#thin walls thin lines au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

winterarmyy · 8 months

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Deleted Scene

An alternate ending of Thin Walls, Thin Lines.

Note: Basically the smut content no one asked for our fuckboy!bucky in 《 Thin Walls, Thin Lines 》. So read it first for context! (if you haven't already)

Navigation: Original Version || Deleted Scene* (alt. ending)

Pairing: fuckboy!bucky x female!reader

Words: 3.7k++

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, no minors allowed, nsfw, fluff, lil bit of angst, cunnilingus, finger fucking, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, squirting, cum eating, needy bucky, an absolute filth and i'm sorry for bucky's behaviour in this one, he is just a horny mf on a daily basis also I just want to warn you about the sinful things he might say in this.

P/S: I don't know what to say. I love the fluff ending from the original version, but this... this ending. Even if i feel like it's a messy writing. but pheww. You can just tell why I refused to choose and ended up doing both.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A playful smirk pulled on Bucky's lips when he spoke "Doll, you shouldn't be saying that so carelessly. Who knows I might use it for despicable things." Surely, he love to be the cause to bloom those red shades on her cheeks.

But it didn't happened when she asked quietly, "Will you?"

And the silence that came after was heavy with tenderness while their eyes spoke the truth to one another. As the thin lines in between got blurry, for once, there was just streams of genuine feelings pouring out of them, leaking through and contaminating the air with its magic.

Would he? Take advantage of her?

Of course not. But will he lie just to tease her? Yes. He would. "Maybe. Only if you let me." He shrugged.

And that made her blooming feature fell into a gloom. As if she was having a chaotic crisis within the pretty little troubled head of hers. Y/N didn't want whatever he was suggesting. She wanted more than a brief fling; more than a casual situationship.

Because she loved him; truly. It wasn't just a passing passion, or an accidental chemistry.

Seeing the frown on her face and the panic spiralling in her eyes, Bucky chuckled as he knew she was taking his joke way too seriously, "Okay, how about I let you on with a little secret?" He suggested.

It perked her interest that Y/N simply nodded to his offer. Bucky smiled as he leaned down, lips grazing the shell of her ears whispering a shocking confession.

She wasn't even high from any medication that Dr. Cho had prescribe to her but she couldn't believe what she heard. Her widen eyes questioned his smug smile hovering over her. Until she sneakily pulled the pillow next to her and threw it to his face.

Y/N kicked the blankets and changed into a sitting position, "Urghh you're such a dick, Bucky! I can't believe that I let you make fun of me!" She said with a biting tone.

"But, I'm not though?" Which only triggered her to smack him more with the pillow she was holding. Soon, the silent room were filled with the sound of her angry groans and Bucky's hearty laughter that cascade into a muffled chuckles.

The moment Y/N let her guard down, Bucky quickly stole the soft weapon from her and reclarified his confession, "I'm serious. I've been in love with you for awhile now." It's not she was blind; she saw no lies in his eyes and there was nothing but truth in the gentle of his voice.

She squinted her eyes into a glare and folded her arms across her chest, "Well, you have a rather funny way of showing it."

Bucky only smile to her snarky remarks, his hand finding hers to pull her closer, "I think I made it clear with the endless flirting that you have been blatantly rejecting, doll." He placed her perfectly on his lap, rubbing his big hands on her small back.

Y/N scoffed, "The only thing that was clear from that was how badly you wanted to get in my pants." Despite her objection, she let him pamper her body with his touch.

Bucky grinned, "And I do. But, only because I love you."

When she caught his gaze, she knew there was something magical about it; she have read so many books and poetry describing the look of his steel blues. A look that she can only dream of and not experience it; and if she was to make it come true, then this would be it.

Bucky moved slightly forward to nudge the tip of his nose on her own, hands intertwining with her shaky ones, silently asking for a permission to kiss her.

If she wasn't too focus on his presence on her skin, she would've noticed how the blood rushing to her cheeks were making her blushed in red. It felt good, it felt right.

Y/N gave her answer by leaning her forehead on his and he didn't waste any time to capture her lips, pressing an innocent kiss against it as his flesh hand gripped on hers while his metal hand find her cheek.

Soon enough the surrounding air heated and Bucky managed to slipped his tongue into her parted lips, his tongue wrapped around hers as her free hand reached back to gather his hair in her grasp. As they were blinded in sight by their closed eyes, they let sensory of their body ravel in each other's touch.

Out of instinct, her hand pulled from his back, then resting it on the prickly surface of his jaw before slightly pushing him away. Bucky took the cue and broke the kiss, "Babydoll." His hot breath blew against her cheek as he lean his lips on it.

Y/N realized what she had done; she let him kiss her, touch her but what does this mean? "I..I.." She hesitated.

"You're okay, y/n. Tell me to stop. Tell me to fuck off. It's okay, you can tell me anything." Bucky coaxed softly as he held her closer.

"I want this. I want you, Bucky. But... how can I trust you?" She really do. But, some part of her still reluctant to his history, "You've been sleeping around with those girls for months. Almost every night." Bucky cringed to his own behaviour. "How do I know it? That I'm not becoming one of them? That I'm not just some fucktoy you're gonna use and toss after?" She didn't care if she sound desperate. She needed him to be true because she know this won't work if he isn't willing to.

Bucky breath caught in the middle, as he knew that even the sweetest words won't satisfy her worry, so he only told the truth, "You have been the only one I wanted, y/n. And I know words aren't enough convice you. So let me show you, baby. Let me make love to you until you see how much I truly love you."

And he indeed fulfill his promise on that.

Bucky took his time undressing her until she was bare as the day she was born. He took longer time kissing her skin, loving each part of her perfect body and a much more lingering kisses around the bruises from today's mission.

Now that her pretty little cunt was right in front of him, exposed and bare, he wondered if this was all just a dream. Because it felt like it. No matter though; he'd devour her just the same whether she was just a creation of his dreams or his actual reality.

Bucky pressed several kisses on her clit, leaving the wet kissing noises filling the quiet room. He brought his tongue out slowly and started to lick her up; just to have a taste, "So pretty." he purred in between licking her fluids, teasing her. "So perfect." His fingers went to spread her lips apart and she made a strangled noise when she felt his long wet tongue, flattening through her folds, "Fuck." she cursed.

And after the first taste of her, Bucky realized how greedy he was getting especially when delved right back into her. "Bucky..." she whimpered his name as his warm lips wrapped around her clit, lewdly sucking on as if it was a tasty strawberry flavored sweet, just to release her moments after. He chuckled and slurred against her wetness, "Love the way you moan by name, sweetheart. Need to hear more."

His hands had moved from her waist to her hips in effort to pull her closer. If Y/N had anything to speak up in response then it was too late to say out loud because her head was swiftly wiped clean the moment his lips press into her clit again.

Bucky's grip on her thighs were almost harsh, just to keep her legs spread wide open for him to suckle on her clit, flicking his tongue over it deliciously. Looking down, she can only see the dark mess hair bobbing between her legs as he eats out her needy little cunt.

Y/N's mind was cloudy with ecstacy and pleasure crawling through her with each flick of his warm tongue between her folds. When it felt too good, she couldn't help but to catch his soft hair, holding on for her dear life as he devoured her cunt; noisy and messy.

"So fucking good, doll." He grunted into her weeping pussy, low and sensual as he pushed her legs further, allowing himself more access to her sweetness. "You taste so good."

Unbeknownst to her, Bucky was also enjoying every moment of this. Each time he moaned and groaned into her pussy, was the also time he thrusted his own needy cock against the mattress. The tip of was leaking with so much precum that it had left a wet stain behind.

With him getting that desperate, it felt like he was about to bust his nuts at any given time. But he wanted to wait; at least until Y/N gets her first high of the night. When his slick tongue deliciously fucking her pussy, exploring inside her, litters of curses of his name escaped from her lips as she moaned.

His wet tongue explored her insides as they clenched with lust and she choked out of air, not sure of how much longer she could take it because there was no way to deny it, she was about to cum, "Fuck,, Bucky. I'm cumming,,"

Bucky hummed into her when he pulled his tongue out, switching to rubbing on her clit, up and down, all the while was chasing his own orgasm, frantically humping on the bed like a rabid dog in heat.

Y/N gasped when he alternate between to sucking her clit and licking her up. Her back arched, pushing her cunt further into his hungry mouth in hopes to reach her release, "Please, please, don't stop.. need it, Bucky. Oh fuckkk"

Both of his hands; flesh and metal, slide up to grab her hips, helping her to grind on his tongue until her wetness came leaking out into his mouth, right on his tongue. Bucky came right along with her, grunting needily as the pink tip of his cock spurted out ribbons of his cream on in her mattress, marking his territory.

Bucky continued running his tongue up and down her wet slit throughout her orgasm, lapping away at her release that leaked out then gulping it down his throat as he watched her sighs with content.

When he pressed a soft kiss against her puffy, oversenstive clit, she thought it was end of it. But she couldn't be more wrong. The moment Y/N felt his metal finger trailed along her inner thighs, she knew that he wasn't satisfied with just eating her out.

She yelped when Bucky swiftly pulled her down, until her ass slides through the mess he made earlier, "What...?" Y/N herself didn't know what to ask but he knew exactly how to answer, "That's my cum, babydoll." He swiped some of the fluid from the sheets and smeared it on her throbbing cunt, making her instinctively moan.

Bucky smirked, "Eating your pretty pussy made me cum so hard, doll." With hunger in his gaze, he watched how his mess of a cum made her cunt glisten even more, "And because of that you deserve a reward, don't you think?" She whined as she nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, you do. You deserve to get your tight hole fucked by my metal fingers, don't you?" He continued to draw tight circles on her clit while his middle finger glides through her slit until he found her entrance, and pushed it in.

Y/N's head jerked up to the sudden intrusion. It was cold and reached much deeper than any of her fingers before. When Bucky twisted and curled the metal within her walls she cried out of pleasure. It was such new sensation and so fucking good.

A sudden entrance of another finger making her squeal from how sensitive her insides were to his metal fingers. And it made Bucky so full with pride to see her bending her back, her hips quivering, her walls tighten; all for him, "You can take it, sweetheart."

There was no such thing a pause when Bucky finger-fucked her hard; with his flesh hand pawing at her breast. He had his eyes locked on to the way her eyes roll back, panting breaths through those soft lips of hers, while his fingers drilled her tight pussy over and over and over, "That's it, that's fucking it baby. Such a good girl for me." He praised.

Endless moan were filling the room, along with the squelching sound of her wet cunt getting pounded mercilessly. Y/N lifted her hips higher; the feelings of Bucky's fingers inside her was different than her own. The stimulation and pleasure coming from his ways were distinct; like how the tip of his finger hits her unexplored g-spots or how his thumb pressed and twisted on her clit.

Bucky managed to pull the most sinful and desperate noises from her, "I-I’m going to cum,," she whimpered, hands balling into fists on the bed sheets as her hips followed his thrusts. "Yeah? Already, doll?" He taunted as he rolled her clit between his thumb and index finger.

Y/N nodded eagerly in between her moaning mess, before she let out high-pitched, satisfied whimper of his name as endless of fluid squirted out of her overstimulated pussy. "Oh fuck babydoll." He groaned as watched awe at her gushing cunt. "Did you just squirt? Hmm fuckkkkk, you should've done that when I have my mouth on you, baby. Shit."

Bucky scoot back to leaned his face right in between her legs. He darted his tongue out before he licked and suck the remaining fluid leaking out of her, making her squirm and whimper. And the slurping sound coming from him was such a sinful thing to hear, "Taste so good too. Gotta do that again next time, sweetheart. I wanna drink it all." he proposed.

"But now I need to be inside you." Bucky's declaration were cut short as his mouth captured hers in a heated kiss.

Y/N moaned into his mouth, tasting herself on his tongue as she kissed him back passionately, her body burning from all the pent-up frustration she had been pushing back for months. Bucky broke the kiss after a few mind-numbing minutes, before his hungry lips roamed around her neck, hands trailing over every part of her exposed skin as her heart rate spikes

"Need you, babydoll." Bucky groaned as he pumped his hard cock with his hand, spreading his dribbling pre-cum around his thick length. She whined as he gripped her legs, spreading them as wide as they'll go before rubbing the head of his cock against her slit.

He leaned again to kiss her one more time before sliding inside, slowly. "Oh god," Y/N moaned as she burned deliciously around him while he spreads her open.

Bucky's hands moved up find the crook in between her waist and hips, settling his veiny hands to the shape of her curves. His hips pounded into her, getting faster and harder with each thrust. As Y/N began to wrap her legs around his waist, he grabbed them and pulling he flused against his hips before he continued drilled his cock into her pussy.

The sensation was a combination of pain and pleasure and she feel as though she's in heaven. "Faster," she cried out.

"Look at you. You're so wet for me, doll. Feels so good around me--" Bucky's voice breaks into a groan as his hips meet hers, "--It's like your pussy was made for me. Gotta let me have you everyday now that you're mine, right sweetheart?"

"Mmmmhnn" she moaned; things took a turn when she clutched around him harder, it was abnormally tight as if it was trying to milk him right there and then. Bucky couldn't help but to groan in pleasure to the new sensation, "F-fuck" he cursed.

It took his less than a minute to figure out the reason why. Bucky smirked sinfully, "You like it when I talk dirty to you?" he slurred. Y/N's eyes were getting teary from all the pleasure she was feeling, from the stuffing feelings in her chest to the sensation of his hard cock thrusting in and out of her cunt.

"i- ahh I-i don't hhmmnn shit i don't know." she tried to deny him.

Bucky stopped his pace, pulled back slowly, "Really?" and slammed it back in hard, "Are you sure, princess?" He almost knocked her out of her breath.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure that my pretty girl loves it when I claim her as mine while I'm fucking her tight little pussy. Does she?" Bucky's kept on slow and hard torturous thrust, it was certainly slow but oh it felt so good; especially when he was doting at Y/N like this.

Was she really a sinner? Because this felt way too good to be in hell.

"Can't speak? Come on, my sweetheart. Speak up, let me hear ya." He demanded. Bucking her hips, wanting for more, "Y-yes, Bucky. I love i-it"

Bucky groan as her walls clenched him so good. Fuck, how many times has he thought of this? Dreamt of this? Probably, countless.

"You know why I keep changing girls, doll?" He sneaks his hands between their bodies and started to rub her clit. Her body shivered to the sensation, shaking her head to the sides as answer. "Yeah,, I bet you have no idea why do you?" He taunted.

Bucky let out a satisfied moan before his thrusts started going back to it's original pace. All whilst his cock pumped into her, gradually growing more fervent, her soaking pussy welcoming him in easily. Her whines mixed with Bucky's as she grabbed on the sheets behind her.

"Because I've been moaning your name in their ears, y/n. Everytime I stroke on my cock in anything, I have you in my mind. And when I cum, I imagine your pussy milking me dry. Just like you're doing now. Fuckkk,, doll, just like that."

Bucky's eyes that was fixated on her fucked out face since awhile ago, traveled down to where they were connected. Looking at how her little pussy shallowed his dick so well make him hornier.

Y/N slightly bounced upwards, his blues eyes tended back to her breasts. He used extra strength to see how her small body shook uncontrollably every time his hips met with hers, and to see those beautiful tits bouncing around.

"Bet you have no clue how much I want fuck my baby in you, doll. Or imagining the way your wedding ring glides on the side of my cock when you stroke me in your hand."

Bucky angled her body again by throwing her legs over his shoulders and leaned forward. This new angle made her eyes roll back. "Oh fuckk-- ahhh bucky,," she managed to say between his thrusts. Her entire body shaking from the tension building in her body as Bucky fucks her hard and fast, "I love you, y/n. I love you so. damn. much. I want to live the rest of my life in this cunt." He punctuated his words with hitting her sweet spot each time.

Bucky briefly threw his head back to hold back his orgasm before his hazy gaze landed on her, "Fuck doll, you look so pretty with my cock in you baby, so pretty. And we're so wet now. Hear that? Yeah, that's the sound of your tight little cunt getting wrecked by my cock. You fit me so perfectly. We're perfect." His thoughts were spilling out just as much as his precum leaking inside her.

There were tears in her eyes now, not only her walls but her whole body were stretching under him. It burned and it felt so damn good.

"Need you to cum, baby" Bucky spoke lowly, "I can feel ya, come on doll. Cum for me." He growled while continuing to pound her pussy.

And that would be the final straw for her. "fuck, yes, yes!" her voice hitched as her thighs begin to tremble around him. "...cumming. fuck, bucky i'm cumming." loud and sensual moans falling from her lips without much of an effort. Screaming out his name in pure bliss as her orgasm snapped through her high.

"That's it baby. Squeeze me so good." Bucky coaxed ever-so-tenderly, as her cum leaked around his cock and her pussy continued to milk him; begging and needing to feel his cum inside her.

"Hmm. I'm cumming, doll. Fuck,, oh fucking hell,, you're so good. Making me wanna cum, sweetheart. Where do you want it? Tell me. Where do you want my cum?" Bucky nearly whimpered as he felt his heavy balls were about to combust.

"Inside. Cum inside me," she moaned breathlessly.

Bucky almost growled to her response, "Good. fucking. girl. That's the only choice, baby. I'm gonna cum in you eitherway. Fuck fuck fuck,, I'm cumming shit take it, babydoll take it yeaahhh"

Leaning into her neck in a loud long moan, she felt Bucky's cock ached as he spilled himself inside her. His huge amount cream kept spurting endlessly, so much that it leaked out of her hole. Bucky whined as he continue to roll his hips, unable to stop humping into her stretched out, cum-filled cunt.

As he come down from the high, Bucky tried to pull out but only to be stopped by her circling her legs around him. He chuckled at her needy behaviour; as he found it quite adorable, "Want me to stay, baby?" he whispered softly and got a drunken nod as answer.

Bucky carefully flipped their position without leaving the tightness of her pussy, lying her limping body on his own. "Hmmmm" she hummed sleepily as she snuggled into his chest, eyes heavy with satisfaction.

"Yeah? Need my cock to fill you up for you to sleep well, hmm babydoll?" He cooed as he grind her hips downward, thrusting his cock into her slow and gentle. Y/N whined and mumbled, "Yes, please."

Bucky smiled tenderly, "Okay sweetheart. I'll keep you stuffed as long as you need me to. Now, I need you to go to sleep, okay?" He said, getting simple "okay" from the lady in his arms. Bucky placed a kiss on her head, as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as both of them got more and more drowsy as time goes by.

And at the end of this night, it was safe to say that this had been the best and longest sleep they both had since forever.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Leave some thoughts behind? The sinful the better 🙈

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #avenger!bucky #fuckboy!bucky #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #thin walls thin lines au

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cosmosis · 11 months

Text

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - surprise visit modern au!

an unfamiliar secretary won’t let you into the building to visit your husband, Miguel, at his office

Visiting your husband at work may as well be the best way for you to spend your day off. He’s been working hard, his passion truly bursting at the seams when he talks to you about the latest improvement project he’s been working on for the past three weeks.

You’re walking down the sidewalk in an outfit you knew would make Miguel go crazy, holding a nice bouquet of flowers in your arm. You decided men don’t get flowers enough, so you’re here to fill in that gap. He really deserves more than flowers anyway.

With the badge embedded into your watch, you scan your wrist against the access monitor on the wall. The doors automatically open, and you feel a nice gust of air conditioning run into you.

The office is very modern, clean, and sleek. All around you are advanced units of technology; a result of your husband’s successes. It smells the same it always has; clean, crisp, and slightly minty. As you walk through the doors, you’re greeted with the exact same things you always are; same lounge chairs, same grand elevator...

Though, you don’t recognize the secretary at the desk.

She’s blonde, red lipstick smeared onto her tight lips in an unwelcoming frown. A matching pearl set adorned over her crisp, dark blue blazer.

Usually, you’d say hi to the secretary you knew, Lyla. You assume she got fired, which was a real shame, you love her sass. She was always so kind to you, saying hi with a smile, or offering to help guide you through the office and such.

But instead, you walk right past the desk, digging through your memories to find how you managed to find Miguel’s main office last time.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?“

Her voice is just as snarky as you had imagined.

“Visiting Miguel?“ You pause, your patience already growing extremely thin for the new secretary. You’d probably chat about this to Miguel later, maybe bat an eyelash or two to convince him about hiring someone different.

“Nuh uh! Miguel O’Hara is busy right now, not open for any visitors at the moment.“ She replies, fixating her eyes on the large monitor in front of her.

You pause for a moment, critically thinking things through for a moment.

“Oh! I get it. M’am, you haven’t met me before, have you?“ You ask, trying your best to not crinkle the flowers in your hands. She raises a single eyebrow, glaring as if you insulted her mother. (Which, you might as well should do.)

“I’m Miguel’s spouse. He lets me visit him whenever, I even have my badge right here-“

She holds up a single manicured finger.

“Nice try, but my charts right here say that Miguel is busy at the moment. Try another time, maybe send him a fan letter or something.“

Your blood starts to boil as the new secretary has a satisfied smirk on her face.

Instead of choosing violence and risking your hair getting ruined, you opt for the better option. Glaring at the desk manager directly in the eye, you pull out your cellphone from your pocket, manually pressing the contact button for Miguel. You wait for the phone to dial, pressing the cellular to your ear whilst examining your own nails.

And finally, he answers.

“Hm? You need something, honey?“

“Miguel.“

Miguel on the other line, freezes to a halt. Now, he knows he’s in trouble. Carefully, he clears his throat.

“What is it, sweetie?“

You take a deep breath. “Your... secretary isn’t letting me into the office. Will you fix that, please?”

Miguel pinches between his eyebrows, groaning.

“Of course, hun. I’ll be down in a sec.“

“Thank you, Miguel.“

The call ends, but the secretary still stares at you like you’ve thrown up all over her salad. She almost looks like she’s going to laugh, which makes you even madder.

Within literally a few seconds, the elevator whirs to a halt, the top light switching on with a chime. As expected, your husband walks through the sliding doors, clad in a crisp white dress shirt and office pants. He’s so undeniably gorgeous, you almost consider forgiving the secretary.

But, you don’t.

“Ah, Miguel, this p-“

“Shut your mouth for moment, would you?“

The woman is taken aback, red bursting onto her cheeks as her fake smile melts into a frown. Her mouth is left agape, watching as Miguel saunters over to you with a smile.

“What happened?“ Miguel asks, his Office Face™ dissolving into a genuine smile. He slots his hands to your waist, silently peering at the flowers in your arms.

“Well, I was going to come surprise you... but then she said that you were busy.” You reply, pouting.

“Aww, baby, it’s okay.“ He smooches the top of your head. “The flowers are pretty. I’ll handle this.“

Miguel then swerves around, this time with his Office Face™ on. He keeps his hand glued to your side, each step of his getting louder and louder as he makes his way towards the desk.

“Tiffany.“

Tiffany, in question, shudders, keeping her eyes glued to the floor while a shit-eating smirk finds its’ way onto your face. No remorse whatsoever.

“From now, until tonight, please let my partner into the building whenever they like.“

“Yes, sir. Why until tonight?“

“Because I’m firing you from any future stand-in’s, or any sort of work in here for the matter.“

Miguel: 1 Tiffany: 0

Tiffany looks like she has so much she wants to say, so much that she could scream at this very moment... but instead, she stays silent. You can see a vein practically ready to burst at her temple, her jaw grinding her teeth in her mouth.

“I will dismiss you at the end of the day, Tiffany. I expect you to cause no more trouble until then.“

Tiffany is left utterly speechless, her jaw left slightly agape. Miguel ushers you by your back towards the elevator, poking and prodding his finger at the flowers in your grasp.

Automatically, the elevator doors smoothly slide open, and you both step inside. You stare at the glass view outside, watching as the two of you get higher and higher above the city.

“I even had my badge, and she didn’t let me.“ You frown, indulgently leaning into Miguel’s chest.

“I’m sorry, hun. Lyla’s out sick for a bit, so she was the only substitute I could find for today.“

Apologetically, he rubs your back, secretly praying that you’d forget about the whole ordeal so you’d pay attention to him instead.

“S’okay. Thank god Lyla wasn’t fired.“ You mumble, breathing a sigh of relief.

“She’s annoying, but she does her job well.“ Miguel remarks, and you gasp, personally offended on behalf of your beloved Lyla.

“No she’s not! She’s super nice, actually.“

“Whatever.” Miguel scoffs. “Kiss me.”

“No. You called Lyla annoying.”

these oneshots have really skyrocketed my account! thank you guys so much for the positive feedback, i love loveee reading all the comments i get! please stay tuned for more!

- cosmosis <333

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara spider man #spider man #spiderman #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #lyla #atsv lyla #lyla across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv #x reader #reader insert #fluff #romance #cosmosis-writes ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

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hier--soir · 9 months

Text

be good

no outbreak joel miller x f!reader

pairing: sub!joel miller x dom!f!reader summary: joel was never really the submissive type. until he met you, and realised he'd do whatever you asked of him. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] no outbreak au, established relationship, strangers at a bar role play, dom!reader, sub!joel, dirty talk, joel miller is desperate, face sitting cunnilingus, f!masturbation, save a horse ride a cowboy, size kink, praise kink, light choking, mean!reader, pet names used for joel [honey, baby, sugar], orgasm denial, reader talks joel through it, 90% porn 10% plot lmao. word count: 7.6k masterlist a/n: folks i've been gagging for something with joel just being so good for his partner and [begrudgingly] doing whatever she tells him too... and then i listened to 'sex with me' by rihanna and got even more inspired so here we go. [i swear i will post something soon with an actual plot jfc]

He’d been watching you all night.

Pip’s Bar was busy. Though it wasn’t your usual haunt, it was one of the more popular spots in Austin, and on a Saturday night it was absolutely teeming with people. Strangers lined the bar, drinking and talking and trying fruitlessly to chase down two overworked bar tenders. A mass of bodies gyrated and swayed in the middle of the room, moving to the fast rhythm of a bassline that shook the rickety old floorboards. You were lost in the midst of it, dancing alone and yet connected to the foreign bodies that crowded you from every angle, suffocating you until you were slick with sweat and sticky from spilt alcohol. Swallowed whole by the writhing, heaving pack of dancers, your every breath and movement synced with theirs.

And he’d been watching you, all night.

He’d arrived at Pip’s not long after you. And since then, he had hardly moved from the same spot across the room. He leant against the wall, one hand gripping a glass and the other propped on his hip. He looked bored, uninterested in everything happening around him, and yet every time you glanced his way those eyes were already burning a hole into your skin. The truth was that he’d never had much patience for the whole thing, but you trusted he enjoyed it just as much as you did. Knew he’d do whatever you asked him to, even if it included going to a bar and pretending you were strangers. Even when it meant him watching you dance all night, rubbing yourself against strangers, and pretending you didn’t know him until one of you finally broke.

Your arms stretched high above your head, hips swaying from side to side as you muttered the lyrics of the song underneath your breath. Once again, you glanced back in his direction while you danced. You allowed your torso to sway with the movements of your hips, hands dropping to rest lacklustre by your sides. You offered him a quick smile, but his face hardly moved, body rigid. He lifted the glass to his mouth, playing coy, and you chuckled under your breath, closing your eyes and revelling in the heavy bass that vibrated through your body. When you opened them again he was gone, the wall where he’d once stood now devoid of his presence. You didn’t give it much thought, until suddenly a pair of hands were on your waist, pulling you back against a solid body. A gasp of soft surprise exhaled from your mouth, and you felt the hands squeeze gently. When you turned around, there was already a sly smile was painted across your lips.

The dim lighting in the bar did him no justice; casting too many shadows across his strong jawline, his straight aquiline nose, hiding the perfect shade of his dark pink lips.

He stared down at you with a simmering intensity as you pressed your chest against his. The room was hot, and sweat beaded along your hairline, but it didn’t stop you from dancing slowly against him, gliding your curves against his body, maintaining eye contact all the while.

A faded denim button up covered his chest, the thin material doing nothing to disguise the toned, strong body beneath it. The fabric was slightly coarse, and it was rough against the thin mesh of your shirt. You always loved waiting to see what he would wear, how he would dress up for you. Tonight’s shirt was new, something he’d bought specifically for the occasion, and you loved it. Your nipples hardened a little, and you smirked as he snaked an arm around your waist to press his palm to the spot in between your shoulder blades, holding you against him.

“What’s your name?” you asked over the music, noting the way his eyes drifted to your mouth when you spoke. God, he was so easy.

“Joel.” Those deep, brown eyes bore into your own, drinking in the details of your face as his hips moved slowly against yours. He was always antsy to get this part over and done with, but he played along for you.

“Are you single?” you asked, revelling in the way his mouth went to respond before his brain could catch up. The beginning of the word no formed on his lips, and you almost grinned at how loyal he was, even when you wanted him to lie.

“Yes,” he said.

“You’ve been watching me all night, Joel.”

You reached up to fix his collar where part of it had been turned up. He didn’t respond immediately, mulling his thoughts over in his head, contemplating what he thought you might want to hear.

“It’s okay,” you spoke again when you sensed he was overthinking it, allowing your hand to glide down his shoulder and over the firm muscles of his upper arm. “I liked it.”

“And your name?” he asked, almost shouting to be heard over the music. You smirked at the deep bellow of his voice; at the way it gave the pumping music a run for its money. The thick, Texan drawl of it always managed to spark a fire in your belly.

When you told him, he repeated your name slowly, as if it were foreign to him; rolling it around in his mouth, tasting out the syllables on his tongue. The hand on your back held strong, and you could almost feel the individual tips of his fingertips leaving indents in your skin.

A gyrating body jostled into you from the side suddenly, and you stumbled forward. Joel tightened his grip on you, keeping the both of you standing up right. You flashed him a grateful smile, and your eyes dipped to stare at his mouth. The urge to kiss him was strong, but you held yourself back, knowing the payoff would be worth it if you could just hold off a little longer.

You didn’t waste much time though. “What brings you to Pip’s? Y’here to meet someone?”

A spark of desire flashed through his eyes, and his grip tightened inconceivably. Your body thrummed with excitement as you gained the upper hand so successfully, and so quickly. Joel cleared his throat, face relaxing back into a neutral expression.

“Didn’t want to come here at all,” he spoke plainly, glancing down to where your chests rubbed together. His eyes trailed over your torso, the mesh fabric of your shirt allowing him a full view of your breasts, clad in a thin lace bra. “Brother dragged me along.”

You hummed, almost grinning at the mention of Tommy, who would blush beet red if he knew what the two of you were doing at Pip’s. You opened your mouth to speak again, but he beat you to it.

“Did you?” he asked quickly. “Come here lookin’ for someone?”

You quirked an eyebrow and shook your head once. “No, I didn’t.” Bold faced lie.

His left hand rested on your hip, and he squeezed your waist once, holding your midriff solidly against his own. You could feel his heart beating, a rapid badoom badoom badoom that knocked rhythmically against your sternum. You draped an arm around the back of his neck, gripping the collar of his shirt.

“But maybe I could be persuaded,” you spoke slowly, testing the waters. “If you’re good.”

His eyes darkened a shade at your wording, and a soft exhale rushed out of his mouth, breezing against your face. His lips were a hairsbreadth away from touching yours, but he hesitated, eyes flickering back up to yours, as if asking for permission. Perfect.

You kissed him gently at first, slotting your lips against his and moving tentatively, exploring him as if it were the first time. His hold on you stiffened as he pressed back, running his tongue eagerly along the seam of your mouth. Your hand drifted from his collar to his hair and you gripped it softly, tugging on the wavy curls. Joel was taller than you, and yet he was crouching somewhat, so that your mouths would be level. Simplifying things for you; always so eager for the game to end. He struggled with it – the standing across the room, watching you, waiting for you to invite him over with a smile. But after an hour of dancing, you were willing to let him have it.

You parted your lips and allowed him to swipe his tongue greedily into your mouth. He tasted like whiskey and mint and soda water. It burnt your mouth, and inspired a dull ache in your abdomen. He gained confidence, kissing you harder, deeper, and so you sunk your teeth into his bottom lip. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make him pause. A warning.

You pulled away. “Have you been drinking, Joel?”

His chest rose and fell quickly. Lips swollen and red. You could feel him pressing against your stomach, already half-hard from just a little kiss. Poor baby, so desperate.

“Only had two.” His voice was stilted. “I drove here.”

“Good,” you nodded, gripping his hand and leading him out of the throng of dancing bodies.

“Good?” Joel shouted back, eyebrows raised.

“Good that your car is here,” you clarified. “Means you can drive us back to my place.”

Joel walked through your apartment like he’d never been there a day in his life, and you adored him for it.

He rested on the edge of your bed, nursing a cold beer that you’d swiped from the fridge for him. He stuck out in your bedroom, but you suppose he always had. The queen-sized bed looked like a double with him on it, his broad frame taking up most of the mattress. And the contrast between your floral wallpaper and his dark, masculine figure was so stark that you almost giggled as you watched him from across the room. His eyes felt heavy on you, following you wherever you moved, lest he miss a single thing. They raked over your figure, basking in the bare flesh you had on show, monitoring your hands as you removed your jewellery and discarded it. It caused a prickling heat to rise across your skin, and you liked it – the way he seemed so eager, so uncontained.

“What’re you doin’ all the way over there?” Joel asked. His fingers were long, wrapping around the entirety of the beer bottle, making it look miniscule in his grip.

You bent to take off your shoes. “I’m admiring you.”

His lips pursed, beer bottle pausing in the air halfway to his lips. When he spoke, his voice was deeper somehow. “Well, you should come over here.”

“Would you like that?” you straightened up, smiling sweetly.

“Yes,” he responded. His voice was measured, quiet. But you could tell he was frustrated by your relaxed demeanour. It was always the way it went. Joel was so impatient. He knew what was going to happen, knew what awaited him, and he couldn’t fucking stand the tension build up.

“Maybe if you’re good,” you winked, padding over to where he sat. You stood over him, knees brushing against knees.

“I can be good,” he spoke gruffly, depositing his beer bottle on the ground with a gentle clink.

“Is that so?” you asked softly, pulse quickening. He nodded, wiping his palms on his jeans before splaying them on the bed beside him. A slick heat had formed in your underwear, the near-ruined material sticking uncomfortably to your skin. “You’re gonna do what I want? Whatever I ask of you?”

You could see the way his jeans tightened over his crotch, cock clearly straining against the rough material at your words. He swallowed, nodding again. Slowly, so slow it was painful, you leant forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. His scent filled your nostrils and you inhaled it deeply, sighing against his mouth as everything that was Joel Miller invaded your senses. Your tongue flicked against his mouth and then you were dragging it past his lips, over his teeth, rolling it against his own tongue. A warm, heavy hand gripped the waistband of your pants and long fingers fumbled with the button, but you pulled back, tutting as you shoved his hands away from you. He looked dejected, wet lips parted as he frowned up at you.

“Take your clothes off,” you ordered softly, and he grunted, but did as you asked. “And then lay on the bed.”

Making quick work of it, he stripped out of his shirt and jeans, tossing them haphazardly into the corner of the room. Finally, he tugged his briefs down, before laying back on the mattress.

Splayed on the bed, not a single inch of Joel Miller was left to the imagination. His body sunk into the soft blankets on the bed, and his cock stood at painful attention. It gave you pause, as he stared at you, and you stared at his cock. He was big—bigger than most guys you’d slept with in the past—and he knew it too. Had always been proud of the fact. His tip was ruddy and swollen, with a small pearl of pre-come resting on his slit, taunting you. A thick, pulsing vein travelled down the side of him. You thought about how he would taste, in that moment. How heavy he would be on your tongue, how your jaw would ache, and you’d struggle to breathe as his tip glided against the back of your throat. You were salivating just thinking about it.

“You like what you see?”

You simply took your clothes off in response. Taking your time, you dragged your shirt over your head before peeling your trousers off, underwear following it and landing in a pile on the floor until you stood naked as the day you were born. Joel watched closely, dark eyes monitoring your hands as you removed layer after layer. His gaze dipped to the spot between your thighs, and you saw his cock twitch.

You straddled his thighs, resting just above his knees and taking care not to make contact with his length. As soon as you settled above him his hands rested naturally on your waist, gripping and kneading the flesh beneath his palms. You decided to allow it, just for a moment, as your gaze travelled down his chest and the dark smattering of hair there, past his happy trail, all the way to where he wanted you the most.

His hips shifted on the mattress, cock bobbing against the soft flesh of his tummy and leaving a shiny smear where the tip brushed his skin.

“So handsome,” you traced your fingers over his stomach. “You’ve got such a pretty cock, Joel.”

“Yeah?” he grunted, eyes trained on your hands as they wandered toward his hips. The power you felt in moments like this were unmatched. With this broad, strong man laying beneath you, completely at your mercy, hanging on the precipice of your every word. Even if he struggled to admit it, even when it seemed like he was using all of his will power to let you have your fun, you both knew that you were in charge. And it was invigorating.

“Yes,” you implored, your heart warming at the way his chest seemed to puff with pride at your words.

Your fingertip traced alone his hipbone and he shivered at the featherlight touch, goosebumps breaking out across his skin. “So pretty and thick. I love it like that, you know? When it’s so big that it hurts at first. No matter how wet I am, there’s still that sting.” You dug your nails into the soft of his upper thigh to emphasise your point. He didn’t respond, eyes darkening as he watched you.

“So big that it fills me up until it’s like I can’t breathe, and I’m so cock drunk that I can’t focus on anything except you and how deep you are.” You placed your spare hand on your lower stomach, splaying your fingers. “When I can feel it here.”

Joel’s breathing had started to labour, chest rattling as heavy exhales drifted through parted lips. His hands dragged from your waist to the crease where your thigh met your hips, and his grip was bruising. You knew he loved it when you talked like that, knew it drove him crazy. And you couldn’t deny it made a fresh wave of heat roll through your stomach to think about him stretching you out just right.

“And I love this,” you continued softly, dragging your fingers from his thigh to graze the moustache that rested above his top lip. He smirked at that, tongue darting out to swipe at your fingers. Your stomach tensed at the feeling of the wet muscle touching you, pussy fluttering around nothing, devastatingly empty.

Joel whispered your name against the palm of your hand. Smiling, you traced the tip of your index over his lips before pressing down, watching it slide easily into his mouth. He closed his lips around the digit immediately, grazing his teeth over it before sucking gently.

“Oh, you’ve got such a pretty mouth,” you said. “You gonna show me what you can do with it?”

He moaned around the digit, strong hands pulling your hips forward so you were edging your way up his torso.

“Mmh,” you hummed lowly, dragging your soaked finger from his mouth. You tapped it once against his left hand and gave him a sly smile. “But none of this, okay? I don’t want to feel your hands on me, not for a second. Do you understand?”

Joel’s brow furrowed, eyes dimming as he slowly pried his fingers away from your flesh, lowering his hands to rest in the sheets.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” he asked softly, tongue swiping out to wet his lower lip.

You nodded, using your knees to shift further up his chest until you were hovering just above his collarbones. Joel’s eyes darted between your thighs, and a soft sigh left his lips as he gazed at the way your lips had parted ever so slightly, giving him a glimpse of your glistening core. When you paused there for a moment too long, he looked back up to your face, expression almost begging you to movepleasejustmovejustalittlebitcloser.

So you put him out of his misery; rested your knees on either side of his head before lowering your aching cunt to meet his mouth.

Joel groaned in relief as his nose buried itself in your hair, tongue darting out to swipe between your soaked folds. You gasped in delight, rutting yourself against him in encouragement. The coarse hairs of his moustache scraped against your clit and you whined at the sensation, reaching up to rest your hands atop the headboard.

Joel licked a firm stripe up your core with the flat of his tongue, and your shoulders tensed as he set to work. He wasted no time setting a hard and fast pace, letting out messy groans as his tongue rubbed firm circles around your clit. You exhaled heavily, teeth biting down on your lower lip. He dragged his tongue to your entrance and dipped it inside you, so quickly that you flinched, before he was back to rubbing your clit, swiping the tip of his tongue back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He was so overzealous, so hungry for it; exhaling hot air against you while he lathed sloppy kisses against your pussy.

“Hey,” you rasped, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. Joel didn’t let up, simply flicking his tongue across your clit again. You jolted, tightening your grip in his hair and inching your hips away from his face. “Hey.”

His eyes flashed open, lips parting as his mouth tried to follow you when you pulled away.

“Wha—?” he couldn’t finish his sentence as you took his bottom lip between your thumb and index finger, squeezing it once.

“Slow down,” you said firmly. His cheeks flushed. “Moving that fast, a girl might start to think you’re trying to get it over with as quick as possible.”

Joel shook his head in a daze, mumbling a meagre apology against your fingers. Those big browns gazed up at you, wide and sad, reminiscent of a Labrador being told off for eating his dinner too fast. You pressed back down over his face, murmuring a gentle reminder for him to go slow.

He was soft then. Meticulous. Calculated. Every lick, every suck, every graze of teeth, was thought out and purposeful. You could feel more slick oozing out of you as his tongue massaged the flesh between your clit and your entrance.

“That’s it,” you praised breathlessly. “That’s perfect, doing—ohh—doing so well for me.”

Within minutes he had you on the edge, holding the headboard in a white-knuckle grip and grinding down against his mouth as breathy moans fell from your lips. It was reverent, the way he ate you out like it was his favourite thing to do in the world. And as liquid fire began to twist in your stomach, and your thighs burned with the intensity of holding yourself up above him, you could swear you felt him moving. Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you bit down on your lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape you at the sight of him.

The muscles of his long tanned legs were tense, the soft flesh of his hips flexing as he thrusted upward subconsciously, his leaking cock desperately seeking for contact but being rewarded with nothing but the humid air of your bedroom.

You thought about how easy it would be to turn around. To lean down and take him in your mouth. To slide your lips over his head; to taste his salt while his tongue glided through your folds. Just the thought had you careening over the edge, body jerking as you gasped and sighed and grinded the swollen mess of yourself down against his face. Joel moaned gratefully, dark eyes flicking open to watch you as you came. You could feel him everywhere; his facial hair scraping against your twitching inner thighs as his nose bumped against your clit and his tongue lapped at your entrance, sucking and swallowing down everything you had to offer until you were gasping and prying yourself away.

On shaking legs, you made your way back down his body. As you moved, you rubbed your pussy against his torso, smearing a shimmering trail of your slick across his skin. Joel let out a brief, wrecked moan, stomach tensing as you passed over it and then lifted yourself up. His pink tongue darted out to swipe at his lips, savouring the glistening remnants of your taste. Resting on your knees, you hovered above him, smiling breathlessly.

“Fuck.” You admired the sight, pouting your lips out teasingly. “Made such a mess on you, I’m sorry, baby.”

“Jesus.” His voice was pained. “S’perfect.”

“And it’s all for you,” you hummed, trailing a finger absentmindedly over his collarbone. “You looked so pretty like that. All messy haired and fucked out while I rode your face. So good for me, I’m tempted to let you go down on me all night.”

“I want to,” Joel exhaled heavily. A soft blush had risen across his chest, and he glowed under the shower of praise. “Think about it all the time.”

“Is that right?” you asked demurely.

“S’right,” he mumbled. “Think about the way you taste. About spreading you out and spending hours with my head between your thighs.”

The words were so hot they almost made you forget about the game you were playing.

You looked down, brain shifting gears and mouth going dry at the sight of your puffy lips hovering so beautifully close to the tip of his cock. He was so hard it looked painful. Stiff and pulsing, the vein down the side of his length visibly throbbed. Pre-come dripped down his length, pooling at the base of him.

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, and Joel looked down, groaning at the sight of you so close to where he was just aching. With a soft gasp, you noticed yourself begin to drip. “Look at that.”

Together, you watched a strand of your slick drip out of you, and land directly on the tip of his cock. Joel’s entire body jolted, and a pitiful moan escaped his mouth at the first stimulation he’d received all night. On instinct, his hands rushed forward and gripped your hips, stomach tensed as he thrusted upward into the air. You could see it in his eyes, the burning desire to grab you and pull you close, roll on top of you and just split you open. But this was your night, and you were the one calling the shots.

You tutted softly. “I said, hands off. Don’t make me tie them to the bed,” you clipped. He cursed, hands dropping immediately. “Mmh, you’ll do whatever I tell you to, won’t you?”

He whispered your name hoarsely, lips shifting below his wet moustache.

You ignored him, smiling at the way his cock twitched whenever you spoke. “So needy, so fucking desperate for me to touch you.”

“Yes,” he admit to it through gritted teeth. “God, fuckin’—please. Anything, I’ll do anything. Need to feel you, please baby, I need it.”

You hummed quietly, pondering as you gazed down at the sweaty mess of a man beneath you. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls, huh handsome?”

His lips parted, harsh exhales rushing past chapped lips. “Only you,” he said firmly.

The corner of your mouth twitched up and you gave an approving nod, admiring the sincere gleam in his eye.

“Good boy,” you murmured. He groaned softly, eyes almost closing at the words. “But I’ve decided I don’t think I’ll use my mouth on you tonight. Or my hands, for that matter.”

Joel frowned, lips curling into a deep grimace as he twisted the sheets in his fists.

“Because,” you continued. “All I want your cock to feel, all night, is my cunt. Nothing else. Do you understand?”

His jaw slackened and then he was nodding, muttering yeahokayyesyes.

“Yes what, Joel?”

“Please,” his voice cracked.

A wide grin spread easily across your face as you shuffled down the bed, settling your knees on either side of his waist.

“You such a tease,” he groused under his breath.

“Uh-huh,” you chuckled darkly. “And we both know you love it.” He stayed silent, knowing you were right, and watched as you splayed a hand across his stomach, using his body for leverage as you—finally—pressed your folds against his cock. Joel’s stomach tightened as you glided along his length, spreading your slick from his head to his base.

“Can I…?” he trailed off, eyes darting from your face and to where the two of you were touching. You nodded once, unable to look away as he reached down to grip himself, strong fingers wrapping around his length and squeezing once while he notched his tip at your entrance. The lingering sensitivity from your previous orgasm had you shuddering at the contact, walls contracting at the thought of him finally being inside of you.

You pushed his hand away swiftly, placing it back onto the bed. A harsh gasp ripped from your throat as you sunk down on him, gravity taking away any chance for your body to adjust to him slowly. The stretch stung a little, and your mouth hung open, spilling breathy whines.

“Jesus Christ,” you heard Joel exhale, voice ragged. The muscle in his jaw moved underneath his skin, the muscles in his arms straining as he focused all of his willpower on not fucking touching you.

“Fuck,” you whimpered. “Y-you’re so deep, stretching me out so good, just how I like it.” You tightened around him and a deep groan tumbled from Joel’s mouth, lids fluttering as his eyes all but rolled back into his head. You wiped the sweat off his forehead and cupped his cheek in your palm.

“Talk to me, honey,” you ran the pad of your thumb across his cheekbone. “Tell me how it feels.”

He grunted, heady brown eyes opening to peer up at you. His hips flexed beneath you and you bit your lip to stop from crying out at the way his cock shifted inside you. Slowly, knees painful from the pressure, you lifted almost entirely off him, before sinking back down. And then you did it again, and again, setting a deliberately unhurried pace and never once taking your eyes off his face.

The room already smelt like sex, a heady mixture of sweat and come, and a warm fog settled over your mind as the moment enveloped you.

You rotated your hips in a circle and delighted in the way he slammed the palm of his hand down onto the bed, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip. His eyes were half-shut, vision drifting to the ceiling as his head sunk into the pillow behind him. Within a second your hand tightened on his face, fingertips pressing gently into either side of his jaw, angling his face back towards you. His eyes flashed open, fully alert now.

“Look at me,” you whispered. “Wanna see those pretty eyes on me while I fuck you.”

He groaned at the words, pushing himself up into a seated position so your chests were almost touching. The new angle made you moan, and you loved the way the softest part of your stomachs brushed against each other every time you lowered your hips against his. Maintaining your hold on his face, you knocked your forehead lightly against his, nudging his nose with yours.

“Come on,” you urged, speeding up the rhythm just a little. “Tell me, baby, I—fuck—I wanna hear you. Do you feel good?”

“Yes,” he choked out. His voice was rough and wanton with need, and he wet his lips quickly upon hearing it. He almost looked shy, with his flushed cheeks and pouted swollen lips.

You hummed, hand drifting from his cheek to hover over his neck. Joel stiffened, nose pressing against your cheek as his head dropped forward doggedly. You let your fingertips graze the side of his neck, thumb brushing over his Adam’s apple.

“Is this what you want?” you murmured.

“Yes,” he repeated against your skin and you grinned, applying soft pressure on either side of his neck.

He moaned a low, tortured sound in response, and you leaned back to watch his mouth hang open as the sensation heightened everything he was feeling. With your free hand you stretched down to take one of his off the bed, and placed it firmly on the plush globe of your ass cheek. Joel’s eyes shot open in surprise, hand tightening instinctively.

He squeezed, gripping the flesh so tight it had you gasping, taking full advantage of the new freedom he’d been afforded. He used his hold to push you up and down faster, quickening the pace of your hips. And every time he bottomed out, he held you down on him for a second longer than you’d planned to allow, ensuring you felt every inch of him, every ridge and vein as he throbbed inside you, pressing against the deepest part of your core. You could already feel bruises forming where the tips of his calloused fingers squeezed you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Until you began to notice the signs, that is – the way his jaw slackened and his eyes glazed over. Relaxing your grip on his neck, you instead stroked your fingers along the skin there, feeling his thrumming pulse; listening to his hoarse laboured breaths; watching the way the rise and fall of his chest had rapidly increased. His cock twitched inside you.

“C’mon,” you whispered. “Tell me.”

“M’so fuckin’ close,” he garbled out mindlessly.

“Yeah?”

“Y’feel so good,” he gasped, words slurring together. “Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight, s’like you were made f’me.”

“Mmm, I know,” you hummed, dropping your hand to press down over his stomach. The muscles contracted under your fingers, tensing over and over again as you moved along his cock. “But you can’t come yet, Joel.”

His eyes snapped to your face, lips silently forming your name.

“I mean it,” you warned in a low voice, hips never ceasing their movement. “I’m not done with you.”

“You can fuck me again,” he shook his head. His face all but crumpled, pupils blown so wide that his eyes were almost entirely black. “Can fuck me as many times as you want, do whatever you want with me.”

You grinned breathlessly. “I know.”

“Please,” his voice cracked, abdomen tensing as you sunk down on him with a particularly heavy thrust. A high-pitched moan left your lips as you grinded your clit against the coarse hair at his base. “M’so close, darlin’.”

“No, Joel,” you admonished quickly, tone clearly too condescending for his liking.

Anger flashed across his face. Sharp and fast, but impossible to miss.

“Fuck you,” he hissed. You clenched around him without meaning to, the fire in your abdomen burning hotter as you watched his patience wane.

Swallowing down a moan, you gave him a measured look, and stopped moving entirely, relaxing your thighs against his.

“That’s not very nice,” you ground out. Joel’s expression loosened, panic glinting in his eyes. “What ever happened to southern hospitality, huh sugar? Do you think you deserve anything if that’s how you’re going to talk to me?” Not waiting for a response, you lifted your hips up, and his cock began to slide out of you painfully slow.

“No, no,” his hands lifted off the bed, hovering warily in the air over your thighs. “Wait, m’sorry, fuck—”

You ignored him, lifting up until you were completely separated. You gasped in unison at the loss, and you fought against the voice in your head that told you to just forget it – to end the entire charade. But you held strong.

“Is that any way to speak to a woman?” you teased, resting your ass on the meat of his thighs. The corners of his mouth were downturned, eyebrows furrowed as he stared despondently at you, face the picture definition of frustration. His length hung heavy in between you, glistening with a thin layer of slick and pre-come.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated softly, and your stomach twisted at the earnestness in his eyes. He meant it, and you knew that. Your sweet, kind, loving man… so quick to temper. And forgiving him too fast would be just setting a bad example.

“You know I can do this without you,” you lied dolefully, stroking a hand along the damp skin of your own thigh. “You’re nothing special, y’can’t do anything I couldn’t do just as well to myself.”

His frown deepened at your words, hurt flashing across his features. But he knew better than to speak in that moment – knew better than to dig himself into an even deeper hole by trying to argue.

“I want you to watch me,” you ordered sternly, fingers stroking thoughtfully through the coarse hair on your mound. “And if you touch me, or yourself, I won’t make you come tonight. Not even once. If you want to touch yourself so badly, be my guest, but you’ll be finishing yourself off.”

Dark eyes flashed down, jaw flexing as he watched your fingers dip to slide between your folds. You let out an exaggerated sound, gaze trained on the way his eyes devoured your movements. You spotted the muscle in his bicep tightening and loosening intermittently, and noticed that he was gripping the bedsheets so tight that you almost worried they would tear.

Moving carefully, you trailed a finger to the apex of your core and began to run circles over your clit, humming genuinely as the pleasure that had been building inside of you was reignited.

It used to make you shy, the way you touched yourself. The way your brain would run hazy with pleasure, and your hands would take on a mind of their own, grazing over your body as you shivered beneath your own touch. But now? It made you feel fucking formidable. The way you squeezed your breasts, made yourself gasp as you pinched and rolled your nipples. To rub a hand over your lower stomach and press against the soft flesh there, putting pressure on all the nerves underneath the skin to stimulate your g-spot. You were greedy, never stinging away or pulling back from what you knew felt good. It was intoxicating, knowing every intricate part of what made your own body tick. And you knew for a fact that it was like a drug to Joel to see you touch yourself.

His dark eyes glared at your fingers, awestruck as he watched your movements, tongue swiping greedily over his lips as if in an attempt to taste you again. And when you moaned, he did too, soft groans slipping past his lips and hands fisting in the bedsheets as he watched your fingers disappear inside yourself over and over again.

“That’s it,” Joel said roughly. “Add another finger for me, wanna see you stretch yourse—.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, refusing to do as he asked. He grunted, lips pursing closed. “You like watching me like this? Seeing how I touch myself?” He moaned his assent, raking a hand through his unruly curls.

You were already so high strung, so pent up, that it didn’t take long for you to bring yourself to the precipice. And as you approached to your end, expression contorting in pleasure, Joel’s eyes dragged upward to focus on your face instead of your pussy. Devastated, his eyes flicked once back down to your slick fingers, unsure of what he wanted to see more, before steadfastly holding eye contact with you. And as the high washed over you in sharp, twitching waves, he held your gaze, eyes raking across your features and delighting in the way your jaw hung open in a stupor.

You rode the waves of your pleasure for a moment, only the stopping the ministrations of your soaked fingers when your clit began to burn with oversensitivity. Your eyes slowly flicked open to find Joel’s gaze still trained on your face, although his expression was lax now. His lips formed a small, somewhat dazed smile, and you felt heat rise in your neck at the way he stared at you. All lust forgotten for a moment, he simply watched.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” you teased softly, your own mouth lilting into a grin.

“I’m admirin’ you,” he repeated your words from earlier in the night, and you huffed out a short laugh.

“You were so good, Joel,” you responded kindly, leaning forward on trembling legs to cup his face. “So patient, let me fuck myself on top of you and didn’t try to touch me once. Did everything I asked, just like you said you would.”

“Of course,” he murmured, turning to press a chaste kiss to the inside of your palm. “I’m sorry.”

Confusion flitted through you, and then you relaxed, remembering the way he had cursed at you. “It’s okay, honey. Why don’t you c’mere?”

Still smiling, he pushed back into a seated position, this time pressing his chest flush to yours. You looped an arm around his neck, toying with the short curls at the base of his neck as he lined himself back up to your entrance. Once he was in position, he gave you a quick look to check in, and in response you simply sunk your hips over him, letting him fill you to the brim once more. He sighed in relief, forehead pressing against yours.

Tilting your chin forward, you dragged your lips lightly across his, kissing him for the first time in what felt like hours.

“Where do you want to touch me?” you asked.

“Everywhere,” he breathed into your mouth.

Your fingers tightened on the back of his neck, tongue trailing lazily along the seam of his lips. “Then touch me, baby.”

His hands were on you in a second. Calloused palms running over the skin of your back, your shoulders, your hips, fingers gripping flesh for leverage as he began to fuck up into you. He had always been an attentive lover, with a keen eye for attention to detail. And it was never as apparent as when he was touching you. Because as he held you against his chest, dragging you harshly over his cock, he did everything just the way you liked it - the way you did it when you were touching yourself.

His palm pushed on your lower stomach, applying pressure there to intensify the feeling against your g-spot. And when your hands drifted to touch your breasts, his hands came up to cover yours, and you squeezed them together until he brushed your hands away to twist and play with one of your nipples, mouth dropping to flick his tongue against the other.

It was intoxicating. Both of you so drunk on the feeling of each other, of finally throwing out the pretence and just being together, that you found yourself hurtling towards the edge faster than ever.

As if he read your mind, Joel’s mouth left your breast, face pulling back to watch you, saying “I’m not gonna last.”

“It’s okay,” you panted heavily. “You can—I want you to come.”

“Need to feel you,” he frowned, shaking his head dizzily. “Want to feel you come around me, please.”

“I will,” you swore. “Come on, give it to me.”

“It’s yours,” he whimpered, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you to him. “Fuckin’ take it, it’s yours.”

His hips begun to falter in their movement, and you picked up the slack with ease, rotating your hips against him to maintain the pace he’d set. His cock jumped inside of you in quick, jerking movements, and as soon as you felt his hot release inside you, your own orgasm hit like a freight train, walls pulsing around him, sucking him in as deep as you could take him. Your vision blacked out for a second, the intensity of multiple orgasms finally catching up to you and making you almost lightheaded. Extended moans and laboured breaths mingled in the air, forming a raucous symphony as you rode out your highs. Sweat beaded across his temples and dripped down the hard lines of his face. Your lower half shook with the intensity of it, thighs bracketed firmly against the outside of his hips. Joel sung your name, wet lips pressing the word into the flesh of your neck and repeating it there, embedding it into your sweat-soaked skin like it was all he knew how to say anymore.

“Fuuck,” he dragged out once your hips stopped moving, his teeth nipping gently against your pulse point.

“Oh honey,” you murmured, head lolling forward to peck his forehead. “Don’t tell me you’re throwing in the towel? I seem to remember you saying something about how I could fuck you again, and do whatever I want with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” his shoulders shook as he laughed quietly, keeping his face hidden in the crook of your neck. “Give me a damn minute.”

Although you could feel his length softening inside of you, and a mix of both of your come was steadily seeping out past his girth to make a mess of your thighs, you didn’t move just yet. And Joel seemed more than content to stay put, his strong arms enveloping your body almost entirely as he held you against his chest, breaths slowly beginning to even out. You shifted your head to the side to peer at his face, smiling when you saw that his eyes had indeed fallen shut.

“Lay down,” you encouraged quietly, letting out a quiet huff of surprise when he simply fell backwards into the mattress, dragging you down with him. Adjusting your legs to rest more comfortably on either side of him, you laid your head against his collarbone, pressing soft kisses to the burning skin of his chest.

“Just a minute,” he mumbled in assurance, although his eyes stayed closed and his breaths deepened.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly. “Can I get you some water? Something to eat?”

He hummed; eyes cracking open to peer blearily at you. “Water sounds about right.” You nodded, moving to get up from the bed, but he held you down, palm solid on your lower back. “Not just yet though,” he added quickly. “Just stay with me for a minute.”

“Okay baby,” you kissed his collarbone, allowing him a few more minutes of rest before you forced him to drink a litre of water and allow you to clean him up. His fingers mindlessly traced a pattern onto the skin of your back, stirring goosebumps across your flesh.

Slowly, a smirk slid across your face and you tilted your chin up to gaze at him once more. “Just saying though—you should probably get out of here before my boyfriend gets home. He’s pretty quick to anger, and I have a feeling he’d kill you if he found out what we just did.”

Joel groaned loudly, hand reaching up to press over your mouth and muffle your laughter. “Jesus, do you ever stop talking?”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller smut #sub!joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #my writing #be good

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caelesjjk · 6 months

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simply meant to be | jjk

☾ Title: Simply Meant to Be ☾ Pairing: pumpkin king!jungkook x fem reader ☾ Genre/AU: nightmare before Christmas au, romance, horror, smut ☾ Rating: m (18+) ☾ WC: 4.6K ☾ Warnings: this is not your average nightmare before christmas, its pretty dark and unhinged. jungkook is jack skellington. reader is somewhat of a sally character. jungkook calls you immortelle (it means everlasting), jungkook has face tattoos (you'll see), monsters, fear, seokjin appearing as Dr. Finkelstein hehe, electrocution therapy, being held against will, jungkook unalives someone, a game of cat and mouse, mentions of blood, smut in the forms of: kissing, grinding, fingering, unprotected sex, knife play, blood play, creampie ☾ Summary: you aren’t sure how any of it can be real. This place…these creatures…this man. You wake up next to a man you’ve never seen before with no memory of who he is or where you are. But everyone in town seems to know you. You belong to the Pumpkin King. Scared and utterly terrified you run into someone who claims they can help you remember. And now you’re starting to wonder if that’s truly what you want. ☾ Authors Note: hello darklings! Please enjoy my trick for the Fantasy and Fangs halloween collab! this fic became so much more unhinged than i originally planned lol. it may not be for everyone! just e sure to check my warnings before you proceed with the fic. this is heavily unedited.

Your body jolts upright, lungs immediately gasping for breath.

Panic surges through every nerve as you frantically look around at your surroundings and grasping at the thin sheet you find bunched around your hips.

You’re naked. God why are you naked? How did you get here? Where the fuck are you?

Your heart pounds in your chest as you look next to you in bed and see that someone is lying next to you. A broad back and muscular arms covered in tattoos leading up to a head of messy black hair that covers the persons face lies snoring quietly against the sheets.

“Shit.” You mumble, wrapping the thin sheet around your body as you scramble out of the bed. The man lying in the bed stirs slightly and reaches into the space where your body once was.

You don’t wait to see anything else, dashing for the bedroom door and stumbling into the very dark hallway. The only light comes from the cobweb covered candle sconces that line the black painted walls.

You adjust the sheet around you the best you can before taking off running down the hallway. There is an immediate feeling that you’re being watched and you make the mistake of turning around to look behind you.

The dark shadowy silhouette of a man stands where you had just been a moment ago. You beg your feet to move faster.

Before you reach the top of the stairs, you glance back over your shoulder once more to see what you can only describe as a jack o lantern grin light up and stretch across the face of the man taking his time moving towards to you down the hallway.

“Where are you going, immortelle?”

A voice comes into your mind and almost causes you to fall face first down the winding spiral staircase in front of you.

“Please leave me alone.” You beg as you rush down the stairs. You don’t make it far before you suddenly feel hands gripping at your ankles. Hands with claws….some covered with slime…reaching from under the stairs and tearing at the sheet keeping your naked body from being exposed.

You scream until your throat hurts. Kicking at the hands as you continue to fight your way down the stairs.

“You know how much I love chasing you, baby.”

Somehow you manage to make it to the bottom of the stairs, but you almost wish that you hadn’t when you fall against the front door and throw it open.

You must be hallucinating with fear.

Outside the sky is black and grey swirls of clouds in constant motion, you know if you stared too long you’d become dizzy. Instead, your eyes wonder around to the bare trees surrounding the house you just made your way out of. Just a few leaves hang on for dear life as the wind quite literally howls through the air.

Down the crooked stone steps in front of you is a huge iron gate with two giant pumpkin designs bent into the bars. Gargoyles sit atop every stone post surrounding the house.

Wasting no more time, you descend the stairs until you’ve reached the iron gate, shaking the bars when it doesn’t budge.

“Please open. Please.” You shove with your shoulder as hard as you can and the gate loudly creaks open just enough for you to squeeze out into the open street.

You turn around and shove the gate back shut, looking up at the top of the stairs where the man who had been chasing you through the house now stands with a smile on his half tattooed face and his arms crossed over his bulky bare chest.

You can see even from here that the tattoos on the left side of his face are skull like features. It’s absolutely terrifying.

He lifts a hand in a wave as he menacingly tilts his head to the side and smiles.

Fuck this.

You wrap the blanket tighter around you and take off down the street without a single clue as to where you are. Anywhere has to be better than where you just were.

You spoke too soon again.

The sight in front of you as you round the corner is just as terrifying as that house and that man.

There are monsters, literal monsters, standing in the streets. Selling items at market booths. Chasing their children on the sidewalks. Laughter…and screams. It’s a terrible mix of sounds.

You freeze as a bouncy ball belonging to what you can only assume is a swamp monster child rolls against your feet.

“Happy first day after Halloween Ms Y/N!” The little creature says, staring at you expectantly.

Your instincts tell you not to scream. If you scream it will only make things worse.

“You know my name?” Your voice shakes and so do your hands as you continue holding the blanket around your body.

“Are you alright, miss?” The child’s mother appears behind him, looking at you with concern.

“I um…I should go.” Your bare feet move to cross the street, making you pause when you step in something wet. You know that it’s blood before you even look down. Vomit threatens to fill your mouth but you continue walking away, dragging the train of the sheet you’re wearing through more of the bloody streets.

More monsters stare at you as you go. Some with long sharp teeth and claws that could easily slice through a normal humans delicate skin. Some walked on two feet and some slithered across the ground like sickly serpents.

“Are you lost?” A horrifying witch grabbed your arm and tried to pull you back into the street.

“No, no I’m just on my way somewhere.” You lie the best you can, yanking your arm away only to immediately see deeps scratches from her long nails.

“So sorry miss.” She cackles, moving to join two other witches who were waiting for her on the other side of the street. They all continued their uneasy laughing until you turned the corner up ahead.

As you turned the corner you ran hard into something. Or someone it would appear when you looked up.

“What are you doing out here in nothing but a blanket, Y/N?” The man asks, pushing a pair of glasses up onto his nose.

This man had stitches across his forehead and down around his neck. Like some kind of Frankenstein’s monster, he’s been sewn together.

“Do I know you? Why does everyone here know my name?” You step back to put space between you and the monster.

“Ah, I see. Come with me.” He turns and begins walking but stops when you don’t follow. “I can help you. Come.” He holds out a hand, and while you don’t know what the fuck is happening, something tells you it’s okay to trust this stranger.

You take his hand.

“Who are you?” You finally ask.

“I’m a friend. Dr. Kim Seokjin.” He swings your hands between you in a silly way. “You usually call me Jin. Sometimes Jinnie.”

“Jin.” You repeat, the name feeling familiar on your tongue. “Where are we going?”

“To my lab. I have things that can help you there.” Jin turns another corner and up ahead you can see a tall crooked tower looming in the distance.

“Your lab is in there?”

“It is. Don’t worry Y/N, I promise you’re safe with me.”

You swallow hard but continue to let Jin lead you inside the tower and up, up, up the long spiraling stairs until you reach a door that he slides open.

Inside is a room filled with equipment and various experiments. Glass beakers filled with colorful liquid bubble and burble over small open flames. Sparks fly from wires that connect to different machines and some that connect to nothing at all. There are also several control panels at the center of the room with gurneys situated next to them.

“What kind of doctor are you, Jin?” Your voice shakes a little.

“The helpful kind.” He answers with a menacing grin on his face and a flicker of something slightly insane in his eyes.

“Wh-what do you have here that can help me?” You look down at the dirty blanket still wrapped around your body.

“First,” he grabs your hand again and leads you to a side room that has a cot with some folded clothes lying on top of it, “you can use those clothes to change into, okay? Whatever you want.”

“Thank you.” You step into the small room and turn to face him. “Is something really wrong with me? Something that makes me not remember?”

“Everything is fixable. I’ll have you as good as new in no time.” Jin winks and closes the door behind him so that you can change in private.

You dress in a daze, still feeling very off kilter from everything that’s unfolded from the moment you opened your eyes. Flashes of the man you woke up next too and his terrifying tattooed face race across your memory and leave chills over your skin.

“Ready now?” Jin calls from outside the door. You take a deep breath and walk back out into the laboratory. “Why don’t you take a seat on one of those?” He motions to the gurneys at the center of the room.

Reluctantly, you walk over to them and sit on the thin mattress. It crumples under your weight and immediately sends a sense of dread swimming into your veins.

“How can you fix me?” You barely get the sentence out before Jin is next to you, situating your arms at your sides and wrapping leather straps around your wrists. “What are you doing?” Panic thick in your voice.

“This is how we fix you. Bite this.” He puts a leather strap up to your mouth.

“Are you crazy?! I’m not doing this. Let me go!” You pull against the restraints, thrashing your head and body in an attempt to get the fuck away.

“I know it’s a little frightening. You do this every time. One of your only flaws.” Jin shakes his head, sounding disappointing.

“Flaws? What are you talking about!?”

“You’re my creation. I made you.” He tilts his head and smiles, “and you’re absolutely perfect except for that mind of yours. It resets. Forgets.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Creation?! I’m a human being! I’m not some experiment! What is wrong with you?” Hot tears starts to leak from the corners of your eyes and blur your vision.

“You’re so adorable sometimes.” Jin yanks on your restraints to tighten them, “sit still, Y/N.”

“You’re hurting me.” You whimper.

“You think that hurts?” Jin smiles before he begins sticking sticky pads to your head and neck. “Just wait.” He whispers into your ear.

You’re such an idiot to have trusted this monster. You were so sure that he was good. A friend. He felt like a friend when you saw him. Familiar.

“Please…don’t.” You beg just before he forcefully shoves the piece of leather between your teeth.

“You’ll thank me soon.”

Terror freezes your body as you watch him slam down a lever on one of the control tables, green electric waves traveling down the wires and entering your body in trembling shocks.

You don’t know how long you lay there, screaming through the pain before you pass out from how much electricity Jin lets pass into your body. But eventually the room goes black and the last thing you hear is Jin manically laughing from across the room.

“It’s getting worse.”

“I tweaked some things this time. I’m hopeful it lasts longer.”

“It better. I’m tired of losing her.”

You hear quiet voices as you begin to come to. Voices that you recognize almost immediately.

“Jungkook?” Your voice croaks. Almost immediately the door to the small room slides open and the silhouette of the only person you want to see fills the doorway.

“You’re okay, immortelle?” Jungkook rushes into the room and kneels next to the cot you’re laying on.

“What happened to me? Why am I in Jinnie’s lab?” You turn your head to face him when he cups your cheeks in his hands.

“You had another episode, my sweet.” He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles one by one.

“Episode?” Your brows draw together in confusion.

“You forgot who you were. That you belong to me. You forgot it all.” Jungkook looks sad while he explains and it breaks your heart.

“How could I forget you?” You sit up slowly and he helps you. “How could I forget my love?”

“It’s not your fault, immortelle. Don’t blame yourself.” Jungkook looks over his shoulder at Jin who stands in the doorway. Jin rolls his eyes before walking away.

“Take me home?” You ask, wrapping your arms around Jungkook’s neck when he picks you up into his arms bridal style.

“Of course.”

Jungkook carries you down the long winding staircase of the laboratory and outside where it’s pitch black besides the white melting candles inside the lamp posts along the street.

A smile pulls across your face when you see all the monsters that you love busy in the streets. They all smile back at you, tossing greetings and wishes of quick recoveries your way.

“They love you.” Jungkook whispers into your ear.

“No. They love you, you’re their pumpkin king. I’m just lucky enough to be yours.” You touch the skull details tattooed on the side of his face so he looks at you.

“You’ll be their queen soon.” He reminds you. You lean up to kiss his lips.

“Let’s get something to eat before we go home. I’m famished.” Jungkook sits you on your feet but keeps your hand in his.

Jungkook talks with some of the shop owners and you watch as he gathers all of your favorite things into a basket. Wines, cheeses, and some sweet treats leftover from the night before. You love him so.

You make your way over to a stand selling haunted dolls and look around at all the choices. You’re about to go back to find Jungkook when someone grabs your arm and twists you around.

“You’re so pretty.” The drunken vampire says, the smell of blood thick on his breath. He’s had too much.

“I appreciate your compliment, but I need you to let go of my arm.” You pull away but he doesn’t let go.

“Don’t be that way. Come with me.” He stumbles and almost falls on top of you.

“Get off of me!” You say louder but the vampire doesn’t listen, it’s nails scratching through your skin. You’re about to scream for Jungkook when he’s suddenly there, ripping the vampires hand from your arm.

“May I ask what you think you’re doing? Touching what’s mine?” Jungkook says too calmly.

“I…I didn’t recognize Ms. Y/N…I didn’t realize.” The vampire stumbles over his words.

“Is that your excuse?” Jungkook laughs, the terrifying cackling sound sending tingles through your body.

You know what’s going to happen next, and the thrill alone has you aching between your legs.

“I’m sorry, I’ll never make the mistake again.” The vampire takes a few steps back.

“Immortelle?” Jungkook looks over his shoulder to you. He’s asking a silent question that you already know the answer to. You nod yes as a smile spreads across your face.

“Remember in your next life my friend, to keep your filthy hands off my girl.” Before you can blink his hand is shooting out between them and into the vampires chest cavity. He holds it there a moment so that he can watch the life drain slowly drain from the vampire before he yanks his hand back out holding the still thumping heart in his hand.

The vampire falls to the ground in a lifeless heep, his eyes still open and eternally full of the fear he last experienced. The crowd around the market doesn’t take offense, they know if their pumpkin kills someone it was for a damn good reason.

Jungkook turns towards you, handing the heart to one of the children playing with the body on the ground. He pats their head and then slowly brings his hand up to his mouth, licking a thick stripe from the bloody palm of his hand to the tip of his middle finger, all while keeping eye contact with you.

You smile, closing the space between the two of you and claiming his mouth. Your tongue seeks out the blood that’s dropped down his chin and around his lips.

“It never gets old…watching you kill for me.” You breathe into his mouth while his blood hands lace into the strands of your hair.

“We need to get home before I show everyone here how well I fuck you.” His mouth leaves hot kisses against your neck as he leads you backwards down the street until your back hits the iron bars of a familiar gate.

Home.

The gate loudly creaks open as soon as it realizes the two of you have arrived. Jungkook stops kissing you to take your hand and walks with you up the stone stairs to the front door that also opens all on its own, the door knocker welcoming you home.

“Do you want to play?” You whisper, making Jungkook pause at the bottom of the stairs. Those tattooed details raising into a smile.

“Okay, immortelle. Let’s play.” He kisses the top of your hand before taking a step back. He slowly slips of his black and white striped suit jacket and unbuttons his shirt before it joins the jacket on the floor.

You soak in the tattooed planes of his body, the muscles begging to be touched. His dark falling over his forehead as he steps back farther into the shadows until he’s completely disappeared from your sight.

“You know what happens if I catch you, immortelle.” His voice floats into your ear from somewhere unknown. “Don’t let me catch you.”

A thrill shoots through your body again and you sprint for the stairs, loving the way the monsters and ghouls grab at your ankles and whisper your name. You immediately turn left at the top of the stairs, your mind going a million miles an hour trying to think of where you could hide.

He knows all of the good places for hiding.

In a last ditch idea, you run into your shared bedroom upon hearing Jungkook’s footsteps running up the stairs. He took this game of chase so seriously and never took it slowly.

You slide under the bed, your chest heaving in fear but also excitement. You’re hoping by hiding somewhere obvious that he won’t even think to look here and waste his time checking all of the usual spots you tend to hide.

“Where are you, immortelle?” You hear his menacing voice out in the hallway coming closer. You almost giggle. “You know I’ll find you. I will always find you.”

You hear his footsteps stop outside the bedroom door and then the door slowly opens right after, lightly hitting against the wall behind it.

Jungkook’s heavy footsteps make the floorboards creak as he walks into the room. You throw a hand over your mouth to keep from making any noises. Jungkook undoes the buckle of his belt and a moment later slips it from his belt loops and lets it clang against the hardwood floor.

“Are you soaked for me right now, my love?” You watch with wide eyes as Jungkook slowly walks around the bed. “I’ll find out soon enough.”

He doesn’t say anything else and when you look around at the floor you notice that he’s no longer next to the bed, his black boots no longer anywhere in sight. You release a long breath of relief.

And then you’re being yanked by the ankle from beneath the bed, a startled scream escaping you as you flip onto your back just in time to see Jungkook trap you with his body against the floor.

“You caught me.” You smile, lifting your hips up to meet his, desperate for friction against your core.

“Don’t I always?” His mouth is on yours, his hands pushing your dress up around your hips.

He was desperate for you too.

“I love you.” You whisper on his lips, the tattooed skeleton grin on his beautiful face turning upwards.

Jungkook sits up on his knees between your legs giving you a full view of his naked torso. Pretty muscles and flawless skin that you ached to leave your mark on. Scratches and bite marks and bruises were the only things that could make him more perfect.

Your chest heaves as you watch him reach behind his back in the band of his black dress pants to retrieve a silver shiny knife. Your pulse quickens immediately.

“Is this what you want, immortelle?” He presses the cold steel flat against the inside of your thigh, keeping the blade from cutting you just yet.

“Will you torture me?” You ask, your hands coming up to cup your breasts with anticipation.

“Absolutely.” Jungkook moves the knife farther up your skin until the point brushes over underwear. You moan pathetically at the feel of it brushing over your center and slowly sliding over onto your other thigh.

“Jungkook…” you sigh.

“Be patient. I’ll give you what you want.” Jungkook uses his other hand to undo the button and zipper of his pants, pushing them down until his perfect cock springs free from the confines.

You bite your lip at the sight in front of you. Jungkook slowly strokes himself to the sight of the knife moving across your skin. He draws the sharp side of the blade oh so gently across your stomach, so sharp you don’t even feel it draw blood. The view of you on display for him makes him groan and move his hand a bit rougher up and down his shaft.

Your fingers move on their own accord, slipping through the small pool of blood on your stomach and moving them back over your breasts to smear the crimson liquid in a trail.

“Fuck. Fuck you’re so perfect.” Jungkook moves the knife to your throat, gently leaving one long cut from one side to the other. You immediately feel warm blood leave the wound and drip down the sides of your neck.

Jungkook drops the knife to the floor and bends over your body to attach his mouth to your neck. He licks and sucks at your blood, whimpering at the taste of it on his tongue. Your body instinctively arches from the ground, your chest rubbing against his and spreading more of your blood between your bodies. It was the most beautiful visual you could imagine.

You looked down between your bodies to see Jungkook’s hand still stroking his cock as he continues to move his mouth down your body to the cut on your stomach. You can barely stand the burn in the pit of your stomach any longer, your desire for the man on top of you smoldering too hot.

“I need you now. Please.” You lace your hands into Jungkook’s hair and lift his face. The sight of his face covered in your blood, his eyes solid black with lust almost does you in completely.

“Such a good girl, saying please.” He moves back onto his knees, squeezing precum from the head of his cock before he releases it completely and picks the knife back up off the floor. You watch in awe as he brings it to his mouth and licks the blood from the blade.

“I always want to be good for you.” You say sweetly. His cock twitches at the sound of your obedient voice.

Jungkook moves the knife down between your legs and ever so carefully pressed the sharp blade to your underwear and drags it down until the fabric slices apart and reveals your absolutely drenched pussy to him. The knife clangs to the floor again and Jungkook leans back down to claim your mouth, his thumb immediately finding your clit.

Your lips part to moan and his tongue swipes against yours swallowing up all the sounds that escape you. The dripping head of his cock suddenly swipes through your folds and causes a high pitched whine to bubble up your throat.

“Is your pussy desperate to be filled, immortelle?” His hand swipes the blood on your stomach before it’s back on his cock, the blood lubing his shaft to make it easier when he fucks himself into you.

“Yes. It hurts, Jungkook.” You let your hands wander his chest and stomach, watching him watch you.

“I’m not going to last long once I get inside your perfect pussy, my love. But I need you to cum and I need you to scream.” Without warning he roughly spears himself inside you, his hands holding you on his cock as you writhe from the sudden intrusion.

“Oh my fucking god.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he starts to move, rough and hard.

“Made for me. I literally had you made just for me and you’re perfect. So fucking perfect and pliant just for me.” Jungkook’s hand comes down to your throat, careful of the cut across your skin, he gently tightens his grip.

You immediately see stars, wrapping both of your hands around his wrist to keep him in place. You gasp and moan at the feeling of him controlling your breathing and ruining your pussy at the same time.

“I’m going to come. God I’m coming right now.” The words are quiet as he continues to hold your throat but he hears you just fine, moving his hand from your throat to play with your clit.

“Scream. I need you to scream so I can fill you up.” You open your eyes to see Jungkook watching you, his hair sweaty and mouth parted. Just when you’re about to beg for a kiss he punches your clit between his fingers and your orgasm rolls through you like a hurricane.

Black and white sparks explode behind your eyes and though you can’t hear yourself, you know that you scream loud and high pitched. Just what Jungkook needs to find his own end, dropping on top of you as he continues to fill you past the brim and onto your thighs.

Dried blood scratches between your skin and his as he lies on top of you, his head against your chest and your hands roaming the expanse of his broad shoulders.

“You’re okay, immortelle?” He finally asks through his heavy breathing.

“I am, of course.” You lift his face to place a kiss to his lips.

“We didn’t even make it to the bed this time.” He laughs lightly, groaning as he pulls out and helps you sit up with him.

“I didn’t mind.” You both smile knowing he feels the same.

“I’ll never mind being with you, immortelle. Never.” He touches your cheek and kisses your lips once more.

“Even if…even if I keep forgetting?”

“Even then. We are simply meant to be, my love.”

#bts fic #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #jjk

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ilovepedro · 3 months

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soft side | joel miller x f!reader

Valentine’s Masterlist | Main masterlist | Palestine

Please take some time to go through the Palestine links. If enjoy my writing, I ask you to help Palestine in any way you can.

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2.5k

Summary: You and Joel enjoy a quiet Valentine’s Day.

Warnings: no outbreak AU, pwp, established relationship, fluff, oral (f!receiving), fingering, squirting, cum eating, unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), creampie, praise kink, pet names (baby, darlin’, good girl), after care, reader has no description, no mention of hair type/body type/skin color, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: i haven’t written Joel in ages, so i’m a little nervous i can’t lie. i do have a dbf fic in the works for him, but he’s very intimidating since he’s so well-loved. i hope i did him justice 😭 anyway, i hope y’all enjoy! thank you for reading! as always, not beta’d - all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

His truck is parked in the driveway. He’s home before you, something out of the ordinary with work being so busy all the time. You park your sedan beside his pickup and gather your belongings before heading to the front door. It’s oddly quiet as you shuck off your boots and toss your keys on its respective hook, save for the record player going in the living room.

Warmth glows throughout the house, painting the walls in a sepia hue.

Sauntering into the dining room, you spot a vase of tulips sitting atop the dining table. A card sits beside it, his chicken scratch scribbled inside.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby. Thank you for loving me and the girls the way you do. Don’t know what I did to deserve you. I love you.

-Love, J”

Your heart flutters at Joel’s sweet message, knowing he isn’t typically one for declarations. Rustling comes from the garage door, Joel trudging in with a bottle of that sweet wine you like.

“Hey, cowboy,” you mutter, grinning ear-to-ear. His head snaps up, a goofy grin crinkling his features.

“Hey, baby. Didn’t even hear ya come in. How long you been home?”

“Just got in.”

You waltz towards him as he sets the wine down on the table. His arms wrapping around you.

It’s instinctual.

Slotting your arms around his neck, you meet him halfway into a soft kiss. Melting into him, mindlessly carding your fingers through his hair as you kiss him sweetly, slowly – something you haven’t had a chance to do very often lately. Savoring every bit of him he has to offer.

“Hmm. It’s quiet. What’d you do to our girls, Miller?” You ask against his lips, Joel chuckling into you.

“At the movies with Tommy. Slipped him somethin’ so we could have the house to ourselves tonight. Should be back ‘round 9. ‘S a school night, but just wanted some time with my valentine,” Joel mumbles, his chocolate irises meeting your gaze.

Smirking, you hum in approval.

“Smart man,” you murmur before crashing your lips against his.

“Mhmm,” Joel agrees as he grins into the kiss. Both of you chuckling at his conniving plan.

“Missed you, cowboy. I feel like we haven’t had a moment alone in a while,” you utter as he places tender kisses on the column of your throat.

“Mmm. Missed you too, baby. Feel like I haven’t seen ya in ages,” he says into your skin, the two of you mindlessly swaying to the record playing in the living room. Unable to contain your laughter, Joel snaps his head up - his signature scowl returning.

“What’s so funny, darlin’?” He asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Nothing. You’re just… you're so… I like when you’re soft,” you timidly murmur in between giggles. His brows scrunch further, smirk pulled into a thin line.

“Soft? The hell you talkin’ about, darlin’?” Joel asks in genuine confusion.

“It’s not a bad thing, Joel. You’re just… real soft when it comes to me and the girls. It’s sweet,” you explain. He grunts.

Typical Joel.

“Well you three are the only people I care about,” he mumbles, his kisses resuming, nibbling on your neck. He draws out a breathy chuckle from you as your resolve slowly starts to crumble.

“Come on, Joel. I gotta make dinner,” you whisper, no conviction in your voice.

“Mmmm. ‘S alright. Already ordered us somethin’. ‘Sides - rather have dessert right now,” he rasps against your lips before smashing them together again. The kiss grows sloppy, heady, full of tongue and teeth. You moan into his mouth, feeling drunk just off his touch. He cups the back of your head while squeezing your waist with his other hand, leading you out of the kitchen.

“Lemme have my dessert first, baby,” he mutters before dragging you up the stairs. Drunk giggles bubble from your lips as he leads you to your shared room. Flinging the door open, Joel tosses you on the bed, diving into your neck as he litters kisses along your throat.

He nips at the spot beneath your ear, earning him a breathy moan. Soothing his bite marks with his tongue, he fumbles with the hem of your blouse. He tosses it over your head as you fiddle with the buttons on his flannel.

His rough hands undo the clasp of your bra, a moan breaching his chest as your breasts spill out of the cups. You slide off his flannel, revealing his taut chest and soft tummy, your mouth waters at the sight of him. Rugged and soft around the edges, you frantically undo his belt. A smug laugh rumbles from his chest.

“Eager now, ain’t ya, baby?” He teases, shucking off his jeans. He visibly twitches in his boxers, a damp spot of precum already leaking through. You palm him through the fabric, Joel groaning at your warm touch. Sitting up on your knees, you snake your hands up his torso and wrap them around his neck, slamming your lips together in another heated kiss.

“Want you in my mouth,” you rasp hungrily.

“Later, baby. Need to be inside you. Gotta get you ready for me first,” he grunts as he throws you back on the bed. In one swift move, he slides your trousers down your legs and discards them on the floor. He groans at the sight beholding him. Your lacey pink thong with a visible wet patch on them. He wildly yanks it off, nearly ripping the lace.

His lips ghost over your bare sex as he settles in between your legs. He peppers kisses along your thighs, his beard scratching against your skin.

“Joel,” you pant, plead. Your desire grows with every kiss to your thighs. He hums, the vibrations sending another wave of arousal to stick to your panties. His callused hands rest atop your tummy, settling your squirming.

“Joel, please,” your voice barely above a whisper. He laces his fingers with yours before diving in. Drowning in you, he moans at the taste of you. Savoring your tang on his tongue as he licks languid stripes up your glistening folds. Your wanton moans making his cock twitch, boxers growing messier with precum.

“Always taste so fuckin’ good, darlin’. So fuckin’ sweet,” he rasps before suckling your clit between his lips. You keen above him, arching your back into the mattress as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“So fucking good, Joel. Feels so fucking good, oh my god.”

Mouth still wrapped around your precious pearl, he prods a thick finger at your entrance. Your eyes fly open, gasping at the intrusion. His thick, long fingers hardened by a long day at work always hit that spot in a way you never could. He groans as he watches you suck him in, gliding in with ease.

“Joel, oh fuck, Joel. More, please,” you beg, breathless as he brings you closer to your release. He slides in another finger, moaning into you as he watches them glisten every time he pulls them out, squelching around him with every pump. Crooking his fingers deeper, your moans grow pitchier with every stroke as he brushes your g-spot.

He releases your clit from his lips, licking hurried stripes through your folds, slurping up the juices that have pooled at his wrist.

“C'mon, baby. Can feel you squeezin’ my fuckin’ fingers. Fuck, can fuckin’ hear ya. Let go for me, darlin’. Come on my fingers, baby, let me have it,” he growls before flicking at your clit relentlessly. Your tummy clenches tightly, pressure bubbling over as you gush all over Joel’s mouth and fingers.

He groans as he skyrockets you into orbit. Floating around the sun, your vision burns hot and bright, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Joel hungrily, wildly drinks every drop before licking back up to your clit.

A puddle of your release gathers beneath you, it coats Joel’s wrist as it sticks to your thighs. Whimpering as you return to Joel, he releases your clit from his mouth and greedily licks up your slick from your thighs. Roaming up your body to meet your gaze, he brings two of his fingers to your mouth.

“Open for me, baby,” he snarls. You mindlessly obey, sucking in his slick-soaked fingers with heavy eyes. Moaning around him, savoring the taste of yourself.

Joel lets out a wrecked moan, his mouth gaping as you suck his fingers clean. Hastily removing them from your mouth, he hurriedly slips out of his boxers and kicks them off to the side. You catch glimpse of him through heavy lids, whining as he pumps himself, precum smeared along his throbbing length through gritted teeth.

You flinch when he lines himself up with your weeping cunt, clit throbbing as your breathing becomes even more ragged. Whimpers and moans reverberate off the walls as he slides home. Fluttering around him as he splits you open, tears prick your eyes. The sting heightens your pleasure. His cock kissing your cervix as you adjust to the size of him.

“Fuck, baby. Always so fuckin’ tight,” he grits, holding his orgasm at bay.

“Y-you’re so fucking big, Joel, holy shit,” you whine, gasping with every word.

His size is something you’ll never get used to.

He sloppily slots his lips against yours, the taste of you melding into the kiss. Threading your fingers through his salt and pepper curls, he groans into your mouth as you tug on them. His weight making the pressure in your tummy rise.

“Joel,” you whisper against his lips. He hums, capturing them in his again before you can speak. He smirks as you let out a hmph.

“Move. Please.”

Joel hisses as he slides out of you almost completely, before ramming back into you. Your back arches into his chest, his rough, large hands slitehering to cup the sides of your waist. Pinning you beneath him as he snaps his hips into yours. Nudging at that spongy spot with every thrust.

He’s incredibly deep, fucking an endless stream of whines and moans out of you. Gripping his broad shoulders for purchase, your nails drag down his back. You can feel him twitch inside you, his hips stuttering at the dull sting of your scratches.

“Pussy’s so fuckin’ good, baby. Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had in my life. Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ all of me, squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. You my good girl, baby? Huh?” Joel babbles, drunk off your pussy.

Your eyes struggle to stay open, every thrust sending you closer to the edge.

“Y-yes, Joel. Your good, fuck, your good girl,” you wail.

“‘S right. You’re mine. All fuckin’ mine, baby. So good for me. Wanna feel you soak my cock, baby. Come on my cock, baby. Need to feel you."

With no preamble, he brings his thumb to your clit.

“Joel!”

One stroke to your clit catapults you to your orgasm. Stars bursting behind your eyes, dizzy as he fucks into you harder and harder. You feel his cock twitching as he nears his own release.

“Gonna let me fill you up, baby? Gonna take all my cum like a good girl?”

“Yes, Joel! Fill me up! Please! W-wanna feel you dripping from me, please, Joel!” You scream as you ride out your high, tears streaming down your face.

“Fuck!” Joel barks, hips stuttering as he cums hard. Coating your fluttering walls with his cum, his guttural, drawn-out groan echoing in the room. The two of you ride out your highs together, babbling nothing but Joel Joel Joel as the sheets crinkle in your deathgrip.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pushing you further into the mattress. He can feel his cum seeping out of your throbbing cunt, but he can’t bring himself to pull out.

Not yet.

He catches your lips in a searing kiss, a silent check-in, bringing you back to him as you whine and writhe.

“I got ya, baby. I got ya. So good. Did so good for me,” Joel rasps, voice hoarse and mouth dry.

He slips out of you slowly, reluctantly leaving your warm, wet walls. Your cunt achy and puffy as it gleams in the setting sun that glows through the window. Both of you covered in sweat and sticky with cum.

Laundry definitely needs to get done tonight.

Before he rises from the bed, Joel revels in the sight before him. You swollen, shiny hole weeping with his cum. Diving in, he licks up your folds. A wail bursting deep within your chest as he cleans you up with his skillful tongue.

“J-Joel. Too much, baby. Too much,” you gasp, your clit stinging from the overstimulation. He pulls away, but not before he can stuff two fingers inside your pussy.

“Gotta keep you full of me. Want you to feel me drippin’ outta you tomorrow."

Moaning at the fullness, at his words, you helplessly keen as he shoves his cum back inside you.

“Good girl,” he rasps before slipping his digits out of you, he places a soft lingering kiss to your thigh. Sliding out of bed, he pads into the bathroom. The water runs as you lay sprawled out on the bed, legs like jelly and head spinning.

Returning with a warm washcloth, Joel carefully swipes between your thighs, gently cleaning up the mess you two made. You hum, the warm water soothing your aching legs and cunt.

He tosses the cloth in the laundry basket. Scooping you into his arms, you nuzzle into his chest. Basking in the warmth of his tender embrace. Smiling at the feel of his lips on your head.

“Love you, darlin’.”

Humming against his chest, you bring your eyes to meet his.

“I love you too, Joel. Best Valentine’s Day ever,” you giggle, Joel laughing along with you.

The doorbell rings, Joel sighing at the interruption.

“‘S the delivery guy. Let me go pay him, baby,” he rasps into your hairline, a bratty whine bubbling from your chest.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’, I promise,” he says as he slips from your grasp. Playfully smacking your lips, Joel rolls his eyes, smiling at your antics.

While Joel handles the delivery guy, you get up and strip the bed. Tossing the sheets into the laundry basket, you head into the hall to grab a fresh set. Making the bed with the new sheets, you sigh as you plop yourself on the mattress, snuggling under the blankets.

Joel clambers up the stairs and back into the room, pizza box in hand along with two glasses in one hand, the bottle of wine carefully resting atop of the box.

He sets it down on the dresser, pouring you each a healthy glass. He hands you a slice of pizza along with your wine, graciously thanking him with a smile on your face.

The two of you share the pizza on the bed, sidled beside each other as you debrief your days. As Joel goes for another slice, he stops in his tracks.

“Why’d you strip the bed?”

“Huh?” You ask through a mouthful of pizza.

“Why’d you strip the bed?”

“Oh. Well… it was messy. I thought I’d clean up,” you explain through your muffled mouth.

“And who said I was done with ya, darlin’?”

tag list: @nostalxgic @honeyedmiller @gracieheartspedro @undrthelights @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @morallyinept

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller tlou #ilovepedro valentine’s day series

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toxicanonymity · 1 month

Text

The Wall (stepdad drabble)

1.5k | stepdad!Joel x f!reader | stepdad au SUMMARY: This ask about being at the pool. WARNINGS: I8+ drugs, possessive!joel, sexual tension, baiting, shotgunning, dirty talk, very risky touching in public, blue balls, hair pulling, mild manhandling?, mild degradation?, taunting use of "daddy" twice. A/N: Title is an album by Pink Floyd. Loose fit flashback before the holidays (old school SD). The latest present day is ✨It's Hard.

Joel hasn’t given in yet. So far, he’s fingered you in his office, but nothing more than that. Now both of you are going with your Mom on a work trip. The trip is in driving distance, and Joel doesn’t realize you’re going until you show up at their house packed and ready to go that morning. He’s flustered, and overall none too pleased. You’re wearing him down. You can tell.

You’re wearing a hoodie and short shorts. When you stop at a rest stop, your Mom goes to the bathroom and you and Joel get out of the car to stretch. You take your hoodie off, revealing a thin, low-cut tank top and no bra, then stretch with your hands behind your back. Joel tilts his head, watching you, eyes glued to your chest.

He takes a deep breath and doesn’t even bother looking up at your face as he complains, “Havin’ fun with all this?”

“What are you talking about?” you smile.

He scoffs. “You’re gonna be a pain in my ass all week, aren’t ya?”

You cross your arms under your boobs, pushing them together.

He adjusts himself and shakes his head.

—

During your Mom’s first work event, Joel disappears. He walks off somewhere to get away from you and remove temptation. Meanwhile, there’s a group of skater guys at the hotel. Probably college students, a little younger than you. You find them in the lobby and they smell like weed. They offer you some and you tell them maybe later, but out of boredom you stick around with them and go to the hotel bar. While you’re there, they flirt with you and give you a joint.

Joel gets back to the hotel and finds you in the bar with these guys all hitting on you. He can’t stand it. When he walks up, the scowl on his face delights you and offsets his festive Hawaiian shirt.

“Let’s go,” he commands, nodding toward the exit.

“Daddy,” you complain. His jaw clenches and his face blotches pink. Something comes over his eyes, and you can’t tell if the word has turned him on or just pissed him off. He steps forward and pushes through two of the guys. He grabs your arm, physically pulling you toward the exit. It makes you flutter between the legs. His grip doesn't loosen until you cross the lobby.

“What was that about?” he asks as he walks you down the hall, “Hmm?”

“What was what about?”

“You tryin’ to get gang banged, or what?” he grumbles.

“You trying to turn me on?” you ask. “It’s working.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath.

When you’re close to the hotel room, your mom rounds the corner and you look at him to watch his face fall.

“I’m going to the pool,” you announce, turning around to head the other direction.

—---

It’s just after dusk and you’re in a pool chair scrolling your phone when Joel comes out. You’re wearing a bikini top and daisy dukes. You put your phone down and check him out. He’s in red swim trunks that are a little shorter than standard, and a gray shirt with a black line drawing on it. He takes off the shirt.

“Okay, Hasselhoff,” you tease, checking out how his meaty thighs stretch the bright red shorts. “His suit was longer though.”

You pull out the joint and a lighter.

“Hey,” he cautions nervously, looking around. “That better not be what it looks like.”

You light it and he huffs.

“I know you do it too,” you tell him.

“You’re full of it,” he says.

“Am I? You keep your stash in the drawer with my panties you stole.”

That shuts him up. Wow, lucky guess. He’s silently flustered, and it turns you on. You take the joint with you and slip into the pool, feeling his eyes on you even as you’re turned the opposite direction.

“Gettin’ in, Daddy?” you ask as you put your arms on the ledge and rest your chin on your hand.

He warns, “Don’t fuckin’ call me that.” You laugh and he doubles down. “Don’t.” Sounds like you actually pissed him off. He takes his glasses off, then adjusts himself before he stands up, and it makes you tingle. You look around the deck as he gets into the pool. It’s just a few couples, and they’re wrapped up in each other.

You’re both facing the wall of the pool with your arms on the ledge, faces turned toward each other. He’s to your left. You try to hand him the joint and he shakes his head no.

“Worried we’ll get grounded?” you ask and he just barely smirks. “That’d be fun,” you add saucily.

“You are real fuckin’ trouble,” he murmurs, slow and loaded. It almost sounds like he’s daring you. You reach your foot over to brush the inside of his ankle, and he doesn’t scold you or pull away.

He looks at the joint in your hand. You take a chance and bring it to his mouth. He briefly meets your eyes as he takes a puff and you can’t suppress your smile. Your eyes must have gone wide with joy. As he holds the smoke in his mouth, he looks like he's trying not to laugh, then it fades. His eyes fall to your mouth, then your bodies turn toward each other and he gets a little closer. His hand grazes your waist. You lean in, a few inches from his face. He leans ever so slightly toward you as he releases the smoke. Your mouths come closer and closer as you suck the smoke from his mouth. Your lips almost brush, and he abruptly pulls away as he finishes exhaling. “Fuck,” he mutters, then clears his throat.

You close your eyes as you finish inhaling, and when you open them, he’s watching you, brow furrowed. It's silent for a few seconds and you hear the tiki bar closing up.

You bring the arch of your foot back to his ankle and he lets you rub it. You're still facing each other. You come a little higher on his calf. “If I didn’t know any better I'd think you almost kissed me,” you say.

“No,” he chuckles. “You know better.”

“You wanted to,” you note.

“‘Course I–” he stops himself and swallows. He lowers his voice. “--that’s not what I wanna do to ya.”

“Yeah?” Your foot works up to his knee.

He shakes his head. “I wanna stuff your mouth full’a cock like it should be.”

“Mm,” you encourage.

“Shut you up for a few minutes while I fuck your face.”

Your eyes drift to his pecs.

“That’s not what ya want though, is it?” he asks.

“It’s a good start,” you whisper, sliding your foot up to mid thigh.

“You’re dyin’ to have your cunt stuffed.”

You bite your lip and play coy. You take another drag of the joint but he declines. He palms himself under the water and your chest flutters. Your nipples get hard, and you feel yourself gushing.

“I know how wet you are right now,” he says.

“Feel for yourself,” you whisper.

He reaches for your crotch but you pull back at the last second, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him. He shakes his head, plucks the joint out of your fingers and takes a short drag. He puts it down, and as he inhales the smoke in his mouth, he gets so close you can reach down and feel the thick silhouette in his shorts. When you squeeze his cock, it makes you twitch. You need him so bad. He pulls your hair, tilting your head so you’re looking up. His face hovers over yours for a moment with smoke slowly billowing out of his mouth. Then he blows it away to the side and lets go of your hair.

“Oughta bend you over and fuck the brat outta you.”

“Yeah,” you whisper and give his cock another squeeze against his thigh. “Maybe later?” You take your hand away and say, “I’m gonna order something to eat.”

“Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he mutters.

“I have an extra room key,” you offer as you push yourself out of the pool. It’s an empty offer, mostly. The rooms connect. Too risky.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Fuck no.” He’s slowly palming himself under the water, and you’re glad you brought a vibrator, because as soon as you get back to your room, you have some things to think about. Like the exact size and shape of his cock under your palm.

“s’just talk, sweetheart.” He looks at your tits as you adjust your suit. “You know I’m not really gonna fuck you, right?” he asks, still slowly rubbing himself.

“Keep telling yourself that,” you smile, hoping it’s not true.

-----

Thank you so much for reading and engaging 🖤 Love you guys. I still have another stepdad one shot planned back in present day, too.

These are normally night walks moves, so maybe check out the original night walks if you like this. In my header.

#joel miller x reader #stepdad!joel #stepdad!joel miller #female reader #tw stepcest #joel miller smut #toxicanonymity ☠️#tw degradation if you squint

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kitten4sannie · 2 months

Text

ɪɴᴅᴜꜱᴛʀʏ ʙᴀʙʏ

ᴄᴜᴄᴋᴏʟᴅ/ᴄᴜᴍ ᴘʟᴀʏ ➠ ᴍɪɴɢɪ/ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ

pairing: singer/rapper bf! mingi x fem! reader x guitarist! hongjoong

genre: band au, smut

summary: your bf’s band has such a good set, that he doesn’t mind sharing you with the handsy guitarist. anything for his baby. he just wants to assess the damage afterwards.

w.c: 3.2k

warnings: open relationship, mentioned alcohol/drugs use, dom! mingi/hongjoong, joongie’s got a tongue piercing ^^, sub! reader, so muchhh cucky behavior, mxm if your squint, teasing, perversion, dirty talk, degradation, pet names, fingering, oral (receiving), voyeurism/exhibitionism, unprotected rough sex, actual phone sex, creampie, two seconds of cockwarming, cum eating, more oral and fingering, some clit nibbling, squirting

a/n: urgghh im obsessed with tunnel and mingi and hongjoong’s guitar solo and just minjoong in general hhhhhnn also idkw happened but hongjoong is giving me more and more brainworms these days and i just i’m uhhhhh 🧎🏻‍♀️so yeah please enjoy whatever this is <33

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ᴅɪɢɪᴛᴀʟ ʙᴀᴛʜ ʙʏ ᴅᴇꜰᴛᴏɴᴇꜱ

0:01 ❍─────── 4:28

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ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

You were always full of nerves before your boyfriend’s band went on, especially when the previous band was finishing up their encore. Hanging out backstage was always hectic too, the venue’s employees running around like headless chickens in pursuit of completing the latest task their manager gave them, members of other bands and their entourages engaging in boisterous conversations, drinking, and doing drugs amongst themselves, their actions up to par with the touring lifestyle. It wasn’t until you ran into the guitarist of your boyfriend’s band, Hongjoong, that your nerves doubled, but for a different reason.

“Y/N, there you are. Where have you been, huh?” Hongjoong greeted you with a hug, resting his solo cup against your lower back, his free hand moving down to your ass, squeezing it a few times through your skirt, sighing against your skin, his body relaxing against yours. “I missed my stress toy…”

“Joong,” you whined, pushing gently at his leather bound chest, your hand almost getting tangled in one of his silver chained necklaces. “You always get so grabby before a show. What if Mingi sees?”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, leaning his face into your neck, alcohol on his breath. “You know he wants to see it. And it’s not my fault I can't keep my hands off you. Just look at you…” The buzzed guitarist gazed down at your body with hooded eyes, his jaw tightening up more and more the longer he pictured what you looked like folded up for him and taking everything he had to give. “You’d look so good underneath me, baby. Spread open all nice and wide…fuck….”

“Joongie, please…” you whispered, squeezing your thighs together, pressing your back into the concrete wall behind you, feeling him press further into you as a result.

“You can beg for me after the show, sweetheart. Just let me get a peek, okay?” Knowing he had you right where he wanted you, Hongjoong slowly ran a calloused finger along your jaw, down your neck to your rising chest, pleased with the way your breath hitched, his dark eyes flitting between your gaze and the slope of your bare tits through your thin white tank top, unable to resist pulling down the neckline of your top until he had a good view of your pebbled nipples. “Look at that. You’re just aching to be touched, aren’t you?”

You were so wet, you could’ve sworn that you were about to drip all over the backstage floor, barely able to form any coherent words besides a small ‘yeah’, letting the perverted guitarist grab at your hips, his fingers pressing into your hip bones, a low groan leaving his lips.

“Wanna fuck you, baby, wanna make you mine,” Hongjoong sighed into your ear, about to describe his needs in detail and put his hands all over you when Mingi came around the corner, a lollipop poking through his cheek, his ringed fingers rubbing at the mascara near his lash line.

Mingi stopped in his tracks, towering over the both of you due to the studded boots he always wore during his shows. He studied you, noticing how flushed you were and how hard you were already breathing. He couldn’t help but to pull his sweet lollipop out to bite at his plump lip, his cock ready to come to life. “Oh? What’s this about, sugar?”

“Babyy, there you are,” you greeted, bouncing on your heels, making grabby hands at your boyfriend.

In return, Mingi lifted you up and spun you around in a tight hug, making sure to press a kiss to your cheek before putting you back down in front of his favorite bandmate.

“Joongie’s being all needy again,” you giggled, leaning back against Hongjoong’s chest.

“Can’t help it.” Hongjoong casually handed his drink to Mingi who took it and knocked it back, wrapping his arms around you from behind, leaning his head on your shoulder, a sickening smirk gracing his feline-like lips. “Hey, Minnie. Wanna make a bet?”

“What kind of bet?” Mingi licked at the corner of his salivating mouth, pulling at the crotch of his heavy, chained pants, his cock pressed against one of his thighs, growing harder just from seeing the way you fit perfectly inside his bandmate’s arms. Shit.

“If I nail my guitar solo tonight, will you let me have Y/N for a night?” Hongjoong requested, nuzzling his face against your heated cheek, making a small pouty face at his dear bandmate.

Mingi knew he shouldn’t be getting this worked up before a show, but it might make him perform better if he was thinking about how bad he wanted you, and how he couldn’t have you until Hongjoong did. He knew the odds of Hongjoong hitting every single note perfectly was a 50/50 chance. His chances were even lower if he had access to a bottle of jack that night, though Mingi was aware that his bandmate was quite skilled with his calloused fingers, only knowing because you wouldn’t shut up about it a few nights ago.

The lead singer decided he would push all his chips onto the table, knowing he would have his darling to himself either way. You belonged to him, whether you were filled with another man’s load or not. “Sure, as long as you make sure my baby cums.” He sent a charming smile your way, bringing his hand up to caress your cheek, chuckling softly when you pressed a kiss to the side of his thumb, your lips making contact with the cold metal of his large skull ring.

“Hear that, princess? Min wants me to have you,” Hongjoong purred into your ear from the other side. “And so do you, huh? Is that cunt of yours dripping already? I think we should have a litle peek...” Knowing all three of you would enjoy it, the guitarist snaked his hands around your waist from behind, lifting your skirt up for only Mingi to see, rubbing his rough fingers along your bare cunt.

“I-i heard,” you gasped, grasping at Mingi’s oversized sweater, your fingers going into one of the torn holes it had, leaning your head back against Hongjoong’s shoulder, trying not to make any noise when Mingi joined in, slipping two of his fingers into your pulsing cunt, the feeling of his rings stretching you out further making you jolt.

“You know what I hear? How fucking wet you already are for us.” Hongjoong said into your ear, his digits rubbing roughly into your clit, his eyes on Mingi’s hooded ones, licking at his lips. “Your girlfriend is such a slut, Min. God, I love it.”

“She loves it too,” Mingi replied in a gravelly voice, stepping a little closer to cage you against Hongjoong, pushing the lollipop into your mouth to watch you suck on it. “But you still belong to me…Don’t you, baby?”

“Of course, Minnie. I’m only yours.” You nodded obediently up at him, crunching some of the lollipop in between your teeth when Mingi added another digit inside your tight hole, your thighs trembling slightly.

“That’s my girl.” Your boyfriend gave you a pretty smile, pressing his hand against the wall near your head to further display his dominance over you, his eyes fixed on your submissive gaze, and the way you just let him fill you up with his thick fingers, his bandmate’s fingers still working you clit like he would would a six string. “Fuck…you’re so sexy like this, baby…”

“Try not to blow your load before the show,” Hongjoong mused, his smirk growing more and more reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat’s. He was about to tease Mingi more when the previous band sang their last angsty lyric and shredded their remaining guitar notes, silence filling up the air for only a moment, before there was an immediate uproar of rowdy cheers and shouts from the pumped up crowd.

Your boyfriend’s band was up next and you couldn’t wait to watch them from the sidelines, ready to catch their occasional hungry glances, knowing they were ready to tear you apart once they finished their heavy, energy filled set.

Mingi delivered as usual, showing off his impressive duality, going from spitting quick, head-turning bars with a devilish smirk on his sweaty face, to expressing emotional, thought provoking lyrics with a soft, expressive voice that would have anyone shedding a tear, his face contorted in melancholic concentration, his hands wrapped tightly around his mic, his dominating stage presence alone having the entire venue in a chokehold throughout the entire set.

Hongjoong arguably delivered just as well, consistently shredding notes on his sleek guitar with a borderline psychotic look in his eyes and a heinous grin that would make the Devil himself blush, working his rough, agile fingers song after heavy song, never failing to provide Mingi with his own unique back-up vocals. And just like clockwork, despite being a bit tipsy and high on some kind of illegal drug, Hongjoong captivated the large audience with his infamous guitar solo, making everybody in the crowd cream themselves with his nasty riffs. All Hongjoong could do after was push back his sweaty hair and send Mingi a shit-eating smirk, that was returned with a soft chuckle and head shake. He made sure to give you a look too, though this time he had his fingers held up in a V, his pierced tongue sticking out in between them.

You were in for a busy night.

࿏࿏࿏

“Hey, eyes on me, baby…” Hongjoong commanded in a low whisper from below you, sitting comfortably on his knees, using his thumbs to keep your cunt spread open for him, watching you writhe around against the wall of the spacious hotel shower, beads of water dripping through his damp bangs and past his smudged eyeliner, pooling in the crevices of his collar bone, the rest trickling down along his dangling necklaces.

He had easily coaxed you inside his hotel room, not having to do much to get you in his shower, claiming he needed to cool down after giving it his all during the show — though he still made sure to give you his all during your own private show, using his calloused, dexterous fingers to play with your body, delighted with the pretty, wanton sounds he created, wanting nothing more than to write a song about how delicious you looked in that moment — flushed, transfixed on his pierced tongue lapping at your throbbing clit, and moaning out the little pet name you gave him.

“That’s it….” The side of his lips quirked up a bit at the pout you gave him, before he pursed them and sent a wad of spit directly into you, pushing two fingers back inside you to rub it around your tight, pulsing walls. “I love when you look at me like that.”

“Like what, Joong?” you breathed out, running your fingers through his wet hair, gripping the sides of his head, your thighs beginning to feel like jelly from the way Hongjoong was finger-fucking you into ecstasy.

“Like you want my cock,” he sighed, unable to keep himself from diving back into your cunt, lapping at your clit and slit like a pussydrunk maniac, easily slipping a third finger inside you.

“I do…! I need your cock, Joongie, please,” you moaned out, so close to your high that you began to push his face into your cunt, rubbing it against his moving tongue, his piercing repeatedly catching on your clit, driving more pleasured moans out of you, neither of you aware in that moment that your dear perverted boyfriend sat on the other side of the wall, standing fully clothed in his own shower and jerking himself off with fervid desperation, his jeans hanging loosely around his jolting hips.

“You’ll have it, baby, I promise. Cum on my tongue first,” he said with his lips against your soaked cunt, curling his fingers and rubbing at the gummy spot inside you, sending you over the edge, sticking his tongue out to catch your arousal on it, his cock throbbing at the sound of his name mixed with swears being cried out by his bandmate’s pretty girlfriend.

Soon, you grew docile and dazed, wrapping your limbs around him as soon as he stood up and carried you over to his bed, not wasting any time sending a few drops of spit down onto your hot cunt and plugging it up with his thick cock.

Mingi felt like he was going to melt, his brain and body going into overdrive over the fact that his beloved bandmate was busy putting a baby in his baby, making her feel so good she was starting to cry, his cock throbbing inside his closed fist, listening closely to the pants and moans that made their way into his pierced, attentive ears, along with the incessant creaking of the mattress springs — though the disruptive banging sounds of the wooden bedframe hitting the thin wall contended for Mingi’s attention as well.

“Joong..! It’s so good, you’re so good,” he heard you whine out in a broken voice, not hearing the rest of your cries due to Hongjoong stuffing two fingers into your willing mouth. Mingi couldn’t help but want to drown in his sin, pulling his phone out of his back pocket.

You looked to your phone with half-closed eyes, watching the way it buzzed against the moving mattress, your legs suddenly getting closer to your body, Hongjoong lifting your lower half up to fuck into you even deeper than before, rendering you speechless from the pressure of his heated body on yours.

“Answer it, baby,” Hongjoong huffed from above you, his necklaces dragging along your flushed skin with each sloppy thrust, blowing a bit of wet hair out of his half-lidded eyes.

“Mingi,” you sighed into the receiver, trying to catch your breath, knowing you were on the edge of ecstasy with the way your body was starting to feel heavy, despite the feeling like you were ready to float away. “I’m gonna cum, baby, it– aaah, oh my god…!”

“Cum for me, princess. Let me hear how pretty you sound cumming on his cock,” Mingi moaned back, squeezing his hand around his length, his eyes ready to roll underneath his eyelids.

Hongjoong put his entire body weight onto you, his lips sliding across your neck to leave a few marks, his cock throbbing against your tight inner walls, pounding into you a few more times before he painted them white. “M’ cumming inside your girl, Minnie, it’s feel so fucking good…”

It was when Hongjoong bit down onto your neck that you catapulted over the edge, grabbing at the guitarist’s bare back, digging your nails into his skin. “Mingiii, he’s filling me up…it won’t stop…”

“Oh god, baby, oh my god.” Mingi huffed and huffed, his entire body tensing up as he drove himself over the edge right after you, splashes of cum landing on his rapidly rising chest and abdomen.

You simply laid there making small squeaks from the aftershocks of your orgasm, while Hongjoong stayed put inside you, his soft, deflated cock suddenly twitching with newfound interest, a light bulb appearing inside his hazy brain. “Min, I want you to come over here. You need to see the mess I made inside your girlfriend…”

And just like that, Mingi made his way over to the next door hotel room, fumbling with his loose pants and the doorknob, wiggling till it unlocked. He kicked his jeans off once inside the half-lit room, climbing onto the bed to join the both of you, having the same intensely horny, almost deranged look in his eye that he usually had before a show.

“Baby, look,” you sighed out, spreading your thighs open, while Hongjoong pulled out inch by inch, until a flood of creamy white liquid bubbled out of your pulsing hole, dripping down your thighs and onto the already damp mattress below.

Before Mingi could properly access the arousing situation, drool falling from his moaning mouth, Hongjoong suddenly grabbed him by the hair, pushing his head down in between your legs. “You wanna clean it up, don’t you, Minnie? Come on, be a good boy and lick up the mess I left inside her.”

Blushing, Mingi lapped at the mess of cum and slick, using his fingers to scoop the rest out into his eager mouth, Hongjoong’s hand still pressing his face further into your used cunt, eventually letting go when he started to go at it, watching his bandmate’s tongue swipe at your clit and slit. Mingi didn’t even seem to notice, too busy drowning in his baby’s sweet cunt to have any awareness, his hands clutching your trembling thighs.

“Gonna cum again,” you whined out, unable to speak when your boyfriend suddenly lifted his fingers up to your mouth to suck on them, his lips sucking around your sensitive clit, his dark, glazed over eyes focused solely on the way you seemed to completely fall apart in front of his and his best friend.

“Think you can get her to squirt?” Hongjoong asked from beside him, resting one of his hands on your moving thighs, holding it down so that you couldn’t close them.

Mingi glanced over at Hongjoong, rolling his mascara-smudged eyes, knowing exactly what to do to make his baby feel so good she sobbed. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, instead pushing three of them inside you, curling them up until you cried out. With his other hand, he forcefully pushed Hongjoong’s head down onto your cunt next. “Lick,” he commanded gruffly, concentrating solely on fucking you into ecstasy with his thick fingers.

Moaning against your cunt, Hongjoong lapped and nibbled on your throbbing clit, his cold piercing dragging over your sensitive flesh, feeling his bandmate’s fingers tugging at his hair, eliciting another muffled moan from him.

“Bite it. Bite her clit and make her cum,” Mingi demanded through gritted teeth, working your cunt like he always did, enjoying the sight of you writhing around, unable to speak or think, knowing his pretty baby was experiencing some of the best pleasure of her life thanks to him and his friend.

It was when Hongjoong bit down and moved your clit in between his teeth, Mingi’s fingers still moving relentlessly inside your clenching cunt, that you screamed, your boyfriend’s slick-covered fingers going back into your mouth to keep you from waking up everyone else in the hotel. Both bandmates watched as a small fountain of liquid squirted from your pulsing cunt, seeping into the mattress and turning it dark.

A few moments of silence went by, before Hongjoong gave Mingi a sickening smile. “Bet you can’t get her to do that with your cock.”

Mingi shook his head, blowing his wet bangs out of his eyes. “Of course I can. She’s my baby. I know her body like the back of my hand. I’ll make her drench the both of us.”

Hongjoong giggled softly, tilting his head to the side, his eyes flitting from you to Mingi. “Wanna make a bet?”

You were definitely in for a long night.

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jeanbie · 1 month

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HIGHER THAN HEAVEN ★ masterlist.

pairing: levi x reader

genre: university au | warnings: sexual content, fem/afab!reader, masturbation, listening-to-the-other-fucking, sexual tension, slut/whore shaming (men being pigs), "slutty"!reader, mentions of spit | wc: 10.7k | ♬

note: why has this been a wip for like...a year? also i always like to try out new versions of levi and i feel like he'd actually be just a normal kinda grumpy guy in a modern setting so i hope u guys like my uni!levi interpretation ꒰* ॢꈍ◡ꈍ ॢ꒱.*˚

⏤ Levi wants to be mad that his neighbour keeps screwing guys really loudly. But how can he be mad when she's just so goddamn pretty?

It's the third time this week.

Levi knows what it means to let off steam, and he knows that exam season has just finished. For the last few days, the volume of noise where he lives has climbed exponentially; flats throwing parties, yelling in the hallways and laughter outside his window.

Levi's happy, too, that his exams are over, but he has to admit, he thought there might be moral standards from the people he called neighbours.

He sighs, momentarily tapping down the volume of his music as he hears what he thinks might be his neighbour against the shared wall. The sound is fleeting, and he almost thinks he's making it up, and then he hears her soft whimpers and two hard thuds against the thin separation between their bedrooms. Levi waits for a second, blinking, and then he closes his eyes.

He's never really met his neighbour. It's been around eight months of living next door to one another, and he doesn't think he's actually ever seen her. Once, he decided he'd try to confront her when she left her room, but just kept missing the opportunity.

Unlike his previous three years of university, Levi had decided to bunk alone for the final climb of his undergrad degree. His friends would all be upstairs somewhere, either in studios of their own or sharing six-bed flats amongst themselves, but God knew that Levi needed the space this time around.

In his first year, he'd shared with quite possibly the worst human beings he'd ever had the displeasure of knowing. He spent more time at Erwin's flat than his own, which is why he ended up moving in with him in his second year. Then, he took a spontaneous study abroad for his third year (spontaneous, as in all of his friends were doing the same thing, and there was no way he was staying here on his own when they were out having the greatest times in different countries), and now, in his fourth and final year, Levi just wants to know that being alone doesn't have to be a luxury.

He needs the space, and the quiet. Granted, his studio is spacious, although it would be perfect if he wasn't on the ground floor with little to work with for a view. Eight months down the line, and he's still waiting for that promised peace and quiet.

There are two other people in this hallway, but his next-room neighbour, Room A, is by far the most interesting. He knows that the people in Room D are party animals, and during freshers week, they made that fact glaringly obvious. Room C are ghostly, silent most of the time until they remember that they, too, have music to play to block out other people's noise.

Levi likes being in Room B because it's not too far from the exit. If he were to open his door, he'd be adjacent to Room A; the space is so tight that he's not even sure they would be able to leave or enter at the same time.

The list of what he thinks he knows about his next-room neighbour is longer than what he actually knows. He knows for certain that she's female, and that she cares about the cleanliness of her flat. If Levi's not listening to the sound of other people's mess, he can hear her vacuuming every other day, which he can respect.

Levi knows that her name is Y/N, because he's heard it being called a few times, both for business and pleasure. He also knows that she's in her final year, just like him, because once he overheard her on a phone call complaining about her dissertation. That's about all he knows confidently.

The rest is speculation, things he thinks he knows from listening: he thinks she sleeps with the radiator off, because he always hears the switch in the morning. He thinks she keeps her keys on her door because he hears them clink when it closes, and he thinks she mumbles to herself sometimes, because the walls are thin and if she's not on the phone, then who could she be talking to?

Finally, Levi thinks that she might be a bit of a whore, and he means it endearingly, because the amount of times Levi has heard her fucking somebody is becoming ridiculous.

At first, Levi tried to be understanding. After all, it wasn't like she was screwing guys in the hallway. She was in her room, in her own time, and he tried to come to terms with that simply being out of his hands. The noise was unfortunate, yeah, but he could always put his headphones on for an hour or so.

Then it just kept happening, like clockwork, like some sick joke.

After about the sixth time, he was fed up. He'd thrown his headphones down, scowling angrily as his eyes flickered to the time in the corner of his computer screen — 1:23am. It was bad enough that he was working all night on his stupid assignment, and now his neighbour was screwing some asshole so loudly that he may as well have had no headphones on in the first place?

At least she sounded good.

Levi had deliberately ignored that thought for a while, until he heard her having sex with some guy a few months ago. He'd sighed, like a routine at that point, and remained seated on his couch, the remote in his hand ready to raise the volume of the football game on TV.

The noise was faint — if Levi had to predict based on the floor plans of their rooms, she'd probably be on her bed — but if he strained enough, he'd be able to hear her mewling, the even fainter sounds of slapping skin.

He sat there, silently, listening in like a priest taking confessions in church. His silence was judgement and equal measures of fascination. Having never really listened to her before, Levi never knew she sounded like that. Submissive, but seductive, dirty and slutty. Hm.

He had learned to respect her sex life — even creating his own for a while, too, giving her a taste of her own medicine. If anything, that only made things more lively in Room A. Somehow he blames himself for it having got to this point, presently, where he sits listening to her for the third time in a week — and it's not even Friday yet.

16:34 Levi: she's at it again 16:35 Erwin: AGAIN???? 16:37 Hange: isnt this like the fifth time this week? 16:37 Levi: third

Levi turns his chair to face the other wall, looking up at the blank plaster. There's another thud against it, and he blinks, his brows raised slightly. Is she fucking someone against the wall?

16:39 Furlan: theres no way its that bad 16:40 Furlan: send vid

After skimming over the texts, Levi's eyes flicker back to the wall. Then, he rises up from his chair and walks towards it, angling his body with his ear to the noise. Now that he's close, he can't hear a thing, and he scoffs — typical — and prepares to move away.

"Mphf — damn, bitch. You're more of a slut than I thought."

Levi stops.

Bringing his phone to his legs, Levi slumps his shoulder against the wall casually and almost cranes to listen. Without seeing anything, he feels like a fly on the wall. He hears someone with a deep voice grunting — he doesn't care about them — followed by occasional gasps, much softer, honeyed, elusive.

"You thought I was a slut?"

Levi hears her voice quivering, but there's little hurt in her tone. It's all lust, and he can hear the smile in her words.

For a second, Levi hears her body thud against the wall again and he flinches backwards. She must be directly on the other side — if the bricks weren't there, her body would be up against his own.

"Dunno what I thought," the male voice says, strained. "Wasn't-expecting-this. Shit, that's tight."

"Mm. You like it?" There's a beat of silence, and the faint sounds of breathy moans, high in an octave that sends goosebumps pricking over Levi's arms. "You like me?"

"Like your pussy. Shit, girl."

With every imagined thrust, Levi can hear her moaning, her voice raising as the pace fastens. Levi stands there, his eyes zoning out on the crack under his door and eventually, he pulls back. There's a slight ringing in his ears, and blood rushes to the tips.

16:51 Levi: phone can't pick up the volume 16:51 Levi: just trust me

It happened two more times before the weekend rolled by, and Levi thought that she must be on a conquest of bedding every guy on campus. Half of him thought it was to spite him specifically, although he wasn't even sure that she knew what she was doing was bothering him so much.

Friday evening had been a strange eve of silence, but he still felt on edge, as if waiting for the sounds to emerge. The weekend soon enough rolled by with no more sexscapades, and he felt almost a sag of relief in his shoulders.

Levi had just gotten out of the shower when he heard a knock on his door.

"Oh. It's you."

When he pulls it open, inwards on his own room, Levi props his weight against the door and stares out at Reiner, who is holding a light board under his armpit. Reiner holds it out to him with a nonchalant shrug and holds the door open with his foot as Levi takes the board with a raised brow and plonks it onto his bed.

Reiner stands in the doorway until he comes back, not quite daring to enter.

"I need one of those," Reiner offers in conversation.

"Well, you've got a job, buy one,” Levi replies, making Reiner smirk. "If you've broke it, then you can pay for it."

Reiner throws up his hands, "Hey, they don't call me the gentle giant for nothing."

Levi's face drops into a disapproving frown, "Nobody calls you that."

"You're right," Reiner sighs with a charming grin and then folds his arms.

Reiner and Levi know one another from one of their elective classes, and by some magical fate — or a wild coincidence — Reiner had been a mutual friend of one of his closest friends since first year. He also lives upstairs on the third floor, alongside some other guys and a girl that Levi didn't know very well, but had met once at a party and had kissed. He'd considered bringing her back to his room just to torment his neighbour but passed up the temptation.

Thinking of his neighbour, Levi's eyes quickly dash to her door, wondering if she might be inside and listening to them. Reiner doesn’t catch the look — or maybe he does, prompting him to his next sentence.

"You should come out tonight," Reiner suggests.

"Where?"

"A few of us are getting some drinks at Sonny's," he says. "Feel like I haven't seen you properly since that party, like, what, three months ago? You should get out more, have fun." Then, Reiner's smile widens and he, too, glances to his left to Room A, "Escape your sex fiend of a neighbour."

Levi might have cringed at the thought of her listening in, but to his surprise, he found a thrill rush through his body. Maybe she was listening right now, curled up to the door.

"I don't like Sonny's," Levi replies.

"Oh, you've been there before?"

"No. But I saw it on Eren's Instagram once, and it looked awful, sorry."

Laughing, Reiner shrugs his shoulders. "I don't care. It's just nice to get out. Really — what if we changed bars, would you come then?"

Just as he says that a soft thud can be heard from behind him, beyond the walls of the thin hallway that houses Levi’s room and his neighbours'. Levi almost cranes to catch the sound, half expecting his party animal hall-mates from Room D to come bounding inside, dressed in flamboyant attire to listen to loud music whilst getting ready to hit the town for the Friday deals that bars boasted of to rowdy students.

Instead, the door just to the right of Reiner swings open and a young woman steps inside. Levi blinks — depending on which direction she goes in, Levi's life could get a little bit more interesting.

Levi knows that he’s seen her before in the common room, chatting to other friends around a pool table, or shaking a vending machine with a stranger to try and free an overpriced bottle of Dr Pepper from the machine's claws.

Levi blinks once again, and Reiner turns at the sound of the door creaking open, and the breath almost leaves Levi's body in one giant exhale when she steps in their direction, towards Room A.

Ah. So this is Y/N.

Reiner's eyes move up and down with intrigue as she — you — step closer towards them. Judging by your almost surprised gaze, and the flit of your eyes as you look between them and the door to Room A, even Reiner knows that you are the aforementioned sex fiend, the famous neighbour who screws guys all the time and makes Levi all hot and bothered.

Nothing is said — there is nothing to be said. For a split second, you pause, judging the space past Reiner to your door, to your sanctuary, meanwhile, the two men size you up, intrigued by your very existence. Levi feels his conversation skills run dry — what could he say now that you were here?

He has to confess, against his previous wishes, that you were pretty. Beautiful, even. He tries to downplay it by thinking about you pushed up against the wall with a cunt full of someone else's cock, but if anything the thought only makes things worse.

As you push through the awkward silence of the hallway, Reiner slightly inches closer to Levi, as if to give you space as you stride by. To their surprise, you do so with a lifted gaze, having the nerve to look shy, guilty, friendly.

Everything would be easier if you weren't his type, weren't Reiner's type. Levi thinks about that for a second as his friend devours the sight of you, and Levi feels his stomach dip. He's never even spoken to you before, but he feels like Reiner has just crossed a boundary somehow.

The fact of you being as pretty as you sound, as desirable as Levi imagined you had to be to bring so many people back to your den (either irresistible or slutty, but sometimes those went hand in hand and he knew it) just makes the dull ache in his abdomen worse, his heartbeat fluttering ever so out of pace.

As you pass, you peer over at the two men, gazing at Levi in particular. You even look around him, eyeing his room. Then, when you look back at Levi, it’s as if something clicks — it was as if you registered that this man had been enduring your fucks and flirts for weeks and weeks on end, and had been courteous with not complaining once.

You look at him, over him, sizing him up greedily. Levi moves from foot to foot in a way that looks impatient, although he isn’t sure he's fully convinced you of his indifference when you smile charmingly, your cheekbones full and round.

"Hello," you say — Levi almost buckles. He's only ever heard your voice through walls and doors, never face to face. He blinks dumbly, says nothing.

"Hey," is what Reiner offers with a wide grin, his gaze flickering to your body and then back to your face. But you don’t look back, only look over Reiner's shoulder to Levi, and then turn to your door and thrust the key into the hole.

Your door untwists, unlocks, and in you go. After it closes and clicks with the lock, Levi hears you shuffling in your room, and then he finally looks back at Reiner.

For once, Reiner says nothing. He raises his eyebrows and pulls a face, one that Levi rolls his eyes at, and then Reiner claps his hands together and announces his silent leave.

Levi watches as if frozen in place as Reiner leaves the hallway, and when his own door closes with a slight tick, he strains to hear you beyond the wall, but can hear nothing.

A whole day has passed since then, but Levi can’t stop thinking about it.

He hasn’t left his room all day, to the stressed displeasure of his friends. The hallway has been frozen in a quiet stillness, with nobody coming and going at any point. Levi hasn’t heard you stirring since you walked past him and Reiner the day before, but he supposes he’s just thankful that he has no fears of being bombarded with sex for hours on end, or minutes at a time depending on which loser you lure home.

Levi drops his plate into the sink, sighing with both hands flat on the side of the counter. To the left, he casts a dirty glance out the window, looking at the grey landscape beyond the glass. The car park to the hotel that is tucked neatly behind his building is virtually empty, and the giant lake-sized puddles ripple with rain. He felt like it always rained here.

Listening to the rain, Levi finishes his ritual of cleaning the dishes and then turns off the tap with another sigh. It has just been too quiet today — unnervingly quiet, in a way that makes Levi feel more on edge than at ease. He's been craving this taste of silence for so long, but now that it’s here, everything just feels off.

He pinches the bridge of his nose with an irritated exhale and moves through the thin archway to get to his bedroom, near the front door, when he hears something beyond the threshold of Room A next door. Levi stops in place.

The noise is so faint that he almost misses it. He leans his head closer in the direction of the wall, waiting for the next sound to give when he hears it again — a breathy whimper. The whimper transforms into a moan, one that Levi can hear as clearly as he would if he were in the room. There are no other voices, and Levi pulls away from the wall quickly like it's on fire.

No. It can’t be.

Levi finds it both annoying and amusing when he hears you entangled with some random guy every other day, but just the possibility of it being you, and you alone, in your room with nobody but your fingers, makes Levi’s throat tighten.

Before, it felt as though your sex life was a performance intended for Levi to listen to, but now that it’s just you, the moment feels private and intimate, and Levi doesn’t know what to do.

The moaning continues, staggered, stuttered, falling and rising in a tempo he knows only the hand of the moaner can create. By now, he’s somewhat of an expert on your noises, how you respond to whatever your partner is doing — the unfamiliarity of your pleasure tonight has thrown him off, and all Levi can do is apologise in his head and pull himself back against the wall.

He’s come this far listening to you play with others. It would just be unfair not to hear how you really like it when you’re alone.

Levi can’t be sure what it is you’re actually doing; he’ll have to leave it to his imagination to conjure up the perfect image of you on your bed, legs spread, fingers stuffed up your cunt. He closes his eyes as he leans his head against the plaster, quite literally straining to hear every gasp leaving your mouth.

The world seems to slow around him, the sounds of your one-man show all he can hear. All of a sudden, he’s thankful for the unnatural silence of the hallway outside so he can hear it all.

What he pictures is lewd and perfect; you’re biting your lip probably, trying to contain yourself as you plunge your fingers deeper inside your pussy, curling them in a way nobody else can. The lights are dimmed, but in his mind, the picture of your body is crystal clear; the shape of your body is outlined by light, shadows cast attractively around the perk of your breasts, the glisten of crystalline sweat on your skin.

With your chest rising, Levi watches in his mind as your thighs quiver, your knuckles pushing against your opening — if it was possible to get more of your finger in there, you’d do it.

Your fingers slide in and out covered in wetness, each plunge inside accompanied by another moan that makes him shudder. Levi’s ear is flat against the wall, his cock hardening uncomfortably beneath his joggers.

All of a sudden, the shame of eavesdropping washes over him and he pulls away, breathing heavily as he moves from the wall to the bathroom. For good measure, he slams the door behind him, immediately turning on the tap and washing his face. What was he thinking?

Thankfully, there’s nobody to greet his ashamed walk back into his bedroom. He rubs the side of his face with a groan and glances back at the wall. For a moment, he pauses, but he hears no more sound.

Levi’s been in a sour mood since the weekend, and nobody around him knows how to solve it.

At first, it had started with the dream he’d had; the dream where he’d shoved your head into a pillow and fucked your brains out, which woke him with a start and another guilty walk to the bathroom. Then, he’d turned up late to his class and simultaneously discovered that Reiner had, in fact, broken the light board he loaned him the other week.

After that, he received a bitchy email from the receptionist at his building about upcoming fire alarm inspections, and because he’d been too busy looking at his phone, Levi had slammed into a group of first-year girls in the library and caused one of them to drop all of her books and her coffee on the floor. Now, his wallet was five pounds lighter and his expression was sour, and no matter how hard his friends tried to coax him out of his foulness, it was no use.

“At least you bought her another coffee,” says Eren with a shrug as he watches the flustered first-year disappear out of the student café with her friend.

“Not the point, dipshit.”

“It’s probably ‘cause of the lack of sleep this man gets thanks to his harlot neighbour,” Hange suggests, their shoulders hunched as they finish up one of their handouts for their evening class.

At that, Reiner looks up from his phone and adds, “Hot harlot neighbour.”

“Is she actually?” asks Erwin. “I don’t know if I can trust your judgement in women, Reiner.”

“She is beautiful,” Levi mutters reluctantly, his face still drawn together with irritance. Admitting that fact only makes him feel worse, especially when the memory of his dream creeps back into his mind. He sighs and rubs his neck. “But she hasn’t really made any noise in a while.”

“Maybe she’s on her period,” says Eren unhelpfully.

“Whores are on the pill,” Porco adds, suddenly reminding Levi of his presence. The blond-haired guy sits to the right with a coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of sexist to call her a whore when I know most of you probably have higher body counts?” replies Isabel. She’s crept up on the knit of friends, but contrary to normal, her being here doesn’t make Levi feel any better. Right now, there are simply too many witnesses to his misery.

Eren shrugs. “Fine. Then she’s a slut.”

“As if that’s any better,” Isabel says dumbly. “You guys are pigs.”

“But she is beautiful,” Reiner says again. “I’m telling you — it’s a miracle Levi hasn’t made his move yet. If I lived next door to someone who looked like that…” He trails off. Levi cringes. How did he end up being friends with the worst people in the world?

Reiner sells Levi as actually having enough confidence to get up and knock on her door, when the truth of the matter is that Levi is too afraid to even approach the wall when he hears a noise anymore. In the time between him listening to you finger-fucking yourself and him having such an out-of-pocket dream about you, Levi hasn’t even wanted to listen to anything he hears outside of his room, too afraid of what he might do or think if he hears you again.

Besides, what would he even do? It’s been almost eight months of sharing a wall, and he’s come no closer to knowing you or anything about you. You’re as familiar to him as any stranger in this café, but the only difference is that he’s heard the way you whimper when your cunt is stuffed with cock and you’re up against the wall, which most people would have trouble competing with.

When you know how someone sounds when they’re most likely cumming on someone else’s dick, it’s an unbeatable bond.

Levi looks up at Reiner as if to say something, but then his eyes are drawn to the doors to the café. They widen suddenly, and after watching his expression shift, Reiner follows his gaze and looks over his shoulder.

After a few seconds, he whips his head back to the group and hisses, “That’s her!”

The speed at which their heads turn is almost funny to Levi, and he might have laughed had he not been so full of mortified fear at the sight of you.

You look pretty today — really pretty. Pretty in a way that Levi can’t even begin to make sense of considering the only way he’s seen you so far is in glimpses, in the corridor dressed in comfy clothes, or stark naked with his dick up your snatch in his head. His whole body fills with a sticky heat as he narrows his gaze on you, hoping that by staring you might disappear like a mirage and spare him the embarrassment due to come.

But nothing ever goes the way Levi wants it to. He breathes in heavily when your gaze pans across the room as if you’re searching for someone, stopping with a comical wide-eyed look of surprise when you see a group of six or so people all watching you with strange intensity.

Levi is not at all prepared for the way your brows knit together in confusion as you assess the strangers, only to raise in acknowledgement when you finally look at him for a moment too long.

Words are not needed to convey the silent series of events that spiral after that look. Levi knows instantly what you’re thinking and what it means. He knows that you know he’s told everybody about you — and he knows that you know he knows who you are and how often you do what you do.

There’s no way of explaining how confident he is that you’ve cracked the code in your head — he doesn’t know anything at all, only that when your face brightens into a smile he knows he’s screwed.

So fucking screwed.

“Oh shit, you were right,” Porco says after a while of mutual silence, and Levi is strangely grateful for the distraction of his voice as he turns back to his friend. “She’s hot!”

“And you’re being fucking loud, shut up,” Levi grumbles, his face scrunched into such a tight frown that it hurts to hold it. “Yes, that’s her. So what.”

“She’s looking at you,” Hange says rather unhelpfully. They’re sitting with their elbows on their spread legs, head low as they glance at you over the top of their glasses. Their brows are so high they might as well become a part of their hairline as they say a few seconds later, “Still looking.” A beat, and then, “Still looking.”

Levi huffs quietly, trying to find something interesting on the low table in the middle of the group to latch onto. All he can find are some of Hange’s papers and Porco’s bagel wrapper — neither are particularly inspiring to stare at, but he stares anyway, acutely aware of the heavy weight of your gaze on the side of his face as you approach the coffee counter.

“Maybe it’s because you’re all fucking gawking at her,” Levi replies stiffly.

To their credit, the group does their best to mask their very obvious staring, but Levi already knows that their hanging mouths have caused irreparable damage. He makes it a point not to look back over at you, and based on how his friends try to busy themselves with random things, he guesses you’ve reluctantly looked away from them and are currently buying something.

After today, Levi will never come here again — he’s just suddenly remembered that you’re real, and the notion of seeing you out in public just became his next biggest worry.

“Maybe you should go and say hi,” Isabel suggests, her mouth full around a bite of brownie.

Levi looks at her with an incredulous look. “And why would I do that?”

“She’s your neighbour,” Isabel replies slowly. “It’s polite. And friendly.”

“I’ll go and say hi, if you want,” offers Reiner. When Levi throws him a dirty look, he says, “What? She smiled at me before. I might be her next conquest.”

“Not much of a challenge for her,” Levi mutters. Besides, you weren’t even looking at Reiner back then — but as soon as the thought comes to his head he immediately exiles it. He’s not going to stoop as low as to fight Reiner on it; it will only deepen the hole he’s dug himself now that he's opened his mouth and told people about you.

After around four minutes, Levi has exhausted all possible resorts of interest around the table and anxiously rubs the back of his neck. Reiner still has his head looking up towards the coffee counter, but the others have mercifully ceased their curious staring. He levels his breathing and takes a quick swig of his tea, all before absentmindedly turning his head to look over his shoulder.

Your back is facing everyone, your head thrown back in laughter at something someone next to you is saying. Levi represses the urge to bristle at his own thoughts of what you might be laughing at, what possibly makes you laugh and smile — what coffee did you order, or maybe you are a tea person? Hot chocolate? Levi’s face falls into a narrow look of horror — Jesus Christ, he’s in so deep and over what? The sound of you?

Levi decides that he’s possibly gone insane after a long four years in academia and rests his cheek on his shoulder for a minute, gaze low. His friends are right, to a fault; he could just talk to you, scratch the itch until it’s gone and he can relax and live like a normal human being again. But that would involve taking initiative and actually confronting you, which in the grand scheme of things seems like a terrible idea.

He’d rather just forget about the delusional display of heated fantasies he’s conjured up after getting just a peek at you.

“Oh, shit. She’s looking again.”

It’s embarrassing how quickly Levi looks back at you without even thinking about it.

Sure enough, you’re looking back at the group, a cup of something steaming in your hand as your friend leads the way through a cluster of tables towards the double doors leading out onto the wide front courtyard. The screaming voice in his head is commanding Levi to look away, but he just can’t.

He watches you as you look back at him, mapping out every detail he possibly can while he has the chance to just look without any consequence, and feels his breathing constrict when you smile, so softly that it knocks the literal wind from his lungs, and raise your free hand in a wave.

And he doesn’t even move.

Somewhere behind him, Levi hears Reiner snigger and the brawny guy lifts his own hand to wave back at you, a grin plastered on his face. Your eyes barely move to look at Reiner in acknowledgement before locking back onto Levi with an almost hopeful look, and now would be a great time for Levi to move or do something in response, but he doesn’t. And he doesn’t know how to respond when your smile deepens into a smirk, almost like that was exactly what you wanted him to do.

“Why does she look down bad?” Eren asks quietly, making Porco cackle with a laugh that makes you look away and slink after your friend. Levi affords himself the time to watch you go, watching the way your ass moves in your jeans, the way your breasts bounce in that shirt, the way your waist looks and the way your hair moves and the way your smile widens—

“You’re a lucky son of a bitch,” Porco says, shaking his head with an amused look on his face. “If I lived next to someone who looked like that, and looked at me like that—”

“Well, you don’t, so fuck off,” Levi snaps. Wrong answer: the boys in his group laugh even louder, and Levi wants to shrink to the size of an ant and drown in his tea.

God. Levi realises with a gigantic sigh that today has been a long ass day.

Levi rubs his hair with the towel and glares at his reflection in the mirror. He stares, long and hard, and frowns at what looks back. For a guy who is to be considered “grown”, he cannot believe how stupid he's being, how stupid his brain is.

He has never once had a crush on somebody he’s never even met before, and only actually seen properly about two times. In the long four years of being in this city, Levi has never entertained an interest in anybody, mostly because he felt he didn’t have the patience for a relationship nor the time, which is why the way he’s feeling now is all the more bothersome — and even worse when the person he’s having trouble understanding his feelings for is someone he’s barely met, never talked to, and knows likes cock more than the air they breathe.

It is simply outrageous that he likes you so much. And he’s not even sure if what he feels would qualify as liking you.

Levi has never spoken one word to you and has never made any effort to do so, but alongside the audible archive of moans he has of yours in his memory and the mapped-out beauty of your face, Levi can distinguish that the pooling pit of desire in his tummy is closer to a crush than it is just general appreciation. And this feeling sucks.

Suddenly, Levi thinks back to seeing you in the student café and physically cringes at his reflection. All that for what? A smile? He is pathetic — Levi cannot believe that he has become such a strange man, and it is entirely your fault for being so pretty. And sounding so fucking sexy.

Levi hangs his towel on the small heated towel rack and washes his hands, hoping that in a metaphorical sense, it will wash away all of the terrible thoughts he’s having. Then, he shakes them dry and flicks off the bathroom switch, striding back into his room with a sinking feeling of emptiness.

He makes his way to the kitchen and looks longingly at the kettle. A cup of tea would do wonders for the creeping headache forming in his skull, but like the idiot he’s suddenly turned out to be, Levi instead leans up on his toes to grab a bottle of whiskey from on top of the fridge and finds an accompanying glass to pour himself a drink.

It’s been a long day, and he needs something strong. Quite frankly, Levi thinks he also deserves it.

For most of the evening, Levi entertains himself with his whiskey bottle, a glass and whatever the hell his TV can pick up in the black spot he calls home. He’s not sure how many glasses he’s had by the time he hears the corridor door swing open with its alarmingly loud squeal, but judging by how the room seems to tilt on its axis, Levi would wager a guess as to believe he’s had at least more than six glasses.

He feels his heart in his ears, pounding like a war drum, and he immediately reaches for the remote and turns down the volume. Like a cat, he feels his ears prick at the slightest sounds, and quite quickly, it’s as though stones are weighing down his stomach when he hears a boyish kind of snigger in the hallway, followed by the sound of keys in Room A’s door.

Please no. Not right now.

Not when Levi’s trying to come to terms with the unnatural feelings he’s somehow garnered for you.

Levi hears you shush the guy of the night and push open your door, its hinges moaning with relief when both of you stumble inside and it closes with a click. It’s almost embarrassing how quiet Levi has gone in an effort to eavesdrop — as much as he dislikes the idea of you being fucked by some random guy, he has to admit that he’s come to find some enjoyment in the vision of you being destroyed, in the music made by your pleasure. It took a while to admit it, but now that he has, it’s like a weight being lifted.

Once again, he is left to wonder what you’re doing when he can no longer hear your moans or the guy’s stupid voice muttering: Levi’s imagined you stumbling through the narrow passage past the bathroom and towards your bed, arms snug around the guy’s chest. You’ve probably sat down, and the guy is between your legs holding your face with his hands.

Only you haven’t. Levi hears a familiar thump against the wall and his eyes widen excitedly.

“Get this shit off.” Levi hears the guy grunt unhappily, and, hey wait, when did Levi suddenly end up listening so close to the wall?

“You don’t like it?” you ask, your voice so quiet through the thin layer of brick separating you from Levi’s ear.

“Like it better when it's not on,” the guy groans, and a few more thumps against the wall sound along with a strange dragging noise that Levi presumes might be your back. “God, you’re so hot.”

Well, that they can both agree on.

Levi closes his eyes as your voice begins to rise, foolishly high and breathy and in a way that makes Levi’s dick harden under his clothes. He pictures your face in his head, thrown back in a twist of pleasure, and fights the urge to grip his cock with his hand — he loses the battle and curses as he grabs his dick and begins to pump his wrist.

Levi leans his back against the wall and dips his head low to his chest, his eyes unwillingly fixed on the sight of his own cock hardening in his hand. Levi acknowledges that jerking off to his neighbour having a shag is a bit weird, but it could be worse, and as long as you can’t see him, he doesn’t care.

He tightens his grip around his dick and drags his hand up and down, biting down on his lip to keep his satisfied groans from eliciting any unwanted attention.

On the other side of the wall, you feel the brick behind your head as the stranger lifts one of your legs up over his shoulder, falling to his knees like a beggar and lifting the bottom half of your skirt up over your hips. At some point during your ungracious entry into the bedroom, the man managed to slip down your panties and now has full, unrestricted access to your cunt, and wastes no time pushing his head between your thighs.

Feeling the man’s tongue running flat up your slit, you moan breathlessly and stare up at the ceiling. You’ve fucked so many men it’s impossible to remember all of them, but you never get bored of the feeling of someone’s tongue up your pussy. Your heart stammers in your chest as you peer down at the stranger; his face is pushed between your legs and hidden from view, leaving you with nothing but dark locks of hair to gaze at, hunched shoulders and a pale hand pressing into your leg.

Admittedly, the only reasons you picked this stranger to approach in the bar had been because of the way he looked, and you close your eyes and let your jaw hang open in pleasure, all while your thoughts linger on who you pretend is between your legs instead of him.

“You taste amazing,” the guy groans into you, and you smile pleasantly. Everybody likes being complimented, don’t they?

“Yeah?” you ask, smoothing one of your hands up around your tit, “It’s all yours.”

The guy groans, as does Levi, who’s listening so loyally that he might as well smash a hole in the wall and look through. Nothing is left to imagination anymore; it’s as if you’re narrating your night just for Levi’s sake.

“Yeah. You’re right. This pussy’s mine,” the guy laughs, nipping his teeth against your inner thigh and making you squeal unexpectedly.

“Come on,” you rasp, worming your fingers through his twirly locks of hair with a slight grip. He winces and looks up at you from over your stomach, eyes dark and wide with the pain of your fingers tightening around his curls. “Fuck me, big guy. I want your cock.”

Levi’s wrist quickens. He blames the whiskey for the strangled little pathetic sound that burns in his throat, but there’s no way you heard it. Although these walls are so thin that he can hear every sound you make, there’s no way you can hear any of his noises. The logic defies Levi at that moment.

“God damn, you really are a needy girl, aren't you?”

No, you’re not, Levi thinks. Only you are — you grin down at the handsome man removing himself from between your legs and shuffle closer to grab a taste of yourself from his lips. He groans into your mouth, one hand on your ass and the other around the back of your neck.

With his arms around you, the man guides you towards the end of your bed and ungracefully drops you down, groaning when you bite your bottom lip and stare up at him with an expectant look in your eyes. Levi could only dream of what makes the stranger growl like that as he strains to listen in. You open your legs to invite him in, watching as he pulls a condom from his back pocket and takes his jeans down to his ankles.

Levi’s cock is throbbing, the tip an angry shade of red as he swipes his thumb and smears a slip of pre-cum across the curved edge. Levi inhales deeply, feeling his whole body stiffen as he pulls his fist up and down, the fingers on his other hand grazing across his balls with a sensitive flush. He hears you moan outrageously loud and his wrist trembles — he must have slipped it in.

You tighten your legs around the stranger, pulling him and his dick further into your cunt, the wetness of it slippery and inviting and divinely powerful. Every man you’ve had up there has made a comment on how good it feels, and as the guy moans loudly and tells you it’s the best pussy he’s had, you think of your neighbour; his surprised expression when he saw you in the café, the way his friends threw him looks when you smiled.

You know he’s been listening (if he hasn’t, then he’s admirably unbothered or deaf), and the thought excites you wildly.

You look beyond the man and to the wall, imagining your neighbour staring at the brick with a blank expression. Maybe he’s angry that you have another man over. You hope he is.

Biting back a laugh, you moan for good measure and match every thrust with a sound. The guy stuffed inside of you mutters a string of curses, chest puffed with pride, oblivious to the vision you have in your head of your neighbour snug between your thighs, his face steeled into his usual displeasure.

“Mmf, yes,” you whine, a little louder than you usually would. “Right there.”

“Say my name,” the guy growls, slapping your thigh rather sharply, “like a good girl.”

You flush, knees practically bent over to your chest as he folds you in half. For a second, you can’t even think of his name, don’t know if he ever even told you. Instead of wounding his pride, you drop a few girly moans and hope it distracts him, which it does. You wonder what would happen if you were to moan out your neighbours name — if you even knew it, that is.

“Oh, god,” you moan genuinely and close your eyes as the man sinks his cock in further. Thank goodness this man’s dick is long, you think, feeling the tip brush against a weak spot inside of you. The mattress beneath your spine is shaking uncontrollably, and the man peers down at you with a glint in his eye.

Levi’s head leans back and a breathless groan escapes — fuck, he thinks, but there’s no time to take it back, and certainly no chance he’s been heard.

Unbeknownst to Levi, your ears prick up curiously. The man snug inside of you looks at your face with an equal amount of curiosity, his hands wide against your skin as he fucks you at an unmeasurably quick pace. It’s as if he has somewhere else to be than here, but the pressing wrinkle in his forehead deepens as he fucks you harder, nails digging into your skin, spit flying from his mouth to your breasts.

“My friend said your pussy was good, but I didn’t think it would be this good,” the guy says, his voice raspy. All you can currently focus on is the squelch between your legs, and for a hopeful sound of annoyance from your neighbour.

When nothing comes, you opt for staring up at the guy with wide eyes, as if the thought of being passed around a few friends shocks you. In actual fact, you could care less, just as long as you both feel good.

His next few thrusts knock the wind out of you, and Levi clings to those pitched sounds like they’re his new lifeline. Pumping the length of his cock with his hand, Levi clamps his eyes closed and tries not to become self-aware of what the fuck he’s doing, instead focusing all of his energy on the twisting ache in his stomach and the dull groan of his wrist bones.

What Levi does next horrifies him. His hips jerk suddenly, his breathing laboured as he imagines himself in your room between your legs. Just the thought of looming over you, chest bowed over yours, your legs over his shoulders as he sinks himself into your cunt. The look of pleasured joy on your face, that stupidly beautiful smile lifted so high.

In the swirling darkness of his closed eyes, Levi conjures up images of you flustered and naked, covered in sweat and cum and as your breasts bounce the shine on your body curves — fucking hell, he’s in so deep, he’s so fucked.

“Oh! Oh, there, yep, there — hmpf!”

Levi hears you so loudly that it’s as if you’re panting it in his ears. He fists his dick almost furiously, feeling the creeping heat move across his body like a wildfire. The phantom illusion of your body underneath him pulses, the feeling of your cunt wet and squishing around him feels so real he might believe it if he weren’t uncomfortably self-aware of how screwed up he is, fantasising about a girl he’s never even talked to before.

Even through the wall, Levi can hear your bed rattling against the opposite wall, each slap of skin as the stranger fucks himself into you; Levi zeros in on the sounds and produces the perfect scene in his head, one that makes his dick twitch in his hand and his feet slip slightly across the wooden floor.

His chest rises and falls heavily, his hands trembling, his balls so sensitive he’s resorted to clinging to the wall like a rock climber with one hand while he pumps his cock with the other. Listening to you being fucked stupid is going to make him cum all over himself, and for a split second, that seems fine. That would be okay.

“Goddamn. You’re tighter than I expected,” the guy says, which sends Levi over the edge.

He groans softly at the floor and feels his whole body trembling as the coil in his stomach suddenly releases, and a string of cum shoots from the end of his cock. Levi keeps pumping, cum falling down his hand and to the floor in a grossly filthy manner, one that he’s trying his best not to stress over as he focuses all of his energy and thoughts on the hand wrapped around his cock and how badly he wishes it was your pussy gripping him instead.

When he does open his eyes, Levi blinks away the blurry tunnel vision and tries to catch his breath, now uncomfortably aware of the sticky mess covering his hand and the floor around his feet. For a second, he feels complete bliss — until the ringing in his ears subsides and he hears you whining in that pretty fucking voice you have, and the shame washes over him like a bucket of cold water.

Levi forces himself up off the wall and stares back at it, almost as if it might transform into a window for you to gape at him, the dirty eavesdropper who just had an orgasm over a daydream and the sound of his neighbour fucking some random guy. He blinks in horror.

The guy screwing you groans like an animal — a dying animal, Levi thinks bitterly, until he realises that he’s the first person to have orgasmed in the strange threesome and he isn’t even in the room.

Although guilt is consuming him, Levi can’t commit to pulling away yet. He might as well see it through to the end now that he’s become a part of it all.

Your cunt clenches around the guy’s cock like a vice, coaxing whatever last reserves of self-restraint he has before he grunts out a loud, “Fuck!” and slams his hips into you one last time, filling the condom with cum.

You feel the warmth bulging inside of you — lucky for someone to have gotten off in this exchange. Your pussy throbs and you squirm unhappily, hoping he might keep going.

“More?” the guy asks, breathless and shocked. “For real?”

“Mm. More, I need more,” you tell him, your walls fluttering around him. “Please, please give me more—”

No, no, no, Levi thinks in a panic. Please no more! As if being subjected to listening to some guy cumming after being in your pussy was bad enough, Levi wants nothing more than for it all to be over so he doesn’t have to listen anymore. He knows he could easily put in earphones and tune you both out, but that’s not the point.

Still, he feels a sudden rush of bitter hatred when the guy slaps your skin and makes you whine, all before laughing and pulling out. Levi hears nothing for a moment until he hears a drawer pulling open and slamming shut, and he thinks in a hot flush that he’s about to have a terribly unhappy night listening to you getting screwed again.

You watch the stranger shake his cock for a moment once the old and used condom is off, and he quickly puts on a new one while he’s still hard and admirably shoves himself back inside. Your wet warmth welcomes him back encouragingly, and there’s no trouble keeping him hard once you’ve gripped him back inside. The man shifts himself inside of you and moves in and out, his eyes trained carefully on your face as if assessing your enjoyment.

He creeps a hand between your legs and thumbs the hood of your pussy, and your eyes flash open with surprise at the feeling of his thumb on your clit.

“My god, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he comments, and Levi curses.

This can’t go on! Levi feels his mind reeling and he refuses to take responsibility for what his body does next; he wipes his hand on his joggers and glares at the door. Taking a few strides towards it, Levi forgets the cum on the floor and grabs one of his jumpers, pulling it over his head as he grabs his five seconds of courage by the balls and swings his door open.

The sound of you being fucked is made even more pronounced in the hallway. Levi’s never admired his other hall-mates until now, because he knows they’re all either listening in the same horror as Levi used to or they’re out somewhere missing all of the drama. Still, Levi feels his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he raises his fist, and without thinking any of it through, he bangs his hand on your door three loud times.

The sounds cease.

Levi hears a flustered “fuck!” and a confused moan, each one from a different person, and now that he’s knocked, Levi knows if he does a runner, you’ll only know it was him when his door shuts in the now uncomfortable silence. Standing in the hallway, he knows he has to live out his embarrassment and see it through.

The stranger pulls out of you in a fluster, staring down at you with surprise. “Should we answer it?”

You crane to listen, half-hoping it was a knock on someone else’s door and not your own, but you reluctantly glance up at him in shock and pick yourself up off the bed.

“Um…” you start, flustered and scanning the floor for something to put on. You spot your dressing gown slung over the chair at your desk and reach for it, giving the guy a pointed look as he scrambles for his underwear. You hoped it wouldn’t have, but the vibe is killed rather cruelly by whoever is banging your door so loudly.

Tying the cord around your waist, you pass by the guy with a sheepish smile and smooth a hand across his chest. In a way, the stranger is surprisingly handsome, especially considering you only picked him out for the way his hair looked. He grins after a while and grabs his shirt, holding it in his hand as he leans to kiss your lips and slither past you.

“Lemme get it,” he suggests, already making his way to the door. You let him go without protest, simply standing to the side as he reaches the door, twists the handle and pulls it open. The map of muscles in his back tense when he sees Levi standing outside.

“Levi,” he says dumbly. Levi blinks in confusion. How does he know this guy, and more importantly, how does this guy know him? The stranger seems to pick up on his blatant confusion and shifts uncomfortably, “It’s Samuel. I live in Isabel’s flat.”

Levi visibly grimaces.

This city is just too small and he hates it so much. Why the fuck did the guy fucking you have to be someone in close connection to one of his closest friends, and why the fuck did it have to be the guy involved in the sex Levi has just jerked off to?

“We met?” Levi decides to ask.

“Not officially,” mutters Samuel.

Levi ignores him and glances back into the darkness, schooling his features into disinterest with all of his strength when he sees you standing in the shadows.

The revealing V of your dressing gown attracts his attention, his eyes trained on the curving line of your breasts pushed together by your folded arms. He looks up to your neck and face, shining with a thin sheen of sweat, and then finally acknowledges your face.

Your makeup is smudged in a way that makes Levi’s cock twitch again, but he refuses to feed in to the pleasure he so badly wants to seek at the sight of you, fucked-out and equally surprised to see him standing like a loser in your doorway. You take a single step forward in what looks like wonder.

“What…are you doing here?” Samuel asks hesitantly.

Levi remembers he’s there and glares at him. “I live next door.”

“Oh,” says Samuel.

“I don’t care that you’re fucking. Trust me, I don’t.” He’s lying. “But can you be quiet about it?”

His voice cuts deep, making Samuel flinch, but in Levi’s peripheral he sees your face twist into an amused smile, your feet shuffling across the wooden floor to arrive by Samuel’s side.

“She’s not that loud,” Samuel attempts to say, in a pathetically unenthusiastic voice. Even he must know to an extent that you’re actually extremely loud.

Levi’s brows raise. “It’s not her I’m bothered about.”

“Oh,” Samuel says again. He turns to look at you like a deer caught in the headlights, but when his face drops at the look of amusement on your face, something tells Levi that Samuel may have expected you to defend him the way he just tried to defend you.

Samuel’s eyes narrow and he snatches himself away from the door to find his shoes and phone. “Whatever man. She’s a slut anyway, you must be used to it by now.”

Levi hums, his eyes on you as you look back at him, unmoving, unbothered. Your eyes drop suddenly to his bottoms before pulling back up with your brows raised. After looking down with reluctance, Levi spots the cum he wiped on his joggers in a smudge across his thigh and he pauses.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He can’t think of any other words.

Samuel slips his shoes back on and levels a dirty look in your direction, but you just smile sympathetically and wish him goodnight. He mutters something rude under his breath and barges past Levi on his way out, and Levi makes a point of watching Samuel go whilst trying to pretend that neither of you has just spotted what is drying to a crusty stain on his joggers.

Levi continues to stare down the hallway even when the door has slammed shut and Samuel has disappeared, but the sound of your feet shuffling on the floor makes him look back. He must be a good actor, because your brows furrow for a moment when you lock eyes, as if you aren’t sure whether or not he’s angry.

Of course, Samuel had been right. You were a loud fuck, you were a bit of a slut, and Levi is very familiar with the guests coming and going from your bedroom. But none of that matters at all now he’s here, looking at you hidden underneath a dressing gown, your lips parted with hesitance.

Levi stares at you for a second, wondering what he could possibly say to you now that the chance is right there. He should have known he’d say something stupid — Levi copies your facial expression and clicks his tongue: “I know you can actually do better than that.”

His words take you by surprise, but he watches as your wide eyes soften and your smile twists — his stomach churns, thrilled, enamoured. If he was stupid, he’d push himself into your room and kiss you, but luckily, he’s exhausted his daily dose of stupidity and fallen back into his usual state of normalcy.

“Oh, really?” you ask sarcastically. This is the first time he’s heard you talking since your shy little hello a few days ago, and without a wall between you and some dude’s dick up your pussy.

Levi hums, weaker than before. “Him, of all people?”

“Well, I don’t pick them for their personality,” you tell him, and he blinks as he realises that you’re actually discussing the people you bring back to your room. Levi lets it sink in until it does, deep in his stomach, and he feels his neck burning.

Suddenly, Levi is uncomfortably aware of how aware you are; you know you’re loud, and you know Levi can hear every moan and cry and whimper, every thud against the wall, every gasp of breath, every boy. And something tells him that none of that is accidental.

“...Thank god for that,” he drawls finally, his gaze hardening on your own. This time, you hum, mockingly, and tilt your head while you look at him.

Levi doesn’t know how long he stands there for. All he knows is that the tension between you is so thick it’s almost choking him. He doesn’t even know if you can feel it too — the unimaginable jolt of sexual tension coiling around his body like a snake, his whole body vibrating excitedly.

It would be so easy to move forward towards you. Levi doesn’t even think you’d refuse him. The sultry look in your eyes is inviting, enticing, and he lets his gaze wander back to the slip of skin above your breasts before he snatches his gaze back.

“I’ll be more quiet, if that’s what you’d like,” you say after a while.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you for a second, weighing his options. Then, his gaze softens and he grunts — no. Be as loud as you want.

You seem to understand, for the smile widens into a pleased grin. “Alright. Sorry, Levi.”

He prays that you didn’t just see his body flinch as you said his name. Levi grunts again and waves his hand dismissively, turning for his room before the excitement of everything makes him become stupid again. He’s done enough stupid things today, thank you!

“Night, Y/N,” he says through clenched teeth, and if he had looked back, he would have seen the smile widen to a degree he could have never even expected, the confirmation you needed being your name on his lips, a name he would have only heard had he been listening.

Levi refuses to give in to his dumb urges and leans his back against his door when it shuts closed, listening shamefully as you hesitate before closing your door behind him. Finally, he lets out an exhausted breath and closes his eyes again.

For fuck sake. He’s a moron.

A moron who wants to fuck his neighbour, and is pretty sure that you know it.

Would you let him?

Levi stops himself from groaning like a pathetic loser when he thinks of you again, this time opening your door and letting him in, slipping the gown down your arms so that your breasts fall out for him; his hands grabbing them, pushing you back on the bed you were just being fucked on; his dick slipping inside of you, your cunt clenched around him, lips on his hands, cum filling you up like a cake, pooling out of you—

Levi feels his cock twitch again. He sighs loudly.

He’s going to need another shower. Preferably a long cold one. Hopefully cold enough to send him into shock and kill him, just to spare him from the humiliating reality that Levi Ackerman has become an infatuated sad fuck with a raging hard crush on his stunningly sexy neighbour.

Levi groans again. Fuck.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman smut #aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #aot smut #levi smut #attack on titan smut #levi ackerman #aot levi #snk #snk imagine #aot imagine #levi imagine #jeanbie

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 5 months

Text

ALL THE THINGS WE SAID WE WOULDN'T DO (VIII)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER IX

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 13.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, stalking, guns/weapons, very dark/toxic modeling standards/expectations/abuse of power, body image issues, food issues, alcohol, scar descriptions, gore, light torture insinuations, hurt/comfort, NSFW, not full-on smut, fingering, descriptions of masturbation, praise, multiple orgasms, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Oh,” you breathe out a long sigh. “This is horrible.”

Pale eyes blink at you slowly from the side of his vision, Nikto watching your face fall as his brow lightly rises.

The hotel is large—one main area with sectioned-off rooms much like any upscale hotel would be. But the decorations were…well, there wasn’t much you could say in their favor. It was all white, at least, all pale enough that you assumed it was entirely white. The walls, the countertops, the chairs.

“What are people's fixations with white and gray?” Your body moves forward, slipping out of your heels before you cross your arms over your chest. “I swear, I can’t even see color and I know how to style better than them.”

Blinking at a painting on the wall, which seems to be no more than a black line down a pale canvas, you look at Nikto in exasperation. You motion with a shaky hand to it. “What is this even supposed to be?”

You grumble the sentence, tilting your head at the artwork.

Nikto’s low chuckle moves through you, and the void slips past as he moves farther into the hotel room, looking around.

“It is not your…style,” he mutters, shoulders rolling. All of your bags sit in the front hallway right by the door, stacked up and up like the basework of a home of fabric. The image of the man in this glaring place is stark, and you blink through a smile.

“You can say that again,” you huff, but you quickly devolve into soft chuckles.

Nikto pauses, looking over his shoulder at you. He stares with confusion as your quivering form covers your mouth with your palm.

“What?” The man asks, glancing around.

“You,” you laugh loudly, walking closer one uneven step at a time. Nikto watches, still. “You look silly standing here. Like a blackhole just opened up.”

Pale eyes narrow, a thin grunt wafting out from his chest.

Your hand carefully rests on his bicep, giggling heavily as an infectious amusement leaks from your lips. Nikto’s expression fights the sudden soft sweet that threatens it—mouth quirking as he sighs.

“That is not funny,” he grumbles, head tilting away from you.

“Oh,” you breathe, rolling your eyes and moving away. “The irony.”

Nikto watches you look around, coat hanging off one arm and your face lighter now that you've had a small rest. He hadn’t woken you up until the car had fully stopped in the street, only then shaking your shoulder until your eyes had fluttered open softly. The expression you had worn was still in the back of his brain, that open and airy thing—body shifting with tiny grunts that made his thighs twitch.

The sensation of your skin under his; the warmth of it.

Nikto’s eyes blink slowly, fingers at his sides twitching as his throat takes down saliva.

Rolling his neck, the Russian shifts his legs and follows after to find where you’d gone off to.

He won’t admit it to you, but he liked the simplicity of the hotel room. Yet, the exasperation you gained from it, he liked more.

Your hands open all of the doors, searching the bathroom and the room—the realization only hits you when you once more lay your vision on Nikto, who had been watching you glance around silently.

A heat pulls at your cheeks, and with a low clearing of your throat, your sheepish face implores, “Did you see a second bedroom?”

The Russian's large body seems to take a screenshot, stuttering before his head roves the visible rooms to them.

One bathroom. One bedroom.

Immediately, he says, “We will take the couch.”

“No,” you shake your head, waving a hand as if to convince him that it wasn’t the only option. “No, that’s alright. I don’t want you to feel pressured to—”

The front door gets a hard knock on it, and the both of you straighten.

Eyes locked, your body releases a sigh before you shift and make your way back to the entrance. Nikto passes by, a hand brushing your arm as his boots thump on the floor. A flash of pale eyes leaves you widely staring.

“I will sleep on the couch,” he grunts, and then he’s already at the door and checking through the peephole. His opposite hand shifts to hover over his beretta, long fingers skimming the metal.

Blinking, your hot face flares again, and in your stomach a swirl of heat levels.

Something about him had changed again—just like you’d seen throughout your time together. It was a slow thing; delicate. Like taming a wild animal that stopped by outside of your porch once and a while, the eyes on the thing slitted and teeth bared.

But it was undeniable at this point, no matter how much you wanted it to be false.

Yefim has been slipping from your mind lately. The mantra you’d sworn to follow.

Don’t get attached.

It was easier said than done, and just as everyone always thought you were a mindless fool, you agreed with them in this instance. You were a fool. A beautiful, stupid, fool. At first, it could be pushed off as hope, maybe. An attraction to a big, dangerous man in the time after a traumatic event—his body promised protection; his hands, violence. That could be brushed off, only a sentence said in the therapy session you very much needed, but, now…

Now you were afraid it was far more than a simple distraction.

Wringing your hands a good distance away, you take down a low inhale and try to force the memory of his gloved fingers running your flesh. Or, worse, his bare skin pressing firmly into the bastardus scar on the back of your head—something you would have never let anyone see if it had been up to you. His hard hold, his easy work of your weight when he picked you up.

The thump of his pulse right beside your ear.

Even that small car ride had been suffocating with something unnamed.

You run a hand over the back of your head, feet shifting over cold tile.

“Nikto,” your voice carries. “Who is it?”

“Man,” he scoffs, moving back and looking with that mask over his shoulder. “He has suit on. Blond hair. Короткий.”

Fuck, that mask. Those eyes.

You can’t even focus—what was going on with you?

“Okay,” you clear your throat, walking over as quickly as you’re able. A hand easily grabs your sleeve when you accidentally get too close to the side table, nearly bumping into it. You conform to a hard Kevlar chest, breath hitching.

Rotting wood infects your nostrils, and you nearly sag instinctually into Nikto, pupils widening. With shifting legs, your fast feet backtrack, and the scent dissipates.

“It’s probably Iakov—Iakov Mironovich Lisov,” Nikto narrows his eyes on you, looking up and down your body slowly in brief confusion. “He’s my media coordinator.”

Grasping the handle, you open the door easily and come face to face with a casual greeting.

“Seraph.” You smile, albeit, you very much feel the presence of Nikto behind you—his low breath on the back of your head. Your ears twitch to the movement of his gear.

“Good to see you again, Iakov Mironovich.”

“Ah,” the blond shakes his head. He was short; dressed nicely just as he should be. “We know each other, do we not? Iakov is just fine, my girl. No need for formalities.”

Your smile is a bit more genuine now, and you chuckle, nodding.

Iakov was kind to you—you wouldn’t say confident in all of his actions, but he knew how to present himself as such. New clothes, new watches, and jewelry. His job here was to update your portfolio as soon as possible, which meant he worked far closer to the photographers than you do. Iakov also plans out shoots, too; when to get that perfect shot for ads and media.

“Have that schedule for me?” You sigh, faking a frown.

The blond was all over AMA at any given time—you’re surprised the CEO had the resources to let him come along.

Iakov hums. “I gave you breaks, Seraph, don’t worry. You know how I know you like them.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you mutter, smiling widely.

A folder is passed your way, continuing outfits to wear and when to do so—locations and times. So much work.

The man chuckles, shrugging. “I’m always looking out for you.”

Nikto’s hand curls around your waist and takes the folder from you, asking for it under his breath in a way only you would hear. Shivering, you let him, and nearly feel his grunt of satisfaction at your spine.

Aly’s jokes were getting harder to want to deny at this point.

What would it feel like to have him on top of you?

Your voice is a bit breathless as you push out, “A-and I’m very glad of it, thank you. Do you want to come in? We can talk some more about tonight and where I’m needed?”

But Iakov’s eyes aren’t on you—they’re on Nikto.

And Nikto’s are staring right back from above your head.

Blinking, you glance backward at your guard, brows furrowing. Your heart skips a beat at the intensity of Nikto’s piercing gaze, chin tilted down and his face dead-set forward. He isn’t even blinking.

“...Boys?” You frown, shaking your head and moving to dispel tension as you usually knew how. Flirting. “I know I look ravishing, but please, don’t get into a catfight over my affection—it gets boring. At least do it outside.”

Nikto snaps out of his strange trance, wide eyes turning to look directly at you as you flutter a smirk to your lips.

“I’d cheer for you, Big Guy, don’t worry.” Growling through his rapid blinks, Nikto detached himself from behind so close to you and disappeared into the room as you laughed loudly.

“Enough!” Is the heavy bark, but it means nothing to you.

“You’re adorable, Nikto,” you call, but only the suddenly stuttering pound of his boots is the answer.

Grinning widely, your attention turns back to Iakov. Even you can see the pigment on his face, though it’s simply a deeper shade than the rest of him. The man’s legs shift—he looks…well, you can’t really place it. Something like annoyance slashes his expression, though it’s gone before you can comment and offer an apology.

“No,” he grumbles, already moving away. “No, I need to speak with that photographer about the equipment.”

And then the blond is walking away quickly.

Frowning, you stare after him before you back up and slowly close the door, pausing at the entrance and looking down at your hands.

Peeling your grip from the handle, you confusedly glance at the clamminess of your palm before you lick your lips and shake your head.

“Nikto?” You wonder, and a small smile comes back to your lips.

“What?” Is the numb call from the kitchen.

Your legs carry you there, and you see him with his bag on the counter, large arms rifling through it before taking out all sorts of things. The papers were pushed to the side and looked through.

“What is that?” Your shocked voice makes his attention flicker to you, eyes swirling with dull amusement.

“M13,” is the accented response. Casual, as if a regular walk in the part and not an Assault Rifle being set down to the hotel’s expensive stone countertops. Nikto’s smirk is heard as it moves like honey into your lungs, keeping them stuck together. “Big gun, yes?”

“What’s it doing in the kitchen?” Your confused face twitches. “I trust your cooking skills, but I don’t think you…” you pause. “Well, I, can’t eat metal even if you do attempt it.”

“Haha,” the Russian’s harsh speech only makes the mockery more funny. He huffs. “I am cleaning it, Птичка. For tonight. I will not have it jam if it comes my time to pull the trigger.”

Your mouth opens, and you begin to ask if he’s even allowed to do that before your breath gets caught.

“...What does that mean?” Pale eyes blink, hidden face tilting your way.

Nikto grunts in question, taking out the same cleaning rag from his belt that he’d used all those days ago in his Beretta and setting it down.

“I do not understand.”

Your tongue trips up, the word slipping together, but you get the chuck of it out that would need to be said, rough, though it sounded somewhat similar. You can only go off memory.

“Ptichka?”

Nikto’s fingers pause over the gun, and while it was impossible to tell, you feel the air go utterly still. He blinks, the Russian, at that moment, is highly confused and taken aback.

“We did not say that.” He slowly replies, rolling his shoulders before clearing his throat. “Must have slipped our tongue.” His hands visibly twitch from where you watch.

Face pulling in, your eyes narrow slowly, face tight. A deep curiosity brews like soup in a pot, and you instantly latch on to it.

Птичка. You stuff it away for later, but it sings in the back of your brain.

“Alright…” Trying to push past it, you smile teasingly. “Well, I hope you’ll enjoy the suit I reserved, anyway. The stylists should be bringing it up soon with my outfit.”

It isn’t easy to hide your glee when sharp eyes dart back up to meet yours.

—

“Stop moving,” one of the women hisses, the makeup brush moving over the lid of your eye.

“Sorry,” you mutter, hands held together in your lap as you get ready in the bedroom. A large vanity is in front of you.

You have three women working on you right now—you can’t recall their names, as you’d never met them before, but all are unyielding to your attempts at conversation. The one currently is working on your eyeshadow, the second on your clothes across the room, and the third on your jewelry.

All you wear are your lacy undergarments, harsh ring lights relentlessly assaulting your already sensitive eyes.

“Sit straight,” a hand is forced into your spine, and you breathe in sharply before you comply, eyes shut tight while she works. “Like child. Fidgeting.”

You clench your jaw and stay your words.

It was getting harder to fight the anxiety in your blood as the time grew nearer to leave.

In half an hour, you were needed at a large building near the center of the city—dressed to the nines and slathered in perfume; dripping luxury in the dress that your boss had given you.

You dreaded even looking at it, afraid about how far the slit up the side would go. How deep the neck. You didn’t have to hypothesize the color.

“Open.” At the command, you open your eyes and blink quickly at the light.

Instantly, your chin is grabbed and your face moved to the side as you make a noise in the back of your throat—lips getting pressed down by the tip of a lipstick tube.

Gray pigment is moved over the flesh and spread firmly.

Face burning, you avert your vision from looking into the woman’s eyes, awkwardly looking around. This was by far one of the worst parts of getting ready for events, but nothing compared to how your night would go if prior parties were anything to compare.

“Get dressed. I have done all I can do,” you’re released and a large sigh is echoing through the room.

She begins to clean up her items as you nod and stand up, muttering, “Thank you.”

A huff is all that’s offered, and you breathe out before padding over to the bed. Body tight, you play with your fingers in front of your abdomen with lingering unease. Your skin feels dirty already.

One stylist comes over and grabs at the side of your strapless bra, peeling it back and letting it slap the skin. You startle, flinching. Something in Russian is muttered, and the women all chuckle to one another, sending sly glances as you stare dumbly, lips going thin.

“Get dressed, Girl,” the one nearest smiles, but it isn’t comforting. “Long night for you, yes?”

Your body curls into itself, and in that instant, you want to exit the bedroom in nothing but sweatpants and an oversized shirt; you want to sit in the kitchen and let Nikto cook dinner. You would eat an entire platter if that was all you needed to do to get out of this situation.

But you can’t.

And you can’t go back to your penthouse either. You have no trinkets here—nothing to make your own. White walls, white floors. Gray bed.

Shame stuck into your face, your head snaps away to the dress you would be forced to wear as fingers pinch at your waist. More giggling. More words you can’t understand.

You clear your throat, blinking away the sting in the back of your eyes that swells up at the sight of it. It was beautiful, you can’t deny it. Just as beautiful as you’re sure you look right now with all this makeup on your face like a mask.

The top was essentially just a corset, the low-dropping neckline a wide oval ending at points only halfway up your breasts. The ‘v’ of the corset ends at your navel, and under, the pale silk of the train cascades down in a single cut, which would be your only cover beside a very sheer layer of lace underneath. Pearled adornments would sit on your arms, looped to the backing above the meat of your flesh. They weren’t sleeves—it was an accessory.

They wanted you to show skin tonight.

The slit left little to the imagination, it would end far into your upper thigh. One tumble, and you’d be showing off your underwear to everyone. Never mind a tumble, you think. A single misstep.

And this dress would make you more than beautiful—it would make you ethereal.

But you never said that was what you wanted to be.

This is all I’m good at, you take down a shaky breath, looking to the side until you can calm yourself and close your eyes.

Heart hammering and your intestines going to mush, you rub at the back of your scar. It’s only a moment before you steel yourself and reach with shaking fingers. But you’re not entirely sure if they’re quivering from the brain damage or just the fear.

You’re not sure which you’d prefer.

Slipping into the dress, you huff and force your hips through the opening, grunting as you feel the fabric pull tight to your flesh.

“Eat too much, Girl. You’re struggling to get into that?” The comment is said under breath, but it’s like an arrow aimed directly at your throat. Snickering makes your lungs quicken. “Getting fat.”

“I’m not…I’m not gaining weight,” you say, not looking back at them as you pull harder. “I never…”

But you had been eating more, hadn’t you? Nikto’s food was always on your mind nowadays—his hearty breakfasts, the warm lunches. Dinner was always a surprise; it always made you eat like it was your last day on earth, despite the alarm bells.

Blinking quickly, your lip wobbles.

“I can fit into it,” you whimper.

But it’s just laughter as you pull harder.

The dress pops over your hips, and you take a large breath, looking down at it as it sits around your waist, nearly panting from desperation. In a quick act, you peel it all the way up and hold the material there as hard as you can.

“See?” Your voice quivers, turning as your legs stumble. “I got it.”

One of the stylists rolls her eyes, and the one cleaning up her materials scoffs and waves a hand to the others. A smirk is on her lips, and you can’t help but compare them all to dark-eyed harpies.

“Lace her up. Tightly.” Fingers poke and prod, and as you bite your lip, flinching at every hard pull, trapping you into this modern contraption—this cage—until you feel your lungs push into your guts. Your sides burn and your head goes light by the time they’re done completely and the laces are tied.

Putting a hand to your stomach, your creased face only softens at all at the faint sounds from outside of your bedroom door. Hard boots. Moving travel bags being organized by scarred fingers. You have to focus on it to bring away the infection of black dots in the corners of your blinking eyes, not-yet-dry mascara making the lashes stick momentarily. You rip them back open and steady your bare feet, fingers vibrating over the material suffocating you.

Hands grab at your shoulders and turn you away from the bed, pearls clacking together. As if your shell-shocked being meant nothing, heavy jewelry is stacked over your throat and wrists. Pearls dangling from your ears, surrounded by precious metals—necklaces that are engraved with angels and feathered birds. Even the bracelets, dangling things, are weighted by luxury and meaning.

They still just felt like shackles.

When it’s all said and done, the heels you’ll be wearing are near the bedroom door. The women flock out and pass glances over their shoulders to you, left standing in the middle of the room as your eyes remain locked to the ground. Not speaking—barely breathing because the pinch in your chest aches if you do.

Just a doll left sitting on the top shelf, waiting to be grabbed by grubby fingers and pawned off at the nearest thrift store for nothing else but notoriety. You don’t know how long you stand there, trying to gather what little strength you have for tonight above the relentless brutality of your heart to your ribcage, but it’s long enough to where you hear a sharp knock on your door.

“Seraph,” Nikto calls to you, his glove-less fingers rasping over the wood. “The women left—are you…” His brows tighten. “Acceptable.”

The Russian’s low grunt exits his throat, boots re-situating themselves. His hidden ears twitch for your answer, looking to the side for a moment as your thin voice wafts out.

“Yes.”

Nikto’s scarred face pulls at that, confused. If that was the case, then why hadn’t you edited your room yet? Were you nervous?

Pale blue eyes blink at that, slowly tilting his head in thought. You had expressed anxiety over these parties, perhaps that was what this was about. Nerves. The man’s lips thinned, staring hard at the woodgrain ahead of him. He can practically hear your fluttering heartbeat in the air.

“We have ten minutes, yes?” He utters, a low dread filling his chest. A pause. “Where have you placed the suit?”

There’s a lapse in noise as Nikto’s words fully resign him to his fate, his eyes dulling with a slow acceptance. Only when the door clicks to open, does he decide that if it got you out of the room and gave you a distraction, being in a suit wouldn’t be the worst—

His throat tightens to hide a sharp inhalation of breath.

You stand in the doorway, and it’s like he’s looking into the sun.

Your dress trails behind you as your eyes stay stuck to Nikto’s chest, mumbling out. “I think the stylists left it over near the door,” and swiftly passed.

Trying to hide the pain that leaves your heart aching at the railroad-straight nature of your spine, you shuffle to the hanging suit left on the coat rack. Grasping it, you take as deep a breath as you’re able and turn around.

“I didn’t know sizes, so I tried my best to get as close of an estimate as possible just by…” Your words trail off.

Nikto stares at you so openly that the last bit of your breath is taken away in one swoop of a sparrow’s wings.

Pale eyes are unblinking as they gaze through wide attention, hand still outstretched from where it was knocking at the door. Stopping in your tracks, you blink slowly, a pulse going through your body that you feel all the more wearing this dress.

The Russian doesn’t speak—he doesn’t say anything. He watches. Vision moving along the dip of your throat where those pearls sit; conforming to the swell of your breasts and the view of your cleavage. Then to your waist, tight and formed, and, finally, to the open view of your leg, and that bit of tantalizing lace.

Nikto felt his pulse under his skin, that flipping in his abdomen that was becoming that much harder to ignore. Yet, the sudden stiffness of his pants is a new one.

“You are…” He begins, voice low.

“Please,” you interrupt, “don’t call me beautiful,” you whisper. A small, broken smile comes to your lips. “I feel like a pig.”

Nikto flinches lightly, though you don’t notice it. All carnal attraction dissipates at a single word, as if in complementary action to your own. Something seems to have taken the air from his lungs before he clears his throat and nods his head stiffly.

“You do not like it?” He grumbles, glancing up and down.

“Not at all,” you chuckle but stop when you get lightheaded. “I’m sure you’ll look handsome in your outfit, though.” Walking to him, you hand the suit over slowly.

“You change the subject,” Nikto huffs, eyes narrowing on you as the intent of his sockets is leveled with yours. “Why?”

All you give is a twitch of your lips. “I put a balaclava in the pocket,” you nod your head. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to change out of your mask, but I wanted to give you the option if you wanted to take it. The bathroom’s free, I won’t be needing it, so go ahead and take all the time you want.”

Stepping back you don’t look at him again as your legs walk you to the window. Hands moving to wrap around your middle, you don’t clock the pale orbs that follow.

Nor the worried sheen at the sight of your far-off eyes.

Nikto stands for a moment, struck dumb, and only after you pass him one confused glance, does he quickly turn and walk away.

—

The Russian pointedly avoids looking in the mirror—in fact, he actively avoids the bathroom altogether.

Slipping off his Kevlar and setting it to the floor, Nikto’s nostrils are stuck with the scent of your perfume; it travels on the airways, getting stuck to his skin. Grunting, he gets halted in his thoughts about your averted face as his fingers fiddle with his belt, pulling it out of the loops as his covered face frowns.

Why did you look like that? Why were you…afraid?

Nikto didn’t like that look, and how could he? When he thinks of the face you wore when you slept in his lap, anything else seemed a sin to be marring your features. It was a slow realization that he’d never seen you more calm than when a killer’s hands were caressing the base of your head.

Growling under his breath, the man focused on the dress pants you’d given him; a bit tight around his thighs and backside, but nothing he couldn’t work with as he stepped into them.

“Absurd,” he huffs, grasping and stuffing himself inside so he can zip up the fly and button the top. “Why do we do this?”

Because he hated seeing anything other than a soft smile on your face, that was why, and he can’t stop denying it like a fool. With a horrid weight on his chest, he rolls his wide shoulders and welcomes the chilled air on his bare flesh.

What he doesn’t welcome is the sudden opening of the door behind him.

Freezing like a deer in headlights, his ears pick up a sharp gasp and a rapid apology. Nikto’s still eyes stare ahead to the wall silently.

“I-I’m sorry, I thought you would be in the bathroom!” Your panicked face darts away. “I forgot my heels over here—”

It was your turn to be struck silent at the sight of your companion, and struck silent you were as your rapid eyes locked onto his scars. Not only scars but a tattoo as well.

They were…rabid, those healed cuts. You can feel your shock and horror as clearly as day when you look at them in their gray glory. Long, violent—almost made as if by an animal who just learned how to use his claws. Burns, too. Patches of skin that melt together around the dark ink of a snarling bear.

Apt, your hushed brain thinks.

You should leave right now, you tell yourself. Leave immediately and forget what you’ve seen like you’ve tried to forget the pictures you’d been sent. But something is in the air that you can’t explain to anyone except your instincts.

Not making a noise, you take a single step forward as Nikto’s back muscles are wound tight; hands clenched. A bitter shaking that’s less noticeable than a dog in the bushes.

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” you whisper, and the air is thick with unsaid words. “It’s…beautiful, Nikto.”

Not even you can predict your next move, not here—not like this. Why were you still here? The view was jarring and violent, and the longer you looked, the more your throat filled with bile at the thought of what had happened. These wounds had been made with intent, and the very recognition of that made your lip quiver, eyes wide with a bare horror.

A pain.

Nikto’s chest jerks, his heart hammering inside of his breast. But for the life of him, he can’t speak. Can’t move.

Why can’t he move?

Your feet take another step forward, and a long shiver runs down your spine when you can begin to make out the individual dips and digs of long-gone blades. The fizzling skin—where cigarettes had been put out as if Nikto was someone's ashtray.

You have to tell yourself to take a deep breath before you pass out.

“I…” But nothing comes out.

You don’t want to touch him, but at the same time, your fingers are shaking for it. You quiver, and you don’t know why.

If you were able to see color, you think you might have sobbed then and there—you might have been left a heap by the shades of abuse, written so plainly in a way you would never know.

And blackened, inkish, eyes only stare you down as you stand there, dressed all in white. And such a strange thing it is, that ink, and how sad it looks.

If it could speak, what would it say? To you, the answer seemed simple.

I don’t know why I bite.

Clearing your throat, you hurriedly begin to turn back around. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone. That was rude of me, I should have knocked first—”

“Do you mean it?” Nikto’s voice is so low you think for a moment you never heard it, only pausing when the rumble moves through your eardrums.

“Mean what?” Your voice is even lower. Layered with regret. “That I’m sorry? Of course, I do—”

“Нет.” It is swift and gruff. You swallow and shuffle your feet. “...Красивый?”

“I don’t understand what that means,” you lick your lips, hands clammy again. It was time to leave soon—you need to get out and let him dress.

Nikto’s muscles writhe, shifting, pulling. Small, beady eyes move from over his shoulders, and you’re caught by them; a bird in a bear’s jaws. The pupils are so small they almost make you flinch.

“Beautiful?”

Your mouth goes dry.

It’s a long moment before you answer, and when you do, your thighs have already pushed themselves together from below you, the skin trapping in the betraying way your insides pulse.

“I meant it,” you whisper, unblinking. Without any thought, your hand raises slightly. Pale eyes slash to it, and you stop, not beginning again until nothing in refusal is said as seconds tick longer. Your middle finger brushes over burn scars before the others conform to healed flesh, laying delicate, heavenly, pressure. The bear tattoo shifts just as blotchy skin does, calling to you along the back of a broken man.

“...I like the eyes best,” your lips utter, and you feel the Russian shiver under your touch, breath hitching. Heaving lungs. Locked eyes bleed color you cannot see.

And so you stay there, fingertips gaining hellish heat as skin melts into skin—pulse into pulse. A fire of a different kind moving under flesh.

And then Nikto turns, and a hard hand is under your chin.

“You do not like the word,” he grunts, and in his eyes, you see nothing but feral, desperate, pain. A wounded dog. A speared boar. He’s talking about how you’d reacted to his words from before—was he still hung up on them? But when he holds you like that, you can’t even begin to warn him about your makeup. Let him ruin it. Let him taint it. Spread his violence into your skin like fangs. His grip tightens. “Why?” A growl, nothing more. “Do you not believe you are, Girl?”

“It’s because I know I am,” you breathe, and watch his eyelids narrow. “And I know it’s all I’ll ever be.”

A scoff. “I do not understand it.”

You don't want to comprehend this word game. Your body aches. “I don’t either.”

And for the first time, you want him to kiss you. Just to see how it hurts when he does.

Your lips flicker, and his thumb moves the length of your jawbone; bodies so close your heart patters opposite his, chests brushing with every stuttered pull of intoxicating air.

Rotting Wood. Gunpowder.

Alluring ambrosia. Mind-silencing touch.

Gold-chained necks, both.

“If I call you beautiful, will you promise to call me hideous?” It is a small gift the universe gives Nikto when your phone rings from the nightstand after you speak.

If you hadn’t startled back and hobbled over to grab it, he would have done something horrible. Irreversible. Just as a rabid dog would as it snarls at a hand so willing to touch it.

He would have grabbed on and never let go, even if it ended up drawing blood. Even if his whimpers filled the room. Even if his mind told him not to—not to take the food that you offer him, not to put that collar around his neck that he already knew was there.

Oh, it is a horrible thing to know the color of someone's soul, and even worse to know one’s own.

Your body hurries out of the room as Nikto’s voided eyes stare at nothing, snatching your heels and speaking to that friend of yours.

Even after the door clicks shut, the imprinting of your hand burns far hotter than the fire ever did, and Nikto knows it’s never going to leave.

—

You pull the designer coat harder across your body, and the fake smile on your lips seems anything but to the finely dressed men and women who pass by.

No one returns the grin, but you supposed the thought counted on your part.

The flashing cameras jar you as you hang off of Nikto’s arm, having just gotten out of the car moments prior, and already you were the center of attention. Heels meeting the long trailing carpet, your eyes threaten to close at the fast blinding light.

“Nikto,” you whisper under your breath.

He hums, glancing down from over the tight clutches of his skin-tight balaclava. The Russian guard’s suit was pure black, and despite the size up you noticed he needed…he looked good.

Insanely good.

The outfit showed off the bulk of his biceps—as big as your head—and the strength of his thighs; the push of his abdomen, which was very clearly the result of hard work and raw power. His tie was only partially crooked…the hardness of a bullet-proof vent underneath all of it.

“What is it?” Nikto grunts in question, accent rough. Your stint in the bedroom is pushed to the back of your mind, and it seemed it was the same for him. It was time to go to work.

Around his chest, his rifle is slung, and at his thigh, the beretta. Unknown to you, a combat knife was sitting comfortably under the tail of his suit jacket. Sharpened and only a fast jerk of an arm away.

“The camera flashes are making it hard to see—the stairs. How many are there?”

“Seven.” A pause. “Lean into us.”

You do so, shoulder finding his arm as you turn your head and grin at the photographers; the shouting comments and pleas to come their way.

“Thank you,” you utter, and as his body rises, slowly, so you compel your own to do the same—clearing your throat.

He doesn’t answer.

“Seraph! Seraph!” It’s your moniker that rises above the rest. “The stalker, tell us about the stalker! How do you feel about three men being dead?!”

Your fingers tighten over your guard’s bicep, and the only thing that keeps you from tripping on the last step—the tip of your heel clipping the edge, is Nikto. He leans close and grumbles in your ear, lifting you discreetly with only the strength of a single arm. Hot breath puffs against the side of your ear as your breath gets caught.

“That one looks like horse,” he grumbles. “Long face, all legs, yes?”

“Nikto,” you hiss, but the growing smile can only be quickly covered by your fingers before a belly-deep laugh slips out. From behind your barrier, you whisper, “You can’t say that.”

Pale eyes narrow on you, amusement in the far backs as your giggles continue. Cameras increase their barrage tenfold. “Why can I not?”

You only shake your head, side-eyeing him as your face becomes hotter than the sun.

“You’re horrible, you Brute.”

Nikto barks that hyena laugh, chest jerking. There is an undeniable rumble in his body that you feel roll through you, grip tightening on his suit’s sleeve.

You blink away for a moment as you both walk forward and glance at one of the doormen, who blinks widely at you. Your words tumble out in a quick under-the-breath jest.

This game was letting the anxiety leak away one grumbled sentence after another. A sliver of joy seeps in to take its place.

“The doorman looks like an owl. Can you see it?” Nikto’s head secretly shifts, and he looks above your head from the corner of his piercing eyes.

Tall, lanky, big eyes; dark hair with pale spots.

“We see it…Very good.” Your heart palpitates at that, blinking a few times before an almost giddy expression comes to your face.

Lord, you were in too deep.

Walking through the front doors, you thank the ones who come closer and ask for your coat, letting go of Nikto’s flesh and moving. People barely retrain their gasps as your skin is laid to light, and the extravagance of luxury is plain to see by the way the pearls lay over your body—the jewelry, the lace.

Nikto’s presence sets them on edge, however.

You don’t exactly know what clearance he has for him to carry around an actual rifle, the very one that his hands now find and rest on carefully, watching you. A handgun? Yes, you can understand that, but the thing around his chest now was anything but a handgun. Your mother had said that in order to keep good relations, your survival was very important.

Maybe you’d underestimated how important.

Passing off your coat and nodding to the person who takes it, you shift back into Nikto’s side and let him walk ahead.

“Do I make you nervous?” the question takes you back, but as your heels begin clicking in uneven steps to the marble floor, your reply is simple.

“No.” His eyes scan the entrance as the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses meet your ears, making them twitch.

Nikto moves his shoulders, nodding his head to the M13. “This?”

You pause, brows furrowing slowly. “Not…not when you’re the one holding it.”

Pale eyes shift to lock with yours, and the flare of your flesh along his back makes him bite back his tongue from uttering anything else. A grunt moves across the area.

“Good.” Then, firmer, as if to reassure you, “We will not use it tonight.”

“Then why bring it,” your face is curious, form getting closer to the opening at the end of the hallway.

Gray eyes shimmer. “Threat.”

You can’t dwell on the revelation before the main room of the building unfolds in front of you.

You’d grown so used to these things and the events that took place during them, that you no longer cared about the expensive decor. This was no different, though you did admit they went all out. From the gargantuan chandelier on the ceiling, greenery and elegant gems were strung like hanging vines. At any given point, servers would walk around with sweets and champagne on, what you assumed, to be silver platters. Everyone was dressed to the very best of their abilities—dresses, suits, jewelry; makeup.

Whispers are rampant, that murmur of secretive conversation in Russian and fast eyes to others all around.

This was a party of equal opportunity, and your boss had sent you to be the most alluring of all. It was already working.

People look over and blink in shock, whether at your dress or seeing you here at all, you don’t truly care. Men jeer, gazing openly as their eyes slip down to your chest and legs. Clearing your throat, you stutter for a moment and carefully lean your head closer to Nikto’s muttering casually even as your heart pounds. The words feel like poison as they slip out of you.

“I may have to slip away for a little bit to meet with potential investors for AMA.” Immediately, there are firm and heavy eyes digging into you.

“Нет.”

“Nikto,” you stop yourself from biting into your lip as a server comes over—you smile stiffly and quickly grab a flute, fingers tapping it only once before you curl your digits around it. “I have to, this is my job. I was sent here for a reason.”

“And this is mine,” he says. “You will go nowhere that I can not see, Seraph. That is not up for question, yes?”

You begin to open your mouth again, a kind of stiff refusal that is entirely foreign to you. Nikto has already picked up on that—his hidden face tight and confused; fingers twitching to try and understand.

And then someone walks up to you.

“Seraph,” you get called into conversations that you care not to be in, and brushed by hands that shouldn’t be touching you. Hands that hold rings and bracelets, pulling intention that your body writhes at. You don’t know anyone here, but all of them know you.

They know your body.

You smile when you know it’s acceptable, and you see Iakov in the crowd as well, always glancing over before he’s once more lost. Flashing cameras, though now it’s more subdued, but they still always follow you. The woman who had made news because of that steadily growing problem.

Nikto stays a respectable distance away, but you never lose sight of him. An ever-present dog at your heels, who walks with a high-held tail and sharp ears. More than once you’d seen him throw vile glances at the people who talked to you—specifically the ones who only spoke in Russian.

You’re leveled with swift and jumbled sentences, making your head burn with how you try to take the throaty language in an attempt to decipher it. More than once you have to wave up a hand and shrug helplessly, embarrassed at the disgusted looks you get, and Nikto moves forward with a bark of something.

People move away faster at that, of course.

Until Oriel Grigorovich Tarkovsky.

His hand is resting on the back of your shoulder blade, thumb moving up and down on your flesh. Older—he had to be in his late fifties, wrinkles were on his face surrounding sly eyes, and a beard. He looks down at you like a piece of meat, and only because that was exactly what you were. He organized this party. He was why you were here.

Rich, influential, and looking for investments wherever he could stick his fingers. He also had a daughter your age, whom he was considering sending to AMA. Like all rich men, he needed a reason to feel he was winning something out of it.

Sometimes, you don't have to wonder why they always put you into white.

“Fedorov told me you were back to doing parties,” Tarkovsky chuckles, the watch on his wrist glinting in the light. “I did not believe him.” He licks his lips, looking down at you as your fingers quiver, reaching for your fourth flute of champagne this evening. You want to be drunk for this.

The gray liquid sloshes in your grip and you fake a laugh, body tingling.

“Here I am,” you don’t offer more than a glance his way before staring ahead again.

“I expected the other girl—tall blonde.” A small grumble, slight annoyance emanating from under his breath.

“Aly couldn’t make it, unfortunately.” You clear your throat. “Mr. Fedorov only sent me. I hope that’s acceptable?”

Fingers tighten over your flesh. “I suppose. You look well enough in that dress.” Lips near your ears, making you restrain a heavy flinch. “I hope you look just as good without it. Fedorov knows I can be a generous man, let’s make sure he gets what he thinks he will, hm?”

Dark eyes dig down into you, and Nikto, who stands far behind near the wall, taps his fingers against the barrel of his gun. He can’t hear what’s being said, but he doesn't like it regardless. You don’t look comfortable, yet you haven't once looked back at him to show you needed him to intervene. Nose scrunching from behind his balaclava, the Russian’s gloved fingers flex above his weapon.

He needed to get his head screwed back on, and the lingering scent of your perfume was addling him. Your actions in the bedroom.

“Сосредоточиться,” he orders under his breath, glancing away from the back of your head, and what he knows that lies there.

No one has approached him while he’s been here, but all flock to you. Nikto takes a head count, memorizing faces and the names that seep into his ears. Everyone here glances at him and then quickly averts their eyes, but that second is enough.

If your stalker was here, Nikto could point him out if he had to. But then again, the man’s eyes slip to stare in reverence at his M13, he might be able to put a stop to this once and for all—his way. Those investigators of yours were worth less than the dirt under his boots.

Pale blue eyes move through dresses and suites of every color, unphased until they lock back onto your white pureness. Your goodness.

Except for the fact that you’re gone.

Startling, the guard’s body is rendered iron-rod stiff before action is taken like a bullet to a brain. Pale eyes snap back and forth; rabid.

Feet slamming forward, a low growl echoes in Nikto’s chest, shoulders wound up just as much as they’d been when you’d entered in on him changing.

“Seraph!” He has no reservations about barking over the noise, and his large body shoves people over without a second thought.

He won’t admit it to himself, no, never, but the feeling he forces down is far more than duty or pride. It makes Nikto’s blood pump as his black-ink form shoulders your media coordinator and his gaggle of lessers, all calling after him to try and get him to come back. Cameras flash, rich people curse at him.

The Russian’s skin itches—his breath is low and heavy. The only thing that mattered was finding you again. Quickly. Efficiently. Without a single scratch hurting you. You can’t have gotten far. With his head constantly at a swivel, it was like a dove to a hellhound as the hard set of Nikto’s eyebrows peeled back.

Pale blue locks onto a whisper of your gown as you turn a corner far off into the party, and then he shouts. You were too far.

Too far from him.

“Птичка!”

—

Your face is devoid of blood, and more than once you clip your thigh on the side of some table or decorative statue going down the hallway.

You’re led with a hand so hard on your bicep, that you fear it’ll bruise. A part of you had wanted to tell Nikto about the real reason you both were sent out of Yekaterinburg, but a larger part knew that if you wanted things to smooth over, then it was imperative that you didn’t. You’d be back to the rest of the party soon. Maybe you can say that you had to rush off to find the restroom.

You knew that Nikto had already picked up on something making you nervous to come here, but you were always nervous now.

Just get it over with, you think to yourself, pearls clacking as they connect to one another. It’s no different than all the others—just block it out.

“Have you met your soulmate yet, Girl,” Oriel asks. “I can’t imagine letting my own get played with like this. I keep her tight to me, even if most days I hate her guts.” Dark eyes narrow, and a kiss is pressed to the corner of your mouth. “But she fucks good, so I suppose that makes up for it.”

Eyes not looking into his, you wipe at the left-over saliva and state, numbly, “I don’t know.”

Confusion litters the old man’s face, and he drags you closer to his chest. You let out a surprised yelp at the pain in your arm from his grip. A sheen of fear mildly makes you want to call for Nikto to come barreling down the hallway.

I don’t want this. I don’t want this. I don’t. I’ll take being fired—I’ll take the social suicide, please, I can’t do this again.

You want a bear tattoo and burn scars—you want burning flesh. Rotting wood. Dark metal.

Pale eyes.

“What—?” A hand wraps Oriel’s wrist and completely snaps it back.

A crunch of bone leaves itself ingrained into your mind far faster than the scream, and only your stick-open eyes can process it.

Stumbling back as a strong grip shoves you behind his shadow, you snap a hand to your mouth and gasp loudly. Heart pounding, you place your palm on Nikto’s back to steady yourself; your raw shock is more intense by the second.

“N-Nikto!” You yell, but he’s not looking at you—he’s not listening to you.

It’s a low and steady command that meets the air, left in an accent so thick you struggle to understand it as your head swirls.

“Do not touch.”

Oriel still shouts and grasps at his wrist, which bares bone to the light in the form of a brutal and bleeding compound fracture. You gaze from over Nikto’s side, hand not leaving the firmness of his spine as fingers press deeply and dig into the expensive fabric; creasing it.

Your head goes a bit light, truthfully.

The old man divulges into his native tongue, curing loudly, screaming in that fearful desperation that you know well—a hiccup of horror was the best way to describe it, really.

But you were only looking for a mere second before you were suddenly being dragged off down the hallway.

Mouth opening and closing, your heels skid across the hard floor, and with your other hand quickly sliding up to claw into Nikto’s sleeve, you’re rendered speechless. It isn’t long before the Russian turns a corner, and then, nearly instantaneously, rips open the door labeled ‘складское помещение’ and moves you inside.

It’s only then does sense return.

“Nikto,” you shout, eyes blinking wildly as your hand connects with a wall. It was dark in here—and there were metal racks on one side; mops and buckets. A storage room. “What the fuck did you just do?!”

The Russian doesn’t answer, but when you’re fully able to look at him without squinting—eyes adjusting—it’s a very angry and silent man who greets you.

Nikto’s hands are clenched, and across the front of his hidden face, there’s a spray of dark liquid across his visible eyebrows and nose bridge.

“What did we say to you, hm?” He utters, not looking away. Your lips fall into a flat line, heart already going far faster than it should be. A guilty tingle of hesitation makes your shaky hands increase until you’re like a woman out on ice. “Tell me.”

Your brain is deathly still.

Nikto takes three firm steps forward, and then his fingers are under your chin, and he moves it up as you pant, eyes tiny.

I can’t tell him, you think. I can’t tell him that. He’ll never look at me the same if I do—no one ever does. I can’t tell him.

“Tell me,” Nikto growls, and your throat bobs, lips wobbling.

“You said not to get out of your line of sight,” you breathe, locked into pale orbs that spear you like a snake.

“And what happened?”

“I left,” you whisper.

Damn this corset—damn this dress. Black dots shimmer in the sides of your vision. You’re breathing too fast; the women laced it up too tight. Lungs tight against your ribs, you clear your throat and attempt to calm down. You’re not sure if Nikto is helping, or making it worse.

“Why?” He asks as you move back from him, trying to focus. “I did not take you as a woman who leaves to get…” rough words trail in a low growl. Nikto scoffs, looking you up and down. Something sparks in his eyes, a roving monster stuck behind pupils. “No one touches, until we clear them.”

“It isn’t like that,” you’re desperate to say something similar, and you don’t know why. You quickly shift, knees hitting together until you right yourself. Nikto watches after you, head-turning and emotions unreadable.

“It’s not like that, really. I wasn’t going to…” But you were, weren’t you? You clear your throat again, fingers pulling at the front of your corset—too tight.

Suddenly air was hard to come by, and it was worse than what it had been in the bedroom. When you speak, it’s a painfully fast spillage of words—a flood of fear.

“It’s not like that,” you repeat for the third time. “I…I it’s not like I have a say in it, you need to understand. It’s what I get sent here for—I’m not,” your eyes snap everywhere but at him, and you keep trying to back up farther. Nikto stares. “I never want to, it’s not my choice. I was going to try and explain it earlier—”

“Seraph.”

“—But none of it would have made any sense, and then I’d have to go back to AMA and…and then I’d get let off because of the deals Fedorov made going unfulfilled. I’d be out of a job, out of a home, I can’t go into anything else because I’m not good enough to—

“Seraph!”

“I wouldn’t be able to get another job with everything that’s wrong with me, and then I’d have to tell my mom that everything fell through. I can’t do that—I can’t lose this, it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore,” a hitched sob slips out, and then there are hands stuck at your cheeks.

Nikto’s heart is heard through his suit, fast and hard. You suck down wheezing breaths, tears dripping off of your lashes and a certain far-away look to your eyes as the Russian moves out quick words you can’t hear.

Too tight. Suffocating.

There’s a moment of nothing, and then gloved fingers are grasping at our shoulder and moving you around, a snap of laces as quick as a cat’s claws, and then a ripping of fabric. A gleam of a cruel knife as a rifle bounces off a chest.

You gasp sharply. Air once more gets moving down your closing airways as the two edges of the corset are opened in one fast push and a hand sticks itself at your pulse.

“Breathe, Seraph. Дышать, Птичка. Slowly, now.”

Your back is to the wall, and you don’t even realize it before fingers weave to cup the base of your skull, Nikto’s knuckles scraping against the material so your skull won't. Blinking through the vile tears that slip past your cheeks, your wide eyes flutter and snap about, mouth open like a stressed animal. The air is hot—sweltering, but you can’t stop the way your body is shivering.

“Stop,” Nikto utters, and the heavy set of concern in his visible skin is bare even to you. “Do not speak. Успокойся. У меня есть ты.”

You don’t know what he’s saying, but the way the harsh words bleed into comfort is just about the most addicting sound you’ve ever heard.

“I…”

“Hush,” Nikto tilts his head in a shake. His grip and gaze are not for one moment straying. “Listen to us, yes?”

So you do, and when he hesitates, when his body tenses, and when his forehead lightly bends down to bump into yours, you continue to listen even as the delayed shock sets in.

“You are leaving and you are coming with me. I am taking care of you. That is it.” Every word is hard. It’s like a stamp at the end of a letter—nothing bleeds as the mold forms to wax. Dog-ish eyes and a heavy creasing to the flesh around his sockets. There was no room for debate. You shouldn't have expected anything else, really.

Violent dogs rarely give a reason for why they take to softened flesh.

You can’t nod, but the heat of his body melts into you one temperature rise at a time. You’re guessing your face gave something away because Nikto grunts softly from above you.

“That is it. Good.”

“I wanted to tell you,” you whisper, tears dripping off of your jaw.

“You just did.” Nikto mumbles. “There will be no more of it. None. We will take this one problem at a time.” He pauses, the fabric of his balaclava shifting over your flesh. “But we will not allow this to continue. Нет. No.”

You don’t have the strength to argue right now, certainly not when he’s here—so willingly close to you and letting you bend into him like a stem to the wind.

“Sorry,” you whisper and only hear a large sigh in response. But Nikto doesn’t comment on the apology, only lightly squeezes the base of your skull and blinks at you.

Your breath mixes with his, and his dark lashes move as his eyes shift over your face. A large thumb comes up to swipe at your tears, pushing them back as a wobbly smile goes over your face. The tension in the air was still there. An underlying anger.

Because, and make no debate, Nikto was angry.

Angry at himself for losing sight of you, angry at that man for touching you in that way, and…and he was angry at you. Angry that you’d not told him about your body being sold like goods—that you’d come here while dealing with a million other problems, and still, you’d held this one close to you. But nothing could beat the burning rage at that fly-eyed CEO.

Suddenly, a broken wrist on a man seemed pointless. Bloodlust shimmered; broken bone was too easy a thing to get away with.

And he was angry, too, at the worry that you make him feel.

He’d never felt that to this extent before—save for men in his old unit, of which none he holds to that same loyalty anymore.

And you. A woman dressed in a beautiful white dress, contrasting the rabid unholiness branded into Nikto’s soul with every step and swell of lungs—the lungs that had stuttered when you stayed near to him. Leaning into him. Breathing him down.

Such things as this were against everything he’d told himself to forget; to cast into the fire with his stabbed and burned flesh. To throw away like a slim hope of ever finding a soulmate that would complement his flaws without even speaking.

A soulmate? Nikto had discarded that reality to the blood of the corpses he left in his wake.

Ever since he’d come back from the bleak nothingness of a momentary death in that concrete room, blood on his flesh and rope around his limbs, and found himself seeing in all color.

And then you’d walked through that door in the Consulate building, and he’d seen your face—open, curious. You were different to him, and he couldn’t understand why. It scared him, there was no use denying it.

This violent, desperate need.

Your touch was like a drug. A deadly pair of fingers around his neck; sliding down his scars until he was left panting and begging for it like a mutt.

Mutt, mutt, mutt, that was what he was. A dog, a large, brutish, beast of a thing that shadows you and lets you use him. Collar to neck, leash in hand.

“Nikto?” You ask him, and he knows that even being a pet was what he would revel in, if only he could be called yours.

“Что это такое?” Your eyes blink slowly, tears in the lashes, and the Russian repeats. “What is it?”

“I really do think you’re beautiful, for what it counts.” Your hands are on his chest as you whisper to him. “I just thought you should know.” A small, weak, chuckle. The light in your eyes was slowly coming back, and your heart was gradually returning to an even pace.

It’s only then do you both realize how close you are to one another. But no one moves.

“I think your scars are pretty. I wanted to tell you, but,” you smile, another tear slipping out. “I got nervous.”

It’s a ploy to change the conversation into something more comforting, and Nikto is astounded by how fast it works on him.

Clever, he thinks. If he were a dog, you would be the fox.

His own pulse now skips a beat, and he’s back to that deer-in-headlights mindset that he had in the bedroom. He doesn’t know how to respond to this.

Nikto grunts, eyes shifting away as he leans more heavily into you, acutely aware of your grip on him. His suit is suffocating like a noose.

“You do not have to lie,” he huffs, eyelids narrowing. “You should not have seen them.”

After a moment of hesitation, your fingers move to brush against his jaw, capturing it and drawing his attention back. Pale eyes flinch wider, locking quickly with your own.

“I’d never lie to you,” you utter, and the man’s hidden lips part. “Not about that.” Your breath pauses. “I like them. Believe me?”

“...Да. Я верю тебе.”

His grip slides to your waist, sitting above your hips. He can say he believes that you believe that, of course. He didn’t doubt you.

Nikto doesn’t know the words that spill from his lips, and he also doesn’t know how long you’ve both been there as people rush past outside, calls of alarm on the air. He knows you don’t look away from him—he knows you look beautiful, yourself, even if he knows you don’t want to hear it.

So he blinks slowly and softly utters as the pads of his gloved thumbs run circles into your flesh, playing along the slit of your dress.

“Hideous.”

It’s after a tiny moment that your giggles meet his ears that he can truly sigh into you and grunt out a rare chuckle. Hands roaming his chest, you hum, eyes soft.

“That was funny…are you making jokes now?”

“Perhaps,” he huffs. “Do you like them?”

Your head shifts, and before Nikto can realize it, a kiss is placed above his balaclava directly where his lips would be—those cut and brutalized things. That half of a Glasgow smile. Frozen, your hands spread over his abdomen melted into him as the press of the rifle in between you is of little concern, digging against your lace-cut corset.

Pale eyes are wide open, staring into the wall as you breathe against him.

“Yes.”

“Seraph,” Nikto lowly warns, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t reacting the same. The Russian’s fingers tighten on your flesh.

You move back and re-attach your forehead to his, and both of you stare. Not another word is uttered, but in the air that same fire from before flickers. Nikto swallows down saliva and watches your throat bob with the same nervous and, yet eager, self-soothe.

A second. Two. Three.

A beast can’t move from the promise of a warm invitation.

“Tell us,” Nikto grunts, his fingers flinching. “...Tell us what you need.”

You take a long, low breath. Adrenaline coursing your veins, mixing with some semblance of warmth.

“You.”

Nikto stares, studying, and a stuttering dip of your hand slips to his belt, staying there. A minute passes before one hand goes to wrap your wrist firmly; shifting it back to your side.

“No,” he whispers, emotions unreadable. Nikto’s shoulders widen, feet moving close to yours. A slight sinking feeling emanates from your stomach embarrassment infecting your veins, until he speaks again. It didn’t feel right.

“Not like that, hm?”

Your face creases in confusion, pupils wide, before Nikto’s hand dips into the slit of your dress. You gasp lightly, and the man watches without blinking, humming under his breath as he grips at the lace layer and pulls harshly.

A rabid rip of fabric emanates around the storage room, and your heart pounds against your chest. Pulse flaring, your attention doesn’t stray even as your legs twitch open, electricity over the air. Nikto’s hand slips in, but as gloved fingers trail over the top of your panties, he licks at the corner of his lips.

He waits, stiff—stuck like a pillar of stone.

Neither of you thinks that this is an entirely smart idea, but even now your insides have turned to mush, a slickness seeping out of your core as your thighs tingle. You were never against sex, but you were cautious with it; especially with everything going on, most of the time it was a quick affair that never even got you off.

You’d never…had someone work at you like this—care enough to not seek their own pleasure. It excited you and, at the same time, made you hesitant.

You hadn’t expected this.

“Let us take care of you,” Nikto murmurs, head tilting as you shiver and shake. “Make you feel good, yes?” He grunts, looking down and you feel his fingers twitch, palm moving to cup your cunt. You breathe heavily, a small whine slipping out as the heel of his hand brushes your clit. “Give us an order, Seraph. Leave, or no?”

“No, stay,” you instantly push out, hand slipping down and sliding between the M13 and latching onto his forearm. The Russian stares. “Stay,” you say again, firmer.

Nikto hums in approval, lightly grinding his hand in a bit harder. Your mouth opens, eyes fluttering. Your insides bunch and tighten, teeth biting your lip as a shiver moves your spine; an itch that needs to be scratched deep in your abdomen.

Nikto’s palm rubs slowly, and your hips move with it, trailing farther open the longer his actions continue. You sigh, small noises in your throat that exit into the air as the material of your panties gets stained with slick. It felt good—very good. It was the push of hard pressure and the subsequent vanishing of his hand that made you desperate for it; white dress flowing around your feet.

The Russian’s large feet step closer, and he leans into you with his face going to your ear.

“That expression,” he breathes, smirking. “It looks good on you.” His palm grinds harder, and you gasp, nails digging into his flesh as your brows tighten, M13 almost like a tree branch as it rubs against your chest with every movement. “Little face, skin screwed up.”

“Nikto,” you huff.

“Hm?” he asks, boots going to shove open your legs farther. “Don’t worry—we won’t let you fall, Seraph. I want you to feel it, yes?”

You want to think about how this messy situation just got a whole lot messier, but then thick fingers are pulling at the elastic of your lace and letting it snap back to your skin. Your hips jump, eyes jerking over to stare at the man who chuckles under his breath at your frazzled attention and fast-blinking eyes.

Your dripping cunt is left to pulse around nothing as the scent of sweat and carnal action perforates the storage room. Getting touched back here wasn’t on your plans for the night, but, damn, if Nikto’s eyes were going to be watching you like a hawk, giving attention solely to you and not the hard-on that ruts against your abdomen, then you’d willingly become his mouse.

His claws could enter your skin without a fight.

You stare at him, breathing hard and your thighs desperate to close as the chill of your ruined panties makes itself known. Your tongue licks at your lips, and pale eyes follow before leather gloves move.

“Wet,” he grunts next to your ear, groaning as his fingers move to play, shifting your clothing until the fatness of his digits are sliding up and down the length of your slit, gathering what he can with every intentional brush of your clit. The sounds can be heard through the layers of fabric—the squeak of leather. “Hear it, Girl, hm? Hear that?”

You nod, panting harder as your feet shift unconsciously to his teasing.

“Inside, Nikto, please,” your mouth breathes, voice tight. “Feels good.”

“Patience, Птичка. You’re not ready for that.” Pressure moves over your weeping cunt, feeling it, circling. “Let me play, first.”

You moan softly as his wet thumb moves up to your clit, circling until your desperation makes you whine at him to move faster than this slow, tortuous, pace.

Nikto clicks his tongue, his hand still behind your head and cupping the base of your skull, he angles your chin up and stares down at you, puffing a breath with every grind of his limb.

“I’ll give you my fingers, Seraph, I promise. Я обещаю.” You can hear the brush and sound of shifting wet skin, leather gloves moving slightly quicker as your noises start to increase. All the while, those pale eyes stare, wide and blown to the max.

If you had to take a guess, above the fog of your brain and the building pressure in your core, he was getting off on this just as much as you were.

Strange, you’d never seen someone so eager to have you cum on their hand before.

Your breath hitches, legs shaking.

“Look at that,” Nikto breathes. “Nikto’s good girl.”

You clench over nothing at that, locking eyes and face pulling in, pearls clicking together in a steady rock.

“Harder,” you order, lips swollen from being bitten over and over again. “Fuck, Nikto harder, I need it.”

“You like getting off like this?” He tilts his head, keeping you pressed against the wall, gun stuck between the two of you—hard metal and heavy pressure making your mind almost lose itself to the hypnosis of the groves and bulges. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” you say it louder than you intend, moaning when his pace increases.

Your legs move and tighten, eyes going glossy as your whines get tighter and faster. Slick drips from your cunt and its stretched panties, dripping near booted feet and the flinching heels.

The word is whispered in your ear as your first orgasm rips you open, your breath getting caught and your eyes shuddering closed; walls tightening and flexing, needy for anything to fill it.

“Beautiful.”

There’s little waste in between, and even as your lungs heave and your mind fights to focus, there’s a prodding at your pulsing hole. Gloved fingers push inside, and your brain short circuits.

“Leaking,” Nikto breathes, feeling your cum dribble off of his hidden knuckles. He looks hungry for it—and the erection that tents his dress pants aches something painful. But he isn’t hungry for that. His heavy hand can do all the work he needs, if he must. He’s hungry for that pleasure on your face; that mindless arousal and the thin line between sense and animalistic instinct. He didn’t need to stuff you full of his cock to watch your face blow out with release, and with that, he felt nearly smug.

He wanted to show you how good it could be to be attended. He can’t make it all better, but he can certainly redefine what it means for you one orgasm at a time. You had said you wanted him, and he was selfish in the way he wanted you—until he felt you were ready to get stretched open under him, naked to his eyes as his pelvis fucked into yours, he’d give you this, instead.

Two fingers enter your drooling pussy, and the squelch of the flesh is vulgar as they start to fuck you open until the entire length is engulfed in heated flesh and textured walls.

You whimper airly, body numb and still reeling from before, the same sparks itching at your skin as another coil forms as your mindless hips snap. It’s a stretch, a small burn around the ring of your entrance as it yields willingly.

“Nikto,” you cry, head shifting to press into his shoulder. You didn’t know what else to say. Your own fingers had never stretched you like this. The slap of skin makes you clench, and the Russian groans lowly in his chest, chuckling.

“Tight for me,” his digits curl, and your back arches, hands snapping to his waist as you stare pleasure-blown from over his shoulder before more feral sounds bounce off the walls. “Give me a second one. Let me feel you break.”

Nikto whispers into your ear, fingers carefully on your scalp and caressing the hair—a calm de-escalation that doesn’t match with the abuse of his bullying fingers minute after minute.

The fact that he had snapped a man’s entire wrist with the very hand that was playing with your cunt was lost to you. But it was a shameful admission that, if you had been thinking about it, you would have shattered far sooner than later.

“God,” you moan, shoving your burning face into his neck, keening into it, and gasping. “Want you to feel it. Never felt this good with something inside of me—working me so well.”

His fingers crook inside of you again, digging; searching. He finds that point again, incredibly easy, and continues to stroke it with every fast flex of his arm. You clench your eyes shut, arms tensing.

“Yes?” Nikto smirks, arrogant. “We are glad. You are my charge, Seraph. Remember that.” He leans in close to your ear, humming as the sweat under his suit makes him chuckle. “Want to make sure you are always satisfied.”

Your stomach rolls, and the pace of his digits increases as his palm brushes your sensitive clit, making you shake and whine at the overstimulation. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it ached in such a way that made the pleasure sharp like a knife.

“Break for us,” the Russian mumbles, grinding his palm between every thrust of ruined gloves.

The second orgasm is stronger than the first, and it makes you bite down on the man’s neck in a play to try and silence the loud, long, mewl that escapes your lips. Nikto grunts and feels your walls spasm, trying to push him and force him in all at once.

It was instinctual the way his mind went to how it would feel around his dick, but the thought was put on hold until tonight when he could do all of the imagining he wanted.

He’d wait until you went to bed, and then he’d shift out of his belt and shove his hand into his pants like some desperate boy. Fisting his cock to the remembrance of your cunt and your hips—the clench of your thighs as cum dribbles down his wrist and soaks his suit sleeve.

A mutt he was.

He’d keep jerking himself off until he was whining from the pain his red tip would cause him, spending so much seed onto his clothes that they weren't even worth keeping. Legs shaking and hips rutting into the air, eyes blown wide open and staring at your bedroom door. It was shameful, he admitted, but he’d never claimed to be anything but.

And then he’d keep going.

You snap him out of his thoughts, sagging against Nikto’s chest and panting, hands clenching and unclenching into his sides. The Russian feels the large stain of pre-cum on his pants and finds it pointless to try and hide.

Licking his lips, he hisses at the brush of fabric at his erection, but only grinds once into your body before he pulls his fingers from your heated core and breathes into your ear. He’s patient. He can wait.

His heart is rabid, and yours is too, but the tired smile into his black and blue neck is welcome, he thinks. Sweat dribbles from his brow.

“I am taking you back.” A teasing pause as you sigh, fluttering an eye open. You’d expected him to take something from you, maybe. But leaving? Without any expectation of you getting on your knees for him? Without sitting in his lap and letting him rail you open? A tiny smile moves your face up—something far more pure than the actions that had just taken place moving softly to your flesh. Nikto was just…strange.

But you suppose that made two of you.

“Sore? Do we need to carry you?” The man huffs, eyes glimmering.

For now, there was only a calmness—the explanations would start tomorrow, a long and hard one, but now…now it was just a still middle point of the aftermath and the events yet to come. A peaceful present.

A joint pair of tired chuckles wafts out of the storage room, where a man stands alone, hands clenched.

This dark shadow looms as the party is cut short by the result of the host getting his wrist snapped, worried looks moved out and high calls of alarm. Yet, he stands, listening. Unmoving to what he just heard.

What he’d cracked the door to witness with burning eyes.

There’s something about him that isn’t quite right—a bit ragged in appearance, blinking quickly as if in an animalistic shock. Blond hair a mess as if it’s been run through multiple times.

He breathes heavily, eyes stuck to the door.

And then he’s gone before the two individuals can walk out moments later.

TAGS:

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sentientfunfetti · 6 months

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killer!wally/reader hcs

(killer wally and his au were made by @itskorrychang on tumblr and twitter! go support their work!)

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!

CW// THEMES OF DEATH, POSSESSIVENESS, ABANDONMENT AND LONELINESS.

when you two first meet, he’s wary of you and a lot more aggressive. that is until you show that you’re not a threat. it takes a while, but when he finally does fall for you he’s head over heels. to the point you can’t leave his sight. he follows you everywhere.

due to the fear of you abandoning him, and him being all alone again, it’s only natural that he takes steps to make sure that just won’t happen. let it be locking doors, hiding keys, not answering questions. he hates lying, but if it makes you stay the he’s all for it. some things are better kept secret, after all.

speaking of questions: he loves both asking and answering them…but everyone has their limits. unfortunately for you, you tend to reach that limit very easily. if you ask too many too much, he’ll just…stare at you. eyes wide. pupils dilated. lips pressed into a thin line. silent…then carry on as if nothing happened! try not to push his buttons too much. he’s not above putting his pallet knife to use…

can’t imagine a world without you. you’re the kindest neighbor ever, after all!

loves everything about you. especially your eyes. eye contact was a bit hard for him after he lost one of his own, but after you showed up and showed you were accepting of that fact, oh boy did he love that. he loves your eyes, the color, the way they widen when your surprised…the fact you have both of them…

paints you religiously. he doesn’t even need you to model anymore. it seems like every time you turn around theres a new piece, or doodle of you somewhere.

more than anything, he just loves having you around. you brighten his day, make him smile, ease the pain of loneliness. you’re just so sweet. you make him feel warm and fuzzy. he can’t get enough of you.

as soon as you break down his walls, he’d do anything for you. anything. draw blood, trash all of his paintings, take his other eye. anything. all he wants to do is make you smile. make you stay. make you want him. he still doesn’t fully understand romance, or love, but all he knows is that you make him feel something new. something good.

if you two fight, he immediately comes to you apologizing. he’d break into sobs if you didn’t forgive him, and immediately beg you to stay. don’t leave him. if you refuse…well…

in short, he would make you stay if he needed to. he can’t have his favorite neighbor leaving so soon! he’d tie you up to a chair, and feed you everyday. he’d take good care of you. he’d let you out one day if you promise not to try and leave again. if not, then, it’s back to the chair! womp womp!

also loves the fact you’re taller than him. loves when you pick him up and move him around, the fact you have to look down at him, the fact you can cradle him so easily in your arms, he loves sleeping with you, and watching you sleep. you look so peaceful…

speaking of sleep. he’s plagued by nightmares and night terrors (yes those two things are separate things and conditions). you wake up to him screaming and kicking frequently, begging for his late neighbors to stay, for them to stop. at first, you were to afraid to comfort him, or wake him up, but after a bit you began to hold him close, whispering that it was just a dream in his ear as you watch his body relax.

he loves watching you sleep. when he wakes up from nightmares in the middle of the night and you aren’t woken up by his tossing and turning, he just sits up and watches over you. he feels nice knowing that you and him are safe there, together. you’re safe with him. always.

sometimes, he enjoys taking care of you too. he’ll sing to you as you fall asleep, tell you stories, teach you how to draw, anything that puts a smile on your face and makes your day.

when you two aren’t painting or overall just hanging out together, one of his favorite things to do is cuddle you. he loves feeling your body against his (not like that calm down), and he loves looking into your eyes while you two cuddle. more than anything, he loves listening to your heartbeat. it’s something he lacks, and he’s fascinated by it.

he’s fascinated about everything biological with you. one thing he can’t seem to grasp is the fact you can eat…like actually eat. with your mouth. he gasped when he first saw you bite into one of the apples he gave you. he also loves how squishy you are. the feeling of your skin is different than his fuzzy skin. he lets you ask your questions about his anatomy too…as long as you don’t ask too much.

has frequent hallucinations, and episodes where he becomes frantic, irritated and paranoid. sometimes he accuses you of hurting his friends, and taking them away. as scary as it is, you take the time to calm him down, get the knife away from him, and remind him that you’re here for him. that you care. be appreciates this, and most times takes a nap afterwards having spent all his energy tearing the studio apart looking for his friends.

wants to introduce you to Barnaby one day…or at least what’s left of him. doesn’t allow you into the other neighbors houses AT ALL. “neighbor…it’s rude to go into other peoples houses without knocking…naughty naughty…!”

at the end of the day, he’s harmless. as long as you stick around and make sure he’s in high spirits, this can only end well!

author’s note ⊹˚. ♡

just wanted to do some killer wally hcs. i absolutely love this little guy! such a silly little fellow! wahoo!

anyway, i have a few requests to do and some more of my own hcs i wanna do. if you have any requests, don’t be afraid to request them! until then :3

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dimepdf · 1 year

Text

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒. + 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. you're tired of having to put up with your spoiled brat of a boyfriend, finally snapping at him readying to throw away being the ornament in his rich lifestyle until Toji shows you that not all Fushiguro men aren't giving.

pairing. toji fushiguro x reader , megumi fushiguro x reader

genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni, pwp, porn with plot, cheating au, hurt/comfort (?), dilf!Toji, jealousy, insecurity, toxic relationship, spoiled rich, eat the rich, age gap, size difference, height difference, biting, rough sex, man handling, pet names, daddy kink | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

Maybe it was shallow, staying in your almost four year long relationship while hanging onto that string of hope that maybe—just maybe—Megumi would wake from his stubborn, stuck-up, rich boy era and realize that you had truly stuck with him through thick and thin.

The first year of your relationship was all clear skies and cruising: being college sweethearts in love.

It was normal for you two to go through a few rough patches, and trying to figure out how to fit into each other's new adult lives was just even more difficult.

Well, apparently to the billionaire playboy, who has so much free time to party but not spend quality time with his girlfriend, but you promised to look past that!

The third-year mark hit, and you were just a girl willing to turn a new leaf and push aside all the insults your best friends would say under their breath about your man and just stick it out because you really did love Megumi, and that included all of his faults.

Including the times he'd make snobbish comments when you mentioned how you hadn't heard of a certain expensive food name, and how he'd seemingly vanish from the face of the earth, ignoring all of your texts and calls for weeks, only to show up on Instagram posting about being on some party cruise ship with all of his friends.

Recounting the many times When you two did spend time together, he was too busy on his PS4 ignoring your advances for sex.

Trying to break the month-long dry spell you were in, only getting some action if you fell to your knees and gave him a blowjob so he could completely disregard your needs after returning to his game.

But tonight was the final nail in the coffin.

When Toji invited his son and you to one of his opening events weeks in advance.

You gladly accepted and congratulated him on his hard work as a hot ass bachelor and CEO stacking up wealth as well as being a father to the bratty muck of a son like it was nothing.

You were genuinely proud of the older man for juggling his business life with such ease.

Megumi didn't seem to have the same idea, despite being entirely built up in the wealth of position that he had now because he had been simply handed a high position in the same field as his father.

You’d think that maybe he would have just a moderate amount of respect for his father, but unfortunately, that bar you had set was just too high for Megumi’s stuck-up personality.

Throwing a tantrum the entire time you two were getting ready for the event, it was made even more embarrassing by the fact that the Fushiguro men shared the same luxury mansion.

With the left wing dedicated entirely to Megumi's egocentric lifestyle and his pathetic rabble about how stupid and lame the "party" was going to be bouncing off the cold marble walls, no doubt reaching Toji on the other side of the home.

You had managed to lighten his mood by suggesting that he drive one of his annoyingly loud and brightly colored sports cars to the event.

the one that was so low that you would grunt every time you slid into the passenger's seat.

It wasn’t exactly comparable with the dark red slip dress that you were wearing, but you were willing to make a couple of sacrifices for Toji’s honor.

The event had started exactly as you had expected it to: on the red carpet, lined with celebrity guests, with higher-ups posing for pictures with the crowds of fans and paparazzi behind the dividers, shouting directions and names.

Being in the spotlight was still a little new to you, being thrust into the rich lifestyle took longer to get used to.

Especially when you had a boyfriend that loved to soak up as much attention as he possibly could.

That's why you shouldn't be surprised when Megumi gets out of his car, shoves the keys into the young valet's hand with a snide remark.

Glides past you, waves to all the paparazzi shouting his name, and welcomes the flashing lights with open arms.

Watching him walk down the carpet with his cookie-cutter poses and disappear inside the building leaves you trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

It took you an hour to find him through the crowd of people, tucked away in some inclusive section with people that flocked to him as if he were a goddess.

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it was just one person who had caught your eye, and he was completely distracted by another woman.

Whatever they were chatting about was enough to have him smiling quite genuinely—the smile that you hadn’t seen since the first few months of your relationship—the months you were convinced that Megumi cared about you and wasn’t using you as some perfect purse dog girlfriend for the media

You could only watch as she had gotten too comfortable, her hand resting on the front of Megumi's chest as he would lean down just to whisper something that she would find too fucking funny.

Completely immersed in the conversation that they had together enough to not be noticed for a while as the two chuckled to each other.

What makes it worse is that she was the first to notice you standing aside, her hand unmoving as she gave you a tight smile.

Megumi follows her stare, his expression falling just before he could catch it drawing you to his side. "Baby, there you are. I was looking for you all night," liar, but you still smile at his greeting. "___ this is Nobara, my friend from high school, she was the one to save my ass from failing every class."

"Meggy, you make it sound like we were just friends of my god." Nobara’s laugh had a high pitch to it, her smile never dropping as she playfully swung her hand at his shoulder, letting the hand rest there for a moment too long.

You keep it classy: "It's so nice to finally meet you. I don't think I’ve ever heard my boyfriend talk about you much, but then again, he had a lot of friends." Despite her open flirting with Megumi as if you weren't standing in front of her.

You weren't really in the mood to start a catfight, especially with so many eyes around.

"Wait a minute, Megumi, you finally got someone to tie you down, that's so unexpected!" She gasps, trying to entice something out of you, but you don’t bite the bait even when Megumi laughs loudly like he couldn't believe it himself.

"I know, I know, you won’t believe how many other people are also surprised." His callous response explains why people assumed he was single.

"I mean, gosh, you were just the school's famous playboy. I swear you told me that you preferred to just sleep around when I first asked you out." Her eyes trail down your dress, taking in your entire outfit.

"Look at you now, in a relationship with someone so... humble." She giggles, your fist knotting into the silk material of your dress as you suddenly become the subject of a joke that even Megumi has failed to stifle a laugh at.

"Some people can’t always be fixed," he continues, reaching his finger out to one of the drink staff and signaling a drink over. "But she's a looker; when she really wants to be, that's all that really matters."

Nobara laughs as your expression slowly drops, feeling like an ornament out of place. It wasn't uncommon for Megumi to give you backhanded compliments, but that didn't mean that it had hurt any less than the many other times he would downplay your attractiveness.

It doesn't even bother you that he doesn't even pretend like he cares that he had hurt your feelings, your face fell into a bored glare now that all the had ridden from your mood as their conversation continues.

You entertain yourself with more glasses of champagne being handed out by the staff, ignoring the sideways glances you would get from Megumi after watching you down every drink.

Any politeness you had felt was washed away with the warm tipsy buzz tasting on your tongue.

It wasn't enough to have you fully drunk though the last thing you wanted to do was unleash that side of you in such a professional place.

She boasted about taking an early flight to Paris the following morning for some modeling opportunity, which the more she talked about, the less you cared.

Like a prayer had decided it was time for her to veer away for the night, letting Megumi kiss the knuckle of her hand before leaving.

You could see the scowl on his face forming the moment she finally leaves you to let out a tired sigh, rolling your eyes as Megumi turns to glare down at you for whatever made-up shit reasons he was going to force the blame on you for.

"You could have been a lot nicer, you know," you hum in a gesture showing him that you didn't really care but chose to agree anyway.

"You don't see me acting like a bitch to any of your friends. Nobara is the most giving person I’ve ever known, maybe you could start taking notes from her instead of acting like you're better than everyone for once.'' The statement makes you laugh, the type of laugh that has your hand coming up to cover your face as you let out a snort.

It only catches a few people's attention, but they return back to their conversation without much comment.

And that's how the conversation ends because you just walk away, using your hand to hold a wine glass in his hand before returning to the thick of the crowd of people, leaving Megumi fuming in his circle of friends.

This night was about congratulating Toji for all of his achievements, and you weren't going to take anything away from that because of his spoiled asshole son.

So you divide your attention elsewhere, mingling with others as best as you possibly can all the way until the end.

The drive home was dead silent, possibly since Megumi never allowed you to control the radio while he was driving, let alone roll up your window.

You could only smile to yourself, knowing he was just so unhappy from the way he gripped his wheel in angry glances that he would give you to let you know that he was angry, ignored as you leaned your head against the window and watched the scenery pass by.

He doesn't stop, not even bothering to wait for you as he slams the car door shut and stomps his way to the bedroom.

You can only sigh as you slowly follow him, bracing yourself for whatever earful he's bound to give you.

The argument would always lead to him crying and shouting, Megumi just had the patience of a toddler who would blow up when he couldn't get anything that he wanted.

He was used to living his life with a silver spoon in his mouth and was too wrapped up in his own picture-perfect world to realize that other people around him were truly hurting.

You had gotten used to letting him blow some steam, calling you names, degrading your morals, and downplaying all of your insecurities, it was all just a loop.

The same things he'd say over and over, knowing they'd elicit some sort of reaction from you.

So you walked out.

Not literally, since you two had lived together and an Uber ride to the closest hotel would have been at least $100 bucks tops—fucking California—you just walked to one of many guest bedrooms that were on the other side of the house.

Kicking off your heels as they clacked against the cold marble floors, the one thing on your mind was how much you just wanted the day to end.

"Oh hey, ___, I was just looking for you." You had caught sight of Toji closing the front door, losing his gray tie with the other hand as he was dressed in a dark suit.

The older man looked incredibly handsome even when he wasn't all dressed up.

You were convinced there was something in the Fushiguro gene that just made every single one of them attractive.

"Me?" was all that you could manage, realizing that maybe you should've held back just a little on the champagne.

All of your compliments are thrown out the window at the mere sight of the self-made businessman.

You pretend not to notice him checking you out, shifting your weight to try to stop yourself from pressing your thoughts together as he advances closer to you.

"I was surprised you didn't say anything to me at the mixer," he grins, wrapping his muscly arm around your waist and leading you to the kitchen.

"You know how much I despise those things, and I was hoping you'd come to keep me company," he teased, his head leaning on top of yours as he pouted.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr.Fushiguro, I was just so tired from meeting everyone. I think I should actually end up in bed now." You mutter the last part, stopping in your tracks and taking a step back to shake yourself from his grasp.

Toji hesitates for a second, his eyes glancing over to the hallway that leads to his son's bedroom before turning back to you.

"How about you make up for the lost time?" He smiles, leaning in closer.

You couldn't fully recall what had happened to lead up to the moment, but before you knew it, you were all spread out with your chest resting against the kitchen island.

Standing on the tips of your toes as your hands were held pressed against your spine by Toji’s palm.

Hiccuping on pleas as his hand rested itself against the curve of your ass as his hips smacked roughly against your ass.

Watching the hilt of his dick disappear inside of your pussy burying himself inside of your stomach as you squirmed from the full feeling.

Your dress had been ruined by the wet stains on the fabric as well as the huge tear that ran up your side when Toji tore it in frustration trying to get it past your hips.

"You look even better without it anyway," he apologized before biting into your shoulder before you could respond.

"Ah, ah, not too loud, pretty girl." His gravelly voice cooed in your ear.

A whimper slipped out of you, catching your breath for just a moment before his hands could turn you around.

Pushing you against the edge of the counter just to get better leverage to grab the back of your thighs.

Picking you up with ease, your legs wrapped around his waist as your arms knotted around his neck, straddling his torso as he lifted you enough for his tip to press against you and his lower stomach.

Lifting you with just one arm in to position himself back inside of you, the action leaving you gasping in pleasure as he bounced you on his cock.

The weight of you fell, only burying the width of him to reach deeper parts of your body. Once he had gotten a good grasp around your legs, his pace was merciless.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout the kitchen as you buried your face in the crook of his neck to keep yourself from completely melting in his hold.

As your orgasm left you whining out his name, his hips piston inside of you through it.

Toji had caught you from falling back as he laid you against the kitchen counter, your back resting against the cold marbles as your chest rose and fell.

"You’ve never been fucked by a real man before, have you princess?" He sighs, spreading your thighs apart, before shoving back inside, your hips bucking against the bud of his thumb as it rubbed circles against your clit.

“Just lay back and let daddy show you how a real man should cherish you.”

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winterarmyy · 8 months

Text

Thin Walls, Thin Lines

What will happen if a fuckboy falls in love with a hopeless romantic?

Summary: Modern society surely had corrupted the mind of the hundred-something year old man, Bucky Barnes, when he seemed to have forgotten the art of courting a lady. Lost in lust and pleasure, he had been indulging with endless array of different girls on his bed almost every night. And the opposite side of that thin walls of his room, lives a hopeless romantic who he was madly in love with.

Navigation: Original Version || Deleted Scene* (alt. ending)

Pairing: fuckboy!bucky x female!reader

Words: 4.9k++

Warnings: avenger au, explicit language/contents, angst, lil bit of drama, fluff, please bare with the fuckery of bucky barnes, reader is sensitive yet quite fiesty too. i can't backup steve on this one, he is on his own.

A/N: As you can see from the navigation bar, we have two different endings for this fic, because I am greedy and indecisive. The original version ended with fluff and the deleted scene (alternate ending) ended with absolute filth of a smut. So... enjoy! 💕

P/S: And this is also my submission for @jessybarnes 's writing challenge. I have chosen "Kiss me again" from the prompt list and I hope you like the way I used it in this fic!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N has always been a hopeless romantic. She dreams of a love like the ones she read in books. She craved someone who loves her so deeply that she could never find peace in anyone else but him. She wanted all the love songs and poetry to be reminders of him; his beauty, his charms.

Fresh flowers, stargazing, coffee dates, kisses that tastes of cotton candy, warm cuddles, and every little things in between; she longed for it all. She dreams of a love that is so consuming until all that's left in that small bubble of infatuation is their entangled soul mending each other to the bone.

That's what makes her a hopeless romantic.

And very much the opposite of her was Bucky. He is an infuriating flirt. There's not a day goes by that he doesn't call her with sickeningly sweet nicknames; doll, gorgeous, princess, darling, you name it. He will definitely drop some suggestive lines at any given chance and most of the time when she least expected.

He can charm anyone just by his presence, and if you're lucky enough to get one of his infamous smile; then you best believe that you won't be going home alone that night, or able to walk proper the next morning. He is the typical playboy you know and hate; very often she'll see different girl in his arms or on his bed. And that man seemed to not know when to stop. Sometimes, she do wonder if he ever got tired of sex. Because she knows for certain that he can go on and on for hours, daily.

"Fuck,, that's it. Spread your legs for me. Yeah, 'atta girl."

Speaking of the devil.

This has been recurring for months now. It seems like the man never sleep because his voice would always wake her up. She couldn't decide what was worse; between being forced to hear the sounds of the skin slapping, the bed creaking, him groaning and her squealing or being a super light sleeper that even a whisper in her room would jolt her awake.

Y/N let out an annoyed grunt when she swoop her head under the pillow, hoping to silenced the noises even just a little bit. Surprise; it didn't help at all. Her body cringed and her face contorted into a squint when she hear the other woman announcing her release as the headboard hits the wall a little harder, a little faster.

Bucky Barnes sure is a fuckboy but unfortunately for her, he is also the man she fell in love with.

She refused to show it, but lord knows how much her heart simply swell to the sight of his smile. Despite the flirtatious tendencies of his, there was something about him that attracted her like a magnet; or like a moth to a flame.

Maybe it was his old soul, or maybe because she saw glimpses of timeless charm in him; the way he moves, the way he gazes, and the way treated her. Nevertheless, it was such a devastating thing for someone like her to fall for someone like him.

The last thing she wanted in a man, is to look at her like she was just a good fuck and nothing more. She just couldn't imagine herself to be tied with someone like that. And Bucky was exactly that someone.

Y/N haven't been able to get more than 2 hours of sleep for months now. The lack of it had caused her to drastically lose physical strength and lately fatigue has been a constant presence as well.

So she decided to go the medbay to consult Dr. Cho about it. After running some tests, she sat her down for some Camomile tea as she went through the results, "It seemed like the severe lack of sleep had took a really heavy toll on you."

Y/N sighed as she place the tea cup on the back on the table, "Yes, I am well aware of that. That is precisely why I am here."

"Nightmares?" Dr. Cho speculated.

If the definition of nightmare is 'the moans of the man, that she had a crush on, fucking someone else next door' then, yes. She was having long and nearly endless nightmares for months now.

"Something like that." She lied.

"Then, I have some medication that I can prescribe to you. You should take it daily after dinner and..." Before Dr. Cho managed to finish her instructions, Y/N quickly asked, "Is it possible to fix me without meds?"

Dr. Cho frowned curiously, "Why wouldn't take meds? That's the quickest way to help for your situation, as far as I know." she asked.

This was not her first rodeo; she had troubles sleeping back when she was merely teenager. And the last time tried using meds, she ended up almost overdosed herself from it, "It's just... I prefer not to." she evaded.

Dr. Cho nodded understandingly before clarifying the current situation, "Well then, I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do for you. Though some research suggested that meditation routine before sleep can help. Or putting up some natural ambience like the sound of rain or waves--"

Y/N wasn't really listening after the first sentence. Because all she could thought of was how much longer she can bare with this and what will it take for her to finally snap.

Y/N was dying. At least it felt like it.

With her deprivation of sleep and the intense combat training she had to go through today, her patience was reaching it's limit. After visiting the medbay 2 weeks ago, she had tried to approach Bucky about it but he always took it lightly.

There was series of insincere apology followed by a cheeky promise to 'keep the tone down' for her. But nothing changed. She asked him again and again; days gone by he didn't live up to the end of his bargain.

For those past week, Y/N had resorted to sleep in the living room for most of the nights. How she dreaded to leave her comfy bed but she could no longer tolerate the sounds coming from the other side on the wall. Though she still jolted awake from time to time due to how uncomfortable it was sleeping on a couch, but at least she got more than 2 hours of sleep if she was to compare to the nights she slept in her own room.

It's not she didn't notice it at all; she knew exactly how and why it happened. The habit of microsleeping that she developed during the course of this training. The slowed reaction time, the lack of energy, she can feel it. But, there was nothing she can do about it.

The only cure for this was to get some rest. A proper rest. And that can't happened, not without Bucky's cooperation.

When Y/N was marching towards the sargent who was sitting way across the gym; she could see how his eyes undress every piece of her clothing, how his tongue rolled out and his teeth sunk into his lips.

She wasn't even wearing anything remotely provocative but here he was lusting over the way her hips sway especially when he was the one she's walking towards.

The moment she stood in front of him, his mouth lifted into a smirk, "Yes, princess. How may I be of your service?" His voice was sultry and the way he towers over made her slightly nervous for no reason.

Her heart fluttered, yet her lips refused to form a smile, "Don't call me princess."

"I apologize, my queen." Bucky gave her a cheeky smile.

Y/N didn't want to drag this any longer than she should, so she quicky jump into it and said, "So you know how I’m like-"

"-absolutely embarrassingly in love with me? Yes, I'm familiar go on." Bucky cuts in. If panic ever rose in her chest, then she was doing an incredible job of hiding it, "Can you just shut up for a second and take me seriously?"

His eyes glint with flirtaous mischief when he replied, "Doll, you know the fastest way to shut me up is to kiss me."

Y/N simply sighed before she began to rant, "I really don't have the mood for this banter with you, Barnes. I just want you tone down your nightly routine. It is because of you I've been having trouble sleeping and--"

He quickly stopped her before she nags even more than she already did, "Okay, okay I get it. We've been through this, doll." Bucky's face lit up when he suggested, "How about I help you sleep, hmm? I may know a thing or two about tiring someone out." There was surely something unholy in those steel blue eyes of his.

And Y/N picked it up rather quick, but considering the amount of times he had insinuate something more than just a friendly banter, then of course she knew exactly what he was suggesting, so she simply replied, "No offense, Barnes. But, I don't do one night stand or no strings attached thing. And with a manwhore like you? No, thank you." sassy was her answer.

Bucky's head tilted back as he laughed, then when he spoke his voice was like a devil luring an angel to sin, "Oh babydoll, if I were to be a whore, it'll only be for you." He stepped closer so that only she can hear his confession.

His masculine scent hits her nose, mixture of the citrus cologne and his natural odour was just perfect. Annoyingly alluring; but perfect. And it took all her will to hold it together and blatantly rejects him, "Still not interested."

Bucky groaned in protest, "Come on, princess. You can't keep dreaming for some prince charming to court you, do you? You know that's probably never going to happen right?"

Surely he meant only to tease her; that it was less likely that an actual prince to romance her. Not that she did not deserve the world; she does. And Bucky was more than will to burn it to the ground if that's what she wanted.

But, Y/N didn't see it that way. She thought that Bucky meant that she is not worthy enough for a decent man to court her with respect and chilvary; that she was just a toy fit for fucking and nothing more. And the fact that her "insomia" had affected her usually high patience and reduced it to almost paper thin, it was only fair for her to finally snap.

She can tolerate his endless flirtation but she can't simple turn a blind eye for his insult.

Bucky was caught by surprise why Y/N harshly grabbed him by the collar, pushing him back and nearly stumbled; her eyes was pure fire when she growled, "Don't you dare mock the way I value relationship, Barnes." Her nose flared with anger and the commotion has attracted some prying eyes towards the two.

"Just because you enjoy fucking anything that breathes, that doesn't mean that everyone else does." She seethed, "The only cock that will be wrecking my pussy would belong to someone I love and if you have a problem with that, you can fuck right off." She forcefully pushed him until his ass landed on the bench behind him.

Her feet stomped all throughout her exit out of the gym, leaving Bucky in a blinking confusion.

He knew it was wrong.

It felt good. It felt right.

But, it was so fucking wrong.

To keep moaning Y/N's name when he railed those strangers to heaven; when he came so hard into the thin layer of condom. And it was always a soft and slow type of whimper, right in those girls' ears. So intimate, so careful not to let his secret out; knowing how thin the walls between him and the love of his life.

But, he certainly didn't care about the girl he was fucking. If it wasn't for his heavy body pinning her from behind, she would've elbowed him right in the guts for moaning another woman's name. Unfortunately for him, she quickly ditched and see herself out after the first round.

Now, he laid there; naked and bare. Thinking of how he simply couldn't help it. How could he not think of Y/N all the times? Not when he was deeply, helplessly in love with her. But, he knew she wouldn't bat an eye at him now that he had the reputation of a "fuckboy", as the young ones describes it. She especially made it clear today at the gym. She's never going to give him a chance now.

Not when she's a hopeless romantic. And the fact that he too was once the same was just aggravating to him. He was such a gentleman decades ago; before Hydra, before the war, when he was but a young man living Brooklyn.

His Ma had really shaped him into the perfect gentleman; every parents in the neighbourhood wanted him as their son-in-law. They claimed he would make the perfect husband for their daughters. But, things are different now. And he knew that the man he was before was long forgotten.

It was just curiosity at first; about how sex works in the 21st century. However, Bucky quickly fall into the promises of lust and pleasure; changing girls like changing clothes. He let himself dosed in ecstasy, as if it was a drug to silenced the dark and haunting memories of his past, like it was a quick escape from reality, from the Winter Soldier.

Then, Y/N happened.

Bucky never saw it coming; but, he fell. Hard.

They were colleague for years and had been a good friend he can rely on besides Steve. She was so sweet and pretty. Probably the most gorgeous woman he ever laid his eyes on, in the hundred something year old life of his. Most importantly, she was kind and patient and strong and fierce yet so unforgivingly selfless.

But that didn't matter now, does it? Especially when she despise him. And it was all because of the unholy title he held.

At first Bucky didn't notice it, but now that he stepped closer into the living room, he heard it again. The rustling fabric, the quiet whimper coming from the sofa. His steps were as careful as a wolf on a hunt, stalking a hiding prey in between the trees.

If Bucky were to guess what he would find on a late night trip to the kitchen, he would've probably said 'ice cream' and not 'Y/N sleeping in the living room'. His eyes briefly raked her sleeping figure, curling uncomfortably into the pastel purple blanket. Then at the scattered pillows on the floor around her.

Why was she sleeping in the living room?

Another whine passed her lips and his attention was locked on her frowning face; it seemed like she was having a bad dream. Bucky carefully crouch next to her, and ravel in her beauty. Such delicate features, long lashes, pretty freckles across her nose, and those soft looking lips; he would kill just to taste her them, to sink his teeth in between them.

It worried him though; to see her sleeping here. She was clearly uncomfortable, it was a mystery that she managed to even fall asleep in the first place. Bucky suspected she simply passed out due to today's training. It was particularly hard, even for him. Let alone a normal human being like Y/N.

Not to mention the fight that they had.

Then, it clicked. The complains about how she had trouble sleeping. It wasn't just to make fun of him or tease him in any way. It was a plead. She needed to be heard and he completely blew her off with jest and jokes.

"Was it because of... me?" Bucky thought to himself. It all made sense now, "Shit." A curse rang in his mind when he bit the insides of his cheek. He was mad at himself. How could he be so insensitive? And he claimed to love her? Please. What an absolute piece of shit he was.

When Y/N began to toss and turn, her blanket fell from her body. Even in her sleep, the cold managed to catch her. She instinctively curled towards herself, seeking warmth but was no avail.

She look so small and Bucky felt a surge of need to cuddle her close, keeping her safe, keeping her warm in his arms. But if he does that, he'd probably get kicked in the nuts. So instead, he picked up the fallen blanket lay it back across her whole body; carefully not to disturb her sleep.

Bucky smiled softly when she snuggled into the fabric and before he walked away, he swore to stop this corrupting habit of his and apologize for being such a douchebag to her. And if he's lucky, maybe he could even properly court her.

But for now, he just needed to go through tommorrow's mission. So does everyone one else in the team.

"Do you realized what you have done?" Not matter how hard he tried to hold it back, everyone in the Quinjet can see how Steve was seething.

Y/N's lost of sleep had took a toll on her more than she realized now that it had affected her performance in mission. She tried to ignore the way she was basically seeing Steve's feet multiply by the second, and continued to look down in shame, "I'm sorry, Captain."

"Don't apologize to me. Nat's the one who got shot because of you!" He yelled as he pointed at the red haired woman at the side of the plane.

No matter how much she wanted to blame Bucky on this; how he literally robbed her from fulfilling her human needs to rest at night, but she just couldn't. It was her fault that Natasha got hurt. If she was more alert, she would've seen the enemy standing right in front of her. If she was awake enough, then Natasha wouldn't get hurt.

Tears threatened to form when she looked over at her dear friend, bleeding at the side, "I'm so sorry, Nat. I really am. I didn't know what came to me and I--"

"Oh please, I'd take a bullet for you any day of the week, honey." Natasha swiftly cuts into her apology, in attempt to diffuse the heated situation.

But, Steve totally disagree with her, "Don't make this 'okay', Nat. You almost died because for her carelessness. Being inadequate shouldn't be okay for any agent to do. It is extremely reckless and downright stupid."

There was a sound of a distant gasp from the pilot pit, "Language!" Tony was clearly trying to lighten up the mood but it failed rather miserably when no one reacted.

Steve had every right to be mad, especially when his girlfriend was injured because of this, but oh does it hurt to hear his stabbing words. It hurts more when it comes from the Captain America himself.

God, she was extremely tired.

Physically, mentally and that's what happens when a person is lack of sleep. Then when she thought about all her hardwork and struggles to train amongst the superhero themselves, she couldn't help but to crack; and the tears that was building up in her eyes finally fell.

When Steve saw it, he lost it completely, "Oh, you're gonna cry now? WOW. Real mature, y/n. You can't disappoint me more can you?" At that point, he was being a little too mean for anyone's liking.

Especially Bucky.

So Bucky slowly pulled Y/N back, and shielded her body behind his as he went on face to face with his bestfriend, "That's enough, Steve." He warned but Steve doesn't seem to get the idea, "No, Buck. Do you see--"

Bucky took one step closer, his menacing glare went right through Steve's soul, "I said... that's enough." He repeated his words. This time the message went through.

Steve gulped and cleared his throat as he waved a dismissing hand, "I expect a full report and a letter of apology from you when we get back, y/n." He ended his sentence with his back turned and then walked away towards his girl.

When Bucky turned around to face Y/N, she was but a crying mess. Tears kept streaming down and her lips quivered in so much sadness. Now, that she was in the light, Bucky could see the darker shades on the bag of her eyes.

This was his fault. If he just stopped goofing around and listen to what she had to say yesterday, she wouldn't need to go through this, "Oh sweetheart..." though he meant to call her in his mind, it might just slipped through his lips.

Y/N glared up at him, "This was none of your concern, Barnes." She spat.

He shrugged, "Well, lucky for you, I don't care whose it is. What I know is I care about you. Now, let's get that wound patch up." Bucky simply said, and that was when she realized that her ribs were slashed open, bleeding and torn. Maybe it was not too deep, that was why she didn't notice it.

But it is an injury nonetheless, and it was a surprise to her that Bucky noticed it. "I don't want your help." She frowned yet continued to sniffle.

"Yeah, but you need it." He replied as he carefully tucked the loose strand of her hair behind her ears.

Unable to think of any comebacks, she let her fatigue win over. Her lips shut tightly and her chest shuddered for breaths. And when Bucky took her hand in his and lead the way, her body instantly responded by gripping him tight.

Bucky's heart soared at the touch of her small hand in his, while fire was burning in hers.

She hates him. She hates how caring he can be. She hates how soft he was when handling her. And she hates how easy it was for him to make her fall for him even more.

Y/N's body quickly went on auto pilot; she let him undress the blood soaking top and patch her wounds. And Bucky let her cry her heart out on his shoulder all the way back home to New York.

That night when everyone had settled back to their own rooms, Y/N was prepping to sleep outside again. It was like a schedule for Bucky to always fuck whatever his frustrations out when they finished a mission.

And she doesn't want to hear any of it. Not tonight.

Thankfully, her wounds were mostly healed thanks to Dr. Cho and her ingenious of a machine, Cradle. That thing fixed the teared tissue right up with its regenerative functions.

Now, Y/N just needs to endure the bruises but those are bearable. What she couldn't bear is the lack of energy and goodnight's sleep. She wished to just pass out for days and not wake up even if a prince came to kiss her to wake.

And she knew that sleeping in her room won't give her that.

Y/N piled her pillows and blanket on top of another before scanning the room one last time to make sure she didn't leave anything behind. Because she was not planning to step foot in her room until dawn comes, hoping the sounds from the other side of the room died down by then.

When she was walking pass Bucky's, she noticed how awfully quiet his room was, but she didn't think about it too much. She waited for the elevator to open its door only to reveal the man himself, "Barnes."

He eyed how Y/N's figure almost hidden behind the piles of pillow in her hold. He stepped out as he asked, "Where do you think you're going?" Bucky knew exactly where but he was not having any of that.

It was weird to her that she didn't see any sign or Bucky's hook-up in his arms, but she bet that there will be one after she's gone downstairs, "Away from you, that's for sure." She said, taking a step into the elevator but instantly stopped the moment Bucky blocked her path.

Bucky lips flatten against each other; he didn't say anything, he only frowned down at her then simply grabbed her wrist and dragged her back to her room.

Utterly confused, "What are you doing? Hey, let go of me." She twisted her wrist in his hold, while trying to balance the pillows from falling. A useless trial it was; because who could even escape that metal grip of his.

Bucky quickly respond, "No. You're not sleeping on that shitty sofa tonight." He stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned to her, "You're injured, y/n. You need on a proper rest on a proper bed." He coaxed.

How did he know that she had been sleeping on the coach? She thought before saying out loud, "I'm fine, Barnes. It's not even that deep of a wound, the Cradle fixed it clean. So, can you just... let go of my hand?" She sighed.

But Bucky refused to even spare her a glance, he silently tug her and stomp his way towards her room. There waa retaliation on her side, but his lack of response had lead Y/N to her defeat. She begrudgingly followed his long strides until she they stood by her bed.

He snatched each of the pillows and blankets off her hands, while Y/N simply blinked speechlessly as she watched Bucky started set up her bed like he had been doing it everyday.

Weirdly, at times like this, she found him extremely lovely. There was no corny and flirty comment about her, or his annoying habit of teasing every little thing she does.

There was just a comfortable silence and a kind gesture; the type that pulled the red strings of her heart just enough to make her want to dream of him.

Fucking hell, she can't believe that he managed to do that again! Making her fall for his antics. He really needs to stop doing that, it's simply rude.

Y/N broke from her love struck trance when she felt his cold metal laced around her hand again, he pulled her closer, "Now hop on, bunny. You need to rest." He lead her under the blanket and she grumbled curses under her breath, something about he need stop calling her weird nicknames like that.

When she was well tucked in and comfortable, Bucky sat at the edge of the bed by her side and spoke, "I'm sorry. For not trying to listen to you at the gym yesterday. I was a jerk."

His apology was so sincere that Y/N caught herself in a shock. Who is this man? What has he done to Bucky Barnes?

His eyes lingered to the wall behind her bed as if he was trying to find the right words to address it, "About the noises..." he trailed, "...it'll stop from now on."

Oh. Nevermind. She liked this Bucky. She wants to keep him forever, "Really? You mean it?" There weren't any effort put to hide her excitement when her voice nearly squeaked.

Bucky chuckled amusingly at her reaction, "Really, doll. But, you gotta promise not to sleep on the couch again."

Sparks of joy filled her chest when he confirmed his decision. Sure, it was such a small favour to do to anyone. But, she appreciate his efforts to make amends. "Hmm, I promise." She hummed happily, blinking slow as the comfort of her bed lured her into a drowsy state.

"Thanks, Bucky." Her mentioned his name.

Thank god for the super sensitive hearing ability, cause Bucky surely love the sound of her voice whispering his name so softly, "For apologizing or for tucking you to sleep?" He jest.

It only made her eyes rolled to the side and a smile spread across her face, "Both." she said. "And for what you did on the jet."

Bucky simply shrugged as if it was a normal thing to do. But, it wasn't. It was rare for him to challenge Steve like he did. And he did it for her, "Really, I owe you one." She said assuringly.

But it didn't happened when she asked quietly, "Will you?"

Would he? Take advantage of her?

How could he though? He loved her too much to even think of purposely hurting her. "No." Bucky replied as he leaned down and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead, "Sleep well, princess." He mumbled against her skin.

And he pulled back, he grinned a cheeky smile. There it was; the pink blush on her face, wide surprise of her eyes and her slightly parted lips. She looked so adorable. He swore couldn't get enough of it.

"Kiss me again..." she nearly growled, but her blushing on her face didn't indicate anger, "...and I will choke you in your sleep." Though it was an attempt to threaten but typical of Bucky to just love to turn things around, "Hmm, is that an invitation, princess?" He purred and stole another kiss; this time, on her cheek. "Then, I will be looking forward to it." He whispered as quickly as he removed himself from the scene.

When he found his own bed, he couldn't help but to laugh at the muffled scream coming from the opposite side of the thin walls, "James. Fucking. Barnes!!!"

End.

Alternate ending (smut edition): Deleted Scene >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: I hope you drop some thoughts behind before going to the deleted scene. Which I know you will. See you on the other side 👀

#jessybarnesreaches500 #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #avenger!bucky #fuckboy!bucky #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #thin walls thin lines au

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wttcsms · 1 year

Text

for the last time ; simon “ghost” riley.

pairing simon “ghost” riley x f!reader word count 2k synopsis simon is greeted by an image that haunts him the most: you, completely still and no longer breathing. content contains death mentions, mentions of blood, slight angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, pregnant!reader, the two of you are married, obsessive!ghost notes takes place in the same timeline/au as this fic! ; title is inspired by miss taylor swift’s line in ‘anti-hero’ (stream midnights, btw) where it goes “i wake up screaming from dreaming one day i’ll watch as you’re leaving and life will lose all its meaning for the last time”, so do what you will with that information!

Is it possible to be so afraid that you can taste the fear on your tongue?

Simon Riley finds himself questioning this as he takes one step further into his home — your home, the empty residence that has never known warmth in between its walls until the first time you graced them with your presence — the foyer eerily quiet.

Usually, you have the TV playing in the background for company when he’s away. Maybe none of the shows airing were to your liking; that’s fine, he reasons. There’s no need to panic. No need for his heart to bang against its ribcage barrier, almost as if it’s trying to break free to search for you itself.

The house is dark, but after years of tactical operations held in worse places, his eyes easily adjust to take in these familiar surroundings. His eyes dart around the room, looking for any sign of trouble. He doesn’t know whether he should be relieved or not to find nothing out of the ordinary.

He moves quickly through the house, searching for any sign of you that he can. You’re not a quiet person — not when you’re in the comfort of your shared home, not when you know that you’re safe to live as freely as you want because Ghost will always see to it.

When he put that ring on your finger, he had promised to always keep you safe. Even before it, you were always going to be under his protection, and ever the honorable soldier (and lovesick fool), it’s a promise that he intends on keeping.

When he doesn’t hear the familiar sounds of you humming in the kitchen or the running water of your hot showers, he starts to feel the panic rising in his chest. It’s fine. You’re fine. He’s a rational thinker, quick and calm in a battle. He doesn’t lose his cool, never loses true sight of his mission.

He’ll find you, he reassures himself. He’ll find you, because to lose you is to lose himself, to lose the last remaining shred of humanity he has left in him. Burned, betrayed, abandoned — every moment of suffering he’s endured throughout his life has left him hardened and cold. Perhaps the universe is a merciful thing; after all, it gave him you. You, who only needs to give him a smile meant just for him to reverse all the pain he’s accumulated over the years.

He never thought he would be able to feel again. And now because of you, he’s feeling entirely too much.

He heads to the last room left: the bedroom.

He’ll find you there. You’ll be sleeping peacefully, tucked into the sheets that will cling with the scent of your body wash, blissfully unaware of your husband’s silly anxiety. Nothing could possibly happen to you — no one even knows you exist, save for the select few who Ghost finds himself able to trust.

He turns the knob, slowly and gently opening the door out of fear of interrupting your slumber, only to be greeted by the sight that haunts his every dream.

You’re lying on the bed, eyes shut, but there are thin, red rivulets running down your face — the face that he can perfectly envision in his mind, down to every eyelash and minuscule mark — and instead of the steady rise and fall of your chest…

…There is no movement.

The acidic feeling of bile rising up his dry throat burns, but he swallows it back down, ignoring the acrid taste in favor of forcing himself to approach your still body. He reaches out for you, noticing the erratic, shaky movements of his hands. When was the last time he had ever been so nervous, so scared, that his hands started to shake?

He doesn’t want to believe it. Your body is cold to the touch, and he finds himself daring to grip you tighter. He doesn’t want to leave a bruise, darling, he promises. He’ll apologize tenfold when you wake up. He shakes you, not as gently as he wants to, because he needs you to wake up. You have to wake up.

“Love?” His throat feels so choked up, he’s surprised he can even manage to speak. He shakes your body again, his knees almost buckling to the heavy weight of immense grief. Your blood stains the otherwise crisp, white sheets of the bed.

He’ll never sleep again if you don’t wake up.

He takes a hand to rest against your baby bump, desperate to feel the familiar kick of his son sensing his father’s presence.

“C’mon, kid.” He pleads and he begs, only to be met with nothing but silence.

He chooses to cradle your face instead, taking in your sweet features and trying desperately to pretend like he doesn’t see the blood spilling, ruining your otherwise perfect visage. The syllables in your name are broken up as he tries to say your name but finds himself struggling to speak properly.

Did you know that Simon rarely cries? Of course, you do — you know everything there is to know about him, down to every traumatic experience that has shaped him into the man he is today. You know that the last time Simon cried was because of his father, and it was very early in his childhood. Even as a baby, Simon was considered to be a very quiet child.

But now he feels the corners of his eyes watering, and he’s not ashamed of the tears — he’s ashamed of himself. You’re not breathing, your body’s gone cold, and he will never get to meet the boy fated to be his son. Is this why the universe had tried so fucking hard to keep him from making attachments? Had fate known that he was undeserving of having a family?

He couldn’t protect you, either of you.

The anger comes — he’ll track down whoever is the cause of this, and he will slaughter every single person involved, knowing that it’ll never be enough, even if the streets are permanently stained red from the amount of blood he’ll spill. But even those thoughts can’t chase away the agonizing grief that is crushing him from the inside out; it takes root inside of his heart, and he feels a part of himself snap.

Rage and agony blend together as the reality of his situation tears him apart. He will never love again; you’ve taken all of what he had to offer straight to the grave. Despite the persistent beating of it, he refuses to acknowledge having a heart, cold or otherwise. There’s nothing. There is no meaning to his life anymore if he cannot share it with you.

His pained screams seem to reverberate around the four walls of your bedroom, and his eyes are instantly open. He sits up, gasping for air, cold sweat dousing his body. He needs several seconds to calm down, and the erratic beating of his heart only quickens its pace when he realizes that all of it was merely a nightmare. But if it was only a bad dream, why does he turn his head only to find your side of the bed empty?

“[Name]?” He calls for you, throwing off the blanket from his body and leaving the warm bed. “[Name]?”

He sounds desperate and frightened — feelings he normally doesn’t display because he usually doesn’t experience them.

He’s gone about most of his adult life knowing that he doesn’t care about what happens to him, but now — now, he actually has something to live for, something to lose. He’s given up so many parts of himself, all for the sake of survival or for a mission. Whatever he hasn’t given away has been stolen from him (boyhood had always been a short-lived concept in his household; his father made sure of it). And then you came into his life — or rather, he infiltrated the building you were held captive in, and suddenly, the world had color again.

He didn’t ask you to fix him, and you never saw him as someone who needed it. You always tell him that he saved your life, even going so far as to call him your hero. You know everything about him; everything but the fact that you saved his life, too.

More accurately: you brought him back to life.

And now his life will go back to being nothing but static and self-sacrificial motivations.

He calls out your name in the darkness of the house, only to be greeted by the sound of his own heart beating against his chest. He stumbles through your home, only to find you rummaging through the kitchen, the light inside of it glowing against your skin and making you appear as an angel.

Breathing becomes significantly easier for him now.

It takes him little to no time to erase the distance between the two of you, and the familiar feeling of your husband’s strong arms wrapping around your body envelopes you. His embrace is comforting albeit a bit suffocating, and you choose to lean into his warmth, allowing him to bury his face into the mess of your hair.

The scent of your shampoo mixing with your own natural scent overwhelms him, and he only attempts to bring you impossibly closer to him.

“Simon?” The sound of your voice is his favorite thing to listen to; even more so when it’s you saying his name so sweetly and softly.

“Simon, what’s going on?” You don’t sound scared, but you take a hand to put over his, massaging his knuckles. It’s nearly one in the morning, and while you know that Simon is secretly clingy, especially when the two of you are sleeping, the way he’s hugging you… It’s almost as if he’s scared that you’ll evaporate the moment he’s not touching you.

“...You weren’t there.” You can feel the movement of his mouth and jaw, his head still very much buried in between the space between your neck and shoulder.

“I wasn’t… Oh.”

The turning point of your relationship had been the fact that Simon was always there every time you had nightmares. It wasn’t until the two of you moved in together that you realized he suffered from some of his own, as well. They’re few and far between nowadays, but sometimes, he’ll thrash in his sleep, tiny, pained groans waking you up from your slumber. You know the memories of watching his former teammates die in front of him haunt him in his subconscious when exhaustion leaves his mind defenseless. Those bad dreams have stopped coming for a long time.

He refuses to tell you about his new nightmare that’s been plaguing him, but either he’s an open book or you’ve just gotten too good at reading him because you think you have a sneaking suspicion as to what’s been scaring him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper softly, and it should be impossible, but his hold on you only tightens up at your words of reassurance. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me.” You take his hand, and he allows you to adjust it to where it’s resting against the swell of your belly. “Nothing bad is going to happen to us.”

He refuses to go back to living that bleak, miserable existence that was his life before you. It’s okay to starve when you don’t know what you’re hungering for; it’s torture when you know you’ll never have what you truly need to survive.

“Let’s go back to bed, Simon. Please?” You plead with him, and after a minute, you feel him nod in agreement.

“You’ll be there when I wake up?” His words come out rough from having not spoken in several hours, but there’s something in his voice that reminds you that there are still remnants of that little, heartbroken boy Simon had to destroy in order to survive his childhood. Those fragments of himself are buried deep through layers of tough skin and pseudo-heartlessness, only coming out in his most vulnerable moments. So far, you’re the only person to witness it. If he has it his way, you’ll be the only one who does.

“I promise. I’ll always be there.”

True to your word, as long as he’s sleeping in the safety of the walls of your home, Simon Riley doesn’t have to find himself waking up alone ever again.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #angst #one shot #drabble #fluff #hurt/comfort

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dottores · 10 months

Text

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, dottore.

notes: wooooooo this is the start of the heavy plot and finallyyyyy getting into their relationship 😎 it’s gonna be spiral from here on out.

GENESIS

“Don’t you have better things to do than bother me.” You frowned deeply, eyes squinted as you stared at the figure who had cornered you at the women's washroom. “You go from wanting nothing to do with me, to not even letting me freshen up in peace.”

“Alas, you’ve become my job because of your reckless actions,” Dottore said, unperturbed. “I assure you, I enjoy this no more than you do.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” you replied dryly.

The empty smile that painted Dottore’s lips was now edged with a line of cruelty—he was absolutely enjoying this.

“You should be grateful,” he began, and you had a sudden feeling that you weren’t going to like what he was about to say next, “the attention you so desperately craved is finally being given to you.”

You stared at him, a turmoil of emotions eating at your insides, the most prominent of which being outrage but you forced your face to remain cold, as if you were simply dealing with one of the nasty noble kids who liked to poke fun at your lack of a soulmate.

“You will find that the attention I ‘so desperately craved’ was received elsewhere,” you responded, watching the corner of his lips tighten at your words. Digging the knife in deeper even though you probably should have left it, you continued with: “I have as much desire for your attention as I do for a bug’s.”

“Elsewhere as in that lowly aristocrat you attended our event with?” he asked, faux-curiosity dripping from his tone but you knew better. His smile promised bloodshed and violence and you were not going to throw Artem to the wolves.

“Not quite,” you said. “He still lives back in Fontaine, Artem was just a means to an end.”

Sorry, Wrio.

“Is Artem aware of that?” Dottore asked coolly—he didn’t believe you, that was unfortunate.

You’d somehow have to warn Artem to keep an eye out but you weren’t sure if you would get the chance. Moreso, you didn’t even know if it would matter. You had a feeling that even if you did warn Artem, it would do him no good. He wouldn’t be able to protect himself from the Second Harbinger.

“Careful, Doctor,” you chided. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous. It’s an unflattering look on you.”

“Jealousy implicates caring,” Dottore didn’t hesitate to counter, lips flat and unamused, “and I do promise you that the only thing I care about is making sure you don’t get in the way of my research. Or have the past two decades of neglect not made that clear enough for you.”

You stared at him, tongue kissing the back of your teeth as you forced back another snide comment—you thought you might be testing his patience a bit too much. The hint of amusement that had crept onto his lips was long gone, replaced by an unnerving emptiness. You hadn’t noticed how close the two of you were standing, your back flush to the wall and his body mere inches from yours, head tilted down as he spoke to you.

Suddenly, the thin barrier of air between the two of you felt all the more hot. There was no way for you to slip away back to the event where you thought you might be a hint safer with all of the aristocrats’ eyes bearing witness. Worse, you didn’t even know if you wanted him to move away but you knew that you had to make him for the sake of your mission.

A shot in the dark to try to force him to take a step back, you leaned up on your toes, bringing your face closer to his. You couldn’t see his eyes beneath his mask but you imagined that you could, catching a glimmer of red as you moved in close. Your lips brushed his as you said: “I don’t think I am the one unclear about anything right now… are you?”

He stepped away.

You smiled thinly, raising your chin.

“No,” he said icily, “I am not.”

“Of course not,” you said, swiftly moving away but before you could even reach an arm’s length distance, gloved fingers curled around your wrist.

“Where are you going?” Dottore asked, you hated how he suddenly sounded amused because you knew it meant nothing good for you.

“Back to the event before my date and his family start worrying about my absence,” you said, trying to ignore how the pads of his fingers trailed across your inner wrist—you didn’t even think he noticed the instinctual motion, much less how it was throwing you off.

“I’m afraid they’ll have to continue worrying about your absence,” Dottore drawled, grip on your wrist strong and unwavering.

“And why is that?” you asked through grit teeth.

You didn’t like where this was going, you felt like a cornered animal.

“Because you will not be returning to the event, the Tsaritsa has so graciously offered you a stay in Zapolyarny Palace,” Dottore said easily as if he had not just handed you a death sentence and ripped away your dreams of avenging your father all in one. “You should be honored, not many are given such an opportunity.”

You stared at him, expression void of the turbulent emotions rushing through you. You didn’t have to be a genius to know what this meant: they were making you a political prisoner. This was a mistake. You should have seen this coming. You thought that the worst that could happen was that they would kill you, you hadn’t even considered that they could use you against your nation, your family. You despised your stepfather but he would not be the one affected by this: your mother, your half-siblings, your grandfather, Wrio and his father, they would be the ones bearing the burden of the consequences of your actions.

For all of the anger and sadness and hurt you had felt because of your soulmate, you had never hated him until now.

“Are you kidding?” you asked quietly, with at least enough control over your voice for it to not crack as you spoke. You refused to allow yourself to be humiliated because of him.

“Unfortunately, I am entirely serious,” Dottore said but he didn’t sound as if any of this was unfortunate. You thought he might even be pleased if you could catch a glimpse of his eyes beneath his mask. “Don’t look at me like that, you put yourself in this position by coming here. You must’ve known that this was a possibility.”

You didn’t respond, staring at him—speechless for the first time in a long time.

“Unless you didn’t.” He clicked his tongue as if disappointed in you. “One of my colleagues will be watching over you during your stay here. I urge you to lose your attitude with him, and with the rest, should you encounter them. You’ll find that they are not quite as patient as I am.”

“What?” you demanded, your body suddenly felt cold and your anxiety skyrocketed as if this couldn’t get any worse. “Why not you?”

“Careful,” he mocked the same tone you took on him earlier. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re desiring my attention again. It’s an unflattering look on you.”

You scoffed. “It has nothing to do with desiring your attention as it does with fearing for my life. There you go with the self-importance again. Why not you?”

“You being here has opened up a weakness that I cannot afford for the others to learn about lest they take advantage of it,” Dottore said dismissively. “I will be limiting any and all contact with you for both of our sakes’.”

“And he won’t take advantage of it?” you pressed, you could feel the panic creeping in.

Who was he passing you off to?

Wasn’t it more of a risk to pass you off to someone else than to just keep you at his side?

“Oh, he will,” Dottore answered. “Just not in the same way the others would.”

Somehow, that wasn’t reassuring at all.

You felt sick to your stomach, you wanted to cry but you refused to let the tears fall. You had never felt so helpless before. You wanted to go home—you were in over your head, flailing in open water trying to find a buoy before the currents dragged you under and the one person in the world that was supposed to be a lifeline for you was standing on a boat watching you drown.

“I suppose that’s my cue,” an unfamiliar voice spoke, amused. Your gaze turned down the hall, eyes falling upon a dark-haired man dressed in black, gloved fingers intertwined in front of him as he walked closer to the two of you. “She’s quite the little spitfire, isn’t she?”

Had he been there the whole time? How had you not noticed? Were you that absorbed in your conversation with Dottore that it blinded you to your surroundings? You were usually good at picking up presences—an asset that came along with your family’s passed down hydro art.

“She will behave for you,” Dottore talked about you as if you weren’t there, but his voice was low in warning and you knew that was directed toward you.

The man hummed, as if not entirely pleased with that statement before he focused his attention on you, eyes upturned and an unfriendly smile painted on his face. “The Regrator, Ninth of the Fatui Harbingers. I will be supervising you during your stay here. I do hope you prove yourself to be useful.”

The final statement sounded more like a threat than an off-handed comment.

An anchor attached itself to your ankle, dragging you down.

Your soulmate watched as you sank in murky waters.

For some reason, Dottore just couldn’t seem to get his head on straight.

As he made his way down to the small lab he had set up in Zapolyanry Palace, all he could think about was the expression on your face as he handed you off to Pantalone. You looked at him as if he had just physically signed your death sentence—you clearly weren’t stupid, you had to know that Dottore wouldn’t do anything that he thought would put your life at risk, so he wasn’t understanding why you had looked at him like that and he didn’t like it.

He tried to focus on getting back down to the lab—Theta was down there and Dottore was sure that the segment made a mess of the experiment he had been running but he couldn’t even muster any irritation, much less anger. He could only manage a vague sense of bewilderment as he made his way down the dark halls of the palace.

You couldn’t have been that angry that he wasn’t going to be the one looking over you. You didn’t even want anything to do with him anyway, you made that very clear. It was the best course of action for the two of you—the easiest way to make sure that the bond didn’t affect either of you more than it already had. Once he figured out what you meant by ‘the Hydro Archon isn’t the only god blind to threats’, he’d get you whatever evidence you needed and send you on your way back down to Fontaine.

And then he’d never have to see you again and the two of you could go on with your lives as if this never happened.

The thought of that left him unsatisfied and again, the bewilderment that was fogging his head grew. Why did that leave him unsatisfied? It was what he wanted. He didn’t want you around dragging him down and distracting him. The Fatui was going into the most critical few years of its existence, he needed to be able to put all of his attention on his research so then why…

“I don’t think I am the one unclear about anything right now… are you?”

Dottore exhaled as your words crossed through his head again, as his lips tingled at the reminder of the feeling of yours brushing his. He knew you had done it to get him to back up, he had known what you were doing as you did it and yet, it had still caught him off guard and he wasn’t used to being caught off guard.

Was he the one unclear? Dottore didn’t think so—in fact, he thought he was perfectly clear with his expectations and needs, or lack thereof, that is. But the more he thought back to your words, your expression when you left with Pantalone, the feeling of you close to him, the more he hesitated and hesitation simply was not acceptable.

Getting to the bottom of the steps to the lowest floor of the palace, Dottore’s eyes narrowed beneath his mask as a burning smell hit his nose coming from the direction of the metal door of his lab.

Theta, Dottore thought, livid.

All thoughts of you swept away as he stalked the rest of the way down the hall, strides long and purposeful before he threw open the door and slammed it shut behind him. The Theta segment’s head snapped up, eyes wide like a caught deer. In his hands was one of the vials that Dottore had been studying for residue energy of the old gods, the vial burned and blackened at the bottom, creeping up to the top—a putrid scent of rot and fire filling the room.

“What did you do?” Dottore demanded.

Theta put the vial down, backing up a few steps. “It was burning when I got here,” was all he said in response. “You must’ve left it on.”

“Liar,” Dottore spat out, temper already having thinned from you having worn it down during both conversations he had with you and on top of that, his own confusion about you. He hated feeling as if he didn’t have complete autonomy over himself and your arrival in Snehznaya had absolutely destroyed any sense of control he might’ve had, questioning everything he thought he knew as true.

Reaching forward, he snatched the vial from Theta’s hands, it burned the pads of his fingers but he didn’t let it bother him, peeking inside to see if there was anything to salvage only to find all of the remains he had gotten his hands on lost.

Dottore shut his eyes, taking a deep breath in as he tried to calm himself down, convincing himself that deactivating Theta would do more harm than help. He didn’t have the materials to make a new segment and he needed all hands on deck for the upcoming project, including hands as disastrous as Theta’s.

“I specifically told you not to touch anything,” Dottore said tightly, tossing the ruined vial into the waste bin before directing a cold gaze onto Theta.

Theta didn’t respond, staring at Dottore in a way akin to how a lesser predator would in front of a greater one—trying to decide whether or not it should fight back or flee. After a few moments of tension, Theta ultimately made his decision, raising his chin. “What happened upstairs?”

Dottore raised his eyebrows beneath his mask. “Excuse me?” he asked, devoid of emotion as his mind raced.

Could they feel that he had met you?

That would spell more trouble than Dottore was willing to deal with. What awful timing, he thought bitterly. Of course, you show up during the few weeks he had all of the segments returning to the north for briefings before the Fatui finally began to set out on achieving their ultimate goal: obtaining the gnoses and bringing down Celestia.

Epsilon and the younger segments had already been in the north—they were still at the estate a few miles west of the palace. Delta had dropped off the Iota segment the other day so he could join Rho in tracking down the rogue belligerent in the east but they were making their way back to the estate, albeit slowly. Zeta should’ve arrived at the estate at some point tonight and Lambda would be arriving any day now.

Dottore suddenly had a headache, trying to figure out what to do. He did not feel comfortable enough to leave you at Zapolyarny Palace alone with Pantalone but if he stayed, the segments would get suspicious and start showing up to snoop around, and if he told one of them that you were here to send them to watch over you, he knew damn well that the rest would know in a matter of hours. He’d either be facing a noose or a sword—either way, his ultimate fate would remain the same: the segments would know.

“What happened up there?” Theta asked again, more intensely this time. “We could all feel it. It was strange. I don’t know how to describe it. What was it?”

Briefly, Dottore reconsidered deactivation as he stared at the younger version of himself, who was getting more and more impatient as each second without a response passed. He could see the way his fingers were twitching and the way he was shifting on his face, it was only a matter of time before he started getting more aggressive. He thought maybe he should let it get that far, that way he can just kick Theta out of the lab and go back to working—or more importantly, go back to figuring out what he was supposed to do about you.

“What was it?” Theta demanded and then Dottore watched his eyes widen through the holes of his mask. “Was it h-”

He never got the chance to finish the question. The doors to his lab slammed open and Dottore had never been so grateful before to see Epsilon… until he noticed the panicked expression on his face and the way the Gamma segment was half-hiding behind him, hands shaking and lips pressed together tight. He wouldn’t even look Dottore’s way, gaze directed on the floor between them.

“You’re supposed to be back at the estate,” Dottore said firmly, a foreboding feeling weighing on his chest as he stared at the Epsilon segment.

“The Iota segment never came back from exploring the estate grounds,” Epsilon said, voice steady. Behind him, Gamma took in a shaky breath, turning away. “Kappa slipped away while we were trying to find you.”

“You’re much quieter now,” Pantalone noted as he led you deeper into the palace, down dark, twisting and winding halls that you desperately tried to keep track of but it was like a damn maze. You thought you might never be able to navigate them on your own. “You had quite the mouth with the Doctor. I’ve never seen someone speak so scathingly with him and live to tell the tale.”

You didn’t acknowledge his comment, eyes tracing the portraits hung up along the walls—lined with gilded garnishes and decorated with a soft glow emanating from the moon outside. You wondered if it was by chance that the shadows cast over the portraits seemed to highlight some of the paintings' more distinct details or if it was a specific design choice.

You remembered Pantalone mentioning that this was his wing of the palace and somehow you doubted that anything this man did was by chance, even something as meager as making sure paintings were positioned appropriately for the best aesthetic. You let out a breath, looking back out toward the window—toward freedom. It was dark out now and clouds were rolling in swiftly over the moon, smothering the little natural light, a storm was coming, metaphorically and literally.

Even if you did get the chance to escape, which you doubted would even arise to begin with, all you would be doing is walking to your death. You’d freeze in the winter storms of Snezhnaya, you doubt you’d even make it to the line of trees half of a mile away from the palace.

Dully, you wondered if that would be a better fate than this.

“Oh?” Pantalone continued when you didn’t respond to him. “Is your cruelty reserved only for him? What a shame, I wanted a taste of that sharp tongue of yours.”

You bit back a scoff, staring straight ahead as you continued forward, ignoring the way his violet eyes laid heavily on you, waiting to see how you responded to each of his digs. He was testing you. For what? You didn’t know and you didn’t like that. You were having trouble reading the Regrator and reading people was one of the few things you could actually pride yourself on.

You spent more than a decade of your life sitting in the back of the courtroom, watching proceedings and watching people because you figured that the better you were able to read people’s emotions and predict their answers and response, the better able you would be to hide your soulmate from those that liked to pry.

Pantalone was an anomaly. Draped in the finest of Liyuean silks and donning the most expensive gems from the northernmost mines of Snezhnaya, a Harbinger and one of the wealthiest men in Teyvat, you expected that the man was well-respected, especially in his own nation… but you had seen the way that the Snezhnayan aristocrats looked at him.

Where they looked at the other Harbingers with anxiety and fear, they looked at the Regrator with nothing less than derision, whispering to each other and ridiculing him behind his back. You had meant to ask Artem why that was the case but you had never gotten the chance because someone decided to interrupt the two of you.

So why? Why do they look at a man who had made Snezhnaya prosper with such mockery? The nation had been fumbling before his promotion—a powerful military, yes, but a powerful military meant little politically when they were in constant economic recession. They had gone from being the poorest nation in Teyvat to the second wealthiest, just below Liyue itself; they had gone from having no international political sway to having several nations in the palm of their hand.

So why?

Your mind raced, finally looking at Pantalone from the corner of your eye. He held his chin high as he walked but there was a stiffness in his shoulders that didn’t match the otherwise lackadaisical confidence. His skin was borderline gaunt—you barely noticed it, it was clearly getting healthier but there was still an underlying haggard look that seemed inherent now, as if he had suffered years of sickness or starvation and no matter how hard he tried to rectify it, the damage had already been done.

Aristocrats were a very predictable bunch. They found commonality with those that were similar to them and they found joy in deriding those that tried to be similar to them. You had seen it many times in the Fontaine courts, particularly when the nouveau riche families tried to find places with the old-blooded aristocrats. They could sniff who was their own and who was not like wolves sniffing out their prey.

The Regrator was not a born aristocrat.

“I can see the gears turning,” Pantalone murmured. “Tell me, what conclusion have you come to, little spitfire?”

You looked at him, studying him for a moment before saying: “You weren’t born an aristocrat.”

Pantalone smiled, as if whatever answer he had been looking for was answered. “You lot really can pick out a needle in a haystack.”

You hummed, “It’s not hard when the needle is bright red when the rest are silver.”

Pantalone raised his eyebrows, curious, “It’s that obvious?”

“If you’re looking for it,” you explained. “Aristocrats are always looking for it.”

“I was an orphan,” Pantalone said, leading you further down the halls. You had given up on trying to keep track of the twists and turns. “I lived on the streets for two decades.”

“And yet here you are,” you responded.

The richest man on the continent, a Harbinger, the reason for an entire nation’s economic boom.

“And yet here I am,” he agreed. “Unfortunately, it’s not enough for some people, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Yes,” you said dryly, “and I’m sure you’ll make them eat their words eventually.”

Pantalone let out a huff of laughter, drawing to a stop outside of a dark door. You came to a stop next to him, eyes meeting his as he watched you carefully.

“Naturally,” he acknowledged but now there was a darker edge to his voice, a vein of poison seeping into his tone. “You will be staying here, I will be right across the hall. If you need anything, just knock.”

If you try anything, I’ll be there to stop you, you translated silently, catching the cold look in his eyes even as he smiled thinly at you. You gave him a smile that was just as void of kindness, pushing open the door to step into the room you would be staying in.

Vast and well-decorated, your eyes traced the span of the room from the large bed against the wall to the dressers that you wouldn’t be able to fill because the little clothes you brought to Snezhnaya were back at the inn that you had been staying at. There was a fireplace on the wall opposite of the bed and wide windows that rattled against the winds of the incoming storm.

“I’ll be sure to send some of my subordinates out to fetch you some more outfits,” Pantalone offered but his offer was not made from generosity. The heartless, underlying meaning of his words struck deep: you are not leaving any time soon. “I believe we’re going to get along very well with each other.”

“You… were supposed to be watching the younger segments, Epsilon,” Dottore said, now sitting at his lab table as he tried to keep himself calm, voice tight and teeth grinding.

Every time he thought things couldn’t get worse, somehow they did. It was almost comical at this point how blatantly the Celestial gods seemed to have it out for him, using his life and misery as some twisted game of entertainment for them to watch.

“I’d like to see you try to handle all three of the younger segments at once,” Epsilon responded, voice somehow calm and snide at the same time. “… I nearly forgot, you couldn’t even handle one young segment, could you?”

Dottore’s gaze snapped toward Epsilon, rising to his feet in an instant. “What did you just say?” he asked lowly—he had dealt with enough insolence the past few years from his segments, and with you here now too, there was only so much left he could handle before he snapped.

Epsilon smiled casually. “My apologies,” he said, faux-remorse dripping from his tone. “I forgot the Beta segment is still a sore subject for you. I wasn’t thinking. Forgive me.”

Except the Epsilon segment did not forget anything and he, more than any other segment, always thought before he spoke. Every word he spoke was carefully chosen and articulated, each one with a meaning of its own that sometimes even Dottore couldn’t follow along with.

He thought when making the Epsilon segment that he would be the easiest segment to deal with—empathetic and sentimental. But somehow, he became the most manipulative and cruel of all of the older segments, giving kind smiles all the while speaking words that ripped into each individual segments’ insecurities.

He and the Delta segment in particular tended to be at odds the most. Delta was one of the easiest segments to set off and for some reason, Epsilon rose to Theta’s defense frequently—be it solely for the reason of getting under Delta’s skin or him actually sympathizing with the destructive and volatile segment, Dottore didn’t know or care. What he cared about was the fact that it led to him and Delta clashing nearly every time they were in the same room as each other; Delta getting loud and violent while Epsilon just stood there with amused smiles and quiet, antagonizing comments.

The next week would be exhausting with the three of them all in the estate together. And now with you—he cut off his thoughts abruptly, only getting more irritated. You just had to make everything more complicated. He had to focus on finding the younger segments before he allowed his mind to inevitably drift back off to you.

“Where was he last seen?” Dottore asked, the pads of his fingers pressing hard into the metal of his lab table as he awaited a response from the segment.

“He was searching the ruins to the east of the estate,” Epsilon said. “He’s been there and back tons of times, I figured he would be okay on his own while I finished up what you asked of me.”

“You figured wrong,” Dottore said immediately, voice curt and icy. “He couldn’t have gotten too far. He gets distracted easily. He has to be somewhere between the palace and the estate. I can track a general location.”

“I’ll come with you,” Epsilon offered. “We’ll cover ground faster together.”

Dottore stared at him for a moment, studying him irritably. He hadn’t forgotten the snide comment the segment had shot his way—he wondered if this was his attempt at an actual apology or if he had some ulterior motives.

He nearly scoffed, knowing the answer instantly: Epsilon always had ulterior motives.

“Theta,” Dottore said coldly, gaze cutting to the side toward the other segment. Theta went stiff at the acknowledgment, waiting for him to continue. “You are to find Kappa. This is your chance to prove you are more useful active than destroyed. Do not fail.”

Theta’s lips pressed together tight, twitching as if he wanted to say something but decided against it. He nodded shortly after a moment and then looked away.

“What about me?” Gamma asked suddenly. “What do you want me to do?”

Dottore stared at him a moment. He would do more harm than help with him and Epsilon out looking for Iota—the last thing he needed was having to worry about another one of the younger segments getting lost while searching for Iota.

“Stay with Theta, help find Kappa,” Dottore finally said. “There are a lot of people in the palace for the promotion of the Eleventh. Many of whom would hurt him or use him as a weakness to try to get to me. Find him before they do.”

Gamma nodded but swallowed thickly, nervous at the mention of all of the people in the palace for the event. Usually, the attendees all tended to stick to the ballroom during the course of the event but toward the end, some of their bolder enemies meandered down the halls of the palace in hopes of a chance just like the one Kappa wandering off presented.

He needed to be found before that could happen.

His gaze drifted off to one of the thin, high windows in his lab as Theta and Gamma set off to look for Kappa. A familiar, foreboding feeling settled in his stomach when he noticed a storm rolling in over the mountains in the distance.

“Are you ready?” Epsilon asked, tightening the drawstrings of his cloak as he prepared to go back out into the cold.

Dottore nodded, reaching for his own hanging up on the hook near the door. “Let’s go.”

It took about forty minutes of just sitting around the room with nothing to do for you to leave it. He hadn’t locked the door on his way out and he hadn’t told you to not leave the room, so you assumed that you had some semblance of freedom.

Realistically, a part of you figured that this might be what Pantalone wanted—he wanted you to leave the room and do something suspicious so he could interrogate you, but in your defense, you didn’t have anything malicious or suspicious planned. You just wanted to go up and down the hall to get a sense of where you were.

You hesitated as your hand wrapped around the handle of the door, heart beating rapidly inside your chest, an irrational fear of being attacked as soon as you stepped outside of the room sweeping through you. Logically, you knew it wasn’t going to happen. There was no way that Dottore would hand you off to someone that would put you in a position where you could get hurt, or worse—for his own sake, if not yours.

With that thought in mind, you pushed the door open, breath catching as you peeked your head out to look around.

No one.

The hall was dark, only dimly lit by a few candles in the distance. There was not a soul in sight and the only other door besides yours was on the opposite wall of the hall—you assumed that was Pantalone’s room, he had said he would be nearby. You could see a faint light emanating from beneath the door, so as quiet as possible, you slipped out of your room, shutting the door behind you gently.

Looking up and down the hall, you decided to go to the right first. You wouldn’t be out for long—you just wanted to see what the wing of the palace you were staying in looked like, you didn’t like living somewhere where you didn’t even have a layout of the area. It made you feel helpless and trapped.

Exhaling deeply, you kept your eyes peeled and your attention focused as you made your way down the hall, trying to ignore the creepy, expensive portraits that lined the walls—you swore that their eyes followed you as you walked by.

The further you walked, the more anxious you got. It was a cold, creeping feeling that made you feel as if someone was watching you. Each little alcove that was built into the wall suddenly looked as if it was housing enemies, you thought the shadows seemed to be moving.

Just as you were about to abandon your mission and run back to your room, unable to handle the fight or flight feeling rising to your chest, you caught a flash of red from one of the smaller alcoves. Your head snapped to the side, peering through the darkness to try to figure out what you had just seen—your heart leapt to your throat when a pair of red eyes stared back at you. On instinct, your vision reacted to your shock and anxiety, buzzing against your skin.

But the red eyes widened in surprise, fear, seemingly trying to press back against the wall but unable to move any further inward. It was only then that you realized how the pair of eyes were rather low to the ground—at the height of a child’s.

“Come out,” you said quietly, kneeling down to the ground to try to make the kid feel more comfortable.

After a few moments of silence, the figure drew out from the shadows, shoulders tense and hands locked in front of his body. He was young, looked only around five or six at most with tussled, silvery blue hair and trembling lips. He seemed nervous, borderline terrified, his fingers were shaking where he was holding them in front of him.

It was then that you realized just how similar he looked to Dottore. The hair was styled differently but the same color and you remembered the glimmer of red you had caught beneath his mask when you had leaned in close. You stared at the kid, at a loss for words.

Did he have a child? It didn’t make sense. Dottore didn’t seem like the type of person to have a lover, much less kids. You’d like to think you had a decent idea of him considering you spent over fifteen years feeling his emotions and ten receiving random words from his train of thought. Shouldn’t you have realized at some point that he had someone else? Was that why he was constantly ignoring you?

A familiar, ugly feeling stirred in your chest. Jealousy. You thought back to the snide comment you had made to him earlier, unsure if you wanted to laugh or cry at the irony of it.

The thoughts raced through your head, rampant and damning, were you about to be like your stepfather? Intruding on a pre-existing relationship because you happened upon your soulmate. You felt sick to your stomach, you wanted to throw up, but the longer you stayed there without speaking, the more uncomfortable the child looked, refusing to meet your gaze and shifting on his feet anxiously.

He was lost, that was clear enough from his body language and demeanor so you held your hand out to him. You figured that Dottore would come looking for him eventually, or someone would at least, and you thought he shouldn’t be wandering around the halls when there were still so many people in the palace. You could still hear the music and chatter in the distance.

“Come here,” you said softly, holding your hand out toward him. You watched as he stared at your hand curiously, an odd expression on his face, but he didn’t say anything as he moved closer to you. Your brows shot up when you noticed he was limping, gaze dropping down to the blood staining his pants. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer, which you should have expected, the kid seemed shy and anxious. Instead, as soon as he got close enough to you, you lifted him up to sit him on your hip as you rose to your feet. The child let out a surprised noise, fisting at your top when he realized that his feet were no longer touching the ground.

“You shouldn’t be walking on that,” you told him. “I’ll bring you back to my room to check your leg. The Doctor will come for you soon enough.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, you couldn’t help the way your heart squeezed as he relaxed into your arms, resting his head on your shoulder. You could feel his eyes fluttering shut, lashes brushing your neck as they drooped. Instinctually, you hummed softly, one hand rubbing circles between his shoulders as you made your way back to your room, trying to sort through all of your racing thoughts as he fell asleep against you.

Was it his son? It had to be unless the kid was some weird scientific experiment… which you supposed was also possible. You sighed heavily, making it half of the way down the hall back to your room when you caught sight of two figures standing at the end of it—you couldn’t make out their faces, it was too dark, but you could see their forms dimly illuminated by the moon glowing high in the sky.

Instantly, something didn’t sit right in your stomach about it, alarm bells ringing through your head, echoing as one of them stepped closer.

You stepped back, grip tightening on the boy. He stirred a bit, confused, but you kept your attention focused on the two new arrivals.

“Hand the boy over.”

RBS APPRECIATED

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you

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thisthatpinkvenom · 1 year

Text

*SHHH!*

COLLEGE BF!SAN / COLLEGE!FEM READER

⤏ Synopsis: You and your boyfriend are two irresponsible college students who just can't keep your hands to innocent hand-holding. and there seems to be a really pretty witness to your intimate shenanigans.

⤏ Genre(s): drabble*, smut smut smut

⤏ Content: college couple!au, established relationship!au, non-idol!au

⤏ NSFW Warning(s): public fingering, public oral, light dirty talk, light praising because it's always cute <3, getting caught in the act, exhibitionism and voyeurism, these two are freaks please don't do this in real life!!

⤏ Note*: this content is completely fictional.

It was on you for foolishly choosing such a discreet spot where other eyes weren't lurking. You should've known better than to trust San to behave himself at a secluded corner of the library. If it weren't for that, you wouldn't be plopped onto the edge of the quaint little desk with him standing between your parted legs.

It's a Thursday evening, and the library was decently occupied; many were huddled in groups with a few exceptions of lone students staring with half-dead eyes at their laptop screens. Soft murmurs and not so subtle crunching on baby carrots aired throughout the building, and you prayed to any divine being listening that your staggering breaths fell on deaf ears. The last time you checked, it was around six o'clock and with the two very much so distracting fingers lunged between your wet walls, you're sure you wouldn't get anything done by the time it became seven.

Bursts of adrenaline rushed through your veins as you teetered on a thin line between fear and pleasure. You didn't even register how you've crinkled a page of the textbook lying open next to you—the one you've tried so hard to keep without damage—as your hand desperately searched for purchase in anything nearby. Your eyes flitted between the view of your lover's hand disappearing at every two beats under your skirt and nervously checking behind his shoulder for any innocent incoming passerby looking for a book. But it lasted only a measly moment until you were gently pulled by your chin, meeting eyes with the lust-filled ones of your boyfriend who pierced you with his gaze.

"Eyes on me, Baby," he coaxed, pressing kisses to both corners of your lips with cute little chu sounds emitting from each one he gave. The hand on your chin fell to your thigh and you momentarily shuddered at his cold touch.

"What if"—you squeaked when his thumb pressed against your clit—"someone, hah, s-sees?"

He smiled a wolfish grin and muttered, "Then wouldn't that be a sight for sore eyes?"

"Sannie," you whined. "It's n-not funny."

"Don't worry, no one's gonna know as long as you keep those pretty little moans to a minimum."

And you wondered how you were supposed to do that when he soon dove into the crook of your neck, licking and nibbling at your skin in hope of leaving a trail of purple and red petals. His fingers never slowed or lost their rhythm, opting to only go faster while your arousal grew embarrassingly louder. You could feel it dripping more and more with each pull of his digits before they sloppily stuffed whatever they could back in.

"You think they can hear that?" he teased, fingers playing around with the wet squelches of your juices through hasty "come hither" motions. "Don't pretend like you don't get off on this just like I do."

He continued, "I know you like spreading your legs for me whenever I ask—you do it so easily."

"S-Sannie, please," you pleaded. You weren't too sure what you were asking for, but you knew he always managed to understand what you needed somehow.

"I know, Baby," he cooed. "Just a little more, okay? You're doing so well."

And just like that, he dropped to his knees and nudged your thigh with his free hand. You knew what he was going to do and clenched your teeth to prepare when—without warning—he attached his lips to your painfully swollen clit. It took all you could muster to not release the most pathetic cry when you took in all the books around you, remembering where you were as you had to be on your best behavior possible. Which in hindsight, it was a little too late to do much when you've got your fingers tangled in a handful of black hair.

His fingers continuously pumped in and out your pussy and his mouth was relentless on your clit, sucking and licking without any other goal but to please you. Though it proved to be difficult to let loose; you couldn't lie back on the table or moan without shame, not when you caught sight of a book being pulled off the shelf from the other side. And your heart fluttered when a face appeared behind the vacant space where the book once was, your own eyes mirroring how the stranger's tripled in size. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't look away from the image of you trembling on the desk, cheeks drenched in tears as your lover's identity was veiled under your skirt, clueless as to who's watching.

It's useless to stop now, there's a fat chance you'll get reprimanded but at least you'll have a mind-blowing orgasm to make up for it. If you were in the right mind, you would've scolded yourself for acting upon your urges; for exposing your dirty deeds to some poor girl. And now she'll know exactly what you look like when you cum, from the way you bit your tongue to conceal your moans and the way your chest heaved while you worked to catch your own breath. But oh, what's that?

She gnawed at her bottom lip, ogling as if she were in a trance, seemingly waiting for you to reach climax. And you liked it.

It was all too much; your boyfriend's face and fingers buried between your legs and the pretty girl perving on your intimacy did all sorts of things to your head. It was coming, you were so close, so close, so close. You were an attention whore, like it or not; you wanted her to watch—watch your legs quiver and your mouth gape open in a silent scream, your gaze boring deep into hers.

You really wanted her to absorb the view, hoping that she found the cum glazed over your pussy pretty. And like the freak you were, you liked the way her cheeks were adorned with pink when San stood up, his lips glistening under the fluorescent lighting as he sucked on his cum-covered fingers. When he caught sight of the extra lingering eyes, she finally turned around, covering the empty gap in the shelf from her suspecting groupmates who quietly pestered her with questions as to what she was staring at. He looked back at you with a smug grin, tongue slipping out to lick your arousal from his lips.

"Looks like someone's been enjoying this too."

#ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez timestamps #ateez fanfic #ateez drabbles #kpop smut #san smut #choi san smut #ateez fic #ateez reactions

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periwinklemoonlight · 5 months

Text

little sunshine ⋆ boatem knights au

my second short story set in bee @applestruda 's boatem knights au and canon to the plot written by zera @hopepetal !! also make sure to check out bee's bkau gem and etho designs <3 !

cw: decapitation, murder, blood

if you prefer, you can read it on ao3!

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“-And you’re sure this is the man responsible?” The room was spacious, more than big enough for hundreds to fit in, yet the tension in the air filled it with an undeniably claustrophobic atmosphere. Precious artefacts lined the walls and occupied the floors, meticulously positioned in a perfect pattern to suit the path of a would-be museum goer. Now, however, one was missing. And only the most ancient and irreplaceable of the lot, of course.

“Completely.” An odd chill ran up the spine of the curator as she spoke. It shouldn’t have been possible, she thought, she had barely taken her eyes off of that corner of the room for a second before the amulet had vanished into thin air. All she had caught a glimpse of in the aftermath, she was sure of, was a man with stark white hair and a mask darker than the deepest night sky, fleeing the scene with a swiftness she could only ascribe to a seasoned thief.

She had only ever seen that man once before, yet something in her gut was absolutely sure it was him. A few years back, she had stayed at an inn just out of town on a business trip. Her stay had been all-around pleasant, the owner undoubtedly a delight to talk to, full of cheerful stories and helpful advice for travel. The same couldn't've been said for their companion, however.

He had brooded in the corner of the inn, shooting her occasional unreadable glances as she conversed with the owner, any emotion beyond ice cold eyes concealed by a mask of blackest night. His back to the wall, practically blending in with the shadows around him, she had nearly cancelled her stay the minute she spotted him.

The only thing that had convinced her to stay despite her better judgement was the owner’s utmost insistence that that man was nothing to fear, that she’d be completely and utterly safe at the inn. Something in their tone had been so, so earnest, she couldn’t help but be inclined to believe them. They were right, she had been entirely safe after all, yet she never could quite shake the cold chill that permeated her body every time the man passed her by.

“Then it seems we’ve got a bounty on our hands.” The guard concluded with a severe nod.

“Bounty, you say?” A cheery voice asked from across the room. The curator whipped her head around to watch as polished hooves clicked onto the museum flooring.

“How did you-?” The curator asked, before cutting herself off to fully take in the person before her. There stood Gemini Tay, adorned in finely crafted emerald silks and lightweight armour, wild red hair expertly contained in a sweeping braid, and absolutely armed to the teeth in various weapons hanging lazily across her waist. It wasn’t a bad look for the most notorious bounty hunter in the land, all things considered.

“Word gets around,” Gem replied with a grin, absentmindedly twirling an intricately carved knife in her hand as she approached. “And I’m always down to lend a helping hand!”

She paused, then eyed the curator’s own ostentatious outfit. “...For a fair price, of course.”

“Of course,” The curator repeated, a keen smile worming its way to her face.

⋆⋆⋆

If there was one thing she relished in being known for, it was that once she had her target in her sights, Gem wasted no time.

It wasn’t hard to spot him, after all. The description the curator had given her was one of the most interesting she’d gotten in a while. A man known only as “Etho”, with a harsh red scar blinding him in one eye and never once seen without a dark mask obscuring half his face. During her journey, Gem had learned that nobody in the area could quite recall when he’d started working at the inn, or even if he actually worked there at all. In fact, it was a popular local rumour that the man was simply a vagrant that the kind innkeeper had taken pity on during one particularly frigid winter and never thought to kick out afterwards.

Regardless of whatever his backstory might have been, Gem couldn’t really care less. All she really cared to know about him was that he was the only thing standing between her and a ludicrously lavish payout.

It was only a lucky coincidence that the innkeeper wasn’t in when she arrived. There was her target, standing far too nonchalantly behind the counter and looking as if he was preparing to greet her. She wasn’t about to give him the chance. Instantly she swung at him, hard and fast, looking to get a clean kill. To her astonishment, however, he suddenly disappeared within a blink of an eye, reappearing once more just as fast and now on top of the counter. Gem watched as a dark, smoky substance wafted off him as he jumped down and dissipated as quickly as it appeared.

When she looked at Etho now, it was as if he were slightly transparent, blurred at the edges. She blinked, and he was whole again, no trace of anything amiss. She growled and swung again with impossible force, heaving as her sword broke the floorboards where it landed. Again, she could have sworn that some dark substance was following him, aiding him in his escape.

“Hey, hey! I don’t know what I did but, uh, I’m sure we can settle this some other way?” Etho offered as he slid backwards on the wooden floors like they were an ice rink, smoke trailing off him and weaving through the air.

“No can do sir!” Gem replied as she swung once more, again missing him by a fraction of a centimetre. “You got a hefty bounty on your head, and I intend to take it!”

The fight escalated with Gem’s frustration. She spun herself around and leaped at Etho, sword high in the air and aiming to plunge it deep into his skull. Instead, she hit the inn’s counter, splitting the wood and knocking several small objects astray. Her hooves skidded against the floor as she reeled backwards, and wasted no time forcefully wrenching her sword free.

Wood chippings now scattered across the floor, Gem paid them no mind in her pursuit. The action seemed to distract Etho somewhat, discontent flashing across his heterochromatic eyes, and she took the opportunity to strike.

Finally, with a lucky stab, she managed to pin him down against the inn’s wall, plunging her sword into his shoulder with a devastating crack and watching as what must have been blood seeped out from it. He gasped, eyes darting to the wound. A wild grin found its way to Gem’s face.

“You’re a tricky one, aren’t you?” She asked, using the moment to catch her breath before unsheathing a second, smaller sword from around her waist. The sharp blade glinted in the deep, warm light of the inn. The reflection didn’t make it to Etho’s eyes. “Shame I’m gonna have to take you out like all the rest of ‘em. I’ll make it quick, though. You’ve earned it.”

It was odd, she thought briefly. Despite the sword driven straight through him, he didn’t appear to actually really care about it all that much. His breathing was as steady as ever, and he barely moved at all beside a futile effort to scoot away from her intense gaze. His eyes were calm, watching her every move in something almost akin to silent fascination rather than the fear she had grown accustomed to. No matter, though, Gem decided as she made clean work of him, lopping off his head in a single swing.

It fell to the ground with a solid thunk, rolling slightly before making its stop like any old head should. A tenseness she didn’t know she was holding finally released, and she breathed again. Blood was splattered all over the inn’s floors, and she grit her teeth as she imagined the cut from her paycheck she’d have to give the keeper to get it cleaned. All this for some measly priceless artefact? Still, it was over.

She picked up his head by the hair, and stepped back in shock as she felt just how cold it was. Instantly, it called to mind the way it felt to grab a fistful of snow with no gloves for the first time, fingertips fully immersed in the unadulterated icy chill. For a brief moment, it reminded her of… home. Gem had never considered herself the squeamish type, especially not with an occupation such as hers, but the realization gripping hold of her in that split second was enough to make her gag.

Her grip on his hair loosened for a second, but she caught herself before the head could drop. On a second examination, she noticed what looked like snowflakes scattered in his white hair and decorating his long eyelashes. It was then she finally heard the faint crackling sound that had been slowly spreading around her. The blood that had been flowing freely from Etho’s body was freezing up, and fast.

Gem could do nothing but watch in horror as the blood on the walls and floor turned to thick ice, cracking and shattering into pieces around her as soon as it solidified. Within no time it had spread to his severed head, and she gasped as the blood that still dripped from his neck froze midair and fell to the floor, fragmenting into dozens of tiny pieces.

She broke her gaze from the head in her hands just long enough to witness a mountain of ice emerge from what remained of his body’s neck, accompanied by a low hissing noise that made her stomach churn. Gem realized then the shape that it was forming. Fractals of ice packed in and around each other, working in tandem to sculpt out a new head identical to the one in her hands. The only difference being, there was nothing to cover the lower half of his face. If she could even call that half a face.

Once the hissing had stopped, that same dark substance she had seen swirl around him in their fight began to seep out from the wound, covering the newly formed head in a thin black layer and obscuring his features. Her heart dropped as she watched the shadowy liquid be absorbed into the ice, revealing a brand new head on Etho’s shoulders, indistinguishable from the first and complete with a new mask. His eyes fluttered open.

“That wasn’t very nice of you, now was it?” Etho asked as he turned his head to look over at her, an amused smile painting his voice. Gem screamed.

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Gem had never fainted before. With the amount of blood and guts she spilled with a smile on a daily basis, she hadn’t thought it was even possible for someone like her. Evidently, though, everyone had their limits.

More confusingly, though, was that she had awoken tucked nice and neatly in a warm bed, with at least a dozen pillows cushioning her head and antlers. With a slight turn of her head, she could see a still-warm cup of cocoa resting on the table next to her and causing a sweet scent to waft through the little room she now found herself in.

She groaned, sitting herself up in the bed and trailing her hand up her forehead, where she could feel a piece of gauze sticking out. Another glance around her surroundings revealed that her weapons were nowhere to be seen. Gem cursed under her breath.

Her eyes darted around the room. It was quaint, with wooden walls and flooring and a decorative carpet in the center. Faint light streamed in through a window, accompanied by the warm glow of a candle. Must be early morning, she thought.

Oddly though, the corner across from her seemed to be completely wrapped in shadow, defying the soft sunlight that should have illuminated it. Gem found herself unable to tear her trembling eyes away as the shadowy corner suddenly warped in her vision, the dark matter collecting and solidifying together as a familiar figure materialized before her.

Etho drifted nonchalantly towards her, stopping by the table to eye the mug, something almost disappointed flashing in his expression as he noticed it hadn’t been touched. Gem faintly spotted a stitch in the shoulder of his tunic. He turned his attention to her.

“How’re ya’ holding up?" He asked, his tone both concerned and casual at once. “You took a pretty nasty fall back there! Never seen anything like it, it was crazy.” A small laugh punctuated his last sentence.

She blinked, then blinked again, but found herself unable to erase the image of what she had just seen from behind her eyes. It was the kick she needed to jog her memory though, and she leaped backwards away from him, nearly hitting her head on the wall behind her.

“You… What in void’s name are you!?” She squawked. Etho furrowed his frosted eyebrows quizzically.

“Well, I was hoping maybe you’d be a little bit more appreciative of the setup you’ve got going on here. I even made you a hot cocoa! Iskall told me you guys love that stuff!” There was something genuine in his voice that made Gem calm somewhat, even if his words only added to her bewilderment. She turned back to look at the mug, and slowly reached a hand out to grab it.

Pulling it close to her chest, she spoke, “You made this? For me? Why? I tried to kill you! I did kill you! At least, I think? I’m… still not entirely sure what happened back there.” She stared down into the mug, feeling a weird sense of shame bubble through her. Having the man she’d killed standing right there in front of her, it felt like talking to a ghost. The bounty hunter wasn’t used to having to think about the aftermath of her career beyond what minor property damage could ensue from a struggle, nevermind like this. Her grip on the handle tightened.

“What, this old thing?” Etho asked with another laugh, pulling up his own severed head from the ground next to Gem’s bed. “I left it here for you, since you seemed to really be after it. Figured it could make a nice souvenir from your stay here, you know?” Etho seemed to pick up from Gem’s appalled expression that she did not, in fact, know.

“Okay, okay, uh, well, you can take it with you when you leave if you want.” A pause. “This… is what you’re after, right?” Gem could make out tiny frozen droplets still connected to the head’s neck, suspended in time and ice. Momentarily, she considered being alarmed at the notion that she’d been sleeping soundly next to a severed head, or grilling him on why exactly he thought putting said head in her room was a normal thing to do in the slightest. The thumping pain rattling around in her skull made the decision for her.

“Partially,” she replied curtly, evidently still attempting to win her staring contest with the mug. Finally, she broke the one-sided tension, and dared to take a small sip.

It tasted… cold? No, that wasn't right. The liquid was sweet, if a little watery, and at a comfortably warm temperature. It was more as if the ethos of the mug itself refused to be hot. Like it had reluctantly taken to the liquid, yet refused to be any more than a temporary vessel for its warmth. Or, perhaps even more strangely, as if the liquid itself wasn't quite sure it knew how to be warm.

Despite Gem’s own lukewarm reaction, Etho lit up.

“Do you like it?” he asked, his normally chill and steady voice brightening with excitement. An amused look found its way to Gem’s face at the sudden change.

“It’s nice,” she replied simply. She took another sip, then paused to close her eyes. She swore she could hear a triumphant noise from beside her as she tried to calm her searing nerves. Having the head as proof was good, sure, but the curator had expected — and promised payment for — much more. Gem needed that artefact back. She turned back to face him.

“To be honest, Etho,” She began, “Your head’s not all I’m here for. You don’t just get a bounty on your head for nothing, you know. I’m also here to retrieve that artefact you stole.”

Etho blinked. “The what?”

Now it was Gem’s turn to furrow her brow.

“You know. The amulet of the ancient Sun people? The last surviving of its kind? You took it from a museum just a few days ago.” She tilted her head, not even trying to hide her bafflement. Etho squinted at her. He tapped his fingers on the nightstand beside him thoughtfully.

“Ancient amulet… ancient amulet…” He mused. “Oh! Is that what that shiny gold necklace was? It was just lying around on a shelf at that ‘museum’ place Iskall took me to! I don’t know why nobody else thought to take it, to be honest. Here, check it out!” He tugged at something unseen underneath his mask for a minute, before producing the very artefact Gem had been seeking. He handed it to her casually as her shaky hands returned the mug to its nightstand.

“You’ve been wearing it this whole time!?” She exclaimed, yelping when the item made contact with her skin and reeling backwards at the sudden burst of heat running through her fingertips.

“Ah, yeah.” He didn’t appear too upset at its departure, though Gem couldn't help but notice his lively attitude had faded somewhat. She brushed her thumb over the deep amber pendant, briefly fascinated by the perpetual heat emanating off of it.

“It’s neat, right? I’ve never seen a necklace like it. I wasn’t planning on taking it, at first, but I really wanted to figure out why it made my fingers melt like that.”

“You really are something,” Gem muttered. “But, I’m afraid I’ll have to take this back. A job’s a job.”

He gave her a nod. “Yep, yep, fine by me. Is that all you need?”

“Oh, I have one more thing, actually,” Gem replied, tucking the amulet away safely.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want my weapons back.”

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The curator grinned and clasped her hands together as she spotted Gem, a full-looking satchel and small brown bag now decorating her waist alongside her clanking swords and knives. The bounty hunter approached her desk with a matching smile, untying the smaller bag and placing it before the curator.

“I see you’ve returned! Remarkably fast as well. This is?”

“The amulet, back safe and sound without a scratch. Very pretty, might I add. Anyone would be able to see why it’s the prized jewel of your exhibit. And why a rotten thief would want to take it.” Gem placed the satchel next to it.

“And this…?”

“That deplorable thief’s head, just as you asked. I can assure you, he won’t be any more trouble for you now.”

“Excellent. Then, I believe you are deserving of your reward.”

“Yes,” Gem repeated. “Excellent.”

#my writing #boatem knights au #bkau #geminitay #ethoslab #cw murder #cw decapitation #cw blood

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