turn to face you.

“Daft,” he repeated, sharper now. “You think I’d let you walk away after you followed me here?” Your breath hitched. Your feet felt glued to the ground, like the air was too thick to move through. You wanted to run, to scream, but your body betrayed you, stuck in place as if you were trapped in quicksand.

You looked at him now—his back still turned—but something about his posture had shifted. It wasn’t just his body language, though. It was in the air. It was in the space between you. Something darker had taken root, something unrecognizable.

He finally turned, slowly, deliberately, and the smile he gave you wasn’t the same one from earlier. There was nothing warm in it. It was sharp, cold, like a blade dragging across skin.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. His eyes locked onto yours, but they were different now—flickers of red deepening in the corners, glowing faintly in the dim light. He didn’t look human but at the same time he did.

He took a step closer, and you backed up, your heart pounding faster. But your feet wouldn’t move. You wanted to run, but your body was paralyzed. The closer he came, the harder it was to breathe. “You don’t just walk away from me, sugar,” he said, his voice smooth like silk, but each word felt like a weight. “You don’t follow me into the woods and think you can just... leave.”

There it was again—his smile, wider now, crueler. It made your stomach twist, nausea rising up your throat.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice almost too calm. “You think you’re safe, walking through the woods like this? Like I’m some normal guy you can just forget about?” He took another step toward you, and you felt yourself sway back, but your feet stayed planted.

His eyes were glowing now, too bright in the dark, his pupils slit like a predator’s. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be happening.

“You wanna know what it felt like?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes narrowing. The way he looked at you then—like he was studying something precious, something fragile—made a shiver crawl down your spine. “What it felt like to kill Mrs. Hatcher?”

You blinked, eyes wide. Your mouth opened, but no words came. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

“Her blood was so warm,” he whispered, as if speaking to himself, the words heavy with something sinister. “The moment my teeth sank into her throat, she stopped fighting. She knew. She knew she couldn’t outrun it, couldn’t escape me. But she didn’t stop trying, not at first. She kicked. She scratched. She screamed—but there was no sound. No sound at all once I got my hand over her mouth.”

You could barely hold your ground now, your legs trembling. Every word he said made you want to run, but your body was frozen, immobilized by something you couldn’t explain.

“She tried so hard to get away,” Remmick continued, his voice softer now, like he was savoring the memory. “But the harder she fought, the better it felt. I could feel her pulse—fast, frantic, desperate. It was like the world had slowed down, and all I could hear was the sound of her blood rushing, beating in her veins, until it wasn’t.”

Your body was shaking now, your hands clenched into fists by your sides. You couldn’t escape his gaze, couldn’t escape the pull of his voice.

“She went limp, finally. And I could taste it—the victory, the power. The moment her body stopped fighting? That was the moment I knew. I knew it was perfect.”

You felt sick, but you couldn’t look away. His eyes—those damn eyes—had you trapped, every word sinking deeper into your chest, twisting, turning.

“You should’ve stayed away,” he murmured, taking another step closer, and your body lurched, the terror of it all finally making your feet move. But not fast enough. “But now it’s too late darlin’ cause I intend to keep you for myself now.”

That was when you began running.

Branches whipped your arms and tore at your clothes, but you didn’t feel it. You were moving on instinct—raw, clumsy, frantic. The darkness swallowed the path, and still you ran, lungs burning, eyes stinging. You didn’t even know where you were going. Just away.

Behind you, his footsteps didn’t rush. He wasn’t chasing. He was following. Like a predator who already knew exactly where you’d end up. “Keep running,” he called, voice almost playful. Almost. “It’ll only make me want to fuck you harder.” You didn’t scream. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight with terror, your body buzzing with the kind of panic that drowns thought.

Then your foot caught—root, rock, something—and the forest flipped sideways. You hit the ground hard, your palms shredding on gravel and bark. The pain jolted up your arms and knocked the air from your lungs. You scrambled to your feet, but your ankle screamed the second you put weight on it. There wasn’t time—he was too close.

So you crawled. Half-dragging yourself through the underbrush, eyes wild, hands trembling, and ducked behind the thick trunk of a gnarled pine. You pressed yourself against the bark, heart slamming against your ribs so loud you were sure he could hear it. The forest had gone still.

Dead still.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing, every breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps through your nose.

He yelled out your name—how’d he even know your name? There was a guttural edge to his voice—low, primal—that tore something loose in you. You cried silently, not daring to make noise, not out of fear, but because your body didn’t know what else to do.

He found you before you could move again — an arm slipping around your waist from behind. You barely had time to gasp before he pulled you back, gently but firmly, like you'd simply wandered too far. 

Then, without warning, your head was guided down, not slammed, but pressed hard enough into the earth that the shock still jarred you. Dizziness bloomed behind your eyes. By the time you blinked through it, Remmick was already on top of you, his body blanketing yours with a frightening calm. His chest pressed against your back, steady, too steady. One hand slid up, slow and deliberate, until it curled around your throat — not choking, just holding. Controlling.

A broken sound escaped you as tears streamed down your face, hot and helpless. Your fingers clawed instinctively at his hand, the one wrapped so carefully—so cruelly around your throat. There was no strength in your resistance, only fear and the desperate hope that he might hesitate. 

He takes his hand from your neck, and you barely register when it slips beneath your long nightgown. One hand forcefully parts your thighs—rough and possessive—while the other holds your wrists captive above your head. "You don’t even know," he murmurs, his voice almost gentle, as he continues "You're fortunate that I want you all to myself."

You try to push against his hold, but he only tightens his grip, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His words echo in your mind as fear and confusion swirl within you. You feel trapped, vulnerable beneath him as he looms over you with a hunger in his eyes that chills you to the core. 

You can see the intensity of his gaze fixed upon you, a mixture of desire and possession that makes your heart race with both terror and a strange, forbidden thrill. And as his lips brush against your ear, whispering promises of pleasure and pain, you can't help but wonder what fate has brought you to this moment, where his will dominates your own and the line between fear and longing blurs into something dangerous and intoxicating.

You don’t even notice he’s moved your undergarments aside, not warning you.You suddenly wince as he inserts two fingers at once, not bothering to be gentle. His breath is hot on your neck, his voice a low growl. "You're mine now. Every part of you belongs to me." You can feel his heartbeat, steady and calm, unlike your own which is pounding wildly against your ribs. His fingers move inside you, exploring, claiming, and you gasp, your body betraying you with a shiver of pleasure.

He shifts slightly, his lips trailing down from your ear to your collarbone, leaving a path of fire in their wake. "You can fight it all you want," he whispers, his voice like velvet darkness, "but your body knows who it belongs to." His thumb finds your most sensitive spot, circling slowly, deliberately, drawing out a moan from deep within you despite the fear that still lingers in your eyes.

You buck against him, a futile attempt to deny the sensations coursing through you.

He laughs softly against your skin, a sound that resonates with triumph. His teeth graze your shoulder, a gentle bite that should be a warning, but your mind is a swirl of confusion and desire. The nightgown tangles around your waist as he shifts again, releasing your wrists to push the fabric higher.

Oddly enough, when your fight waned, that was when things…changed. "There she is," he says, his hands warm on your bare hips. You know you should run, scream, do anything to break free from the spell his touch weaves around you, but your muscles betray you, your body succumbing in various ways as pleasure envelops you completely.

"You were made for this," he breathes, his eyes dark with certainty. He pins you down again, and this time you don’t struggle, the fight leaving your limbs as your own desires betray you. You can sense the mounting bliss intensifying within you, building pressure in your lower core as you teeter on the edge, about to climax on his fingers.

He watches your face closely, like a man studying a piece of art, ready for the moment when it overtakes you. "There you go darlin’," he murmurs, urging you on, and the sound of his voice is the final push. You cry out as waves of release crash through you and every nerve in your body sings with surrender.

He holds you through it, his fingers slowing to a languid pace until your breathing evens and your heart calms, pulling back slightly to look at you, satisfaction etched across his face. He removes his fingers slowly and careful, you don’t even have a second to even catch a break before you can hear the rustling of his belt and pants and you know what's coming. He parts your legs wider, opening you to him again, and presses against your entrance.

“Gonna claim ya real good now darlin’, you’re doing such a good job.” The sensation of him entering you is intense—stretching, burning, and pulling you apart with the thick, weighty movement of his shaft. He fills you completely, every inch commanding submission, and you arch under him, the feeling overwhelming and all-consuming.

 His hands grip your hips, steadying you, pulling you closer as he begins to move. He thrusts slow and deep, each motion a deliberate staking of his claim, and your body responds in ways you can't control, meeting his rhythm, rising to meet him as he buries himself inside you over and over.

Your mind reels with the impossibility of it, the way desire silences resistance, and your body betrays every instinct to flee, surrendering instead to the brutal, relentless pleasure he forces upon you. You gasp his name, a broken plea caught between a cry and a moan, and he only pushes harder, his breath hot and wild against your throat.

"That's it," he groans, his voice rough with need, "take it all."

As he bent down to kiss you, you without thinking returned the gesture. His thumb grazed your damp skin, and a soft hum in his throat soon transformed into a groan. You didn't desire it, nor did your mind, yet it seemed as though your body was operating independently, driven by hormones.

His hand snaked through your hair, pulling gently as his lips pressed against yours with a fierce hunger. The kiss deepened, full of demand and promise, his teeth and tongue teasing you until you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. The force of it all—the thrusting, the kissing, the claiming—pulled you further into a daze where pleasure eclipsed pain, and you were lost, floating on the brink of something infinite.

Your body arched helplessly, wave after wave of sensation leaving you breathless, raw, and vulnerable. He quickened his pace, his movements more urgent, pushing you both toward an inevitable release. The air was thick with the sound of skin on skin, punctuated by his ragged breaths and your own soft, involuntary cries. It was too much, too fast, and yet nothing else mattered in those moments but the wild, terrible ecstasy of being taken, utterly and completely. 

You closed your eyes, too overcome with the overstimulation, he curved his hips deeper into you.  “Open your eyes darlin’.” He says getting your attention again. You obeyed, though some quiet part of you understood how dangerous it was—how locking eyes with the one unraveling you piece by piece would only carve the memory deeper.

"Don’t look away," he breathed, his nose brushing yours with each slow, deliberate motion—like he needed you to witness what he was doing. You did, though your vision blurred with the weight of it all. Maybe it was instinct, maybe something deeper—but you obeyed. Looking into his eyes was like staring down a storm: wild, old, and wholly untamable.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured again, breath hitching against your cheek, his drawl low and possessive. “Ain’t no one ever gonna see you like this but me, you understand?”

The air felt thick, like the woods themselves were leaning in to watch. His nose brushed yours with every movement, his brow pressed to your temple. You weren’t sure when the tears started again, but they did—quiet, unrelenting.

“You’re mine now,” he breathed, voice coated in something reverent and frightening all at once. “Ain’t just sayin’ that either—I felt it in my bones the second I saw you. Like God carved you out just for me.”

As he continued to whisper shameful, dirty words to you, saying things like you’d never leave him, and as he still relentelly thrusted into you, his mouth found your neck—then came the sharp, sinking pain of his bite. It wasn’t just teeth. It was a claim. A seal. Something final.

And in the haze of it all, in the breathless dark, you stopped fighting the truth. Somewhere between fear and surrender… you accepted it.

[anglbnny]

Offside ♡ Michael kaiser

cw: light angst, reader has a kid, mentions of cheating, request by @yanderebluelockfan

⸝⸝♡⸝⸝♡

Three Years Ago

You stood in the hallway of Michael’s hotel room, hands trembling at your sides. He looked radiant, just coming out of the shower with a towel slung low on his hips, hair damp and clinging to his forehead. But your heart pounded for an entirely different reason.

“I need to talk to you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He frowned slightly, sensing the tension. “What’s wrong?”

You took a shaky breath and looked him in the eyes. You had to lie. For him. For his career. You couldn’t be the thing holding him back—not now, not ever.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” you said quickly, like ripping off a bandage.

“What?” His expression twisted. “Why?”

“I’ve been seeing someone else.”

The lie burned your throat. His eyes widened in disbelief, pain cracking through the gold in them.

“You’re serious?” he asked. “After everything?”

You nodded, biting down on your tongue so hard it tasted like blood. “It wasn’t serious between us anyway. You said that yourself.”

He recoiled like you’d slapped him. “So that’s it? Just like that?”

You looked away before the tears could fall. “Just like that.”

What you didn’t tell him was that you were carrying his child. You were already a few weeks pregnant.

And you loved him too much to let that truth shackle him to you.

Present Day

The roar of the stadium still echoed in Michael Kaiser’s ears when he caught sight of you.

You looked almost the same.

Maybe a little tired. A little older. Your hair pulled into a messy bun like you hadn’t slept well in weeks. But he knew those eyes. Knew the way they locked on his across the corridor like you hadn’t been the one to shatter him years ago.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped, his voice cold, cutting through the awkward silence of the hallway.

You didn’t flinch. Just stood there, arms folded tightly across your chest, like you needed to brace herself against the weight of seeing him again. "My son… wanted to meet you."

Kaiser stared.

A small figure peeked out from behind her. Wide violet blue-blue eyes, tousled dark blonde hair, a shade darker than his. 

His throat tightened. No way. No way.

He blinked. Looked again. His mind was playing tricks on him, right?

The boy approached slowly, nervous but smiling. "Hi! I'm Leo. You were amazing out there. I’m your biggest fan."

He crouched down automatically, something aching in his chest. "Hey there, Leo. You like football, huh?"

"I want to be just like you when I grow up," the boy beamed.

God. He looked so much like him.

Michael stood abruptly, his jaw clenched. His gaze shifted to your, face unreadable. "You should go. Both of you."

Your eyes dimmed. She nodded. "Thanks for seeing him."

Kaiser didn’t sleep that night.

Leo. His fan. Your son. The birth date matched. The resemblance? Uncanny. And why had you shown up now, after years of silence?

He made one call. One favor.

"Get me everything you can on her," he told the guy on the other side of the phone, voice low. "And I mean everything."

A few days later, the report landed on his desk.

Unmarried. Single mom. Father: Unknown.

It hit him like a bullet.

He didn’t even think. Just got in his car and drove through Berlin until he reached a small, worn apartment building. A far cry from the life you used to live. From the life he offered her once.

He knocked.

The door opened and there he was again—Leo. Eyes lit up instantly.

"Michael! Mom! Michael's here!"

He swallowed hard. "Hey, kid. Is your mom home?"

You appeared in the doorway, face pale. Her voice, sharp. "Leo, go to your room."

"But—"

"Now."

Once the door clicked shut, you stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Michael?"

"Tell me the truth."

"You need to leave."

"Is he mine?"

You looked away.

"Don’t lie to me again."

Your voice cracked. "I didn’t want to ruin your life. You were just getting big. Everything you dreamed of. How could I ask you to give it up for—"

"So you lied? You told me you didn’t love me. That you were cheating on me. I begged you to stay. And the whole time you were carrying my child?"

Tears welled in your eyes. "I didn’t know what else to do. I was scared."

Michael ran a hand through his hair, pacing. The thought of all the years lost, of his son growing up thinking his father was just a name on a jersey.

"Why now?"

"He saw you on TV. Asked questions. I couldn’t lie to him forever."

Silence fell.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer, though still laced with disbelief. "He’s mine."

You nodded, defeated. "Yes."

He stepped closer. You didn’t move.

"You should’ve told me. You should’ve let me choose."

"I know," you whispered.

He looked at you—really looked at you. The same girl who once held his dreams in the palm of her hand. Now here you were, tired, overworked, but still so heartbreakingly beautiful. A woman who had raised his child alone.

"I want to be in his life," he said. "If you'll let me."

You blinked rapidly, wiping at your cheeks. "It won’t be easy."

"I don't care. I've missed too much already."

Months passed. Visits turned to weekends. Weekends turned to holidays. And slowly, painfully, Michael worked his way into Leo's world.

Then, one spring afternoon, he knelt in their tiny living room, holding out a simple silver band.

"I wasted years without you. Let me make up for it. Marry me."

You stared, breath caught in your throat.

"You don’t have to be alone anymore," he said. "Neither of you."

Tears fell as you nodded.

And when Leo burst into the room, Michael pulled him into his arms, holding them both like they were the only goal he ever needed.

They weren’t perfect.

But they were a family.

TL: @samm1e13 @demiitria @syleepy @chaoslibra @bontenxo @pinkymangacaps @riinniies @samthesimp1 @sapphireluv @s4turnx1 @nevvynev @cookiesandcreammy @rinniebinniebay @ravenbc @kamelika @luvsymai @werfiedeii @mikemsmm @silverwings920 @cyberheartrebel @arwawawa2 @yanderebluelockfan @valexqpt @bigclownshoes @rinniewinnie787 @satorella

A/n: Thank you for the req, why was this lwk sad :(

ꨄ︎Anglbnny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[Masterlist]

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

☆ murmurs in red silk , ft. mydeimos.

❤︎︎ tws : nsfw / smut, fingering, tit play, overstimulation, multiple of rounds, creampie (vaginal), chocking, slight breeding, mydei is gentle at the first, reader is implied to be smaller than mydei, slightly tough petting, light biting and size kink. mdni (18+ only)

❤︎︎ synopsis : Mydei gently overwhelms his beloved with tender dominance, worshiping your body while reminding you that you belong entirely to him.

His cloak fanned around you like a sea of crimson, heavy and warm beneath your back, soft where it pooled around your hips. Mydei loomed above you with one knee between your thighs, golden eyes burning low and heavy as they traced every inch of your trembling body. His long, wild hair framed his face, the red tips glinting like firelight.

You were breathless—half-naked and aching as his gauntlet braced beside your head, caging you in without even touching. You could feel the heat of him, the sheer mass of his body, And he hadn’t even done anything yet.

“You’re so fuckin’ soft,” he murmured, voice dipping into a reverent growl. “So pretty like this… all needy and open for me.”

His free hand trailed up your thigh—bare and shaking—until his fingers slipped between your folds. You gasped at the contact, instinctively bucking, but Mydei just tut-tutted quietly, pressing his palm down to still your hips.

“Mm-mm. You take what I give you, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Not a second before.”

His fingers moved again, spreading your slick with slow, steady swirls. Two fingers parted your pussy, rubbing slow circles into your clit until your back arched and your breath hitched. You were already soaked, dripping for him, aching to be filled. And Mydei knew it. He always knew.

“You’re dripping already,” he chuckled low in his throat. “My pretty girl’s pussy knows who it belongs to, huh?”

You whined, breathless. “Y-Yes, Mydei…”

That earned you a moan—deep, soft, feral. “Say it again.”

“Yours… m’pussy’s yours…”

He bit your neck gently at that, his voice roughening. “That’s right. All mine.”

His fingers curled inside you without warning—two thick digits sinking deep, spreading your walls wide. You moaned loud and shameless, hips grinding down, desperate for more. But he didn’t move faster. No, Mydei kept that same devastating pace, curling just right, pressing to the spot that made your thighs quake.

You clawed at his robe. “Please… want it…”

“What do you want, sweetheart?” he cooed, tongue flicking over the bite he’d left on your neck. “Use your words. Tell your prince.”

“Want your cock,” you whimpered. “Wanna be full…”

His cock—hard and leaking—pressed hot and heavy against your thigh through the fabric of his robe. You could feel the size of him, the weight, the way he was throbbing for you. His breath hitched when your hips rocked up to grind against him.

“Gods, you’re gonna break me, aren’t you?” he muttered, almost to himself. “You want this cock so bad, pretty baby… but you’re so small. You gonna be able to take it?”

You nodded frantically, legs wide, eyes pleading.

He finally tugged his robe aside, freeing his cock. Thick, flushed red at the tip, veins running along the shaft like molten lightning. He stroked it once, watching you stare with wide, desperate eyes.

Then he lined himself up—one hand gripping your thigh, the other guiding his cock to your entrance. You could feel the stretch before he even pushed in.

“Breathe for me,” he whispered. “Nice n’ slow…”

The head of his cock slid in and your mouth fell open in a silent cry. Mydei moaned low in his throat, forehead pressed to yours as he sank deeper—inch by inch—into your quivering pussy. The stretch was unbearable and perfect all at once, your walls fluttering around him as he filled you, inch by heavy inch.

“Fuck… look at how you take me,” he growled, hips rocking forward. “So tight, baby. So fucking good.”

When he bottomed out, your legs shook around his waist, your pussy gripping him so tightly he could barely move. He stayed like that, buried deep, breathing ragged against your cheek.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s what it means to be mine.”

Then he moved—slow, deep strokes, hips rolling with maddening control. His cock dragged perfectly against your walls, the blunt head nudging your sweet spot every time he thrust. You clung to him, gasping, helpless under his weight, drunk on the stretch and the praise and the heat of him.

“Mydei,” you whined. “Gonna—gonna cum…”

“Cum for me,” he growled. “Cream on my cock. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You shattered around him with a cry, walls clenching, legs trembling. But he didn’t stop—kept thrusting through it, fucking you slow and deep while you sobbed his name like a mantra.

“My good girl,” he purred. “My perfect little thing…”

He came with a low, broken moan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling deep inside you. You felt every twitch, every throb of his cock as it filled you, warmth flooding your insides in thick waves.

And still, he stayed inside you—one big hand stroking your hair as your body quaked under him, the other rubbing soft circles over your tummy where he’d just filled you.

“You did so good for me,” he whispered against your temple. “So beautiful… so fucking perfect.”

His cock was still buried inside you.

Thick. Warm. Twitching gently in your soaked, fluttering cunt like it belonged there—because it did. Because everything in your body knew it now, from the way your hips twitched upward trying to keep him inside, to the way your cunt clenched instinctively with every little shift of his hips.

Mydei wasn’t moving, not yet. He was just watching you.

His eyes roamed your face, drinking in the tears still caught in your lashes, the dazed part of your brain still catching up to what just happened—how he’d fucked you full and slow, stretched you open so wide and deep you were trembling under him like a fevered thing.

“You look ruined already,” he murmured, voice soft but rough with pride. His hand curled gently under your chin, tilting your head back so your eyes met his. “You gonna fall apart again for me, sweetheart? You want my cock again?”

Your legs gave a weak twitch around his waist, thighs trembling as the wet squelch of your overstimulated pussy tightened around his length. You whimpered. You nodded.

“Please… again, Mydei… want more…”

He chuckled, all low and dangerous in your ear, before he thrust.

You gasped—body jolting as the force of it sent his cum squelching back out around his cock. The slick mess of his first release coated your thighs, smeared on the red silk beneath you. You felt wet everywhere—between your legs, under your back, dripping from your twitching little hole every time he pulled back even a few inches.

“You want more, huh?” he murmured, voice dripping with affection and hunger all at once. “You gonna beg for it, baby? Let me fuck that dumb little pussy full again?”

“Yes—yes, please, Mydei—” your voice cracked, your body already rocking helplessly with the slow rhythm of his hips as he started fucking you again—no warning, no mercy, just that slow, grinding stretch as his cock slid deep inside all over again.

Every thrust hit deeper this time.

Wetter. Filthier. Every time his hips met yours, it was like you could feel the shape of him pressing against your womb—too big, too thick, too much and still so perfect. His fingers wrapped around your throat, thumb stroking your jaw as he pinned you gently there—not choking, just holding. Claiming.

“My good girl,” he panted. “So tight—fuck—you’re squeezing me like you never want me to leave.”

He leaned down, licking into your mouth, tongue messy and deep while your cunt spasmed around his cock again. You whined into the kiss, clinging to his shoulders, overwhelmed and greedy and so full. His free hand slid under your thigh, lifting it high, bending you open further so he could fuck even deeper.

“Mydei,” you cried, shaking. “Too much—‘s too big—can’t—”

“You can,” he growled, biting your lower lip. “You’re taking it. You’re doing so good for me, baby. My sweet little hole’s just made for this cock, isn’t it?”

His hips snapped forward—hard.

You screamed.

Your pussy clenched, gushing around him as you came again, body jerking under his hold. Mydei hissed, cock throbbing deep as your walls milked him, fucked out and needy and still begging for more without saying a word.

“Fuck, you love this,” he moaned, voice thick with hunger. “You love when I fuck you full, don’t you? You wanna be stuffed—wanna drip with my cum—”

“Y-Yes! Please—wanna feel it again, wanna feel you fill me—”

That was all it took.

Mydei slammed forward with a growl, burying himself to the hilt as he came again—hot and thick, shooting deep inside your messy cunt, cock pulsing hard against your walls. You felt it all. Every spurt, every twitch. It overflowed immediately, leaking out around the base of his cock and smearing down your ass and thighs in warm, wet streaks.

But he didn’t pull out.

His cock stayed inside you, heavy and twitching as you spasmed underneath him, your brain too foggy to think, to speak, just little mewling noises pouring from your throat as your fingers weakly tugged at his robe.

“Shhh…” Mydei whispered, brushing hair from your face. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You did so good for me.”

You whimpered, legs still twitching around his hips.

“Still full,” you mumbled. “Still leaking…”

He smiled softly, leaning down to kiss your flushed cheeks, your nose, your lips. “That’s right. Gotta keep it in there. Let it soak.”

You blinked up at him, hazy and dumb from how full your pussy still was, how warm and claimed, you felt with his cock still stuffed inside you.

“Stay?” you whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, cradling your head and kissing your temple. “Gonna stay inside you just like this. Keep my girl nice and full…”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[gukcnt]

SAFE HAVEN — jjk (m.)

“Goddamn, baby,” he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you gently. “Suck your husband’s cock like that. You’re so damn good.”

pairing — husband dom!jungkook x housewife sub!femreader

genre — established relationship, slice of life, domestic vibes, slight age gap, slight angst, romance, smut, fluff

warnings — 18+, explicit smut, possessiveness, smoking (jungkook uses cigarettes as a stress relief), emotional comfort and vulnerability, stress and anger, devotion, emotional and physical intimacy, oral sex (m. receiving), blowjob, cock sucking and palming, face fucking, hair fisting, deep throating and gagging, making out, hickies/marking, bruising, rough sex, sex in the form of stress relief, dirty talk, praise kink, slight degradation, oral sex (f. receiving), breast play, nipple play, nipple sucking, he is obsessed with her tits, fingering, clit stimulation, slight orgasm denial, overstimulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, creampie, crying from pleasure and pain, scratching, love confessions, aftercare

wc — 4.5k

masterlist

The late afternoon sun streamed through the curtains of your cozy home, painting the living room in a soft, golden glow. The house was still, except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional chirp of birds outside. You stood in the kitchen, barefoot on the hardwood floor, dressed in one of Jungkook’s oversized black t-shirts. It hung loosely on your petite frame, the hem reached just above your knees, carrying the lingering scent of his cologne—a comforting reminder of your husband as you busied yourself preparing his favorite dinner.

Your hands moved with quiet confidence, slicing vegetables for beef stew. The kitchen was your haven, a place where you poured your heart into every dish you made for Jungkook. Tonight, you wanted everything to be just right. Earlier, when he’d called during his lunch break, his voice had been tight, weary—a sharp difference from his usual warmth. He hadn’t said much, but you knew him well enough to sense the weight of a rough day at work. As his housewife, you took pride in creating a warm home for him, a place where he could leave the world’s burdens behind.

You hummed a soft tune to yourself, the melody calming your nerves. Cooking for Jungkook was your way of showing love, a quiet act of devotion that spoke louder than words, especially when your shyness sometimes held your tongue.

As the clock neared 6:30 PM, you glanced at the front door, your heart giving a little flutter of anticipation but tinged with worry. Jungkook would be home soon, and you wanted to be ready for him. You smoothed the t-shirt over your thighs, you loved wearing his clothes—it felt like a piece of him was with you. Your hair was pulled into a loose, messy bun, a few strands framing your face, and you wore no makeup, your skin glowing softly in it's natural state.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway broke your trance. Your pulse quickened as the engine shut off, followed by the heavy thud of the car door. You turned off the stove, wiped your hands on a dish towel, and took a deep breath, bracing yourself for whatever mood Jungkook might bring home. The front door swung open, and there he was—Jeon Jungkook, stepping inside like a storm wrapped in a tailored black suit.

Jungkook’s presence was commanding, filling the room. His broad shoulders strained against his suit jacket, and his dark hair was slightly ruffled, as if he’d raked his hands through it in frustration. His jaw was set, his brows in a frown, and his dark eyes carried a heaviness that tugged at your heart. He dropped his briefcase by the door with a thud and yanked at his tie, loosening it with an irritated tug. Seeing him like this—so handsome yet so clearly worn and agitated—made your chest ache.

“Hey,” you said softly, as you stepped out of the kitchen, your bare feet moving towards him. You clasped your hands together, a nervous habit, and bit your lip, unsure how to reach him when he was in this state.

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the living room in a few long strides and sank onto the gray couch, his head tipping back against the cushions. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one with a quick flick of his lighter. He took a deep drag, the cigarette’s tip glowing red, and exhaled smoke that curled toward the ceiling. The sharp scent of tobacco wove through the lingering smell of dinner, and you watched him quietly, your heart twisting at how wounded he seemed.

You lingered near the kitchen doorway, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. Jungkook smoked in silence, his gaze fixed somewhere far off, his free hand resting on his thigh, fingers tapping restlessly. Cigarettes were a rare vice for him, something he turned to only when the stress was too heavy to shake off. You hated seeing him like this, but you also knew he needed a moment before he’d let you in.

Finally, you got your courage and approached him, your steps slow and careful. “Kookie,” you murmured, using the nickname that always seemed to soften him, even on his darkest days. You stopped in front of the couch, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, and looked down at him with wide, worried eyes. “Are you okay?”

Jungkook’s eyes flicked up to yours, and for a small moment, the hardness in his face eased. His gaze softened as he took you in—your small frame in his t-shirt, your bare legs, your flushed cheeks. He took another drag, then stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray on the coffee table. Without a word, he reached for you, his large hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you onto his lap.

You let out a soft gasp as he drew you close, your body settling against his. His arms encircled you, strong and possessive, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in deeply, and you felt his lips graze your skin in a tender kiss that sent a shiver through you.

“God, baby,” he murmured against your neck, his voice low and rough, heavy with exhaustion. “You’re the only thing that makes this day worth getting through.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your fingers threading through his dark hair. “I’m here, Kookie,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “Always.”

He kissed you then, his lips claiming yours in a slow, gentle kiss that tasted of smoke and something so him. You melted into him, your shyness dissolving in the warmth of his touch. His hands roamed your back, pressing you closer, and you felt the tension in his frame begin to loosen, his shoulders easing as he lost himself in you.

When he pulled back, his dark eyes searched yours, and he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “I had a shit day, baby,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, less sharp but still heavy. “Work was a fucking mess.”

You cupped his face gently, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Wanna talk about it?” you asked, your voice soft and encouraging. You shifted in his lap, straddling him so you could face him fully, your knees sinking into the couch on either side of his hips. His hands settled on your thighs, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your bare skin, and you felt a flicker of warmth in your chest at the familiar closeness.

Jungkook sighed, his head tipping back against the couch as he stared at the ceiling. “The new client we’re dealing with—they’re a nightmare,” he started, his voice thick with frustration. “They keep changing the contract terms, demanding more work without wanting to pay for it. My team’s been killing themselves for weeks, and today, during the presentation, the client’s CEO had the balls to call our work basic, baby. After all the late nights, the endless revisions, the bullshit we’ve put up with.”

You listened closely, your heart aching for him. Jungkook was a senior project manager, and while he thrived on challenges, the relentless demands of his job sometimes wore him down. You reached for his tie, your fingers working to loosen the knot as he spoke, your touch gentle and soothing.

“That’s not fair,” you said softly, your voice laced with sympathy. “You work so hard, Kookie. They don’t appreciate you enough.”

He let out a bitter chuckle, his hands tightening on your thighs. “No kidding. And then, to make it worse, one of my team members screwed up the projections during the meeting. I had to jump in and fix it on the spot, in front of everyone, and the client just sat there smirking like they’d won something.”

You frowned, your hands pausing on his tie. “That’s awful,” you murmured. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that. You’re always cleaning up other people’s mistakes.”

Jungkook’s eyes softened as he looked at you, and he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re too good to me, you know that?” he said, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “I come home ranting like this, and you just… listen. You make it all feel lighter.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you ducked your head, suddenly shy under his gaze. “I just want you to feel okay,” you mumbled, focusing on unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt. “You do so much for us. I wanna take care of you too.”

He smiled then, a small, genuine smile that made your heart skip. “You do, baby,” he said, his hands sliding up to your waist, squeezing gently. “More than you know.”

You finished loosening his tie and draped it over the arm of the couch, then ran your hands down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his shirt. “Why don’t you go take a shower?” you suggested, your voice soft but firm. “It’ll help you relax. I’ll warm up dinner, for you.”

Jungkook’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, dark and unreadable, before he nodded. “Alright,” he said, his voice low. “But only because you’re asking so nicely.”

You giggled softly, the sound cutting through the heavy mood, and slid off his lap, standing in front of him. He stood too, towering over you, and leaned down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Don’t take too long,” you teased, your voice playful despite your shyness.

He smirked, a hint of his usual charm breaking through. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving your waist a playful squeeze before heading toward the bathroom.

As Jungkook disappeared down the hallway, you returned to the kitchen, your heart feeling lighter. You turned on the stove to reheat the stew, its rich aroma curling through the air again. You set the table with care, arranging plates and chopsticks. You poured two glasses of iced tea, knowing Jungkook loved its cool flavor with dinner.

In the bathroom, Jungkook shed all his clothings, the fabric pooling on the floor. He turned on the shower, letting the hot water cascade over his shoulders, washing away the day’s frustrations. He closed his eyes, the steam wrapping around him, and thought of you—your soft voice, your gentle hands, the way you looked in his t-shirt, so small and perfect. The tightness in his chest began to loosen, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the water.

Back in the kitchen, you hummed as you plated the food, arranging the beef and vegetables neatly over steaming rice. When you heard the shower shut off, you glanced toward the hallway, your heart fluttering.

Jungkook emerged a few minutes later, his hair damp and tousled, wearing a fitted black t-shirt and gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He looked more relaxed, but the slight clench of his jaw and the faint crease in his brow told you he was still carrying some of the day’s weight. He walked into the dining area, his eyes softening as he took in the spread on the table.

“Baby, this looks incredible,” he said, his voice warm with gratitude. He pulled out a chair and sat down, his gaze flickering to you as you set his plate in front of him. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

You blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I wanted to,” you said softly. “You deserve it.”

He reached for your hand, tugging you closer until you stood between his legs. “Sit with me,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “You’re eating too.”

You nodded, your cheeks warming as you grabbed your plate and sat across from him. Jungkook waited until you took your first bite before starting, his eyes watching you with a mix of protectiveness and affection. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low, and you felt a familiar warmth bloom in your chest at the praise.

Dinner was quiet at first, the only sounds the clink of chopsticks and Jungkook’s occasional hum of approval. The beef was tender and flavorful, and you smiled to yourself as he reached for seconds, his appetite a quiet compliment to your efforts.

“This is perfect, baby,” he said between bites, his eyes meeting yours. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

Your heart swelled, and you looked down, focusing on your plate. “I’m glad you like it,” you said shyly, your voice barely audible.

He chuckled, reaching across the table to tilt your chin up. “Don’t hide from me,” he teased, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “I wanna see that pretty face.”

You blushed fiercely, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “Kookie,” you whined softly, embarrassed by his attention, but he just grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

The conversation flowed easily after that, a mix of light teasing and deeper moments. Jungkook told you about a new project his team was starting, his voice lighting up as he described the parts he was excited about. You listened closely, asking questions and offering quiet encouragement, your shyness fading in the warmth of his presence.

“You’re so good at what you do,” you said at one point, your voice earnest. “I’m so proud of you, Kookie.”

He paused, his chopsticks hovering over his plate, and looked at you with an intensity that stole your breath. “You have no idea how much that means,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Coming home to you, hearing you say that… it’s everything.”

Your cheeks burned, and you looked away, overwhelmed by his gaze. He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently, as if he never wants to let you go.

When dinner was done, you cleared the table together, Jungkook insisting on helping despite your protests. “You cooked, I clean,” he said firmly, his hands brushing yours as he took the plates to the sink. You stood side by side, washing and drying in comfortable silence, the simple act grounding you both.

Later, as you sat on the couch together, Jungkook’s arm draped over your shoulders, you felt the tension creep back into his frame. His fingers tapped restlessly against your arm, and his jaw was tight again, his earlier ease giving way to a quiet unease. You glanced up at him, your heart aching at the sight of him still struggling.

“Kookie,” you said softly, turning to face him. “You’re still tense. Is there anything I can do?”

He looked at you, his eyes dark with an emotion you couldn’t quite read. “Just keep being you,” he said, his voice low and gravel. “That’s more than enough.”

You nodded, your heart pounding as you leaned up to kiss him, a gentle, reassuring kiss that deepened as he pulled you closer. His hands slid under the hem of his t-shirt, caressing your bare skin, causing you to shiver.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with need.

You nodded, letting him lead you to the bedroom, your hand warm in his. The room was dimly lit with the soft glow of a bedside lamp. You climbed onto the bed, still in his t-shirt, the fabric riding up to reveal you wore nothing beneath. Jungkook’s eyes darkened as he noticed, his gaze lingering on your bare thighs.

He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for another cigarette and lighting it with his lighter. He took a slow drag, his eyes never leaving you, and you felt a flush of heat under his intense stare. You watched as he exhaled, the smoke curling upward in lazy swirls.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, his voice rough, the cigarette dangling between his fingers. “Sitting there in my shirt, looking like that.”

You blushed, tugging at the hem of the t-shirt, but his words sent a thrill through you. He stubbed out the cigarette and reached for you, pulling you into his lap with a firm grip. You straddled him, your legs wrapping around his waist, and he kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours. The taste of tobacco and your strawberry lip balm mingled, heady and familiar, and you moaned softly into his mouth, a quiet sound that made his grip tighten.

His hands slid under the t-shirt, his calloused fingers grazing your lower back before cupping your bare ass, squeezing firmly. The sensation sent a jolt through you, your skin tingling, and you arched into him, your breasts pressing against his chest. The fabric of his t-shirt teased your sensitive nipples, already hard from the cool air and his gaze, and you whimpered, a soft “Kookie…” slipping out.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice rough with want as he broke the kiss, his lips trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your jaw to the sensitive spot below your ear. His breath was warm, his stubble grazing your skin, a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips. “You sound so sweet when you make those noises. Keep going for me.”

His hands pushed the t-shirt up, exposing your breasts, the cool air making you gasp as it hit your skin. Jungkook’s eyes darkened, a hungry edge to them as he took in your bare chest, your nipples tight and begging for his touch. “These damn breasts,” he muttered, his voice thick with adoration, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive buds. The contact was electric, a sharp spark of pleasure that made you cry out a soft moan.

He rolled your nipples between his fingers, pinching just enough to make you squirm, your hips rocking against him. The pressure of his hard cock, straining against his sweatpants, pressed against your pussy, and you felt a rush of wetness, your body eager for him. “Jungkook, please…” you whimpered, your voice trembling, your hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his muscle.

“Patience, baby,” he teased, his lips curling into a smirk as he leaned down to take one nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, hot and wet, before he sucked hard, the pull sending pleasure straight to your core. You moaned loudly, a desperate “Oh, Kookie!” as your head fell back, your body arching into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue along with the slight scrape of his teeth, the way his other hand kneaded your breast—it was overwhelming, and you shuddered, lost in him.

He switched to your other breast, his tongue lapping at you, and the room filled with your gasps and moans, mingled with his low groans. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, and he growled against your skin, the vibration making you tremble. “So damn responsive,” he muttered, his lips brushing your nipple, his breath teasing. “You’re perfect, baby. My perfect girl.”

You pushed his hands away, your cheeks flushed with a mix of shyness and boldness, and slid off his lap to kneel between his legs on the floor. His eyes widened, then darkened with lust as you tugged at his sweatpants, your fingers trembling. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip glistening, and you swallowed hard, intimidated but aching to please him. You wrapped your hand around him, fingers barely meeting, and stroked slowly, feeling the heat of his skin, and the throb of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Jungkook groaned, his head falling back, his hands fisting the sheets. His voice was rough, strained, and it sent heat through you. You leaned down, your lips brushing the tip, tasting him, and he hissed, a sharp “Shit!” as his hips twitched.

You took him into your mouth, your lips stretching around him, your tongue swirling before sinking lower. The weight of him, the stretch of your jaw, was too much, and you moaned, the vibration making him curse. “Goddamn, baby,” he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you gently. “Suck your husband’s cock like that. You’re so damn good.”

You bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks, your free hand stroking where your mouth couldn’t reach along with his balls. Wet slurps, your soft moans and his ragged breathing—filled the room, along with the faint creak of the bed from his movements. Your throat ached as you took him deeper, your eyes watering, but you didn’t stop, loving how he unraveled. His stress seemed to melt, replaced by raw animal need. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” he rasped, his thumb brushing your cheek, wiping a tear. “My good girl.”

He thrusted into your mouth, his grip tightening, and you relaxed your throat, letting him take control. Your moans drew curses and grunts from him, and you felt pride in how you made him feel. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna make me come,” he warned, his voice strained, his hips stuttering.

You pulled off with a soft pop, your lips swollen, and he growls lowly, pulling you up to crash his lips against yours. The kiss was messy, desperate, all tongue and teeth, the taste of your lip balm mixing with his saltiness. He flipped you onto your back, the mattress dipping, and spread your legs wide, his hands gripping your thighs. The t-shirt bunched around your waist, exposing you, and he groaned, a primal sound that made your pussy clench around nothing.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice thick as he slid a finger through your folds, collecting your wetness. “So damn wet for me. This little pussy’s all mine, right?” You blushed and nodded, uttering a soft “Yes, Kookie…” and he smirked, sliding two fingers inside, curling them to hit that spot. You cried out, as your back arched, your walls gripping him.

He pumped his fingers, his thumb circling your clit, and you writhed, your moans growing desperate. “That’s it, baby,” he coaxed, his voice low. “Let me hear you. Let me know how good I make you feel.” The wet sounds of his fingers along with your whiny gasps filled the air, and you felt your orgasm building, your body trembling.

Before you could come, he pulled out, and you whined, a needy “Noo, please…” that made him chuckle darkly. “Patience, pretty girl,” he said, aligning himself with your entrance. He teased you, rubbing the tip through your folds, and you squirmed, clutching the sheets. “Jungkook, please, I need you,” you begged, and his eyes softened, his love shining through.

He pushed into you in one smooth thrust, filling you, and you both moaned, a shared sound of relief. He was big, stretching you perfectly with a slight burn from the fullness. “Fuck,” he grunts, as he bottomed out. “You’re so tight, so warm. My good wife.”

He set a relentless pace, deep and hard, each thrust hitting that spot, making you cry out his name, “Yes!” spilling from your lips. The headboard starts hitting the wall, the room filled with the noises of skin slapping against each other along with wet squelches. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you into each thrust, and you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking his back, leaving red trails.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, his forehead against yours, his breath hot. His eyes locked on yours, a dark look full of raw need. “Take it all, baby. Be a good wife for me.”

You moaned, your body trembling as he pounded into you, your breasts bouncing, the t-shirt tangled around your chest. He sucked a hickey into your neck, his teeth grazing, and you cried out, a sharp “Jungkook!” as the sting blended with pleasure. Your walls fluttered, your orgasm nearing, and he groaned, feeling you tighten.

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, his voice desperate, his thrusts erratic. “Come on your husband’s cock.” He slipped a hand between you, his fingers rubbing your clit, and you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you. You screamed his name, a broken “Kookie!” as your body convulsed, milking him.

He didn’t stop, chasing his release, his thrusts sloppy but deep, making you sob. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come,” he rasped, his grip tightening. “Gonna fill you up.” You clung to him, and he came with a guttural curse, his cock pulsing, filling you until his release dripped down your thighs.

He collapsed onto you, not pulling out, his weight grounding you. You panted, slick with sweat, and he kissed your forehead, his lips soft. “I love you,” he murmured, raw with emotion. “So damn much.”

You blushed, your shyness returning, but whispered, “I love you too, Kookie.”

He held you close, cuddling you, and you felt safe, the afterglow wrapping you in warmth. When he pulled out, you whined at the emptiness, and he chuckled, kissing your nose. “My needy baby,” he teased.

You curled up on his hard chest, your bare breasts pressing against his skin, and kissed the tattoo of your name over his heart, a delicate reminder from your first anniversary. He watched you, his eyes soft, thinking how lucky he was to have you—his shy, sweet wife who loved him so fiercely.

As you drifted to sleep, your lips parted, cheeks flushed, Jungkook brushed hair from your face, his heart full. You were his everything, his haven, and in that quiet moment, with you safe in his arms, he knew he’d never need anything more.

────୨ৎ────

taglist: @chaelvrx @wintaemoonjen @furioustrashlover @kari-l @kelsyx33 @slutology00 @reallygenerouskoala @kskskskskskskskss @universallywizardkoala @jjeonjjk7 @minewlove @lisax-30 @gyeomibearr @nanisblogg @nellbyy @svnbangtansworld @jk-hoe97 @lively-potter @jkkk9197 @likecrazy22 @smokingberries @pjmxxjmdipity @kooever @fangirl-coco-goddess @tranquilreign

[localfanficlover]

After Hours

(Bo Chow x OC)

(This is pt.2 to this Bo imagine, but you don’t need to read that to read this)

Trigger Warnings:

(rough sex, oral (f. receiving), emotionally intense smut, power dynamics, unprotected sex, possessive tone, p in v)

MDNI below the cut

——————————————————

He locks the door without a word.

Not hurried. Not frantic. Just decided.

Your back hits the wall before you even realize he’s moved, one hand still firm on your waist, the other slidin’ up beneath your blouse—fingertips hot and sure, rough palms chasin’ the curve of your ribs like he’s feelin’ his way through a dream he ain’t ready to wake up from.

“Ain’t right,” he mutters against your mouth, voice low and wrecked, “but it don’t make no difference no more.”

You nod, but he ain’t askin’.

Then he kisses you like he’s starved—deep, messy, teeth knockin’ a little, tongue possessive. And when he drops to his knees in front of you, you grab the shelf behind you to steady yourself, ’cause the look in his eyes already took the breath outta your lungs.

“Lift it up, darlin’.”

You pull your skirt up with shaky hands, and he wastes no time—grippin’ your thighs like they belong to him, draggin’ you down onto his tongue with a groan that rattles clean through you.

He eats you like he’s missed meals for this. Like he means to memorize every damn sound you make.

And Lord, you make sounds.

Whines and gasps spill from your lips as his tongue moves slow at first, almost sweet. But he don’t stay sweet. He gets greedy. Messy. His mouth workin’ you open while his fingers dig bruises into your hips like he can’t stand not bein’ deeper. And every time you try to pull away from the overload, he growls and pulls you back down onto his face.

You fall apart with a cry he swallows like a man thirsty for it.

And when he stands, slick with you, thumb draggin’ across his mouth like he’s tryin’ to save the taste—he don’t even give you a second to think. Just turns you ‘round, presses your cheek to the cool wall, and pulls his belt loose with one sharp tug.

Zip.

“Told you,” he growls in your ear, pressin’ the thick weight of him between your thighs, “I been tryin’ to be good.”

Then he pushes inside.

Slow. Deep. And you both stop breathin’.

He don’t rush it. No—he grinds, real filthy, hips rollin’ in that perfect rhythm that pulls whimpers straight outta your throat. He holds your hips like he’s afraid you might vanish, keeps his chest pressed to your back so close you can feel every breath, every curse, every growl he bites off against your skin.

“Feel how tight you are for me, girl?” he grits out. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this—every night—since the first time you smiled at me like you knew somethin’ I didn’t.”

He fucks you hard. Deep. Til the shelves rattle. Til your legs shake and you come again, clenching around him so sweet he lets out a ragged, broken moan and spills inside you with a low, “Goddamn.”

Then there’s nothin’.

Just the two of you—pressed together in the dark, chests heavin’, skin damp, hearts beatin’ too loud.

He don’t move right away.

Just keeps his arms wrapped around you like he needs the contact more than air.

“You alright?” he says against your shoulder, voice softened by the come-down, that Southern twang more tender now.

You nod, still floatin’.

That’s when he turns you around—slow, gentle—til you’re facin’ him again. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushin’ the sweat-slick skin like he ain’t quite believin’ you’re real.

“Ain’t mean to go at you like that,” he murmurs, eyes searchin’ yours, “but I ain’t never wanted nothin’ so bad in my whole damn life.”

You reach up and touch his chest, feelin’ the thunder still rollin’ under his ribs. And when he leans his forehead against yours, quiet as a prayer, you finally see it.

Not just the want.

The need.

“You wrecked me, girl,” he says, barely a whisper. “And I don’t think I want fixin’.”

The silence after is warm. Soft. The kind that says maybe this ain’t just heat. Maybe it ain’t just lust or loneliness.

Maybe it’s the start of somethin’ that’s gonna ruin both of you in the best possible way.

————————————————————————

Since y’all loved the last one so much, here y’all go. I’m working on my Annie request as y’all are reading this so it should be done soon. ❤️

Tags:

[kannady]

wet kiss

pairing: sylus x gn!reader

summary: your busy boyfriend won't give you any attention. but it doesn't hurt to have fun, right?

a/n: another one of my random ideas. can't stop thinking about giving head to this man. lemme know if you liked it. and PLEASE gimme more oneshot ideas!

genre: sylus, sylus smut, love and deepspace smut, oral (male receiving), MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

You came home from work exhausted, the weight of the day pressing down on your shoulders. The apartment was quiet, save for the low hum of the city outside. Kicking off your heels, you padded to the bedroom, stripping out of your work clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water soothed your muscles, washing away the tension, and by the time you toweled off and slipped into something comfortable, an oversized shirt and nothing else. 

The study door was slightly ajar when you approached, the dim glow of the desk lamp spilling into the hallway. You peeked inside and saw your boyfriend leaning back in his chair, one hand rubbing his temple, the other holding his phone to his ear. His voice was low, professional, the kind of tone he reserved for clients and colleagues. He hadn't noticed you yet.

Quietly, you slipped inside, letting the door click shut behind you. The study was his domain—dark wood, leather-bound books, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. You ran your fingers along the spines of the books as you wandered, pretending to browse, but your attention was entirely on him. His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone, exposing the strong line of his throat. You bit your lip.

Fuck.

A dangerous idea flickered in your mind.

You stood, moving silently toward him. His eyes flicked to you briefly, acknowledging your presence before returning to his screen. You bit your lip, then slowly, deliberately you climbed onto his desk, sitting right in front of him. His gaze snapped to you, a silent question in his eyes.

You answered by leaning in, pressing your lips to his neck.

A soft inhale. His fingers stilled on the keyboard.

You didn't stop.

Your mouth trailed along his throat, teeth grazing his skin, tongue soothing the faint sting. His pulse jumped beneath your lips. One of your hands slid down his chest, lower and lower until your palm pressed against the growing hardness in his jeans.

Oh.

He was already half-hard, just from this. You smirked against his skin, fingers tracing the outline of him through the fabric before palming him firmly. A quiet, strained noise escaped him, his breath hitching mid- sentence on the call.

He didn't stop you.

Encouraged, you dropped to your knees between his legs, fingers making quick work of his belt, his zipper. His hand clamped over your wrist. Not to push you away, but to squeeze, a silent warning. You looked up at him through your lashes, lips parted, waiting. His grip loosened.

He was wearing boxers, and you could see the outline of his hardening cock straining against the fabric.

You leaned in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock through his boxers. You could feel him twitching, growing harder by the second. You let your tongue linger, tracing the shape of his cock through the thin fabric.

You hooked your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down slowly. His cock sprung free, and you couldn't help but lick your lips at the sight of it. It was hard and throbbing, the head already glistening with pre-cum.

You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the weight of it in your palm. You started to stroke him slowly, your thumb brushing against the sensitive underside of his shaft. He let out a low groan, his hips bucking slightly into your touch.

Leaning in, your tongue darting out to lick a stripe up the length of his cock. You swirled your tongue around the head, lapping up the pre-cum that was leaking from the tip. He tasted salty and slightly bitter, a flavor that you'd grown to love.

"Kitten-" His voice was a strained whisper, barely audible.

You ignored him, taking him into your mouth, your lips stretching around his thick girth. You could feel him pulsing against your tongue, growing harder with each passing second. You took him deeper, feeling him hit the back of your throat. You started to bob your head, taking him in and out of your mouth. Your hand continued to stroke what you couldn't fit in your mouth, your fingers squeezing and caressing his shaft.

He was grunting and moaning, his hips rocking in time with your movements. His hand tightened in your hair, gripping it almost painfully as he lost himself in the sensation.

"Y-yes, l-fuck-I understand the proposal–"

You smirked around him, swirling your tongue along the underside, sucking hard. His thighs tensed, a broken sound tearing from his throat.

That was his breaking point.

"I'll call you back." His voice was rough, strained. He ripped the headset off, tossing it onto the desk before his hands were on you, dragging you up by your hair.

“You're fucking insane,” he growled, crashing his lips against yours. You moaned into the kiss, tasting him on his tongue mixed with your saliva.

"You didn't stop me," you breathed, fingers working his cock again, stroking him slowly.

"Because I like watching you be a greedy little slut." His grip on your hair tightened, forcing your head back. "Now get back on your knees and finish what you started.”

You dropped eagerly, taking him into your mouth with a moan. This time, he didn't hold back. His hips rolled up, fucking into your throat, his groans loud and unfiltered.

"That's it, sweetie, take it– fuck–” His fingers twisted in your hair, guiding your pace, his thrusts growing erratic. "Gonna cum down your throat, gonna make you swallow every fucking drop-"

You whimpered, hollowing your cheeks, bobbing faster. You could feel him starting to throb harder, his cock twitching and pulsing in your mouth. You knew he was close, and you doubled your efforts, determined to make him cum.

His thighs trembled, his grip turning almost painful. "Kitten-"

With a final, hard suck, you felt him explode in your mouth. His cum shot down your throat, hot and thick, coating your tongue and the inside of your cheeks. You swallow it down greedily, relishing the taste of him, milking him through it until he was twitching, oversensitive.

When you finally pulled off, licking your lips clean, he dragged you up into a filthy, claiming kiss.

“Next time,” he murmured against your mouth, “I'm bending you over this desk and fucking you until you forget your own name.”

You shivered.

You couldn’t wait.

[rafesangelita]

♡ jj eating sheep!reader through her panties

warnings: oral (f. receiving), heavy petting

jj knew as soon as you showed up to the chateau in that pretty little skirt of yours he needed to get his head underneath it, the blue frilly material barely leaving anything to the imagination as you mindlessly chatted with the girls out on the porch. cleo was scolding you about getting bit by mosquitoes when jj came and interrupted. “mind if i steal her for a second?” you didn’t get a chance to protest before he was pulling you away, both sarah and kie rolling their eyes as you giggled into jj’s shoulder. guiding you inside, your cheeks heated when you felt his hand trail down your backside.

“you can’t walk around looking this good, sheep, i already get in enough fights.” he shook his head, glancing around to make sure no one was looking before shoving you inside john b’s room. you gasped when he pushed you against the door, his knees meeting the floor as he hiked your skirt up around your waist. you yelped when he cupped the globes of your ass, his mouth running over your clothed folds. “and you taste so good, too, what am i supposed to do with you?” you bit your lip, your eyebrows knitting together as you took jj’s hair between your fingers.

the thin layer of lace did nothing to stop his tongue from circling your clit, your knees buckling as he supported your weight in his palms. “kinda hurts, jayj..” you whined, his fingers pinching your skin as he groped your flesh. he ignored your cries and continued eating you like a man starved, his eyes flickering up every now and then to study your face. “it won’t hurt for long, m’gonna make you feel so good right now, baby.” you gasped when he pulled away for a moment, your sticky succulence creating a string connecting from his lips to your panties.

“you just make sure you’re not too loud for this next part, or else everyone’s gonna know what’s happening in here.”

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[sourb1tter]

Hi can I request Lara and y/n live streaming with Manon and the fans catch Lara and y/n kissing a little in the background and Manon tries to cover them? Thanks. Hope that makes sense

𝓢ynopsis: You, Lara, and Manon are livestreaming on weverse, Your cuddling all on top of her the whole live stream and ofc yall start making out and manon has to cover yall so nothing happens.

𝓦arning: you and Lara makingout 😛😛 ( yesy yes yeysysygeh) and manon being angy at yall bc she has to protect yall ( such an amazing unnie ), also slight choking kink 😛🙏

“ 𝓔LLO MATE.. “ Manon had yelled as she entered the apartment that you and Lara were sharing. Lara smiled back at her, acknowledging her presence, “ 𝓔LLOOO MATEEE… “ Lara yelled back at her, them both laughing as you clinged onto Lara, your head on her shoulder, and your arms wrap around hers, you felt Lara’s head touch yours. Manon plopped herself onto the bed, the white sheets crinkling a bit due to the weight of Manon “ yall i got food, yall want? “ Manoned had asked us due to her kindness, me and Lara both knew she didn’t wanna share her food, that wasn’t a hard problem to solve. You both said no and started reading the weverse comments, most were talking about your new release. Gnarly, and your future comebacks and how different they were from Gnarly.

You nuzzled your face into Lara’s neck, kissing softly and lighty sucking, Lara’s head turned to you immediately, Manon was explaining something to the live. Distracting the live while you two had this interaction, Manon was slightly in front of yall, and she noticed what yall were whispering about and moved herself infront of yall…

“ Babe.. you know we can’t do this right now.. “ Lara whispered to you, putting her hand on your cheek… while Manon explained something about there new comeback and there tours for Gnarly, “ Please… “ You whispered as your lips connected to hers, Lara simply couldn’t resist and of course there came the comments..

“ WHAT IS LARA AND Y/N DOING? “

“ ARE THEY MAKING OUT?!?!? WJATTT “

Manon quickly denied everything while giving us a cue to stop, but you and Lara didn’t, the kiss only further intensified as her lips sloppily moved together with yours, hot and sweaty, your pants started getting louder, her hand reached your neck and started pulling you downwards onto the bed. Manon had to relocate the phone, moving herself and the phone so they could barely see you two having the time of your life. On the other hand though, you and Lara parted lips for a moment, smiling at each other and catching your breaths before continuing, she leaned back into you, small soft kisses were first, then it became longer, more passionate, her lips tasted sweet, like candy. You found your hands roaming across her body, your breathing became louder once more as your tongues danced against each other and her hands started roaming against your body and you both kept a smile plastered on your faces each time you released from the kiss.

Manon finally muted the livestream and yelled at you and Lara for being reckless.. “ Are you two crazy?!?! Do you know how bad this looks for our company? You can’t be doing this on live! What the hell, stop it. Both of you!! “ Manon had yelled at you two, you Lara climbed off of your with smudged lipstick and you sat up with your tanktop off your shoulders and halfway down your arms, and you two just looked at her and blinked… before bursting out laughing, Manon looked so irritated at you two. “ You two better fix yourselfs now. “ Manon said dead serious, you’ve never seen her so serious, you and Lara stopped laughing and started fixing yourselfs up. Lara fixed her lip combo as you fixed your tank top and kept it up right, you two snickered to yourselfs, “ Yall better not be laughing over there! “ Manon yelled at you with a slipper in hand, ready to throw it at you, you and Lara stopped laughing, “ Yes mother… “ you responded to her…

She threw the slipper at you and you fell on the ground and hit your head on the dresser and Lara and Manon laughed at you. Manon turned the audio back on and showed you to the live… “ HEYY, MANON, AND LARA THIS IS NOT FUNNY, IMA KILL BOTH OF YALL IN REHEARSALS TODAY, ME AND SOPHIA ARE GONNA BE ON YOUR ASSES WHEN YOU MESS UP, YOUR GONNA BE SO MAD WATCH.. “ you yelled at both of them while getting back up and fixing yourself up, and taking the phone away and walking away. “ They’re always so mean to me yall.. Fucking bullies.. “

“ A little bit scandalous… “

Produced by sour

[delilahsturniolo]

— ★ party 4 u . . . m.s

(making out, cheating, reader is in a toxic relationship, being intoxicated, drinking & mentions of alcohol, suggestive but no smut.)

requested by anon!

you’re five drinks in and already regretting every second of this party. the room spins around you in lazy circles. the music is so loud it rattles in your chest, making your head throb with every beat. sweaty bodies bump into you. someone spills a drink near your feet. you don’t care. you can barely stand straight, but that’s not what’s bothering you.

it’s him.

your boyfriend is draped over you like a bad habit. his arm is slung around your shoulders, his breath hot against your neck, and he reeks of whiskey and weed. you shift uncomfortably, trying to slide out from under him, but he only grips tighter.“where the hell do you think you’re going?” he slurs into your ear, loud and mean and unmistakably drunk.

“i just need a little air,” you mutter, not even sure he hears you. he scoffs, pulling back enough to look at you with narrowed eyes. “what, you’re gonna start crying again? god, you’re so fucking dramatic.” you flinch. maybe he doesn’t notice. or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. “you dragged me here,” you remind him, voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t even wanna come.”

he laughs, mean and sharp. “then why’d you put on that dress? huh? trying to get attention? ‘cause congrats, baby. mission accomplished.” you feel your throat tighten, heat rising behind your eyes. you’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the words or just… the weight of it all. you pull out your phone with shaky fingers. “who the fuck are you texting?” he snaps. “no one,” you say, not looking at him.

you storm off outside, you just hit the call button. it rings once. twice. “hello?” matt’s voice is low and groggy, he was probably asleep. your heart squeezes at the sound of it. “can you come get me?” your voice is thick and cracked. “please, i… i need to leave.” there’s a pause. “where are you?” you send him the address, barely able to type through the blur of your vision. “i’m on my way. stay outside, alright?”

you hang up, slipping your phone back in your pocket and standing. your boyfriend grabs your wrist. “you’re seriously leaving?” he sneers. “you’re such a fucking joke.” you yank your hand away. “don’t talk to me like that.” he snorts. “whatever. go run to matt. i don’t give a fuck.”

you don’t say anything. you stumble into the cool night air, head spinning in a way that’s no longer just about the alcohol. your body feels heavy. your heart, heavier. ten minutes later, matt’s car pulls up. you practically fall into the passenger seat.

“jesus,” he says softly, reaching across you to buckle your seatbelt. “you okay? you’re wasted, kid.”

“i’m fine,” you slur. slumping against the window. “thanks for coming.” he doesn’t press the conversation, he just starts driving. the car ride is quiet. too quiet. you can feel him glancing at you from time to time, but he doesn’t say anything. not until you’re pulling into his driveway. “you shouldn’t keep going back to him,” matt says, cutting the engine. his voice is low, rough. “he treats you like shit.”

“i know.”

you both sit there for a second, the silence buzzing. “you deserve better,” he adds, softer this time.

you turn your head to look at him. his jaw is tense. his hands are still on the wheel like he’s grounding himself. “then why haven’t you done anything?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “if you care so much… why haven’t you ever tried?” his eyes snap to yours. you don’t know who leans in first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s him. but then his mouth is on yours, and suddenly the world falls out from under your feet. it’s not gentle. it’s not sweet.

it’s desperate.

his hands are in your hair, tilting your head, and your fingers clutch at his hoodie like he’s the only thing holding you together. your lips part on instinct, and he takes it as an invitation, deepening the kiss, tongue brushing yours, tasting like heat and something so long buried it hurts.

you moan against his mouth, and it’s like a switch flips in him. his hands slide to your waist, gripping tight, pulling you closer across the center console. you don’t even care that you’re still in the car, still wearing that stupid dress you put on for a boy who didn’t deserve you. because this…this is what you needed.

this is what you’ve been craving.

his mouth trails to your jaw, down your neck, lips hot against your skin. your breath catches, and you tilt your head to give him more. your thigh brushes his, and he groans low in his throat, like he’s barely holding himself back. you whisper his name, and it breaks something. he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, lips pink and swollen, breathing hard. his eyes widened, realizing what just happened. you were drunk, you both just kissed, you had a boyfriend.

“we should…go inside,” he says, voice wrecked. you nod. your hand finds his. and for the first time all night, you feel something like relief. but fuck, this was wrong, this was so fucking wrong.

but yet, it felt so right.

© delilahsturniolo

[bluukive]

Eyes On You

summary - you finally decide to give the gym a go, getting yourself involved with a man who's dead set on pushing you to your limits

wc - 5.4k

content - MDNI, insecure!reader x gymowner!Sukuna, mentions of weight, Sukuna's harsh at first, eventual mutual pining, solo mast. (m + F, separate), 0ral (f receiving), face s;tting, handj0b, slight body worship, submissive reader, freaky in the gym shower (anyone could hear them...but no one does?), teasing, hella unrealistic, really amateur writing like please I'm cringing so hard

an - uhm I've never written a mini fic before !! please excuse the awkward writing

Lazily proofread by me mb

It took all the courage you had to even think about signing up to the gym that opened down the road, but the little voice in the back of your head was telling you to go. Just check it out, it said. Walk around a little, and then right back out. Shouldn’t be hard, right?

Right?

Wrong. How wrong you were. It was easier said than done in hindsight, but you didn’t expect the heavy thud of rock music to blare throughout the facility until you felt your bones tremble. Nor did you expect large gaggles of gym bros swarming around the equipment, a few heads turning the moment you pushed open the glass door. Sure, there were enough women there also, but not enough to deter you from yanking the drawstrings of your hoodie. Your vision became obstructed as the hood tightened around your face, whispered curses leaving your lips.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered, eyes darting side to side as the social anxiety set in. You were close to turning around on your heel and out of this building, leg already twitching. But a low, gravelly voice called out to you from beside a water fountain you were unfortunately standing too close to. 

“Lost? Nervous? Which one is it, girl?”

You don’t know how you missed this giant of a man, especially when his cropped, pink hair made him stick out like a sore thumb. Some strands were plastered to his sweaty forehead and concealed the judgement of his stare. Barely. His tank top also did a poor job of hiding those hulking muscles, flexing slightly with full veins as he gripped his water bottle. Looks like you caught him mid-workout. Oh, and you’re gawking like an idiot.

Nice going. 

“Are you deaf or something? Speak up already,” the stranger clicked his tongue impatiently, and you internally panicked. You wondered whether manifestation was real and if you could will for the stranger to just explode. Actually, make it the entire room. An embarrassed grimace appeared on your face as you realised you had the attention of a couple of people on you.

“Uh, no. No, I’m not deaf. Just looking around,” you began to explain, undoing the drawstrings of your hoodie once you realised how utterly stupid you must have looked. But then the stranger gave you a grimace of his own, lips quirking up as his eyes landed on your dishevelled hair. You looked like a mess. 

Way to go. Now you can’t show your face in public. And yes, it really was that deep.

And so you smoothened your hair out and plastered an overly enthusiastic grin on your face to compensate for the fact you couldn’t socialise. “Where do I sign up?”

He snorted, a sceptical brow raised as he checked out your incredibly outdated attire. “You want to sign up?” 

You nodded. Fuck, you weren’t even meant to say that. The urge to slap a hand over your forehead grew tenfold, but you fought it.

A shaky breath left you as you gave in to that little voice reminding you that no, you didn’t fit into those jeans you’ve had your eyes on for a while. No, your mom hadn’t stopped making comments about your body and lack of love life. 

“...Yes, please,” you said after a beat of silence, and that was that. Sukuna, who was apparently a trainer, led you through the whole process. Sign this, read that, fork over some of your wage. You know, the typical procedure. The new you was coming very soon, you told yourself after internally crying over the money spent. You’ll buy those jeans in no time.

═══════★

“Sloppy fuckin’ form, girl. Sharpen up,” Sukuna barked, circling around you like a goddamn hawk. 

Oh, you swore you were going to quit that gym soon. He had been riding your ass for the past couple of weeks, pushing you further than you’ve ever pushed yourself. Sukuna called you out on your bullshit that first day when you tried hiding in the corner with your phone out, coaxing you onto a mat and making you stretch. Since then, Sukuna kept an eye on you, making sure you were red-faced by the end of the workout. 

A sharp click of his tongue brought you back from your thoughts. You groaned, raising your hips from the floor and spreading out your limbs. You were currently doing a plank, which appeared to be dissatisfactory in Sukuna’s eyes. 

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it,” you hissed, head tilting up as best as you could so that you may glare at your tormentor. A scoff left his lips.

“Yeah, you’re as intimidating as fuckin’ pebble right now. Head down.”

Your head dropped reluctantly. The quiet grunt you accidentally let out didn’t escape the trainer, but he wasn’t about to soften up. Neither were you out of sheer stubbornness. 

However, the burn in your thighs and arms became more noticeable. An ‘oof’ sound left your lips as your jellied arms buckled and you face-planted the floor. Another tut and more chuckles from the other members scattered in the gym. 

“Take five,” Sukuna couldn’t help but roll his eyes at you. 

A dismissive noise left you as you remained face-down on the floor, Sukuna’s fading footsteps and mutters of annoyance filling your reddening ears. Your face burned. 

Swallow your pride and quit, the voice in your head mocked. 

But two weeks in? You couldn’t. Not when you had stupidly formed a grudge against Sukuna for pushing you so hard too early on. You shook your head and got back into form, lower lip jutting out in sheer determination. You were completely unaware of the approving nod from the other end of the room.

═══════★

Walking was simply out of the question today. You threw the covers off and gritted your teeth at the way your legs throbbed with each shift of your body. 

It had been maybe five sessions since you had face-planted the floor in front of Sukuna. It didn't look like he'd ease up any time soon after that incident. In fact, he grew meaner. That apparently made you like him more.

The mere thought of him made you shrivel up in bed and grimace, but you couldn’t fight the slight inkling of attraction you felt towards him, slight being an understatement.

It was bound to happen eventually, right? You'd be stupid not to be attracted to him. Each muscle looked like it had been carved right out of stone. Hell, now that you think about it, it was probably also those unamused looks he was throwing your way that made you keep going back to that cursed gym. 

You were there now after hyping yourself up in the mirror back home. Not for too long, though. One look at your chest flailing around was enough to make you curl your lip and shrug on that tacky pair of sweats and hoodie you liked to work out in. You skipped breakfast and settled on a shitty cereal bar you found in your kitchen. It wasn't the best thing to do, but you were set on losing weight. 

The air reeked, to be frank. It was the first thing you noticed after walking into the gym. Testosterone and sweat mixed with a strong hit of regret. Regardless, you pushed through and continued shuffling on your boneless legs. You set your bag down in some lonely corner and mentally prepared yourself for Sukuna to berate you about God knows what. It was something new every time you came here. 

“Told your stubborn ass to stretch after the workout,” he drawled once he sauntered over, an amused look on his face. “Just had to stomp out like a little brat, didn’t you?”

“That's not true. I just wanted to go home and shower,” you scoffed in response. But Sukuna didn’t reply. Instead, he raised a brow that screamed oh, really? You could feel the back of your neck prickle with an uncomfortable heat as he stared you down. 

And then he walked off. Asshole.

“So fucking weird. I mean, who does that?” you rambled to no one, getting in form and raising your arms over your head as you stretched. The slight sting of your muscles being used was actually rather welcome for once. 

═══ Later ═══

By the time you were done, you were warm and sweaty. Sukuna hadn’t spoken to you much today, too busy chewing out a new member of the gym. Poor dude, you thought. But at least it wasn't you. 

This gave you time to look in the mirror, a poor habit of yours. Your eyes cast over your body agonisingly slow as you checked for any changes in physique. Little bursts of cool air hit your flushed skin when you lifted your t-shirt with one hand slightly to inspect yourself, the other hand fanning your face. You then sighed, running a hand over your hip. 

“The fuck are you doing?” 

A garbled yelp left you as you dropped your top and looked at Sukuna from the mirror without turning around. His red eyes were trained at your hip, and he looked almost disappointed at the fact that your clothes had covered again. You whizzed around and stood there stiff. A pause, and then you were wondering why the hell your mouth was starting to run. 

“Nothin’. None of your business,” you chuckled nervously, hands clenching at your sides. “Just checking progress.” 

“Yeah, ‘cus that’s the only reason why you cop a feel of your own body after every session looking like a kicked puppy,” Sukuna’s eyes remained lidded, flicking between the mirror and you. 

“Oh, cmon. I look nothing like a kicked puppy-”

“Yeah, you do. Every single time.”

“You're watching me like some perv-”

“And what?”

You paused and inhaled deeply, a stupid smirk appearing on Sukuna's lips as you grew increasingly frustrated with him. “Will you at least let me finish my sentence?”

“No can do. Wanna explain yourself?” He asked, beefy arms folding over his chest. You had to forcefully drag your eyes away from the slight jiggle of his pecs, your body reacting similarly to that of a Victorian male seeing an ankle for the first time. 

“Eyes up here. Talk to me,” Sukuna repeated, softer this time. Your hands fiddled with each other as you debated whether to open up to this hothead. It was likely that he'd a) make fun of you, or b) propose on the spot and fawn over how perfect you were (extremely unlikely, but a girl could dream).

Sukuna watched as your lips parted and the lie tumbled out of your mouth since it was easier than telling the truth.

“Just stretching.”

An unimpressed grunt rumbled in the man's chest. “Bullshit, but keep telling yourself that.”

“Tch. What else am I doing then?”

“Fuck knows, but quit it. That's not healthy,” a finger jabbed at your forehead, and you swatted his hand away without thinking. Your chest tightened slightly. Was that genuine concern?

Sukuna saw your reluctance to accept his words, making him shoot a deadpan look your way. “I'm being serious. Stop grabbing at yourself before I throw a dumbbell at the mirror,” he scolded, narrowed eyes boring into yours.

“I see you busting your ass every time you're here. You may not think I notice it, but I do. Trust me. Do you really think I’d push someone so hard if I didn’t see something in them?”

He was speaking to you like a trainer now, but you could hear some of his own personal feelings slip through the cracks. It made your throat feel tighter. 

“To be honest, I didn't think you'd see,” you mumbled, swallowing the lump in your throat and wiping your increasingly sweaty hands on your t-shirt.

“Well, I have. Now, stop touching your hips like that. They're fine,” he scolded. Sukuna didn't even wait for a reply as he walked off, probably to slap the back of someone's head again.

For the first time that day, your body felt less heavy. 

And you could confidently meet your eyes in the mirror again. 

═══════★

With your eyes fluttering shut, you shifted and lay on your back whilst reminiscing on Sukuna's words. Maybe it was your memory playing tricks on you, but you swore his eyes lingered on your body in an appreciative way. Maybe he saw more in you than you had ever seen in yourself. But realistically, maybe you were that attention deprived that you were making up scenarios to feel special. 

An exasperated groan left you as you rubbed your face in your hands, heat creeping up onto your cheeks yet again. Honestly? You couldn't remember the last time you felt so whipped over someone before. It had been just under a month since you joined that gym, and Sukuna was already plaguing your every thought. 

It's not like Sukuna was your teacher or anything. You were both legal adults. Yeah, maybe you were just some stubborn brat who frequented his gym. But that didn't mean you couldn't feel anything for him. 

But why did you feel guilty? Was it the way he was so uncaring yet so observant at the same time that made you feel this way? Or was it the fact that you saw yourself as unworthy of this arousal?

Regardless, you could feel your cunt beginning to ache. You tried relieving it by squeezing your thighs together, but it was useless. The muscles in your body still felt tight, and the effects of the gym lingered. God, why couldn’t you escape him?

Slick noises filled the bedroom not long after you began questioning your whole dynamic with Sukuna. Yes, it was deeply embarrassing and you’ll surely regret it later. But right now, the sensation of your fingers rubbing tight circles over your clit was too pleasurable to ignore. 

With each ashamed jerk of your hips as you lay there, the plush skin of your thighs shook as you raised it slightly and bent your knee. Even though you lived alone and no one was around to hear you, you bit into your fist to conceal the plethora of needy mewls and gasps falling from your lips. The towel had come undone, exposing the curves of your writhing body. The cool air contrasted deliciously with the wet heat between your parted legs. Now that your breasts were free, the hand at your mouth moved lower so that you lazily brush a couple fingers over a hardened nipple. 

But the moment you did that, existential dread crept over you and you withdrew your hand. Self-consciousness hit you like a ton of bricks and you sat up abruptly, face burning at the fact that you were getting off at the thought of some musclehead at the gym. Your eyes fluttered down, unfocused and blurry from denying yourself of an orgasm. You guessed it was time for another shower. Maybe that’d wash the shame off of you. 

═══════★

After a few days of ignoring the urge to go to the gym, you gave in and dragged yourself out of your home. There’s no way you could look at Sukuna in the eye now. That was one of the many thoughts whizzing round your head as you kept your eyes low and headed to your usual corner of the gym. You could smell the lecture coming from the pink-haired man from a mile away, and boy, you were right. 

You were barely done with your first warmup set when you heard his gruff voice cut through the blaring music. He was not amused. 

“You suuure took your sweet time coming back, Sick of working out already?”

And that’s when you froze. Your heart quite literally dropped to your ass once you managed to stand up straight, but your eyes remained on the mat below you both. 

“Was busy, that’s all,” which was a bold lie. He could tell.

“Hm,” Sukuna began. “Looks like you were too busy to even do your stretches properly.”

A thick set of fingers met your back, the digits pressing into your spine so that your posture was correct. An awkward noise left your lips at the contact.

“Straighten up. At this rate, you won’t even be able to workout because of body pains.”

But that was the least of your problems. Fantasies of his hands coaxing your thighs open and his tongue doing unspeakable things to you filled your mind, causing you to move back sharply. You cleared your throat, noticing again the displeased look on Sukuna’s face.

“I didn’t think you’d care if I turned up or not,” you admitted sheepishly, a bold assumption on your end.

A low, hum of laughter rumbled in his chest, which quite frankly did nothing to soothe the steady pulsing between your thighs. “Oh, I don’t. I just don’t want to be losing out on money through your absence.”

Ouch. 

Your head turned, and he saw the mildly offended look on your face. His words were just enough to make you forget about the heat of his body as he walked around slowly to stand in front of you. 

“I’m kidding, i'm kidding. Mostly," he borderline purred. "Is everything okay, though? You’ve been ignoring me more than you usually do,” Sukuna cocked his head to the side, and you wondered how he could sound both amused and irritated at the same time.

A short huff left your lips, almost sounding amused. If only he knew why you had been avoiding him.

“Nah, everything’s good. Just working out, y’know. Like a normal person would.”

Sukuna’s lip quirked up again, a stupidly attractive habit he had when he felt playful. “Riiiight. If that’s the case, stop lookin’ at me like I’ve fucked your life up or something.”

Your brows furrowed as you struggled to keep your eyes on him. The fuck did he know?! But that frantic look on your face didn’t stop him from running that mouth of his. 

“Oh, but who knows? I might have already. And in that case?” he let his voice drop down a couple of notches, leaning forward until you could practically taste his aftershave on your tongue. “You’re welcome, I guess.” He let his eyes drift down, pausing at your lips, and then down to the swell of your breasts through your t-shirt. 

Were you meant to ask him to look for longer, or slap him?

Once the realisation that maybe, just maybe Sukuna was attracted to you settled in your stomach like a heavy weight, he pulled back and walked away slowly, eyes on you until the last possible moment. You blinked once, then twice. 

You were dumbfounded, but also aroused. What the hell was going on with you both?

═══════★

Sukuna’s private office was…something. Low hanging fluorescent lights flickered periodically as he sat there in the busted chair, sun already having set outside. The occasional clang of metal reverberated around the gym outside of the private wall, and the air inside was heavy with dust, sweat, and intense longing. 

Sukuna’s eyes were screwed shut, unable to physically eat the half-chewed apple on his desk. His cock was aching in his sweats. It’s only been under a week since you came back to the gym, and he’s losing it. He’d be lying if he said you had caught his eye immediately. Sukuna remembers the day you came bumbling in like an idiot into his gym all wide-eyed like you’ve never seen a man before. 

But how wrong he was. You had a mouth on you under all that awkwardness. But most importantly, you were so reactive. He doesn’t know why he liked it so much, but seeing you stiffen up at his touches, push out your lower lip when he pissed you off… It really set him off. Not to mention the noises, God. Your soft pants after a workout, your low groans as you stretched those legs of yours.

Honestly? Sukuna didn’t understand why on earth you were so insecure. He had the urge to drag you away from the mirror every time he saw that disappointed look on your face after each workout session. He could spend ages running his hands across every soft inch of your body to show you that you were fine. There was no need for you to push yourself so hard. 

The mental imagery of burying his face deep into your pussy pained him. It was embarrassing, really, the way he was always ogling at you bent over the dumbbell racks or watching your throat bob with every gulp of water. Sukuna rubbed his face with his hands, groaning and manspreading further in his seat as his cock practically weeped to be freed. He could feel the front of his boxers dampen with his precum, which he had been trying to ignore for a while now. But it was useless. Sukuna may have felt like a hormonal idiot for freeing his length from the confinements of his sweatpants, but he saw no use in denying himself the pleasure of fantasising you on top of him. 

It wasn’t long before Sukuna had a large hand nestled deep in his pants, wrapped around his throbbing cock. He couldn’t be bothered taking it out, and something about ruining his clothes to the thought of you made it all the more thrilling. When he shut his eyes, he could see the full outline of your body underneath your clothes, the way the outline of your sports bra was visible due to sweat after vigorously exercising. 

His cock twitched in his hand and he finally began pumping his hand lazily. Sukuna could imagine you walking in on him, the frazzled look you’d shoot his way. He wanted you to see him like this, but unfortunately for him, you had gone home. 

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ve done it now. Messed me up all good and p-proper, huh?” His hand continued to move, wrist rolling expertly. Almost as if he was used to jerking off to the thought of you. Sukuna’s head tipped back as he pictured you on your knees, lips glossy with his cum and body eager to please him. Oh, you'd look so pretty with your tits pressed together as you sat their obediently.

The chair creaked once he started rutting into his hand frantically. His hips jerked once, then again as his orgasm hit him. It hit him hard. It was messy and the waves of shame hit him at the same time ropes of thick cum coated his fingers and the insides of his sweats. 

Uneven pants filled that small office, and Sukuna finally withdrew his fingers and wiped them clean with a nearby rag he kept nearby. He could feel his heart hammering in his throat, and he actively avoided looking down at the mess he made inside of his sweats. 

Maybe Sukuna felt ashamed. He definitely should have. But there was no way in hell Sukuna would ever stop thinking about you. 

═══════★

You should have gone home and showered there like you usually did. But the tension between you and Sukuna exactly two days later had you on edge. You weren’t thinking straight, water bottle empty and chest heaving from overexertion. Your aching feet dragged to the gym showers instead, where you stripped after setting up all of your belongings. That berry-scented body wash just screaming your name. 

Sukuna however, came with other plans. He was thanking the stars that the gym was mostly empty, and there was little to no chance of anyone walking in. Plot armour, one may call it. 

You were in the middle of washing your body, washcloth scrubbing at your chest and getting them all soapy. How odd Sukuna was acting today, you muttered to yourself, recalling how his stare never left you and how his jaw remained tightly clenched. You were almost afraid he’d break a tooth.

The obnoxious creak of the shower-room doors brought you out of your daydreams, and you were glad the curtains concealed you from the eyes of whoever had just walked in. You were thinking to yourself that gosh, they really should oil up the hinges, but the curtains opened. Your eyes landed on a very pent-up Sukuna, whose eyes were shamelessly ogling at your nude body. You merely blinked at him, brain trying to catch up with what was going on.

“So, hey! One person per shower!?” you practically shrieked, backing up when Sukuna entered the shower and shut the curtain behind him. He’s soaking in the sight, clothes becoming drenched as the hot water beat down on both of you. Sukuna’is breath met the steam as he exhaled heavily, finally forcing himself to speak. 

“Gonna tell me to fuck off any time soon? Say something, pretty girl,” he cooed raspily, head cocked slightly to the side as he hunched over you. You could only stare back up at him, blinking away the spray of water. But the way your pussy clenched around nothing told you all you needed to know. You were positive you wanted him, so you gave him a nod. 

That was enough of an invitation for Sukuna to capture your bottom lip with his teeth, sucking it lightly into his mouth as he initiated a kiss under the spraying showerhead. You wanted to kiss back, but everything about Sukuna screamed urgency. You could barely register the fact that he was nipping at your neck, sucking a nipple into his mouth as his greedy hands pawed at every inch of skin you had to offer. 

“R-ryo, please wait-”

“No waiting. Don’t you dare tell me to wait,” he gritted out, sinking onto the tiles and using his hands to maneuver you around so that your rear was in his face. You winced at the sensation of the cold tiles your breasts were pressed up against, but you had no time to complain about it when Sukuna used both hands to spread the supple fat of your ass apart. A sharp gasp ripped out of your throat and your head whipped behind you to check.

“What exactly do you think you’re doin-”

He doesn't allow you to finish your sentence. The fiend angled his head, flattened his tongue and licked a fat stripe from your pussy to ass. You shrieked, hands flailing as you tried to grip the tiles unsuccessfully. A sharp swat to your ass served as a reminder to keep quiet, so you slapped a hand over your kiss-bitten lips. Sukuna took this as a chance to grab one of your calves and lifted it to the side, allowing him to groan deeply at the way your pussy spread so nicely for him. The fact that he could do so with such ease had you positively shaking. 

Your foot slipped ever so slightly on the wet tiles, but Sukuna was there to grip you even tighter, digging his fingers into the ample layer of fat over your hip to steady you. He dove back in, mouth hot on the entirety of your cunt as he ate you out like a man possessed. A garbled cry left your lips as you let your hand leave the tile. Sukuna was beyond pleased when you twisted his short hair into your fist and tugged, beginning to practically ride his face. 

“Fucking starving today, y’know?” he huffed in between filthy slurps. “Acting all shy for what, when your body is this fuckin’ slutty. Think I wouldn’t notice, huh?”

He went on and on, pausing to languidly roll his thick tongue over your pulsing clit. Sukuna sucked it into his mouth, nose buried between the crevice of your ass. You couldn’t respond, rendered to stupidity as ragged breaths left your lungs. The only time the man under you pulled away was to spit directly onto your pussy before diving back in. 

“P-pull away, gah, pull away, Ryo. M’gonna-,” you whined before being rudely cut off. Sukuna chokes on a curse at the nickname you have for him, and he wraps his arms around your waist. You’re sitting on his face, spasming with a cry as he begins shaking his head to the best of his ability. He’s a certified munch for a reason, devouring you from the back as you release all over his face with a strangled cry. 

You wiped the water from your face and slumped against the tiles. A kiss was planted against your ass, and then another. 

“Fucking hell. Should have done this sooner. Much sooner,” he muttered as he eventually rose to his feet. Sukuna’s knees ached, but it was worth it. “Pussy tastes sweeter than anything I’ve ever had.”

You managed to focus your eyes on him, face undeniably flushed as you pushed yourself away from the tiles. It did something to you to see Sukuna so pussydrunk and hard in his boxers. Somewhere along the way, he had tossed his shorts aside, which was perfect. His erection was straining against the fabric, and you took that as an invitation to sling an arm over his bulky shoulder. Your other hand slid down his torso, dipping in every curve of muscle it could find. You left his pecs alone, deciding to squeeze them another day. 

“Oh, oh. You want this as much as I do?” he teased before stopping himself from speaking anymore once he saw the look in your hazy eyes. You didn’t want sex. Not today, at least. So you settled on timidly freeing his length from his underwear and brushing your thumb over the flushed tip. The larger man almost moaned aloud when you rested your forehead against his chest and looked down, a soft noise of awe escaping your mouth at how deliciously thick his cock was. All thoughts of covering the stretchmarks on your hips, the thickness of your thighs, all of it… they were long forgotten at that moment. You started stroking his length almost lovingly, and you heard the slight crack in his usually confident voice.

“Hahhh, s-shit. Got a reaaal sweet pair of hands on you, don’t you, pretty girl?” he simpered, raising your head with a hand and affectionately resting his warm forehead against yours. The way Sukuna praised you had you doubling your efforts, wrist twisting as you pumped him earnestly. 

The water kept running, but Sukuna could worry about the bill another day. A chorus of guttural growls left him, strokes growing increasingly slick with his precum. The periodic twitches spurred you on, your eyes lighting up the closer he came to orgasm. Your gaze broke away when Sukuna’s lips pressed against your temple in a feverish manner, aaall the way down until he could claim your lips once more. The slight musky taste of your own slick graced your mouth. You should’ve pulled away, but you enjoyed the way his saliva mixed with yours.

“W-woah, there. Steady, fuck. I’m about to cum-”

One last flick of the wrist and a sweet peck on the cheek was all Sukuna needed to cum all over your fingers with a final grunt of your name. His release was warm, ropes of it shooting up to his abs. The urge to pop your fingers into your mouth grew, but the water washed it away. Neither of you spoke for a minute, trying to gather your wits about the change in dynamic between you. The steam continued to swirl around you both, providing a more intimate cocoon for you to relax in.

“Let me wash you up, yeah? Can’t be going home half-cleaned,” Sukuna murmured after pulling back from your face, trying as gently as he could to wipe the sodden strands of hair off of your face. He’s made a mess of you, but you were a gorgeous mess. One he’d happily devour a million times over. 

“Ah, well. That’s your fault, no? I suppose you should be the one taking responsibility,” you laughed weakly, mild exhaustion setting in. The orgasm combined with the heat of the shower was getting unbearable, and you wanted to leave. Sukuna picked up on this, making quick work of cleaning you both up. 

“Is that so, hm? Let me take you out then. Properly,” he said, followed by a nip at your ear. Large hands rubbed at your skin, thumbing at the curve of your waist. A swat of your hand landed on his chest, but Sukuna didn’t pull away. Oh, he was deathly serious. 

“...Yes, please.”

divider creds - @cursed-carmine

[pagesfromthevoid]

saw your bob post and decided to say my thoughts🙏

he’s definitely submissive (or at the very least, not dominant). i love the thought of him reaching out to hold readers hand when he’s getting overwhelmed, pretty whimpers leaving his mouth as they play w his dick🤤 also imagining him desperate to suck on ur tongue as he dry humps ur thigh—

okay i’ll chill out now but gahdayum he is FINE😛

These can combined I think 👀

But listen. I think for the first like, six months? Maybe the first year —he’s definitely not confident enough to be the one that makes any kind of move. I don’t want to give him a label as dominate or submissive because they just…don’t work for him. He’s a broken guy —he’s healing, he’s being helped —but it’s hard. Smut below the cut:

He would, however, crave physical touch. Especially because he’s so scared that if he touches anyone, they’ll be trapped a shame room and he doesn’t wish that on anyone.

He especially doesn’t want that to happen to you.

But you’re patient, and kind. And you don’t seem to mind that he’s always as close as he can be without actually touching you (he has no sense of personal space, which annoys everyone except you, Yelena and Alexei. The others will politely remind him to step away just a bit, and he’s totally okay with that).

Bob likes his little book nook, but he also likes your room. It’s warmly lit, and smells good, and it just feels like a welcoming place. So if he’s not in his corner, he’s usually sitting on the floor of your room, reading, while you lay in bed and scroll through your phone.

His back aches, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s fine where he’s at, and he doesn’t want to get up and leave. Or disrupt the serene quiet of your room. But he shifts, and his back cracks and he lets out a groan.

You roll over onto your stomach and look down at him, brow raised. “You good?”

He nods frantically, apologizing for being loud. But you wave it off. “You don’t have to sit on the floor, you know. You can come sit on the bed. I won’t bite unless you ask.”

He flushes at the comment, looking down for a moment. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasized about you putting your lips on him —but he knew better than to act on anything. It just…it wasn’t safe.

You pat the bed, drawing his attention again, and he stands up with his book. You scoot over, closer to the wall, and smile up at him patiently. Bob swallows hard and slips into your bed, brushing against you just barely. Even that touch —barely there, barely anything —sends a shiver through him. It had been so long since he was close to someone.

Yeah, the team had hugged him when they stopped Void. But that was a safety kind of thing. And it was nice, but he was scared of dying at that point. There was a difference between safety touching and intimacy and he…he really wanted that. With you.

The comfortable silence takes over again, and after a while you both end up engrossed in your own activities. Bob is focused on his book —sort of. Every time you move or adjusted your position, you got slightly closer. Touched him a little more. And he was distracted by thoughts of how you would feel on top of him. Not even in a sexual way; just…your weight, pressed against him, safe and close.

He freezes when your head falls to his shoulder. Nothing bad happens —no shame spirals, no nightmares. But you’re asleep, phone loosely sitting in your hand, and he considers if he should wake you up. But the selfish part of him —the touch starved part —decides to let you lay against him.

Though you adjust again, and push yourself further down into your pillows. Bob doesn’t want you to move but lets you do whatever you want to be comfortable. Except your cheek presses against his thigh, your head finding itself in his lap.

He panics. You’re so close. So warm. And he doesn’t know what to do with his book because it was in his lap but now you are. So he sets it down, folding his hands over his chest because he doesn’t know what to do. You’re actually asleep —breathing soft and even —and he really doesn’t want to wake you up.

So cautiously, he rests a hand on your back. When you don’t stir, he draws circles into your T-shirt in a way he hopes is soothing. His other hand plays with a strand of your hair, trying to keep himself from panicking. He worries you can hear how hard his heart is beating, because he’s pretty sure it’s going to explode out of his chest at any moment. But you don’t wake, and you both lay there for a long time.

He loses track of time; enough so that he’s starting to doze off himself. But you adjust again, just barely, and your hand rests under your cheek on his thigh and he almost jolts up from the touch.

You’re asleep. You’re not…you’re not purposely trying to touch him like this, he knows that, but he can’t help it. You’re so close, and so warm, and nothing bad has happened since you fell asleep. His head falls back into your pillows, trying to think of anything besides how close your hand and mouth are to his cock, but even trying to think about other things leads back to that thought, and there’s nothing he can do but try to adjust away the hard on he’s sporting.

Maybe he can slip a pillow into his lap. Then you have something to lay on and something to hide in case you wake up. But when he moves to take a pillow from behind him, you stir snd yawn. And then he really panics because he knows you’re awake —hyperaware of your eyelashes brushing against his leg as you blink away sleep.

“Oh,” you yawn, though you don’t move away from him. Actually, he swears to god, you move your hand even closer. “I’m sorry —I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“It’s uh, it’s totally fine,” he practically whimpers, swallowing hard. Shaking his head. “Not your fault.”

“I think this is though,” you murmur, brushing your hand just barely over the bulge in his sweats. Bob buckles, his fingers tangling into your shirt as you glance up at him. “Do you…can I help you out?”

“God, please,” he begs, nodding frantically as you slowly run your hand over his clothed cock. He’s breathing hard, and he probably sounds like an idiot. But he can’t help it. Even through his clothes, your touch is soft and enticing and he just. He wants more. But he can’t bring himself to ask. “Anything. Please, you can —anything.”

“Don’t say that,” you laugh softly, sitting up some to look up at him. Your hand dances along the edge of his waist band. “‘Anything’ is a lot of power.”

“Anything,” he insists, lower stomach contracting some as your fingers slip under and against his skin.

But your touch is gone too soon, and he whines as he opens his eyes. You haven’t gone far —actually, on the contrary. You’re sitting up on your knees and straddling his lap. Just like he’d imagined before —your weight pressed against his body was wonderful. He’s hesitant to touch you, afraid he’ll do something wrong, but you take hands and hold them against your hips.

“You’re allowed to touch me, Bob,” you promise, letting go of his hands. He cautiously squeezes your hips as you reach up to take his face in your hands. “Can I kiss you?”

“God, yes. Please,” he pleads, and without thinking about it, he’s pulling you in by your hips as you close the distance between you both.

He doesn’t care if he’s coming off as desperate or pathetic. Your mouth on his is even better than he could have imagined. Your hands in his hair could have been heaven. But when you press yourself down into his clothed cock, he whimpers. He feels your smile against his mouth, and you press down harder and grind yourself against him. He opens his mouth and pushes his hips up to meet yours, and you take full advantage of his open mouth to slide your tongue against his.

Bob wants to melt into your touch. Your hands tugging at his hair, your teeth nipping at his lips, and your body pressing against his —he’s not even sure when it happens, because he’s too focused on every little touch. But he groans, holding you tight by your hips against him as he cums in his pants.

“Oh god,” he sighs, pressing his forehead into your shoulder. He’s shaking and he doesn’t know if it’s from all of this or embarrassment. “I’m —shit, I’m sorry —I didn’t —,”

But you’re grinning at him, pressed against him still, but your hand is running through his hair. “It’s okay. That’s what I wanted.”

He pulls back, looking up at you and the teasing grin on your face.

Yeah. You could do whatever you wanted to him and he’d thank you for it, he decides in that moment.