#metallic coursing smooth

[callsign-relic]

These scenes make me spontaneously combust every time

[kannady]

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 2.6k

a/n: ehhhh just a random idea. not too proud of it. listening to cinnamon girl prompted me to write this. ive never written or read anything angsty. its not great, just my first attempt. lemme know your thoughts! would you wanna read more?

I

The hallway stretched before you, dim and silent except for the muffled creak of the floorboards beneath your boots. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and something sharper, gun oil, maybe. You exhaled slowly, your breath barely disturbing the stillness.

And then you heard it.

A laugh, bright and effortless, ringing through the house.

You froze.

You didn’t need to follow the sound. You didn’t need to see her draped over Sylus’s arm, her fingers curled around a wine glass, her lips parted in amusement. You knew. You had always known.

Sylus had loved her long before he’d known you. Not in this life, perhaps, but in another, one where they were bound by something deeper than reason. You had sensed it the moment you first saw them together, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke her name.

And you? You had been careful.

You never let your hands tremble when you handed him reports. Never let your voice waver when he stood too close, his presence like a storm pressing against your skin. You were smarter than that. You had to be.

The file in your hand suddenly felt heavy. You set it down on the side table, the sound swallowed by the thick silence of the house. 

A few steps farther, and there he was. Mephisto, perched on his stand like a sentinel, his feathers catching the faint glow of the hallway sconces. Sylus’s ever-watchful spy. 

Your fingers closed around the bird’s body before you could second-guess yourself. Cold metal bit into your palm as you twisted its neck, pressing the hidden switch beneath its wing. A faint click, and the red light in its eyes flickered out.

No more watching. No more recording.

You didn’t walk to your room so much as you drifted there. The corner by the window looking welcoming, the floorboards smooth beneath your knees where you had sat so many nights before. You didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. Just waited, as if some foolish part of you still expected.

But no. Of course he didn’t come.

Why would he? You were just an asset. A tool. And tools don’t warrant concern when they go quiet. They’re replaced.

The realization settled over you like a weight.

You stood. Your bag was already half-packed from some forgotten mission, duffel shoved beneath the bed, dust clinging to its straps. You yanked it free, tossing in the essentials: cash, a knife, the forged papers you’d been smart enough to prepare months ago. No hesitation. No second thoughts.

You didn’t bother with stealth. Didn’t tiptoe past his study, didn’t glance toward the wing where her laughter still curled through the air like smoke.

He wouldn’t notice you were gone.

***

Two years. 

Two years since you'd walked out of that gilded prison with nothing but a half-packed duffel bag and the clothes on your back. Your plan had been absolute in its simplicity: vanish from the N109 Zone completely. Disappear into some forgotten corner of the world, someplace so remote and inaccessible that not even Sylus with his vast resources would think to look.

But you were never naive enough to believe it would be that easy.

In the silent hours before dawn, when the city outside your new apartment windows hummed ever so softly, the truth would wrap around your throat like cold fingers. If Sylus ever truly wanted to find you, he would. No amount of running, carefully constructing false identities, calculating distance would stop him. 

The realization should have terrified you. Instead, it settled into your bones like an old scar, familiar, aching, but no longer sharp. So you did the only thing you could: you became invisible. Not by hiding, but by thriving in the last place anyone would expect to find you.

EVER Group. Those gleaming letters embossed on every lab door, every piece of correspondence, every business card that now bore your name. Eternity Vanquishes Evolution Restraint. A name as pretentious as it was accurate. They didn't recruit through job postings or career fairs. They hunted. For minds like yours. Sharp, adaptable, willing to dance on the edge of ethics if it meant progress. 

And when they'd found you six months after your disappearance, when they'd slid that first offer across the table with promises of resources beyond imagination and challenges worthy of your mind, you'd said yes without hesitation.

Your new title, Human Augmentation Engineer, rolled off the tongue with clinical precision. The work suited you in ways you hadn't anticipated. Your days were spent in sterile white labs where the air smelled faintly of ozone and disinfectant, your fingers dancing across holographic displays as you designed biomechanical enhancements that pushed the boundaries of human limitation. 

Cardiac regeneration systems that could theoretically keep a heart beating forever. Neural interfaces that blurred the line between human thought and machine precision. 

The ethical implications would have kept a lesser person awake at night. For you, it was just another equation to solve.

The irony wasn't lost on you. EVER was, by any reasonable standard, monstrous. Their research ventured into territories that would terrify most people. Resurrection protocols, memory extraction, experiments that could theoretically stop death. And yet, for the first time in longer than you could remember, you were happy.

Mornings began with the quiet ritual of coffee brewed exactly how you liked it, black with a single sugar, sipped while reviewing data from your latest prototypes. Your colleagues greeted you by name, their respect earned through competence rather than fear. Meetings were lively debates rather than tense performances, your ideas were met with genuine interest rather than dismissal. There was a birthday celebration for you, a real one, with terrible store-bought cake and off-key singing.

Your apartment, small but yours, became a sanctuary. The couch was worn in just the right places, the kitchen stocked with foods you actually enjoyed rather than what was expected. Evenings were spent curled up with research journals or trashy novels, the city lights painting shifting patterns across your walls.

No more straining to hear footsteps in the hallway. No more rehearsing conversations in your head, measuring every word before it left your lips. No more choking on the sound of her laughter ringing through the halls like wind chimes.

You thought about him, of course.

It was impossible not to.

Sometimes when you passed a certain shade of crimson in a shop window, his colour, your breath would catch just for a moment. The scent of expensive bourbon would still make you turn your head. And on rare nights, when sleep eluded you, you'd find yourself wondering. Did he still keep that ridiculous collection of antique pistols? Had he replaced you immediately, or had he waited out of pride, if not sentiment? Was she still there?

But the thoughts came less frequently now. When they did surface, you’d forget about them after a moment or two. Did it hurt? You weren't sure. More importantly, you didn't care enough to find out. This life, this messy, complicated, gloriously ordinary life, was yours by choice. Every late night at the lab, every terrible office party, every quiet evening alone was a decision you'd made for yourself.

And you didn't regret a single second of it.

The past was a closed door.

***

Two years.

Two years of silence.

Two years of waking up expecting to see you in the study, bent over reports with that familiar furrow between your brows. Two years of catching himself turning to make some dry remark, only to remember that there was no one there to hear it. 

He had to admit. You'd outsmarted him.

The realization still tasted like broken glass.

Sylus sat in his office, the glow of a dying fire casting long shadows across the mahogany desk. The room smelled of leather and gun oil, of expensive bourbon left untouched in its crystal decanter. His fingers traced the edge of a file, your file. The one he kept locked in the bottom drawer despite having memorized every word.

Page 37 showed your favorite café, the one with the terrible coffee you pretended to enjoy because the owner reminded you of your grandfather. Page 89 mentioned your habit of humming off-key when working late. Page 203 contained the little notes he’d leave for you around the house. He knew you loved his handwriting. He’d known the moment you asked him to write down everything he needed done instead of telling you. 

He snapped the folder shut.

Mephisto had been his masterpiece. Programmed to follow you silently if you ever left unannounced, to watch over you when he couldn't. A safeguard. A gift, in his own twisted way. But you'd known. Of course you'd known. The way you'd manually shut the bird down with the sole purpose of running away from him, haunted him more than any ghost ever could.

He'd searched every corner of the N109 Zone. Burned through favors, called in debts, even risked venturing into rival territories himself. Nothing. No whispers in the underground, no sightings in the usual haunts. Just empty leads and dead ends piling up like corpses.

His fingers tightened around the glass.

He'd been a fool.

All those carefully calculated moves, every strategic play, and he'd still managed to lose the only piece that ever truly mattered. Standing too close under the guise of examining your work. Leaning down just to catch your scent, ink, gunpowder and something faintly floral. Asking you to move in like some lovesick idiot instead of just saying it.

What kind of boss invites a mere employee to live with him?

The answer burned in his chest.

One who couldn't admit he'd rather die than watch you walk out that door.

His fingers found the scar along his collarbone. Four precise lines from when you'd stitched him up after a job gone awry. You'd been furious he'd gotten shot, even after seeing him heal himself, you still insisted on medical care. Your hands steady but your voice trembling as you told him exactly how stupid he'd been. That was the moment, if he was honest with himself. When he'd known.

Then, a knock came at 2:17 AM.

He didn't bother looking up. "If this is another dead end, don’t bother coming in."

The door creaked open, revealing two familiar silhouettes, tall, lean, their features obscured by those masks they never removed. Even in the dim light, he could tell them apart instantly.

Neither spoke.

Sylus set his glass down with deliberate precision. "Well?"

They exchanged glances, Luke's mask tilting just slightly left, Kieran's right hand twitching toward his hip holster. A full three seconds of silence.

The decanter shattered against the wall behind them.

"Where is she?"

Kieran didn't flinch at the spray of glass. "EVER Group's Bioengineering Division. Senior augmentation specialist." His voice was flat, but the way his thumb rubbed against his index finger.

A long silence. The ticking of the grandfather clock.

The name hit like a bullet. The irony was almost poetic. His brilliant, cautious girl hiding in the belly of the beast itself. His laughter cut through the silence, sharp and humorless. "Of course she is."

Luke’s gaze shifted from Sylus to his brother. Then, all of a sudden he blurted out, "She's happy."

Sylus' cufflink caught the light as he reached for his pistol case.

“Get the car.”

***

The alarm screamed at 5:00 AM.

Your hand slapped over it before the third shrill could shatter the fragile peace of your apartment. For three breaths, you lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling where dawn’s first light painted watercolor streaks through the stained-glass window. The sheets smelled of lavender detergent. Real lavender, not the synthetic crap they pumped through EVER’s ventilation systems.

The shower scalded just shy of painful, steam curling around the bullet scar on your left hip. You scrubbed with a lemon-scented soap, the odour sharp enough to cut through the chemical fog that clung to your skin after long days in the lab. 

The mirror fogged over, but not before you caught sight of the woman staring back. Nearly unrecognizable from the ghost who fled N109 Zone. Your hair was now cropped into a sharp bob, your cheekbones pronounced from actually remembering to eat. Only your hands remained the same. Steady, scarred, capable of both delicacy and breaking a man’s wrist in three places.

You dressed methodically. Black tailored slacks with the hidden knife slit in the right seam, a white blouse buttoned to the collarbones, a lab coat starched stiff as a corpse’s shroud. The ridiculous 3-inch Louboutins Luke stole for your birthday pinched near the pinky toe, but you wore them anyway. The coffee brewed strong enough to dissolve spoons, poured into the chipped World’s Okayest Engineer mug Kieran gifted after your first successful mission.

The elevator to Sublevel 7 smelled like antiseptic and ozone. You balanced the coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, scrolling through today’s schedule when Dr. Cho’s voice interrupted.

“Dr. (reader)!”

He clutched a sealed dossier to his chest like it contained nuclear codes, sweat beading along his receding hairline under the fluorescent lights. “You are reassigned,” he blurted. “Effective immediately.”

The coffee turned to acid in your throat.

Conference Room B smelled like, well, cool, clean air.

Twenty-seven faces stared back as Cho announced Project HDS-7213, EVER’s first live-subject augmentation trial. Your promotion to Lead Biomedical Engineer. The way his voice hitched on live sent a tremor down your spine.

“Congratulations,” Mara whispered, nudging a thicker dossier across the table. “You earned this.”

The file weighed more than it should’ve. Page 1: Subject M-7. Male. 28 years old. Page 3: Evol Classification: Energy Manipulation (Class VIII, potentially IX). Page 9: Containment Protocols: Electromagnetic shackles. Sedation drip. Two cranial failsafe implants.

Your thumb left a smudge on the surveillance photo, a blurred figure in black attire. “Why bother with a photo?” Mara commented.

“Mara,” you murmured, tapping the Evol classification. “We never worked with anyone above Class IV.”

Her knee pressed against yours under the table. “Remember those Tesla-looking monstrosities they brought in last week? Turns out they are portable suppression fields.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing to worry about. I guess.”

Frowning, you turned your gaze back to the file. Your mission was clear cut. Suppress the subject’s Evol to null and transfer it to another subject. You gulped. Wouldn’t that kill him? What had you gotten yourself into?

The walk to Lab 7 took exactly 4 minutes and 37 seconds. You counted each step, each sip of now-cold coffee, each erratic heartbeat as clearance doors hissed open before you. The file revealed another horror. Subject resisted standard sedation (they switched to a veterinary elephant tranquilizer).

The final door required retinal scan and voiceprint.

“Dr. (reader), authorization code Rose-9-White.”

The locks disengaged with a sound like bones breaking.

Lab 7 was colder than the morgue.

Your heels clicked against frosted glass flooring as you approached the observation window. The suppression field hummed at a frequency that made your teeth ache. Coffee sloshed over the rim of your mug as your hands betrayed you.

On the other side of the glass was a man. Not just a subject.

Chained in a chair that looked more like a medieval torture device, his bare torso marked with fresh burns where the electrodes bit into flesh. Blood crusted along his split lip. Silver hair matted with sweat and something darker near the temple. His head lolled forward, chin nearly touching chest, but you could see the rise and fall of ragged breathing.

Then, as if sensing your presence he looked up.

Crimson eyes locked onto yours through the glass. Not the dull gaze of a sedated prisoner. Not the wild glare of a feral test subject.

Your mug shattered on the lab floor.

Because the man strapped to that chair, the man whose file now trembled in your hands, was Sylus.

[redcherrykook]

──𐙚 think i need someone older (s & f)

olderBoyfriend!Jungkook x inexperienced!reader

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content: some plot first, loss of virginity, age gap of 9 years (he´s 30), thigh humping, little dry humping too, cowgirl, he talks her through it, dom!jungkook, "sweet girl, baby, love", "gguk" lowkey insecure reader, praise, making out, breast play, clit play, creampie, unprotected, hickies on him, big c!ck Jungkook, small karaoke session, he´s whipped and wants to take care of her, short mention of alcohol (bc of that fucking bar he has omg), allusions to reader being short, she's very feminine

note from cherry: i tried to do justice to the people who wanted this, i hope you´re satisfied mwah! sooo sorry if it´s not giving lmao writing this was lowkey exhausting, also sorry for typos as always

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Jeon Jungkook is exactly like his preferred alcoholic beverage; whiskey. strong, rich, smooth, smells like oak and a hint of vanilla caramel. Much like your introduction to the drink, you met this man in a bar.

A real man- none of those barely twenty-year olds that paraded around in their sagged sweatpants and with a bright tap of unlimited unopened snapchats lighting up the dark corners of the bar. Jungkook is pure masculinity, a chest so full with security, so grounded in his abilities that it was practically impossible to ignore how his large, brown galaxy eyes focused on your face, zeroing in on your cupid´s bow while you licked the stinging remains of your moscow mule away- he paid for it, of course.

Once the enticing conversation that felt almost comically easy faded, you expected him to try and take you to his house- mansion, as he revealed in a sidetracked sentence. Although you were looking forward to seeing the small metal pearls below and over his eyebrow move as they crinkle in pleasure, the tight ropes of virginity had not yet been released in your 21 years of living. Shackles that keep you tied down- as promised out of your own, admittedly senseless morality, not to be opened by a stranger. The key to your cuffs belonged to a lover.

It was unforeseeable, nevertheless natural for him to droop his heavily tattooed arm around your waist while escorting you out of the establishment. The sleeve of his white button down folded up along his forearm for you to see the beauty of his skin, wondering just how many more of those carefully crafted works of art he´s hiding beneath the business casual attire.

Once engulfed in the harsh, bitter wind that itaewon possesses, his arm only drew you in closer, so near in fact, you were able to notice a small scar on his cheek, one you hadn´t been able to notice in the curse of a dimly lit place. The more your eyes adjusted to him, so grew your anger at the lighting inside your place of first meeting- it had done an injustice to the man you had already been disgustingly attracted to, stole the wholehearted, inescapable allure of such a mature presence.

The gentleman looks down into your awaiting eyes, only to ask if he may have your number, upon your agreement, he proceeded to tell you that he would be walking you home, wanting you to arrive safely since it must be dangerous for a woman to walk the streets of a party district at 2 am in the morning.

That encounter was four months ago, and only a month after that initial conversation, he had completely taken over you. Swallowed you whole in just how well he treated you.

Insistent of using his black card to buy you anything you remotely showed liking in, dedicated to communication, random flowers that showed up at your office and a constant offer of a ride in his luxurious black mercedes-benz GT63s; no matter how long it took- even if it was a inconvenience, sometimes taking longer to get to you than it would have taken you to simply retort to public transport.

"I told you i´d make it for you, didn´t I baby? hm?" his velvet smooth voice rings, from how he´s standing, with his body pressed against your back, towering over you, you could feel the hardened muscles of his torso meeting you. His large, slim hands reach to either side of your waist, to the glass filled with ice that you´re holding in between your own, gently removing them to resume the task that you were occupied with. Your eyes glance to the bulging of his bicep, that loose, casual tshirt did nothing to hide just how big he had gotten due to his newfound hobby.

you whine- almost, biting down on your lower lip to prevent just that from happening, "thank you gguk" you say, turning to peck the very muscle that´s invading your line of sight. He hums, a low, satisfied sound from the back of his throat.

"c´mere baby" patting one of his muscular thighs, his eyes drift to your figure walking towards him, iced tea in hand, just like he had made it for you. Sweet, light, refreshing, much like your presence in his life. Almost like a sign from the stars that his hearts content was somewhere, bundled in the form of a shorter girl with eyes that could entrance any sailor- far less siren like, no, wide with love and purity. Just what he had yearned for in any women he had met before you-whether tangled in meaningless sheets or involved in a month long, semi serious relationship, Jungkook was yet to cross paths with the one woman that would make him turn so desperate, he would have begged for their happiness on his knees. It might be romantic, even a tad dramatic to admit that from the very first word that left your pink glossed lips, he knew better than anyone else that he was in deep, deep trouble. Upon seeing the curve of your waist, hearing that soft, lulling voice, that embarrassingly obvious fact only intensified after finding out just how delightful you truly were, it made him want to rip his hair out- do anything in the possibility of his grip to see even a glimpse of your smile, of that lighthearted, cheerful giggle you let out regularly. He was drawn in my your feminine nature, by the way you let yourself fall into his caring embrace.

He´s quickly directed back to reality as soon as your legs make it to either side of the thigh he had patted earlier, a familiar position for this equally familiar occasion. Muscle memory sets in for him, grabbing the large karaoke remote to hand to you while he turns the microphone on. "Can you sing something to me first?" the question sets his bunny smile off, nodding instantly "Sure love, chose a song for me" he says. Your mind floods with ideas, but you settle for a song you´ve heard him hum millions of times, mindlessly going about.

"Malibu nights?", jungkook questions excitedly while the instrumental sets in, he knew the answer, but his heart swelled with joy at the notice you took to this song. After all, he loved to sing. Another layer to him that has you melting, growing into the embodiment of love that is endlessly cherishing what little fractions were revealed to your eyes in each fleeting moment. His honey voice reaches beautiful highs and lows you can only compare to something angelically otherworldly in nature.

It made you want to know just how deep he could growl, how far his sounds can drop with the dirty nothings you would love to have whispered in your ear. You felt filthy for letting your mind wander to such extends when all he did was sing, lulling you into drunken harmony with him. Still, you consciously lean back into his body, letting him wrap his arms around your waist, encircling it with his vanilla oak scent.

During the past four months, you were doomed to have to shatter his hopes, reveal the truth that somehow felt shameful ; that you´re fully untouched. Nothing further than a bad makeout had yet graced your skin, it made you feel even smaller admitting something so vulnerable to a man that carries almost an entire decade of experience more. Much to your comfort, his hands found the curve of your cheeks immediately, telling you that there is nothing to be embarrassed about, he would hand you the full control, you set the pace.

Internally, Jungkook drooled at the idea that the woman of his dreams was to have her first, the most memorable, sexual encounter with him. Your body belonged to him, devoted to only remember the touch of his lips, the curve of his cock, how he would mold you to his shape without the intrusion of another man having tried the same. Not that he would have wanted you any less if that had not been the case, but for one time in your relationship, he was oh so selfish to want you all to himself, aroused that your first person induced orgasm was going to be his and his alone. The prophecy fulfilled when on one, alcohol induced night a week ago, two of his long, tattooed digits made their entrance into your tight hole, relentlessly filling you until your soft thighs shook, until after your third high, he licked his fingers clean and let you taste yourself on his tongue.

The tunes get lost in silence, he sets the microphone down, having felt the warmth of your mound beneath the tights while you tried to subtly gain friction, scooting back on him. His palms find your thighs, tightly flushed around his muscle. They´re shamelessly wandering up and down the thin material that prevents his hot, calloused fingers from feeling up your smooth skin.

"Wanna do that again, love?" jungkook mutters, his pillowed lips latch on to your exposed neck, right at the gentle curve that paints the beginning of your shoulder, soft, faint kisses that leave a trail of barely sounding sighs behind.

"Do what?" feigning innocence to avoid internal humiliation, you ask him, knowing he wouldn´t let it go, not until you told him to. The sound of his husky chuckle sounds right on the sweetspot of your neck, he sucks a little harder, encouraging you with the constant rub to your thighs. Instinctively, the heat inside your panties grows as do the intensity of your desperate moans, your hips push back on his thigh, seeking the solidity that grants you the portion of satisfaction your needy button longed for

"that" he simply says, having found an anchor in your hips now, your plaid skirt bunches around his hands, slowly- tortuously so when met with the deliberate little humps he helps you to complete on him. You practically whimper once his tongue glides across your skin, dragging from your shoulder, up your neck, intertwined with his open mouth, loud kisses that don´t seem to stop.

"that´s it... do you even know how cute you sound?" he smiles, and you feel it, you feel the smile rise to his lips with every additional kiss, every noise you grant the hungry male. "gguk, wanna see you" you whine- the high pitched noise has him twitching in his training joggers, semi errect but about to stand stiff, just as noticeably as that night seven days ago, having formed a huge tent inside his slacks, there was no hiding his attraction, no use to conceal his utter need for you.. nor his size, not that he would be capable to anyways.

To your request, he helps you turn around, now facing that dim glow on your slightly embarrassed features, taking note of how you nibble on your lip with every grind forward, "that feel good sweet girl?" he asks, ghosting his lips over yours faintly, just enough to see how much you need it, "mhm.. really good" you mumble back, chasing after his lips that he can't deny you of any longer, the kiss is gentle, but nourishes your heat further

"wanna feel even better?" the pit in your lower abdomen grows at the tone of his voice, something much stronger is seeping through his system, something that screams dominance, you nod- naturally wanting to get lost in it. Jungkook's hands stop assisting you, instead, they take to your shirt, "can i take this off of you baby?" he waits for that little hum of yours before swiftly tugging it away from your form

It's almost frightening how quickly your mind reverts back to wanting to run away and hide, your arms fly across your chest, everything you felt so good doing stops and he stops too,

"don't hide, you're perfect, you're so fucking sexy" his eyes trace your skin, hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your arms away, revealing your chest hugged into your bra, and jungkook almost forgets how to breathe properly,

he groans- groans that delicious deep noise that makes your head spin, even more so when you feel his appreciation for your body, hands pulling you closer by the waist so can bury his head into your cleavage. "so beautiful" he mutters, darting his tongue out to lick the slit between your tits, "wanna touch all over you, make you feel so good" he says, finding the clasp on your back to open it with one hand. a silent reminder of his experience, one you did not have in the slightest but somehow, it felt even better that way

"mh.. feels good gguk" you can't help but moan at the forgein sensation, his lips wrap around your hardend nipple, groaning sweetly while he sucks on it, carefully swiping his tongue over the little nub- your other breast is securely fitted into his palm, thumb playing with it just like he does with his mouth, mirroring every little flick

"feels so good doesn't it? you smell so good baby" his lips move to do the same to your other breast, switching sides with a trail of saliva sticking to his lips,

In that moment you feel so sensitive, so lost in his secure hold and at the same time, so small in his skillful dominance that you simply relish in the feeling, grinding your soaked core into his thigh over and over, long, hasty drags over his muscle while his lips work magic on your skin, squeezing a little tighter, sucking a little harder because every stuttered whimper fuels his urge to take care of you

"that's it baby.. keep going, you're so good" your hands find his dark chocolate locs, threading through it with the need to ground yourself. it feels as though every time your clit meets him, instead of getting you closer to sensational relief it adds to the ache, feeds into your desire to take and take more of him, be consumed by his strength

"want this off please" your excited fingers fiddle with the hem of his oversized shirt, earning a smug grin from your boyfriend as he detaches from you, discarding of his top

Although you have seen him shirtless before, it's impossible not to salivate at the sight, at his toned broad torso that curves into a unfairly small waist, large arms flexing when he reaches for your tits again, massaging them once more,

"like what you see pretty?" he says, teasingly cocking his head and biting at the metal ring on the corner of his lip, you blush- the slick drools out even more between your thighs, "so hot gguk, annoyingly hot" he chuckles, joining the sound with your airy giggle, but he sucks in a breath as soon as you shift in his lap, now fully straddling him, naked chest pressed to his with your head burried in his neck, "hmm.. what are you up to baby?" his hands find your back, soothing himself not to pounce on you because the strain in his pants is staggering his breath, your errect nipples are rubbing against his skin and it´s making him shiver, desperate, oh so desperate for you

but he knows all to well not to overwhealm your sweet, virgin body, to let you take all the time you need until he can feel every breath of your submission

"wanna feel you gguk, can i?" jungkook almost purrs at how innocently you ask, suppressing the need to grind his hips into your heat from below, "of course baby, anything you want. it's all yours"

he meant it, every vein cursing through his body belongs to you, working, pumping blood through him for the sole purpose of loving you, taking care of you. "all mine?" you hum, aroused by the confidence he emitts, your hands trace up his torso, creating a small distance between your bodies to feel up the hard lines on his abdomen with laboured breath of your own, lips finding every small patch of his neck that make him hum, make his sighs of pleasure slowly turn into groans "all yours my love" the answer wasn't necessary, not when you already started to leave traces of you on his skin, faint, red bruises on his neck that he's impatiently waiting to run around with

"you feel so fucking good, need to feel more of you, will you let me sweet girl?" his words are intoxicating, washing away any doubt or fear and replacing it with a intense craving of sexual desire "please gguk i'm so wet for you" the sound reaches his ears and shuts down his entire system, his hands carelessly rip down your skirt and stockings, leaving you in those tiny grey boyshorts that he looses his mind over "baby how did you hide all this from me?" his hands caress your thighs, your hips, up your waist and to the soft flesh of your stomach with hungry, insatiable eyes that long for a taste of your every inch

"all yours" you mimic him, sounding just like him with your sultry, shy voice, already wanting to remove his own bottoms which he catches on, ridding himself of the nuisance "yeah, all mine. this is all mine" he says, smiling softly

Your drenched underwear meets his errection as he pulls you back on his lap, hands sitting on your waist, you look so vulnerable- almost fragile in his grip, shyly moaning because the curve of his cock presses into your skin like it was molded for you, needy folds clinging to your underwear and your clit throbs- throbs begging for another taste of friction

"I don't know how to do any of this" he suddenly he hears you mumble, seeing how you're playing with your fingers that sit on his lower abdomen, your head is turned to them, a slight pout decorates your features

jungkook feels the need to sob- to take away whatever is making that pretty head of yours feel so threatened even though you're the best thing he has ever felt, the only person he ever wants to lay his hands on ever again

"that's okay baby, hey, look at me for a second will you?" you comply, craving his lead, his security to catch you, most of all that gentle, masculine dominance that floods your senses effortlessly

"you're doing so so well pretty, you don't have to worry okay? i'll take you through it, make you feel so good" he says, cupping your cheeks in his palms while sitting up a little to press kisses to your nose, your forhead, your lips and cheeks,

unable to contain your smile, you nod, gaining back the heartbeat in your willing feminity to let him take care of you, "thank you baby" you say with upmost honesty, pressing your lips to his in a kiss of adoration

"mhm.. come on, let's get this off of you love" his whipers lingers on you, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear before pulling it off your lifted legs, he moans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick attached to the cloth and glistening over your feminity

"so beautiful, do you even realize how lucky i am? how thankful i am that this sweet, sweet girl is all mine to love?" he says softly, so softly that your eyes gloss a little bit, feeling so utterly vulnerable in front of him, so sexy in the most feminine way possible. blush creeps up your cheeks, his hands find your inner thigh, dancing around the sensitive skin "you're too sweet gguk"

he returns your smiles, lifting your hand to kiss it before intertwining it with his own, lacing his fingers into you because being apart from your body feels like torture in this moment. but you're eyes are busied elsewhere, locked on the large outline that stands rock solid insides of his calvins, a small, wet patch that indicates his arousal decorating the very top

"go ahead baby, take it off" not needing to be told twice, you help yourself to his boxers, tugging them down in one, slow motion that leaves him biting his bottom lip, he pushes them down to his ankles, kicking them off

both of you sit like this for a moment that feels like eternity, raw, bare and without a chance to hide in front of the other's desperate gaze, comfort, pure love that's inseparable with a pulsing you can no longer ignore, not when he´s so big, so broad and decorated with a vein alongside his curved shaft

he grabs at the flesh of your ass, pulling you to sit your gushing cunt over his stiff length, cursing at feeling how soft you are, how much arousal truly spills from your body

"you're so.. big gguk.. m'scared" your whine makes him coo, stroking your head while a possessive grip that stays on your hip, his left hand tethering to your hair in the meantime, "don't be, you were made for me sweet girl, made for it" your head falls to his shoulder, arching your torso into his body with a small hump to his leaking cock, "that's right baby, feel it, feel how hard i am for you" spurred on by his encouragement, you tighten your hands on his bicep, rolling your hips over his, his entire shaft is coated in your essence, angry pink tip meeting your swollen clit repeatedly, so much so you feel your thighs shake, feel an impending orgasm waiting to flow over your body,

Ripping yourself of that sensation, not yet- you tell yourself

"want it gguk, want it so bad" jungkook hums, kissing your neck messily, cock throbbing beneath you, "want what pretty? talk to me" he says, his own desire to claim you all to himself becomes unbareable with each passing second that you stay put

You shift forward again, whining, "please gguk" he groans, twitching at how desperate you sound, entranced with how needy you've become for him, he didn't even have to make you beg for it, you just did

effortlessly perfect for him, "come on, tell me my love" but he has to hear more, he needs to hear the dirty confession falling from your pure lips

"want your cock jungkook, please" there it is- that submissive, whiny plead for him, it makes him feel alive, throwing his head back on the black leather couch momentarily "good girl, fuck baby you're so cute" he praises, taking the base of his cock into his hand but something stalls him, "do you want me to eat you out first? make it nice and slippery?" his teeth graze your ear, kissing over the shell of it, "no gguk i want it, want it now"- another nibble, "anything for you"

Your hips lift, hovering your tight, clenching hole over his thick manhood, hands sweaty and grasping at his firm shoulders, he spots your anxiety, wishing nothing more but to ease it

"sit down on it baby, it's gonna sting okay? but you're so good, I know you can take it" more, more reassuring words that you drink in, just as you sink down on it, wincing as your brows meet in frustration

"hurts.." you mutter, fingers digging into his tanned skin- you can't bring yourself to move down further, clenching your muscle tightly around only his fat tip that feels like it's splitting your drooling pussy open. his hands find your back again, "ssh baby.. i know... but you'e such a good girl, i know you can take every inch of my cock"

It takes a couple more kisses to your shoulder for you to sink down fully on his length, painfully so- having your hands claw into him, your lips trembling in confusion of why it feels so good to have him stuffed into you so deeply you can feel it inside your tummy, stretching into every crevice of your gummy walls. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, fulfilling, deep pressure that you could get lost in- bathe in

Jungkooks feelings have synchronized with yours- he's unsure where you end or where he begins but you're clamped down on his cock, your skin already wet with sweat as it sticks to his unforgivingly, moans and shaky breaths fill in the silence, a unspoken question lingers, awaits for you to answer it

until you do, taking his large hands to your hips before pressing yours against his full pecks, a glint of confidence spites your eyes that makes jungkook want to hear you cry out his name over and over again

"oh fuck- baby you-" you whine, rolling your hips forward, mouth parted when you feel him move inside of you, slolwy, deeply "that's it my love, take your time, so sexy like this" his voice is far from stable, you moan again- the grinding becomes faster, assisted by his hands that pull you onto him just the way you like it- just like he said, you have it all, its all yours

"what- what if you can't come?" he needs to contain a laugh at that- the question is so absurd to him, so unimaginable that it makes him slightly angry why you couldn't understand that he could cum from seeing you alone, from one kiss to your chaste lips- he's already twitching at how sloppy, how loud your cunt is around him

"I almost came from seeing how needy that little pussy of yours is, you feel how hard i am don't you? all because of you baby" he mutters in response, you flourish at it, getting familiar with the grinding motion but you need more, you deserve more- so you start bouncing on him- up and down, slamming your own, curved hips down onto him. he's mesmerized by your pleasure, watching how your brows are knitted, how your lips leak with drool and airy moans, how your tits bounce- he gropes at them, cupping them greedily, his hands itch for your skin, for you to let yourself go on him

"good girl.. look at you, a natural at riding my cock- don't even need my help" you shake, exhaustion already growing in your eager hips but you cannot stop, you don´t want to stop taking every inch of his cock back into you, lifting your hips only to take him back in, "you're filling me so much" you moan into his mouth, having formed a unity with his lips that welcome you like home, "just like that pretty, little humps for me" he mumbles back, interlacing his tongue with yours

he tugs at your nipples with his inked fingers, reciprocrating the moaning, he mirrors you, throbs when you clench, explores your mouth when you part for him impatiently. it leaves you to no choice but to become his own reflection, your hips ground themselves in a stable rhythm as your fingertips roll over his own nipples, unexpectedly he whimpers, bites down into your shoulder cautiously

"That's it baby, driving me fucking crazy" he grinds his hips up into you, unlocking a feeling of bliss that leads you to errupt into pornographic moans, your hand flings to muffle them, eyes rolling back into your skull,

Jungkook is making love to you, letting you reach a state you would not have been able to imagine, not even in the slightest when all you have ever felt are your fingers hastily, uncoordinated on your bundle of nerves. still, he can feel you´re holding back, afraid to be loud- to take up space, but he's having none of it

"Dont be embarrassed sweet girl, you sound addicting, so cute, give me every little noise" sinful sensuality floods you with his encouragement, "gonna make you cum for me, deserve it don't you think?" you don't- in fact, you can't think, long gone into pleasure while his hips piston into you from below,

he slaps your clit gently, your walls clench from how good that feels, "i asked you something baby" he repeats, distracted by your droopy eyes that threaten to shut him out at any moment, "answer me sweet thing, do you deserve to cum hm?" he taunts, rutting his hips with a slower but harder motion, force that hits your g-spot- reels you back into the moment, you head moves frantically "yes, yes please i need to cum"

Jungkook groans in satisfaction, "that's right.. best little cunt, all mine" he goes back lapping at your chest, licking his way to any patch of skin that your addictive smell lurs him to- he feels all over your skin, sneaking his fingers to where your bodies morph into one so he can draw tight circles on your clit, stimulating you to cry out his name,

"Jungkook.. i- i can't stop it i-" you stutter, thighs tensing around him, the feeling is so overwhealming that you can't keep your head up, can't warn him more than that since you're already letting your dew sprinkle out- letting the shocks roll over your body

"just like that.. make a mess on my cock baby, you did so well, come for me" he rasps, his heavy balls release into your tightness at the thought that crosses his mind- the knowledge that he had made you orgasm, that your virginity belonged to him solely,

It embraces the both of you, fills you with a sense of euphoria that none of you wish to end

As the high washes over you, you break out into a small shudder, aware of his milky cum that splurts your walls white, aware of the oversensitive area between your legs that jungkook's fingers slowly stop touching, landing to your unstable and sore thighs instead.

his heavy breathing is woven into yours, contrasting how slowly, lazily he manages to caress your naked skin, finding comfort in your warm body

the small whisper of his name catches him off guard, he hums, pulling back to cup your face, "are you okay my love? feel good?" his eyes rank over your tired features, glowing before his very own eyes,

"so okay. I love you" you breathe out, pressing a kiss to his button nose,

"I love you too baby, so proud of you" his nose nuzzles against yours, "you were so so good"

your shy giggle lights up his face like it always does, "thank you.. for taking my virginity... felt so good" you mumble with your bottom lip tucked away between your teeth- it awakens his soft- still nestled cock, his hands grip your ass- feeling the flesh spill beneath his fingers "thank you for your trust baby, but god, you're gonna make me lose it" jungkook says into your neck, nose tracing the delicate line of your shoulder,

"why? is it too much?" unbeknownst to you, Jungkook rolls his eyes in annoyance, how could you be so fucking adorable?

"Let me show you why" he answers, making your head perk up a little,

"Wanna lay down for me pretty? I can give you another one, as many as you want. You deserve it, wanna spoil you, fuck i wanna give you everything you want" faintly audible as he's speaking into your skin, having already laid you down onto the cold cushions of his unreasonably expensive leather couch.

[rizzyu]

▵▿— Hold Me Close

— Jing Yuan, Boothill, Gepard, Sunday, Phainon, Mydei, Anaxa, Jiaoqiu x gn!reader

Category: Actually tooth rotting fluff

Synopsis: what is it like cuddling them?

CW: none :D

A/N: when u don’t know which one character to write for... also pls let me know if past or present tense would work better for drabbles like these I genuinely don’t know AAAA

JING YUAN —▵▿

Be prepared to not be able to breathe for the next few hours.

The Luofu General would lay on top of you, with all the weight and muscles he had, cling onto you like a massive cat. How could he not? You were just so comfortable, a perfect mattress for his afternoon nap.

“Jing Yuan- darling you’re crushing me…”

The man would only hum in response as he shifted on top of you to get a bit more comfortable, pressing the last puff of air from your lungs as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His arms looped around your waist as if you’re a pillow. No matter how many times you tried to peel yourself away from him, it was futile.

“Just let me sleep…” He murmured. His voice was deep and gravelly.

You look down to see the man peacefully asleep. His lashes fluttered against his cheek. It was just part of his charm to be able to have you give in to him so easily. You could only sigh in defeat before bringing your hand up to comb through the General’s wild silvery mane, eliciting another content hum from him.

BOOTHILL —▵▿

Despite being 90% metal, the cowboy was oddly comfortable to cuddle with. Boothill enjoyed having you lay on his chest as he gently combed his metal fingers through your hair. One of the best parts about cuddling with you was being about to yap just about anything with you. What he did on the day… how fun it was to gun down IPC guards… how that secret stash of bullets in his pocket always tasted better with you on his mind.

Boothill loved nuzzling his face against you. It was the one way he could feel you, your body heat, and the smoothness of your skin. Somehow, it all made him feel so human.

“Darlin’… yer’s so soft. Wish I could feel ya all over.”

Often times, Boothill would nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck and kiss all the skin he could come in contact with before parting his lips and just gently bite on your skin with his teeth. Nothing sexual, he just wanted to feel and taste you. You were the one who made him feel whole, after all.

GEPARD —▵▿

Great at cuddling, especially after one long, tiring day of work.

The Captain of the Silvermane Guards would just haphazardly remove his armour, not even bothering to change out of his uniform before flopping into bed and cuddling you. With his face buried in your chest and arms wrapped around your waist, the man was finally able to let himself relax in your embrace.

Stroke his hair, pepper him with kisses, whisper sweet nothings to his ear, he’d let you do anything to him while cuddling. No words were needed to be exchanged either. He loved the peaceful silence shared between the two of you. But of course, if you wanted to talk, he would listen. If you asked him how his day went, Gepard would undoubtedly share all the wonderful and not so wonderful things with you.

SUNDAY —▵▿

Although being together for so long, Sunday still couldn’t help but feel flustered and giddy all over whenever receiving attention form you. Cuddling wasn’t an exception.

Sunday would be blushing and everything as you hold him close. His legs were tangled with yours and his face was buried in your chest as you idly groomed his wings. He could feel your fingers gingerly fixing every individual feather. He couldn’t help but let it flinch in your hands, and every time it did, he could hear you snicker softly. It was such a lovely melody, he would listen to your laugh for the rest of his life.

You would sometimes tease him for his adorable blush while you were cuddling, peppering his cheeks and making his cheeks heat up even more until the Oak Family head was all putty in your arms.

“Must you tease me so much? Ah… dear, please, this is so humiliating…”

PHAINON —▵▿

Phainon patiently waited for you on the bed. His armour was already removed. Upon seeing you enter the bedroom, he outstretched his arms, an adorably wide smile hung on his face as he gave you the puppy eyes.

“Cuddle?”

You swore he was going to be the death of your poor heart.

The moment you get into bed, he would cling onto your waist and bury his face in your stomach. You didn’t even get the chance to properly lay down yet and the man would be shamelessly attached to you, molding his body with yours. The feeling of you against him was everything that he could ask for.

The cheeky man would sometimes tease you out of nowhere, pinching your side or tickling you, just to make you flinch and giggle. You weren’t about to let him off the hook so easily. A cuddle session would all of a sudden turn into the two of you rolling around the bed, trying to tickle the living daylights out of one another.

By the time you two laid panting, Phainon would pull you close and bury his face at the crook of your neck before finally letting you fall asleep.

MYDEI—▵▿

Mydei was perfect to lay on top of. His body was broad and warm, your perfect heater. Not to mention, he would let you rest your head against his ‘pillows’ (ahem ahem).

Mydei gently traced random shapes on your back as he felt your chest rise and fall against him with every breath you took. The feeling grounded him. It reminded him of your comforting presence. Mydei let you trace his red markings as you cuddled. Your feather-light touch would send tingles down his spine.

You would sometimes prop you chin in your palm as you silently admire the Kremnoan prince. Your gaze would trace every feature of his handsome face, a smile gracing your lips, until Mydei adverted his gaze to hide his blushing cheeks.

“HKS…” He mumbled.

You could only giggle at his reaction before leaning down to pepper kisses all over his face.

ANAXA —▵▿

Anaxa was never the first to cuddle you, but he would always wait for you.

The moment he felt the mattress dip and your arms wrap around him, he would put away the scroll he had been reading and reciprocate, slipping his arms around your torso, letting you tangle your legs with his, and bury his face in the crook of your neck.

Anaxa lived for the feeling of your hands gingerly combing through his hair. It calmed him from one long day of dealing with his annoying students. The professor would rant on about his new theories, or how his students wouldn’t stop calling him atrociously ridiculous names.

“’Prof ‘Nax?’ Tsk. The sheer audacity of those children.”

Anaxa could feel your chest moving against his as you laughed, and he hugged you closer. The feeling of you by his side grounded him. He let his eyes droop as he relaxed against you. You were his solace, his sanctuary, the only deity he would devote himself to.

JIAOQIU —▵▿

The purpose of a fox’s tail was to keep itself warm. Jiaoqiu’s tail was for letting you hug like a pillow. He didn’t mind as long as he could feel your warmth around him. The two of you would lay side by side, you back against his front and his tail could curl to the front of you for you to hold.

Jiaoqiu wrapped his arms securely around your torso. He tended to slip his hands beneath your clothes to gently trace your skin as you cuddled. He loved how you soft you felt, and he’ll be damned if he wasn’t able to feel you for even a second. He would trace invisible shapes and rub gentle circles on your stomach or waist, or gently massage the muscles of your body.

“Your muscles are too tense… may I help you, my dear?”

The foxian would brush your hair to the side and litter your neck and nape with tender kisses and teasing bites, leaving little red marks over your skin. Every sensation of his lips and fangs on your skin sent shivers down your spine.

“Jiaoqiu… people are gonna see those marks…”

“Hmm…? Was that not the idea?”

OH GOD MY HANDS

[buckysleftbicep]

briefed and blown 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, oral sex (m rec), teasing, team chaos

summary: you are on your knees for bucky, just before a mission briefing based on this request | requests are open!

word count: 1.1k

author's note: i loved writing this request! i hope you guys enjoy, love ya and stay safe out there!

i want him.

You dropped to your knees before the door even shut.

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed through his teeth, trying to backpedal as his spine hit the wall of the small storage room. “They’re right outside.”

Your grin was anything but innocent. “That’s the fun part.” Your eyes were locked on his, loving the way his breath caught. “Don’t pretend you’re not already hard for me.”

Boots scuffed the floor just beyond the door. Laughter. Alexei’s grumble. Yelena's sharp bark at Walker. The mission briefing was minutes from starting, and you had Bucky’s cock in your hand like you were a woman starved.

He was already getting hard. Thick and heavy in your hand, the head flushed dark with need, twitching when your thumb dragged over the slit. You couldn’t help but rub your cheek along the side of it, teasing him with your heat before even taking him in. Because of course he was. He always did for you.

“Baby-” he warned, voice low, gravelled, delicious. “Now’s not the—shit—”

You took him into your mouth in one smooth, practiced motion, lips stretched wide, tongue swirling over the tip as your fingers dug into his thighs to hold him still. You did it with practiced hunger, letting your lips stretch around his girth.

Your tongue flattened along the underside, tracing that thick, throbbing vein you knew made him twitch. You dragged your lips slowly down his length, savouring the way his cock pulsed with every teasing stroke.

Each inch you swallowed only made your core tighten, your panties already soaked from the memory of how he’d had you that morning. Face down in your shared bed, his hand around your neck, hips snapping into you while you whimpered his name like a prayer.

Now you were on your knees for him again, insatiable.

“Jesus,” he breathed, jaw tight, trying to keep control as your mouth wrapped around him. His fingers tangled in your hair instantly, the metal of his left hand cool against your scalp, tugging just enough to warn you, not yet, not too fast.

But you ignored him. Of course you did.

Instead, you moaned around him, long and low, letting the sound reverberate through your throat. The vibrations traveled up his cock, and he shuddered. You could feel it, every twitch, every attempt to hold back. And it only made you hungrier.

You wanted to ruin him.

You wanted him flushed and breathless, trembling from the effort of staying silent while his teammates sat on the other side of the wall — clueless, or maybe not, because how the hell could he not be loud when you were doing this?

You went deeper.

Your throat flexed as you took more of him, inch by inch, until your nose brushed his pelvis and your jaw ached from the stretch. The weight of him, the heat, the taste, it was too much, and not enough.

You swallowed around him, again and again, greedy for his reaction. Your hands gripped his thighs, anchoring yourself as you let him hit the back of your throat. You held there, choking slightly, eyes watering.

That’s when he cursed under his breath, low, raw, helpless.

“Fuck… baby, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

And still, you didn’t let up.

The head of his cock hit the back of your throat, and you didn’t stop. You swallowed around him, breath steady, gag reflex trained for this exact moment. Bucky’s head hit the wall behind him with a dull thud.

“Mouth so fuckin’ good,” he groaned. “Always knew you were trouble.”

From the other side of the wall, Yelena’s voice rang clear.

“Where’s Barnes and (Y/n)?"

“Please don't tell me they're defiling another supply closet” Walker muttered

You almost laughed around his cock, but the vibration made Bucky buck his hips involuntarily, and now you had a problem.

His cock hit deep, tears pricked at your lashes, but you held still, throat fluttering around him, one hand cupping his balls while the other braced you against his hip.

“ffuck,” Bucky gritted, trying so hard to keep still, to stay silent, but his grip on your hair was tight, borderline punishing. “You’re gonna make me blow my fuckin’ load while they’re talking about evac points aren't you princess?"

You pulled off with a filthy pop, gasping just enough air before diving back down and sucking. Loud, wet and messy.

You wanted him to feel it. You wanted him to suffer.

“Dirty little mouth,” he snarled, and this time, he didn’t hold back. His hips snapped into you, just once, just enough to feel the back of your throat close around him again. “You’re fuckin’ addicted to it, huh? To my cock down your throat.”

You moaned around him, shameless, spit trailing from the corners of your lips as your hand pumped what your mouth couldn’t take.

“Swallow it,” he ordered, voice sharp, breathless. “Be my good girl and take it all.”

Your nails dug into his thigh. The taste of him, the stretch, the weight of his cock in your throat had you dripping into your panties, your free hand slipping between your thighs for friction. But you didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.

You deepthroated him once more and that was all it took.

His jaw clenched hard. His abs tightened. You heard it before you tasted it, that ragged gasp he always let out when he lost control.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He came hard, groaning deep in his chest as his hips flexed forward. The salt of him hit your tongue in thick pulses, and you swallowed greedily, desperate to take it all.

Your hands held him firm, your mouth milking him through every wave. You didn’t pull off, not until you were sure he was finished and even then, you gave a few soft sucks, letting him twitch and shudder from oversensitivity.

When you finally let him go, you licked your lips. Looked up at him, ruined and smug and satisfied.

He looked wrecked. The kind of fucked-out glow only you could pull from him, with his pupils blown wide, hair clinging to sweat-slick temples, his chest heaving like he’d just come back from war.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, pulling you to your feet like gravity had failed him. “What the hell am I supposed to say if they ask why I’m late?”

You smiled, straightening his collar for him. “Tell them you were getting briefed.”

From the hallway, Ava snapped, “Barnes! If you’re not in here in thirty seconds, I’m making Walker team lead.”

Bucky gave you one last look, part threat, part promise.

Then he opened the door.

“Sorry,” he deadpanned. “Got caught up.” His voice was hoarse, lower than usual, and Ava’s head snapped up. She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing, yet. Yelena smirked knowingly. John made a face.

Alexei looked up at Bucky, pointed, and then—

"He have the cum face"

Ava slid down in her chair, exasperated. "Fuckin' hell Barnes, it's 9 am"

[goonjo]

"you can go deeper than that, cmon. give me one more"

nanami’s low, smooth, sultry voice ghosts past the shell of your ear. his breath sinking into your skin making your hair stand at attention. he's close. so close that his frame swallows you whole. strong, heavy arms bracket your sides, caging you in as he spots your squat.

his cologne clogs your lungs— smoky oud, crisp and cold, the kind of scent that lingers long after he's gone. that curls and twists, winding into the fabric of your clothes, your thoughts. it makes your head swim. your legs shake.

a deep breath swells in your chest, your fingers tightening around the rough metal bar. your knuckles burn, muscles coiling tight. a quick tap to your thigh from the man behind you and you're steadying the tremble in your legs.

"you’re overthinking it," he huffs. his tone is unbearably soft. he knows you too well. "breathe. and push through."

and you do.

heat licks at your muscles as you take a few steps back to unrack the weight, teeth gritted. nanami’s hands hover beneath you, close enough to catch you if you fail, but far enough that you know: he believes in you.

the bar dips … pause. then with a grunt, you push upwards before locking it back into place with a heavy clank that echoes throughout the gym.your chest heaves, sweat slicking your skin, adrenaline pounding through your veins like a drug.

"see," nanami hums, "told you you could."

you smirk, glancing at him through the mirror, "i didn't need a spot"

a suprised expression pops onto his face and his head tilts.

"yeah?" he hums.

then he’s moving.

stepping behind you, his large, rough hands sloowwllyy drag over the softness of your thighs and over your stomach. heat curls before you can stop it, "but you were shaking so much" he breathes, fingers kneading, pressing into the sore muscles, "you sure you didn’t need me?"

a smirk tugs at your lips, and you push your hips back rolling against the faatt bulge in his gym shorts, "are you sure you don't need me?" —

nanami has been your personal trainer for a little over 2 years now. you'd always wanted to start working out, but you knew you needed someone to guide you, to teach you proper form, and—most importantly—to hold you accountable.

at first he was just that.

but after about a year and a half, your relationship changed. you didn't really need him. you had your routine memorized like the back of your hand. he turned into more of a workout partner. a friend. 

the first time he invited you to do something outside of the gym was after a late night workout. he offered to treat you to lunch for pushing yourself.

you should’ve known by then the lines of your relationship had already started to blur.

but, of course, you agreed. how could you not? he was handsome and fucking built— thick, heavy biceps, with a muscular back, slim waist, and perfect abs. he took you to a spot a few blocks from the gym and you two talked for hours. there was more to him than you thought from first glance and he was … sweet.

the first time you fucked?

it was after a work out too, of course.

there’s no way you didn’t expect him to get hard after seeing you in those little shorts. the ones that ride up in the middle. that hug every curve.

you should've know.

shit, maybe you did.

but it didn't matter.

because when his rough hands gripped your thighs, when he pushed you into that locker room, his tongue soft, flush against yours, nothing else existed.

after that you two seemed to fall into a routine: you'd meet him at the gym, get a workout in, then he'd have you right where he wanted— bent over a bench, stretched out nice n' pretty underneath him.

“fuuuckkk ken”

thick, calloused fingers wrap around your neck as he fucks into your sloppy little pussy from the back, each hard smack of his heavy hips echoing throughout the dim locker room.

“shhhh i know .. i know,” your poor pussy struggles to fit him all, cum leaking from your pretty hole in fat, warm globs— so messy.

“she’s takin’ me sooo well baby, so pretty like this” he’s pushing your thighs farther and farther apart, fat spilling from between his finger, to stuff you properly, his thumb grazing your ass as he leans over to let spit fall on your little hole.

the way his cock drags against your walls makes you drool, his strong arms holding your limp body upright practically picking you up and dropping you on his dick all by himself.

your mind is so blank all you can do is moan out broken cries of his name like some whore and take him. he loves it.

you're such a strong woman, inside and out, and he admires you for it. more than you could ever know. so getting to see you go dumb 'round his dick like this, seeing you melt and crumble just does something to him.

you’re already so close. heat coiling deep in your tummy and nanami can feel it so he grabs himself at the thick base and pulls allll the out making you mewl and whine.

“nooooo was- so cl-close,” you cry, turning to look at him over your shoulder with big teary eyes.

“can’t have you cumming that fast mama, wanna play with you just a little longer”

[chanandlersstuff]

Three times where Anakin’s jealousy was harmless, even fun, and one when it wasn't.

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Reader/OFC.

Summary: Every time he sees her across the room and forgets to breathe, forgets that damn code that complicates his life. She knows exactly what she’s doing, she’s beauty, power, and temptation wrapped in one impossible woman, and everyone wants her, but she only burns for him. Every time he sees her with someone else, Anakin’s composure cracks a little more.

Word count: 7.141

Warnings: Anakin, a warning itself. A little bit of smut, not graphic, there, toxicity there, jealousy, a creep, violence and blood. (let me know if i miss something).

Author’s note: Hiii, two times in one day, count yourselves lucky. First time writting for our sweet beloved Ani.

This is inspired by hours and hours of clone wars and this tiktok. It goes without saying that all this is fictional, I don't want to upseat anyone, this is for fun.

With that being said, enjoy, hope you like it. Lots of love, ME.

(gif credits to the owner)

The air was thick with expensive perfume, velvet words and politics. Senators with fabricated smiles moved like currents through golden light, their laughter overlapping with the soft strings of the Nabooian quartet tucked into one corner of the ballroom. Glasses clinked. Conversations sparkled. 

Anakin felt her before she even entered the hall properly. The soft tug in his chest told him she was close, and when she stepped into view, adorned in metallic green robes that kissed the floor, hugged her curves and shimmered as she moved, he nearly forgot to breathe. 

And so did everyone else. 

She looked like a whispered sin.

Men turned. Women glanced. Senators whispered. Generals approached her. Every damn set of eyes in that room followed her. Of course they did because she looked like the brightest star of them all. 

Anakin could feel them, sense their intentions as they approached her with too-wide smiles like the itch of static across his skin. Their attention wasn’t polite, it was hungry.

His eyes saw her having polite smiles, he heard her laughter, rare but dazzling, curved through the air like sunlight on water, and it struck him, standing across the room in ceremonial Jedi robes, how damn bright she was.

And how many men wanted to bask in her glow.

She was the kind of woman people gravitated toward. A quiet sun in the middle of a storm. A cathedral in a world of shacks, commanding awe. 

He stood across the ballroom, robed in Jedi formality, a guest and a ghost. His hands stayed folded behind his back, his expression neutral. But inside, he was seething as yet another advisor leaned just a little too close, whispering something into her ear that made her smile, and his fingers curled into a fist.

For hours, she moved like light across the floor, drawn into every orbit. People hoarded her attention, called her name, asked for things, fed off her warmth. She smiled, laughed, and even joked. All while never looking at him. Not even once.

Then it happened, some Republic attaché leaned in to say something, too close, and she turned her head to hear him better, her shoulder brushing his chest. His hand hovered just behind her waist. Not touching, not quite.

But Anakin felt it, felt the heat surge like a detonation in his chest. A sharp, hot pang hit low in his gut.

He hadn’t touched her in weeks, some mission in some Outer Rim dustbowl, he couldn’t even remember the name now. All he could think about in that moment was the ghost of her skin under his callus fingers, soft, smooth, velvet-warm and seared into his memory like a brand.

And now others were close enough to smell her perfume.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, willing the fire down, but it simmered. Oh, it simmered. Another man stepped up to her side, clearly emboldened. Flirting again. Anakin’s knuckles whitened behind his back.

She plucked the flower the man offered her, twirled it between her fingers, and, finally, looked up. Across the room, past every other face. Right at him and her smile changed. Slow. Private. Not for anyone else. She knew what she was doing and she loved it. He could feel the pulse of her amusement, soft and golden behind her ribcage, glowing just for him.

And that was enough to cool the burn. For now.

She excused herself a few moments later, slipping away with the tail of her gown floating behind her, weaving through polished diplomats and oblivious senators. He waited precisely ten seconds before following, every step practiced restraint.

The cool night air of Coruscant swept over the balcony, a quiet haven away from the noise and glitter of the gala. The hum of air traffic and muffled music were distant, irrelevant things. All Anakin saw, all he ever saw, even in his dreams, was her.

She leaned against the railing like she owned the city, like the stars were her playthings. The wind caught her hair just enough to make him ache.

“You looked cozy in there,” he said, voice low, sharp at the edges. “Your... fan club seemed enthusiastic tonight.”

She didn’t turn. Just let the silence stretch, knowing it’d get to him. It always did.

“Fan club?” she echoed at last, tone light, teasing. “Sounds like jealousy, Skywalker.”

Anakin scoffed and folded his arms. “Interesting choice of company tonight. You always did like the dramatic types.”

She turned, one brow lifted. “You mean politicians?”

“I mean men who seem to forget that you are clearly out of their league.” He stepped closer, boots nearly silent, heat radiating off him in waves.

“You know,” she continued, tilting her head slightly to the side, “if I do have a fan club, I’m pretty sure you started it. That whole brooding stare-from-across-the-room thing? Very compelling.”

His jaw ticked. “Right. I’ll remember to blink next time I watch you let half the Senate fall in love with you.”

Her eyes glittered as she turned to face him. “You were watching.”

“You knew I was.”

“Practically vibrating,” she teased. “If you glared any harder, you’d have ignited the Chancellor’s carpet.”

The Force crackled faintly between them, quiet, intimate, like the brush of fingers on bare skin. He didn’t have to reach for her emotions; they poured into him like sunlight and wildfire. She was amused. Charged. Testing him.

She took a step closer. Barely there, but it was enough. “Maker, you’re jealous,” she murmured, delighted at how much tension it was in his jaw and arms. “That’s adorable.”

That did it.

In one smooth, sudden motion, Anakin pressed her back into the shadows of the balcony, out of sight. Her breath caught as the cold stone met part of her spine and his body followed, flush against hers, every line of him pressed with unrelenting intent, the warmth of his palm burning the small of her back. His metallic hand caught her jaw, tilting her face up, not rough, but firm.

His eyes burned gold in the dark as the shadows wrapped them in silence, covering their secret. 

“Do you know how hard it is not to touch you when they do?” he hissed, breath hot against her cheek. “Not to shout that you’re mine?”

She smiled slowly, challenging. “You don’t need to shout.”

He growled softly, teeth clenched. “Right, because you’re the one who loves to be loud.”

She didn’t deny it. “I love to shout your name,” she purred as her fingers found his belt, tugging him even closer.

Their mouths crashed together in a kiss that had no business being soft. It was hot, messy, desperate, brutal in its restraint. Tongues sliding, biting, fighting for dominance, hands gripping wherever they could, pulling the other deeper, like the weeks apart hadn’t worn their restraint down to shreds.

He groaned into her mouth when she bit his lip, and she gasped when he pressed his big leg slid between hers with sinful precision, and Anakin swallowed the sound greedily.

The world outside didn’t exist. There was only this, this fire, this want, this ache they weren’t allowed to name. And the Force around them swirled, tight and humming, their shared emotions tangling like limbs in the dark. Possession. Desire. Frustration. Love, blistering and untouchable. 

They kissed like they were starving. Like they might not get the chance again. Like it wasn’t enough to be his in secret, she wanted to be his in blood, in breath, in everything.

When they finally pulled apart, panting, her lipstick smudged, his hair a mess, and her dress rumpled, he still didn’t move.

He leaned his forehead to hers, eyes closed, hand on her cheek now, softer. But the tremble in his chest hadn’t gone.

“You are mine,” Anakin whispered.

Somewhere inside, he knew this was dangerous.

But her hand running in his hair, tugging softly, her lips swollen and smirking beneath his, and the feeling of her emotions bleeding into his own, her heart thudding against his. “Always.”

It all made him reckless.

Made him Anakin.

The halls of the Jedi Temple bathed in a golden wash of sunlight that stretched through high windows. It was a sanctuary, quiet and disciplined, above any kind of distraction. 

Anakin stood with his arms crossed, flanked by a line of teen knights finishing saber drills under his supervision. The hum and clash of practice blades echoed through the open-air courtyard, mid morning sun painting golden light across the pale stone floors.

He was focused, they all were. Until he wasn’t anymore.

A tug. It started like a subtle itch in his chest. That familiar flutter of energy in the Force that only she caused. His posture shifted almost imperceptibly. Then came the whispers. The laughter. The telltale shift in attention that shouldn’t be happening in a Temple. 

Anakin turned and there she was. She had always made a mockery of Jedi rules just by simply existing.

She moved through the courtyard like a comet, bright, elegant, entirely out of place and somehow right there. The sun kissed her skin and made her glow. Hair swept back, face glowing, wearing that rich blue gown that fitted her like a globe and stole breaths left and right. 

Poor young Jedis, they barely stood a chance.

He watched, arms still crossed, as they began to trip over themselves for her, far too eagerly.

A taller knight stumbled forward, lightsaber already off, bowing too low. “Senator, would you care for a demonstration?”

Another, younger, grinned, straightening his robes with unnecessary flair, puffed up his chest and opened his mouth to talk, but was cut short by a third that stepped in beside her, charming and overly familiar. “Senator,” he said, smirking, offering his arm. “Perhaps I could escort you to the Grand Hall? The Temple’s layout can be disorienting, after all.” 

“Actually,” another interrupted, “I was just about to take my morning walk, can I show you the gardens?”

Anakin narrowed his eyes. The younger knights, barely past their trials, surrounded her like moths to flame. Soon, he was sure the entire practice floor was about to break in spontaneous combat displays.

They were all smiles and flushed cheeks, tripping over each other for a chance to impress her but all she did was smile politely, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. 

Anakin moved, dangerously calm, all coiled control and silent warning. The kind of movement that sliced through space like a saber unsheathed, needing no sound to be final. He stepped into view like a storm rolling over a bright sky. Shadows clung to his silhouette, jaw set, blue eyes hard. He towered over the young knights who were still mid-stammer and mid-swoon.

Her eyes found his instantly and a smile, bright, amused, knowing exactly what this was, appeared on her tempting lips. “General Skywalker,” she greeted, honey-smooth and just this side of smug.

“Senator,” he said, voice all clipped politeness, but there was a glint in his eye only she could read. “You’re expected elsewhere. Please—come with me.”

It wasn’t a request. Not really.

She tilted her head, clearly entertained, and followed without protest. Behind her, the poor knights stood shell-shocked and heartbroken.

Anakin took her the long way, through narrow passages and shadow-laced halls that only he would know. Hidden corridors carved into the Temple’s bones, tucked from sight and sound. No one followed. No one dared. No one ever did when he didn’t want them to.

The tension thrummed between them. Unspoken. Electric. She could feel it through the thread they never dared name. That quiet, intimate current that pulsed like a live wire between their hearts. It made her skin prickle and her mouth curl.

“You’re brooding,” she said lightly, brushing his hand with hers.

“They were drooling,” he replied, jaw clenched, walking too fast.

She laughed softly. “You’re a menace.” Force humming quietly between them in familiar warmth. 

He didn’t deny it. Just opened the door to his quarters and tilted his head towards the inside. His eyes burned hotter than the twin suns. “They were idiots.”

“They were children,” she said, shrugging off her shawl. “It was flattering, sure. But harmless.”

She stepped into his space and reached for his tunic, smoothing invisible wrinkles just for the excuse to touch him.

His hands found her waist like magnets, urgent, desperate. Like his world only started spinning when she was close. Like he’d been starving for the feel of her. “You’re mine,” he muttered, voice rough, low.

The second she pressed against him, the tension snapped. His shoulders dropped and his breath hitched. She always did this to him, only she ever could.

The smile she gave him lit up every star in his chest.

“Possessive much?” she teased, lifting her gaze beneath her lashes. Her hand rested against his chest, gentle pressure just over his heart. “You’re lucky that’s sexy.”

“They don’t even see you,” he growled, lips brushing the edge of her jaw as he inhaled her. “Not really. Not like I do.”

Her fingers slid into his hair, threading through the waves of it, soft and slow. His anger began to dissolve under her touch.

“I know that,” she whispered, grounding him. “You don’t have to prove anything, Ani.” Her lips brushed his, featherlight. “I only have eyes for one Jedi Knight,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

A sharp breath left his lungs, forehead pressed to hers. He didn’t speak. Just stood there and felt her. Let her presence, her truth, her kiss soften all the edges. As it always did.

“You’re the only one,” she said, voice softer now, brushing her lips against his. “The only one who gets to take me home.”

He said nothing. He just clenched his jaw and looked at her like she was the entire galaxy, beautiful, untouchable, and he didn’t know how to protect her from it without claiming her. But Anakin was ready to go to the end of time to keep her safe, even if it meant destroying himself in the process.

She kissed him, soft and slow, with reverence, her thumb brushed along his jaw and his hands finally moved. One slid around her lower back, the other tangled in her hair, cradling her like something both sacred and dangerous.

“You were planning to come early,” he said, voice rasping low. “Just to see me.”

She smiled against his lips. “Took you long enough to figure it out, my love.”

He kissed her, deeper, hungrier. Less about proving, more about having. Reverence disguised as hunger. Possession disguised as devotion.

They didn’t speak again for a while. Not when she tugged him toward his bed. Not when his hands ran down her back like he was mapping out the constellations of her skin. Not when his mouth marked her skin like scripture. Not when she gasped his name like it anchored her. Not when he murmured her name like a prayer. And definitely not when the Force pulsed around them, holding the world at bay.

She had come early and now, thanks to him, she’d come more than once… and would definitely be late to her meeting, with love bites and traces of him in places only he could see later in the night.

But that had always been the danger, with her, time bent, it didn’t really matter. The world waited. Only she existed.

And if anyone asked, well, he was General Skywalker. And no one dared question him.

She was trying to work. Key word, trying. Because trying didn’t stand a chance when Anakin Skywalker was in the room. Her focus kept going to him.

He wasn’t even doing anything, not really. Just existing, sprawled across the soft seating like it was his throne, golden and smug. His presence filled the space like a storm fills the horizon, vast and crackling, impossible to ignore. She could feel him under her skin, behind her ribs, humming through her bloodstream even with five feet and a desk between them.

And he knew it, of course he did, he could feel the effect he had on her.

“You know,” he said casually, leaning back and resting the back of his head in his intertwined fingers, “we should go away.”

She didn’t look up from her datapad. “Go away?”

“A vacation.” He was already picturing it, voice wrapped in sunlight. “Just the two of us. There’s a place, far, far from here, remote, beautiful, where no one would recognize us.” He looked at her. “It will be like we are an actual couple instead of Senator and Jedi.”

Her fingers paused above the screen, the weight of the idea pressing into her chest like warmth. She could see it too, for a moment. Feel it like a dream she wanted to believe in.

“I would love nothing more,” she said honestly. “But I can’t, Ani.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” he sat up, affronted, like she’d personally insulted the sun. “It’s two weeks. The Senate can survive without you. Miraculously, I know.”

She sighed, still not looking at him. “I’m sure it can. But I have propositions to review, bills to finalize, votes to prepare. Important meetings—”

He stepped around her desk and popped a dramatic hip like the galaxy's most petulant god. “More important than me?”

She narrowed her eyes, slow and sharp. “You know exactly what you mean to me.”

“Do I?” he said dramatically, crossing his arms and turning around like a tragic holo actor. “Because right now it feels like my heart is being shoved to the bottom of your schedule.”

She let out a breath and leaned back in her chair, folding her hands across her stomach as she studied him.

“Our love is everything to me,” she said carefully. “But my work matters too. It matters for people who don’t have the luxury of sneaking away. Our work matters, Anakin. What we do matters.”

“To me there’s nothing more important than you,” he said standing there with his back to her, arms crossed like a storm cloud, radiating disappointment in dramatic waves.

She stared at his back, lips twitching. “That better not be a pout.”

“No,” he grumbled, “it’s… noble heartbreak.”

She laughed softly, Maker help her, she adored this ridiculous man. “You’re such a menace.”

“And yet here you are,” he said, not turning around. “Still not on vacation with me.”

She stood, walked towards him and slid her hands around his waist, resting her chin between his shoulder blades. “What can I do to prove to you that you matter the most to me?”

“The damage is already done,” he said with great theatrical flair.

A laugh almost escaped her lips, but she pushed it back, and in a swift motion she stood in front of him. Her fingers found his jaw, warm, strong, and tilted his face down to hers.

“My sweet sweet Ani,” she whispered, her lips slow, hot, reverent, against his, making him melt, just a little. “If you want proof,” she murmured, “then let me show you what you mean to me.”

She kissed him, soft and deep, hands threading through his hair possessively, it silenced every protest he thought about making. 

The kiss was heated, frantic, like they’d been starving for each other and finally allowed to feast. It was instant combustion. No slow burn, no delicate teasing. Just raw need, all fire and ache and knowing. He exhaled into her mouth, his hands tangled in her hair, then moved down to her waist, clutching like gravity itself had shifted and he was grounding himself. 

She tasted like stars and defiance. He kissed her like she was air and flame all at once. The fire she lit inside him was hers alone to command.

When her mouth grazed his neck, what was left of his composure unraveled like silk and his lips met hers again. He walked them back, blindly, not breaking the kiss, not once, her mouth still pressed to his, until she hit the bookshelf. He pinned her there, one hand cradling her head so she wouldn’t knock into the shelves. Books toppled behind them like falling stars as his mouth found her throat, her collarbone, her name falling from his lips like a prayer he’d been dying to say.

She gasped, breathless and burning, and he kissed her harder, like he needed to brand himself into her soul.

Then he moved again, his hands were already back on her, mapping the lines of her body like sacred territory. He knew every curve, every reaction, how she’d shiver when he kissed just below her jaw, how her breath caught when his fingers traced her spine. They collided again, lips bruising, hands insistent.

But it wasn’t just need, it was knowing. The kind of knowing that came from worship and war, from battles fought side by side and promises whispered in the dark. 

When the desk hit the backs of her thighs, he lifted her onto it, his free hand shooting out to sweep everything off the surface in one violent motion, datapads, files, a stylus, a small potted plant, all crashing to the floor as if the whole galaxy could wait while his was mouth still on hers, and she pulled him in like gravity had given up and left only them.

They moved together in a rhythm as old as time, sharp gasps, soft moans, whispered names, a symphony of want and devotion echoing off polished wood and walls that had seen too much and still not enough.

Her legs wrapped around his hips, her heels locking at the small of his back, pulling him into her, into this, and he thrust into her, the sound she made shattered him. Her head fell back, exposing her throat, and he kissed it reverently, like a knight bent before a goddess. 

She was wrapped around him, tangled in his body like ivy on stone. Her hands were in his hair, his tunic, her voice in his ear, guiding him, worshipping him. His mouth dragged over her neck, her chest, every place that made her tremble.

His hands moved over her body like he knew every inch of her in his bones, because he did. He didn’t fumble. He didn’t guess. He knew her like he knew the hilt of his saber, like breath, like instinct. He knew what would make her gasp, what would make her moan, what would unravel her completely. And she gave herself to it, to him, because she knew him just the same.

When the desk groaned in protest, he lifted her into his arms, and she laughed breathlessly against his mouth as he carried her to the little velvet sofa, limbs tangled, breathing ragged. He continued to worship her there, whispering her name like it was a secret spell that bound the universe together. She pulled him in with her eyes, with her hands, with the soft, broken sound she only ever made for him.

Every movement, every sound, every glance between them was instinct, history, devotion. They didn’t have to speak. They knew.

And when they finally collapsed on the floor, sweaty, undone, breathless and wrecked and more whole than ever, he hovered over her, brushing damp hair from her face, his heart pounding against hers.

“You are everything to me,” she whispered, cupping his cheek.

His lips curved into a crooked smile as he pressed his forehead to hers. “No,” he murmured. “We’re everything.”

The gala was crowded, loud, and glittering with too much fake gold and not enough sincerity. She floated through it like she always did, charming, gracious, intelligent. Every word laced with purpose and diplomacy. She was dazzling, magnetic. Untouchable.

Anakin had been watching her from across the room, he always is, with admiration, with love blossoming in his chest, but tonight his jaw was clenched so tightly it could shatter in any moment. 

Senator Vanto of Andosha was practically glued to her side, as he had seemed to be lately. He had been circling for weeks like a blood-slicked nexu. It started with a look across the Senate, followed by sugar-drenched pleasantries echoing in marble halls and smiles that lasted a second too long, then a fleeting compliment with a lingering hand on her back. Then he started to get more bold, a too-close whisper over a datapad, every time she laughed the man leaned in closer, taking every possible opportunity to have a hand on her, his eyes devouring her like a predator savoring the kill.

Anakin had seen it all, every touch, every glance from the Senator over the last few weeks, and it burned through him like acid, each and every single time, and she didn’t see it. Or worse, she refused to.

Now, in that glittering cage, every time he even breathed close to her, every time she flashed that too-perfect public smile, Anakin’s vision blurred at the edges. And when the senator started parading around with a hand on the small of her back, his filthy hand on her smooth velvety skin, fingers grazing the open back of her gown like he had the right, like he could, Anakin’s blood boiled.

And she, she laughed, not her real laugh, the one she gave him in quiet moments beneath tangled sheets, but the polite one she wore in public. It didn’t matter. It burned all the same. 

Without a word, he turned on his heel, strides clipped and purposeful. He didn’t care who saw. Let the whole damn Senate speculate. Let them whisper. He didn’t care. He launched his fighter and left.

By the time she got home, the apartment was dark. Cold. But not silent. Anakin was there, pacing like a caged animal, shoulders tight with barely restrained fury.

She didn’t even get her shoes off before the storm hit. “Something wrong Ani?” she asked, the door barely clicking shut behind her.

He turned, the heat in his eyes sparking like wildfire. “You really have to ask?”

She blinked at him, confused, tension curling at the edge of her spine. “I don’t understand.” She frowned, “If you’re upset about something, say it. Don’t just, brood,” she said, unwinding the earrings from her lobes. 

“I’m not brooding,” he snapped. “I’m trying very hard not to explode.”

She scoffed. “Well, you’re doing a terrible job.”

“Just like you were at keeping Senator Vanto’s filthy hands off you,” he said, sarcasm dripping like venom. 

Her breath caught. “Are you really going to start again?” she snapped, looking at him through the mirror in the room, pulling the pins from her hair, letting it tumble over her back. “I’ve told you, he’s a colleague. That’s all.”

Anakin stood dead center in the room, arms stiff at his sides, fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white. “A colleague who practically breathes down your neck every time you’re in the same room. And you let him!”

Her laugh was cold, sharp. “Let him? You think I let him?”

“I don’t think,” he said, voice jagged. “I saw you with my own eyes!”

“I was doing my job!” she said loudly, turning towards him. “Talking, negotiating, building rapport, which is what I’ve always done. What do you want me to do, Anakin? Be rude? Push him away in front of the entire Senate chamber just to make you feel better? Throw a drink in his face and declare I belong to you?” 

“I’m asking you to see it,” he bit out. “He touches you like he owns you.”

“I don’t belong to anyone!” she yelled, sharply and coldly. 

“I thought you said you were mine,” he said, lower now, his voice breaking at the edges.

“I’m not a possession, Anakin.”

“No,” he said, quieter, rawer. “But you are mine, just as I’m yours, because we chose each other. Because what we have is real. And he’s trying to take you from me,” he said, touching his chest.

Her laugh then wasn’t cold, it was shattered. “You sound insane.”

He stepped closer, too close. “And you sound blind.”

The room froze.

Her face hardened, voice tightening like she was holding back something sharp. “Do you hear yourself right now? He’s not the problem here, Anakin. You are.”

That cracked something in him, clean through the middle, cracking his chest open.

“No,” he said, voice rising. “I’m the one who’s stuck waiting while he gets to stand beside you, hover over you, touch you. Me, the man that has loved you since the first time he saw you, who would burn the galaxy down just to keep you safe, gets crumbs behind closed doors! So excuse me if I’m sick of pretending this doesn’t bother me!”

Her heart stung like it had been slapped. “You think this is easy for me? Hiding, lying, splitting myself in two just to make this work—”

“Then maybe it’s not worth it,” he snapped.

She flinched, like he’d hit her. Her mouth opened, then closed, her voice caught behind the pressure building in her chest. 

The silence that followed was instant and total. The air turned to glass between them, fragile, sharp, suffocating, waiting to shatter.

Her voice dropped to just a whisper. “Is that really how you feel?”

He faltered. He didn’t mean it. But pride, stupid, stubborn pride, held his tongue hostage and wouldn’t let him soften. “Maybe it is.”

Her breath hitched, then turned away from him, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “Then go,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself, holding herself together with the last thread of her control she had before shattering.

Anakin didn’t move, said nothing. His jaw ticked, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. He stared at her back for a long moment, at the way her shoulders rose and fell like she was holding it together, barely.

He wanted to take it back. Maker, he wanted to. He wanted to cross the galaxy that appeared between them and fix it, he wanted to hold her and not go.

But he didn’t, and instead turned on his heel and walked out, again. Jumping on his fighter and going away, leaving her in the quiet wreckage of their home.

The silence echoed through the apartment like a thunderclap as she stood there, still in her gown, her earrings in her hand, hair loose caressing her back, and shaking. The lights hummed softly above her. The room felt cavernous without him in it.

And all she could do was stand there, alone, tears pulling in her eyes, surrounded by the wreckage of what they’d built, and wonder, maybe this time, they’d broken something they couldn’t fix.

A full day passed.

She hadn’t moved much, buried under blankets, curtains drawn to shut out the light that mocked her with its warmth. Her datapad buzzed every few hours with messages and alerts, unanswered. The Senate could wait. The galaxy could wait. For the first time in years, she let herself unravel. The senator, the leader, the unshakable voice of reason, reduced to someone wrapped in silence and tears. There was the steady hum of sorrow beneath her skin and the raw ache of something lost, sobs coming and going in waves, breaking through moments of numb silence. She tried to hate him. Tried to hate herself. Neither feeling stuck. Only grief for what might already be gone did.

By late afternoon, the tears had run dry, replaced by something hollow. She pulled herself out of bed, her muscles aching like she had fought a war in her sleep. The shower steamed the mirror, the water was hot, steady, cleansing, grounding her just enough to feel like maybe she could start over.

Maybe.

But she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

She was wrapping her robe around her when the knock came. She frowned, confused. No one was supposed to visit. The few people who might, had the good sense not to.

When she opened the door, Senator Vanto stood there.

Concern painted across his features like a poor artist’s attempt at sincerity. “You weren’t at the Senate today,” he said, stepping inside uninvited. “People were asking. I was worried that you perhaps were ill.”

She blinked, unsettled. “I... wasn’t feeling well.”

He smiled, taking a slow, familiar step toward her. “I figured as much. I thought maybe I could help. Maybe you needed someone to talk to.” His eyes dragged over her, landing on her exposed collarbone where the robe dipped. “Or just someone.”

A chill slid down her spine and she tightening the piece of clothing around her.

She moved toward the sitting area, creating distance, hoping he’d take the hint. “Thank you for your concern, but really, I’m fine.”

“I know,” he said smoothly, following her, “but maybe it’s time you stop pretending you don’t need anyone.” He looked her over, the flush skin, her bare legs, her wet hair. “You need someone who can take care of you,” he reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. 

She stepped back, discomfort. Her skin prickled, but not the way it did when Anakin touched her. There was no warmth here, no tenderness. Just a creeping, nauseating wrongness.

“I said I’m fine.” Again, she rounded the sitting area and tried to put as much distance between them as she could. 

But he followed, again, too closely, too comfortably. With every inch she gave, he took more.

“You’ve always kept yourself surrounded by politics, war, rules, men who are never really there for you. Jedi who disappear when it matters most.” He said it with meaning, with venom. “But not me,” he sat and pushed her to sit with him. “I wouldn’t leave you alone, not even for a second.”

Her knees hit the cushions before her mind registered what had happened. Her stomach turned. “Vanto—”

“I mean it.” His voice dropped. “You need a man who’s strong enough to handle you. Someone who knows what to do with a woman like you.” His eyes drifted down. “Someone who knows how to touch you.” His hand landed on her thigh, firm, possessive. 

Her blood froze. The hand was not delicate, not gentle. It burned. Her skin crawled under it.

“I can give you what he never could.” His voice slithered around her. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

She tensed, tried to inch away, but his hand gripped tighter. “Let go of me,” she pushed his hand away. “It’s time for you to go,” she said, standing sharply.

He stood too, moving in close, cornering her. “Come on, darling,” he said with a twisted smirk on his lips. 

She backed up. Her robe slipped slightly off one shoulder again, she yanked it up with trembling fingers.

“You can stop pretending now. No one’s watching.” His hand caught her arm.

She yanked back. “Don’t touch me.”

But he didn’t stop and his grip tightened. “I’ve seen the way you look at me—”

“There’s no way I look at you,” she snapped, breath catching. “Let go of me.”

“No more playing game,” he smirked again.

“Stop it—” she twisted, trying to break free.

“No more hiding.” His other hand gripped her side, fingers digging through the thin robe like claws.

She gasped. “Please, no.”

The fear started creeping up her throat like acid.

Her skin was on fire where he touched her, not in the way Anakin lit her nerves with heat and reverence, but like poison seeping into her bones.

“You’ve got no one here but me.”

She whimpered, voice cracking. “I said no—please don’t—”

He leaned in, tried to kiss her.

She twisted, shoved against him, her voice shaking, heart in her throat. “I said no—!”

And then—The door burst open with a crash.

A wind tore through the room as if the stars themselves had followed him in.

Anakin stood there, eyes burning, jaw locked, the fury of a thousand suns radiating off of him. His voice was low, guttural, animalistic.

“Get. Away. From her.”

Vanto startled, letting go just long enough for her to stumble back. She shoved him hard, scrambling to the other side of the room.

And before she could even breathe, Anakin crossed the room in three strides. The Force lifted Vanto off the ground like he weighed nothing, like a ragdoll, choking him mid-air. His feet kicked helplessly as Anakin stalked forward.

“You dare to touch her,” Anakin growled, his voice was cold. Controlled, but barely. 

He threw him against a wall and with his free hand, took his lightsaber and ignited with a snap-hiss of blue death. “You hurt her.” His face was carved in stone, his rage blistering, terrifying, as he pointed with his saber at him.

“Try fighting like a man,” Vanto stood up, coughing. “Without your Jedi tricks.”

Anakin’s lips twitched. A slow, dangerous smile, not at all kind. “Oh, it would be my pleasure.”

The saber shut off with a snap, and he launched forward.

The fight was brutal. No rules, no honor, just raw and animalistic fury unleashed in the flicker of a heartbeat. 

She stood frozen, robe clenched tightly around her trembling frame, breath caught in her chest as she watched the man she loved, her sweet Ani, unravel.

Anakin was a storm, all fire and anguish and vengeance, striking with the kind of force that only came from years of buried grief, unspoken heartbreak and possessive love in every strike. Metal met flesh with a sickening precision. Blood splattered. Vanto swung wildly and desperate, landing a few hits, but they barely registered. 

Anakin was relentless, built for combat. Designed for it. He wasn’t born like that, for war, but he was made into it. War had carved him into a weapon, he was honed by pain, but underneath the fury still lived the boy who once only wanted to protect the people he loved. And now, seeing her hurt, that boy was screaming and the man he had become answered with rage.

“Anakin, stop!” she cried, breathless, panic bleeding into every syllable. “Don’t—please, he’s not worth it!”

In the chaos, as she tried to break them apart, to stop the devastation, Vanto’s fist swung. It wasn’t meant for her. But it found her anyway. It hit her, colliding with her cheek, sharp and brutal.

The sound, sickening, wrong, echoed through the room like a thunderclap. She gasped, stumbled, a cry of pain tearing from her throat as she crashed into the side table and fell. The thud of her body hitting the floor split the air.

Everything stopped. He punched her. She was on the ground, pain flashing in her glassy eyes, blood on her hand and a cut in her porcelain skin.

The sound she made, that wounded sound, more raw than war, more real than anything he’d ever heard, broke something in him so violently that his breath left him in a single, strangled gasp. 

The world narrowed and all he saw was her, his word had fallen hurt and all his anger turned to something worse. 

She was hurt. Because he hadn’t stopped it. Because he hadn’t been fast enough. Because he had left and was almost too late, again.

That was it, he snapped. 

Anakin tackled Vanto with everything he had, not as a Jedi, but as a man who had seen the only thing that kept him sane, the source of his happiness, hurt and afraid. There was no humanity left as he charged. The punches came fast, the anger white-hot. He didn’t hear Vanto’s protests, and didn't care because all he saw was a danger to her. He threw him across the room, pinned him again, and hit him harder.

All he felt was heartbreak made flesh, striking out at the thing that dared hurt what mattered most to him.

Every hit said: You don’t touch her. Every hit said: You don’t get to make her afraid. Every hit said: She is mine to protect.

Only when Vanto was unmoving, groaning, bleeding, broken on the floor, did Anakin stop.

He stood there for a moment, chest heaving, fists trembling with fury. His eyes were wild, dark with something primal, something unbearable. A small whimper reached his ears and he turned around. She was still on the floor, broken and shaken.

The door opened again. Security. Too late.

Anakin rushed to her side, kneeling, hands shaking as he cupped her face. “Are you okay?” His voice cracked, desperate. “Look at me. Tell me you’re okay, please.”

He touched her cheek, gently, like she was made of light and grief and might vanish or shatter if he pressed too hard, and she whimpered at the contact. It wasn’t fear this time, nor pain. But because something in her had broken open, and he was the only one who could hold it together.

“This is all on me,” he breathed, horror and panic folding into his voice. His eyes burned, rimmed red. “Maker, forgive me—” His breath stuttered. “I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve—”

Her wide, tear-glossed eyes met his. “You came back,” she whispered, voice so small it broke him. Her trembling fingers touched his cheek, catching a tear as it slid down his face. “You came back right when I needed you.”

His face twisted with emotion, grief, relief, love that nearly broke him in two. “Of course I did,” he choked out. “I’ll always come back.”

Her lip quivered. “Don’t leave me again,” she pleaded. Her voice was broken, raw, but somehow softer.

He closed his eyes, forehead resting against hers, as if that could fuse them together and keep the world from breaking them again.

“Never,” he whispered, voice raw and aching. “My love, never.”

Behind them, security restrained Vanto’s broken, barely-conscious body. There was shouting. Movement. But none of it touched her. None of it touched him. But none of it mattered.

She leaned into Anakin’s touch, into the only thing that felt real, like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world. And maybe it was. 

“Just hold me,” she whispered. “Hold me like only our love matters in this world. Hold me like only you know how to.”

Even if the fire of his rage still clung to him like a second skin, he was hers, and she was his. He was the safest place she had known. 

He was home.

Without a word, Anakin gathered her into his arms, carefully, reverently, as if she were made of sacred things. He held her like she was the only truth he’d ever known, the only fight that ever mattered.

And in that moment, with her curled against his chest, with her tears soaking his tunic and his heartbeat steady against her ear…

The galaxy could’ve ended, and neither of them would have noticed.

[connorsui]

Marked in Metal

Caleb... loves ... buying you rings.

It wasn’t something you directly questioned—at least, not seriously. He had always been like that, always finding little things to slip into your life as a form of joy. Bracelets, necklaces, little earrings here and there.

But ...rings?

Oh, those were his favorite.

— Princess cut, Briolette, Trilliant, Radiant.

Oval and round. The entire catalog.

And it wasn’t just about the aesthetic. No, it was something else entirely—something unspoken in the way he always lingered just a second longer when slipping the ring onto your finger, something in the way his eyes darkened with quiet satisfaction whenever you lifted your hand, light catching on whatever new piece he had picked out for you.

Like now for instances.

"Here," he said one afternoon, handing you a small velvet box. His voice was casual, but his fingers brushed yours when you took it from him. "Saw this new piece on my way home and thought of you."

You barely glanced up from your work before popping the box open, the soft click of the latch followed by a quiet inhale as you took in the ring nestled inside. A smooth sterling silver band, sleek and polished, with fluted rose gold prongs holding a citrine gem. The cut was extravagant, the kind of thing that should have been reserved for engagement rings, but you had long stopped questioning Caleb’s taste.

"Caleb," you groaned, rolling your eyes but still sliding it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, as they always did. "You have to stop doing this."

"And why should I?" He smirked, leaning back against the couch, arm thrown over the backrest as he watched you admire the ring despite your protests. "Looks good on you."

You twisted your fingers, letting the metal catch the light. He could see it in your face—the way your lips curved slightly, the way your brows relaxed—that moment of pure, genuine appreciation. He memorized that expression every time.

Because no matter how much you insisted it was too much, you never turned them down.

And he never had to worry about you asking how much they cost.

But it wasn’t about the price anyway. It was about the way you wore them, the way your hands danced through the air when you talked, your fingers adorned with pieces he had chosen. It was about the quiet thrill of watching everyone else notice, of knowing that every time someone asked where you got them, your answer was always the same.

"Caleb, obviously. He’s the reason I have half my jewelry box."

That was enough for him.

But this one was different.

"Wait, Caleb?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, amused and lilting. "Did you know this was engraved?"

You held up the ring between your fingers, tilting it just enough for the small inscription inside to catch the light.

.C.

Delicate, subtle, almost invisible unless you were looking for it.

He raised a brow, feigning nonchalance. "Oh? …I don't actually remember seeing that anywhere?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You seriously didn't notice?"

"Guess not." He shrugged, and you huffed out a laugh, shaking your head.

"I don’t think I believe you."

He didn’t respond, only watching as you lifted your phone, snapping a picture. Within minutes, your messages flooded with the usual teasing.

"Another one? Does Caleb just collect rings for you now?"

"That’s basically a proposal, babe!"

"Correction. This is the one billionth proposal"

And, as always, your reply was the same.

"Of course it’s Caleb. Who else spoils me like this constantly?"

He loved that. Loved knowing that when others have noticed the rings on your fingers, they knew exactly who put them there.

But even when he adorned your hands, his own ring was different.

It never sat on his finger. It had its own place, strung securely onto the same chain as his tags, resting against his chest beneath the layers of his uniform.

Same material, same weight.

But the chain never left his body. It was there in the dead of night, cold against his skin. There in the thick of the day, clinking softly against metal. It was there when the world was loud and chaotic, when exhaustion pulled at his bones, grounding him with the quiet weight of something real.

Something that brought him back to you.

And when he returned home?

when he was finally home, the chain came off—but the ring never stayed in some forgotten drawer.

No, it belonged in the same place it always did.

Right where you were—pressed close against his heart.

[societyfolklore]

Open Up Baby

Title: Open Up Baby Pairing: Tony Stark  x Female Reader

Summary: Tony Stark straps you into a StarkTech-compatible bench for a private demonstration of his newest toys- complete with biometric feedback,

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, SMUT… BDSM/Restraints/Bondage, custom tech ball gag, toys (Egg vibe, anal beads, dildo)  Overstimulation, Toy fucking/Machine-assisted thrusting, Filthy talk (Tony can't shut up), AI assists with data tracking, clinical observation, forced openness, Sensory overload

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for April Kinky Bingo… Well this one turned into a whole thing.. Square: B2- Open Up Baby  Card Number: KB003

You were already strapped to the bench- back arched, thighs spread wide in glossy chrome stirrups, wrists bound snug in Stark-grade cuffs that didn’t budge an inch. The synthetic leather beneath you was cool against your skin, but your body was already starting to heat with anticipation. The bench itself shifted slightly with every movement, like it was reading your tension, calibrating every twitch of your muscles into data Tony could access later.

You could hear the soft hum of the room’s ambient systems, the low mechanical whirrs, the faint electric pulse of tech running in standby, and underneath it all, Tony’s voice. He hummed absently as he moved around you, flicking through translucent holoscreens that floated in the air, readable only to him. Light glinted off his arc reactor through the thin black shirt he wore, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, veins flexing with every subtle flick of his fingers.

He looked like a scientist. Or a surgeon. No, a goddamn artist.

“You look tense,” he murmured, stepping in close, his fingers grazing your jaw with a feather-light touch. “That won’t do. We need to get a clean read. No clenched teeth, no locked jaws. Just you- open and…relaxed.”

He held up a sleek piece of tech. A mix of leather and metal. To you it looked like a ball gag. That wasn’t just a gag. It was his gag. Something custom. Personal. Laced with Stark Industry Tech.

“Open up, baby. Gotta install the biometric reader. It’s not science without a baseline.”

You hesitated, lips twitching. Just for a second. But he didn’t push. He just waited you out, smirk deepening, one brow arched like he had all the time in the world. That cocky, knowing gaze made you squirm even before anything touched you. Your breath hitched. And then you parted your lips.

“There we go,” he said, tone thick with approval as he slid the gag into place. It clicked against your teeth, snug and firm. A soft vibration flickered across your tongue as it locked in pushing the muscle down.

Friday’s voice chimed in overhead, calm and clinical.

“Gag calibration complete. Biometric sync active. Tracking vocal response, saliva levels, and tongue pressure.”

Tony leaned down, brushing his lips across your cheek in a whisper of a kiss. “Good girl. Now let’s get to work.”

He started with the egg.

Sleek. Silver. Pulsing faintly in his hand like it had a heartbeat of its own. The metal shimmered under the clinical lights, smooth and polished, shaped with the kind of precision that only Stark could deliver. He turned it over once, twice, like he was admiring a prized gadget- one that he was particularly proud of.

He showed it to you like a doctor unveiling a revolutionary new tool- calm, confident, deeply amused. Except this wasn’t a sterile exam room, and the look in his eyes wasn’t professional. His smirk told you he already knew what kind of mess this thing would reduce you to.

"This is your warm-up," he said, voice low and playful. "Phase One. Internal warming protocol. Testing receptivity. Calibration through heat and pulse response."

You whimpered into the gag. Of course you were excited- he’d been teasing you with this little 'demonstration' all week. Whispering promises in your ear, tapping out reminders on your thigh, dropping technical jargon laced with filth that left your core throbbing before he’d even touched you. Now that it was finally happening, your whole body was buzzing with need.

He didn't wait. He moved closer, one gloved hand parting your thighs a little further, the other settling between them. The bench adjusted beneath you, lifting your hips another inch to meet his touch perfectly. His fingers dipped between your folds- testing your wetness, teasing you just enough to make your body jerk in its bonds.

"Already responsive," he muttered, half to himself, half to Friday. "She’s going to be a dream to log."

He slid the egg in with two fingers, slow and deliberate. The cool metal kissed your entrance, making you flinch slightly- it was colder than you expected, stark contrast against your heated skin. Your walls instinctively tried to resist, clenching down, but his fingers were patient, coaxing you open, parting you around the sleek, unyielding toy.

The egg slid upward, heavy and smooth. As it moved deeper, your body yielded to it, the slow stretch making your breath catch. Its contours were designed to press into every sensitive spot, and you could feel your muscles fluttering around it, trying to accommodate the sudden fullness. As he pushed it deeper, you could feel every inch of it being swallowed by your body, your slick muscles tightening, fluttering around the intrusion.

He pushed the egg up high inside you, then paused, his finger still inside you too. "Squeeze for me," he ordered. You did, instinctively, your walls closing down as you used your pelvic floor, and Tony gave the platic string attached a soft tug.

The stretch, the resistance- it was delicious. The egg stayed locked in place. You couldn’t push it out if you tried. He smiled, clearly pleased.

"Perfect. Secure fit," he murmured. "Wouldn’t want it popping out mid-test."

It settled deep inside you, a sinful throb blooming in your core. Then it pulsed- just once, a quick flutter that made you jolt.

"There we go," he breathed, watching the screen light up with new data. "Didn’t even turn it on yet and she’s already going. Fuck, I love this job."

You were barely processing the first toy when he reached for the second.

Beads. Tapered, growing in size, each one gleamed under the soft blue lighting like tiny pieces of futuristic art. You squirmed, thighs pressing together, but it was no use- Stark had seen your reaction.

Tony laughed- low and delighted.

"Didn’t know we were going there, huh?" He nudged your knees apart again, voice dipping to a darker octave. "Come on, baby. I want you to open up for me. Let’s see what this one does..."

You shook your head slightly. Whimpered into the gag. Wide eyes watching him as you tried to protest around the ball gag in your mouth. 

Tony turned to the tray beside him, selecting a small, frost-blue tube of gel. "Wouldn't be very considerate to skip prep," he muttered, more to himself than to you. He uncapped the tube and squeezed a slow, deliberate line of the slick, glistening substance along the length of the beads. The gel shimmered faintly under the light, warming as it reacted with the ambient temperature.

He coated each bead carefully, fingers moving with methodical ease, making sure the entire string was evenly slicked. "Lubricated. Body-safe. Custom formula," he said with a wink. "Slippery enough to slide in smooth- sticky enough to stay in place until I say otherwise."

Then he held the beads up for you to see, the string dangling between his fingers. You tensed instinctively.

"Oh no. You’re freezing up. Can’t test properly if you don’t behave. Legs. Open."

You didn’t.

Tony tsked, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. Then he grabbed your chin, firm and steady, tilting your head so your eyes locked with his.

"Don't think so much. That’s not what good test subjects do."

Click.

The bench tilted beneath you without warning. Your hips rolled upward, knees falling further apart as the restraints auto-adjusted. You were fully exposed now- helpless. Wide open.

"You know I can override those restraints, right? I built them. Now be a good girl and show me everything."

He dipped his finger back into the gel and brought it to your ass, pressing a cool dollop directly to your tight, puckered entrance. The sudden chill made you flinch, but it was followed by the warm glide of his fingertip as he gently teased the gel in slow circles.

"You tense here, too," he said, amused. "Don't worry. This formula warms up just like you do."

He rubbed it in carefully, working the gel into your rim with delicate, coaxing pressure. The sensation tingled- both from the temperature shift and the way his finger circled and pressed until your body finally began to relent.

Then he lowered the beads between your cheeks and began to press them in- one at a time. The first slid in easily, the gel working its magic, cool and slick. The second made your breath stutter. The third had your whole body tensing as your hole stretched just enough to accommodate the new pressure.

Each one pulled a different, desperate noise from you- somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, caught in the back of your throat and forced through the gag in broken fragments.

By the time the third bead settled inside you, you felt full. Stretched in ways that left you panting, your back arching hard off the bench. Everything was working together- the deep pressure of the egg nestled high in your core, the hum beginning to buzz through your clit like a phantom, and now the slow, firm intrusion of the beads pressing against nerves that had you seeing stars. You struggled to catch your breath, the gag forcing each inhale to be short and choppy. Air hissed through your nose while your mouth flooded with saliva, spit slipping from the corners of your lips in thick strands that slid down your neck and onto your chest. The overwhelming heat of arousal and frustration tangled in your gut, building like steam with nowhere to escape. The restraint of it made the fire inside you burn hotter.

Your muscles clenched involuntarily, your hips rocking against the air, chasing friction that didn’t come. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg. Just drool, tremble, and take everything he gave you.

"Mmm. That moan? That was bead three. She likes that one, Friday."

"Confirmed," the AI replied. "Pelvic floor tension rising. Heart rate increasing."

"Good. Means it’s working."

The egg began to heat. The beads hummed in sync, and you felt everything shift- internally and externally- as pleasure bled into pressure, and pressure into overload. You were trembling now, thighs twitching again, trying to close- but the bench held you wide, utterly exposed.

"Heart rate’s spiking..." Tony’s voice was pure, filthy glee. "Oh, she’s gonna break soon. Look at her squirm."

You rutted against the air, clit untouched and screaming for attention. Your walls fluttered around the egg, your ass clenching down against the beads as the different pulses overlapped and collided. It was all too much and somehow not enough. You needed more and needed it to stop, all at once.

You tried to breathe, but the gag made it impossible to take anything but shallow, panting gasps. Each exhale was laced with a moan. Drool spilled freely down your chin, dripping warm across your face and neck. You were flushed, messy, wrecked- and he hadn’t even touched your clit.

Your back arched violently off the bench, cords of heat coiling through your belly and thighs. It felt like your body was unraveling, muscles tight and desperate, nerve endings screaming with pleasure.

Tony leaned in again, voice dark and syrup-smooth. "We’ve got her plugged, egged, and ready to combust. Think she can handle the next phase?"

Friday answered, "Orgasm build-up at 87%."

"Perfect." He tapped a command into the air. "Now let’s push her."

The egg pulsed deeper. The beads vibrated sharper. You cried out- moaning, writhing, the gag muffling it into raw, incoherent noise. You couldn’t form words. Couldn’t beg. Just sob through the pressure building to a breaking point.

"Baby, this is science. Filthy, beautiful science."

It hit you like a wave- white-hot and all-consuming. Your legs shook violently in the stirrups, muscles spasming as your body locked around the egg and beads pulsing inside you. Every nerve ending fired in chaotic pleasure, overwhelming your senses. You tried to scream, to sob, but the gag reduced it to a shattered, strangled cry that vibrated through the tech, each desperate noise dutifully logged.

Drool spilled in long, wet strands down your chin as your back bowed hard off the bench, your whole body trembling under the assault of pleasure. Your cunt clenched tight around the egg, milking it involuntarily, while your ass throbbed with each hum of the vibrating beads. Everything inside you was pulsing, moving, grinding you down into submission.

Tony watched, transfixed, his gaze locked on your ruined, shaking form. “There she goes - God, I should patent that moan.”

Your eyes rolled back. You could barely breathe. You could only tremble and leak and convulse as the orgasm tore through you. The bench beneath you vibrated subtly with your body’s response.

Friday: "Orgasm confirmed."

Tony waited until you were trembling, your breathing uneven, your thighs still twitching with aftershocks that rippled through your overstimulated body. Sweat slicked your skin in a thin, glistening sheen, catching the light as your chest heaved with broken gasps around the gag. Your limbs strained weakly against the restraints.

Then- slowly, methodically- he reached between your cheeks and took hold of the first bead. He didn’t rush. He eased it out one at a time, each slick orb dragging along your inner walls with a sticky, stretching glide. You shuddered at the sensation- the unbearable emptiness that bloomed in the wake of each removal. Your ass clenched reflexively around the loss, trying to hold onto what had filled you so completely. But he kept going.

The final bead popped free with a slick, obscene sound. Your hips jolted involuntarily, your back arching once more as your body spasmed again, clinging to the ghost of sensation.

Friday's voice crackled overhead. "Anal pressure reduced. Sphincter still contracting. She’s experiencing post-orgasmic muscle spasms."

Then came the egg.

He curled his fingers inside you, tugging the retrieval loop with a firm, practiced motion. The egg slipped free, wet and shiny,  your cunt fluttering uselessly around the sudden void. The stretch, the drag, the warmth- it all left you aching. You cried into the gag, overwhelmed by the emptiness and the continued tremors in your muscles. Your thighs kicked slightly, your knees drawing in as far as the restraints would allow.

"Vaginal walls contracting. Core temperature still elevated. She's not done trembling yet," Friday observed, calm as ever.

Tony held both toys in one hand now- wet, warm, shining. He looked down at you with naked satisfaction.

"That’s some damn good tech," he said. "But we’re not done."

From the tray, he lifted his final piece.

A dildo- sleek, deep grey, Stark-stamped at the base. Modeled after him, and you knew it. Maybe a little bigger. Slightly wider at the base, with delicate ridges along the underside that hinted at something extra. Your breath caught just looking at it.

“This one’s special, baby. Built it from memory- well, from yours,” Tony said, rolling it in his hand. “Temperature regulated, pressure-sensitive, and the best part? The internal sensors sync to your contractions. It responds to you. The more you clench, the deeper it drives. A perfect loop.”

You whimpered around the gag, heart fluttering.

He moved between your spread legs and lined it up against your soaked, fluttering entrance. You were already sensitive- still trembling from the last orgasm- and when the wide tip pressed in, you nearly cried. It stretched you slowly, steadily, a little more than you were used to. Your slick walls resisted at first, clenching down instinctively, but Tony was patient, guiding it with precise control.

“There you go,” he coaxed, voice smooth but sharp-edged with amusement. “That’s it. Take all of it. Come on, baby- I know you can..”

His tone dipped into a purr. “There you go. Taking it like you need it. Bet you love being filled up with Stark-grade tech, huh?”

Your back bowed off the bench as he pushed it in, inch by inch, your pussy yielding to every contour, forced to accommodate the full shape of it. The fullness was delious, your body stretched taut around it. Your eyes rolled back as the final ridge slipped inside, the toy settling deep.

“There,” he said, watching your reactions with fascination. “Fills you out just right. And now... we see what she can really do.”

The base clicked into a pulse pattern, and the toy began to move inside you- slow at first, deliberate, like it was learning your shape. You could feel every textured ridge of the shaft as it rubbed against your inner walls, dragging across oversensitive flesh, sparking little detonations of pleasure with every pass.

Then it pulsed- long and low, a rhythmic thrum that radiated from base to tip, sending heat spiraling through your belly. With every thrust, the toy seemed to stretch you deeper, nudging a spot that made your toes curl and your thighs twitch against the restraints. Your pussy clenched around it reflexively, triggering the internal sensors Tony had mentioned. And just like that, the toy responded- pressing harder, thrusting deeper, faster.

It wasn’t just fucking you- it was reading you, syncing to the wild flutter of your muscles, pulsing in tandem with your arousal.

“Look at her,” Tony murmured, grinning as he watched the toy disappear again and again between your legs. “Every little squeeze makes it work harder. You’re doing this to yourself, baby. And I haven’t even touched your clit yet.”

You’d been so consumed by the thrusting inside you, by the stretch and pulse of the toy, that you hadn’t even noticed Tony move. But suddenly, he was there- looming over you, and the egg was pressed directly to your clit.

The sensation was immediate and brutal.

Your entire body jolted. The contact felt almost painful, your nerves raw and exposed, the stimulation electric. You tried to buck away, hips arching, thighs trembling, but you had nowhere to go.

Tony caught you effortlessly. One hand shoved the egg against your swollen clit, refusing to relent, while the other pressed down on your thigh to keep your knees from closing.

“Uh uh. None of that,” he said smoothly. “You don’t get to hide from this, baby. You earned it.”

You sobbed into the gag, thrashing your hips side to side, but the bench and Tony’s hands made escape impossible. Every attempt to squirm just sent the dildo thrusting deeper inside you, and the egg grinding cruelly over your clit.

“You’re not gonna break,” he whispered, teasing. “You’re gonna burn for me.”

"Don’t you dare run from it. look at me."

He was holding you still- one hand clamped over your thigh to keep your legs spread, the other pressing the egg mercilessly to your clit. You were trembling in his grasp, utterly helpless against the merciless pairing of his tech and his control.

"You’re gonna come again for me, sweetheart. Real data’s in the repeat response," he said, eyes locked on yours, voice both commanding and hungry.

The dildo thrust deep, the ridges grinding against your most sensitive spots as your walls clamped down. The egg buzzed brutally against your swollen clit, so overstimulated you couldn’t tell whether you were trying to run from it or chase it. Every jolt of pleasure lit your nerves like lightning- white-hot and impossible to hold back.

Your body jerked, hips spasming, thighs trembling violently as the sensations overloaded you. Your entire body was working against you- every clench, every twitch, every gasp just triggered the toy to go deeper, harder, faster. You weren’t riding it anymore- it was riding you, and Tony just watched with that devilish smirk, keeping you wide open.

“That's it. Shake for me. Scream into that gag. Show me what science can do.”

The climax tore through you without mercy- harder, deeper, a violent unraveling of every nerve as your body convulsed around the relentless rhythm of the tech inside you. You didn’t just come; you shattered, splintering open in a release so intense it blurred your vision, your mind, your ability to distinguish pleasure from pain. Your vision shattered into sparks, your scream muffled into a raw, hoarse noise behind the gag. Your body thrashed in the restraints, muscles locking as the orgasm ripped through you, longer and sharper than the last.

Friday: "Second orgasm confirmed. Neural spike significant. Subject approaching physical limit."

He slowed the toy, letting it ease to a stop deep inside you before withdrawing it carefully, letting you feel every last ridge dragging along your raw, overstimulated walls. Then, with a gentleness that almost contrasted the torment he’d just put you through, he removed the egg from your clit. The instant the contact broke, your whole body sagged in the restraints with relief and exhaustion. You were shaking, barely breathing- every inch of you buzzing, nerves fried and twitching from the overload.

You could taste salt on your lips- your own tears and spit, your jaw aching from clenching around the gag. You were drenched, body glistening with sweat, your skin flushed and hypersensitive to the air.

He removed the gag last. Your jaw fell slack with a wet, trembling gasp, strands of spit clinging to the corners of your mouth. You blinked up at him, vision hazy, lips wet and parted.

Tony gazed down at you, eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction, his mouth tugging into a crooked grin that said told you so. He looked like a man admiring his finest creation- smug, yes, but also thoroughly entertained by the glorious, twitching mess sprawled out beneath him.

“You did good, baby. Fucking beautiful. But next time?”

He leaned close, brushing a kiss to your temple- slow, deliberate, his breath warm against your damp skin.

“Think I’ll need to design something that gets you to squirt. Can’t let a variable like that go untested. Wouldn’t be very Stark of me to stop now, would it?”

He turned with a little flourish, tapping the screen with a flick of his fingers, not bothering to look back.

“Friday, save this session. Label it: Successful. Prepare files for Phase Two.”

[a-mint-bear]

I Think My Cute Co-Worker Got Taken Over By an Alien Hive Mind

On a mission and aboard a ship in space, your only real friend there is the cute and shy janitor. After an accident where he crashed on a nearby planet, he's been acting very... strangely.

(just a teensy bit of nsft implications in the dialogue here, nothin explicit)

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You're a scientist on a long-term space expedition. It's mission is to find possible inhabitable new worlds for humanity to live on in the future. Your job is to monitor and research environmental factors that could pose a threat to your crewmates and the mission and find ways to make planets more livable.

There are security officers, miners, your fellow scientists and researchers, the doctor and her assistant, a couple of maintenance androids for the ship and of course the crew who navigate and serve on the big hunk of metal you're all zipping through space on. On that crew is the ship's custodial worker.

You're not so snobbish to undervalue the importance of a clean living environment, especially in the medical wing and your own lab, but there are some on the ship that treat him like he's invisible or like he's not important just because he's not the brains or muscle on board. He comes and cleans up in your lab every day before dinner, and while sometimes you're too busy to really spend any time chatting, you do enjoy the talks you get to occasionally have.

Sometimes you're so busy that you end up working through dinner, and when you finally pull yourself out of it, you find quick and easy dishes ready for you well past the allotted mealtime. He always leaves a little candy from his personal stash alongside them, so you know it's from him.

He's a bit shy, and very quiet, but he always seems to light up whenever the two of you get to talk. You heard a rumor that he's the son of some business associate of one of the benefactors of the mission, and he just needed a job. Another rumor that he was a bit of a screw-up back on Earth and needed a fresh start somewhere far away. But to you, he was just your friend.

If you were being completely honest, you might've had a bit of a crush on him. He was just so kind and genuine, compared to the self-important scientists you spent every day with. And he was pretty cute, behind the baggy janitorial uniform and the dirt that sometimes smeared his face. He was sweet and he seemed to always be thinking of you, and he was one of the only things in your life that made you smile.

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There was a mishap one day, a near cataclysmic crash where six members of the mission crew were dislodged from the ship and fell into the low orbit of the nearby uninhabited planet.

He was the only survivor. He'd managed to land in a strange body of water where the density levels were so high that he hit the water mostly safely and stayed afloat until rescue. A broken arm and a minor head wound plus a slight concussion, but he was alive.

Other people on the crew seemed almost angry that out of the six people lost, including the ship's first mate and a researcher, the janitor was the one to survive. But you were just so happy he came back to you.

But after that day, your friend had... changed.

He was smooth and cool, almost confident? A little awkward still, but he carried himself differently. Almost like he was an entirely different person.

And he was... a lot more forward with you. Despite being so happy he was alive and even glad that he was making a move on you finally, you couldn't help but feel like something was wrong with him.

One day, he came in to clean your lab like every day and when you asked him how he was feeling, his arm still in the quick-print cast and the stitches on his forehead still healing, he just smiled.

"I'm fine." he smiled at you, standing a bit too close. "I missed you..."

You joked with him that he just saw you that morning, and he smiled that same smile.

"I've been thinking about you..." He held a lock of your hair in his fingers, seeming almost entranced by it. "My thoughts are damn near consumed by you, love."

You couldn't help the warmth that sprung to your cheeks. He was standing so close, and while he was acting odd, he was still that same considerate, sweet man.

"I want to touch you..." His voice was low and hit just right. You wanted it too, but you faltered. You told him that you weren't sure... that something felt wrong.

"Just let yourself go..." he smiled, caressing your cheek, his other hand holding your wrist. "I want you... Let me feel you."

Wrong. It felt wrong. He wasn't that type of guy. This...

You smiled, putting your hands on his chest. You told him that you were in charge here, pushing him back slightly with an authority you weren't used to wielding. But you stayed calm. Your hand lingered on his chest, pressing him against the wall.

He bit his lip, such a confident face... it only confirmed what you feared. Taking a step back, you ordered him to not move, he needed to be good for you. Your gaze still locked onto his, you pulled up a holo-screen, locking down your analyzer containment field. His smile didn't slip, but his eyes darted around with a puzzled look in them.

"What are you doing, love?" His voice didn't seemed alarmed or even mildly concerned. "Locking me up? If you wanted me all to yourself, all you had to do was ask..."

You told him you didn't know what he was up to, but you weren't fooled by him. He wasn't your friend.

"What do you mean?" He pressed his hands to the shielding, like he was testing it while still talking to you, placating you. "It's me... Let me out, love."

You told him your friend, even if he wanted you, would never push past your boundaries like that. He was sweet and considerate, and the kindest man you knew. While whatever this was had been ready to hold you down to get what it wanted.

You started your scans while it just talked to you, but you didn't respond.

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An hour had passed. If anyone found out what you were doing, they would deem it too risky and demand he be ejected from the ship. It wasn't like this was the captain you were scanning, or a fellow scientist. The mission could afford to lose him. But you couldn't.

"Let me out." It still wore your friend's smile, but there was something in it's eyes. Something... old. Something consuming him. "Let me touch you, love. I want to feel your warmth."

Your hands danced across the holographic screen, lining up your scanners. Usually they'd been used for scanning minerals and water sources to make sure they were safe for humans, but they were equipped with biological scanners in the case of the med-bay's destruction or shut-down. You were looking for what ever could be possessing your dear friend.

Something had been in that water, you were sure of it.

"We need to taste you..." It's tongue lolled out from it's mouth, panting and dripping saliva. "One taste, that's all we need. And then you'll be part of us. No more worries, no more searching, no more fighting to survive... you'll finally be free."

When you didn't respond, it laughed.

"We know how much you want him." It almost seemed to be taunting you now. "We can smell it on you... Don't you want to know what it's like? His lips on yours? His touch on your skin? You've been so isolated on this ship... long, cold endless nights with no one beside you. We know his mind, love. It's plagued by thoughts of you. Oh, how he spent night after night... positively enraptured... consumed with the mere possibility of your attentions. Your affection... Your toucccchhhh..."

You tried to shut out his words as your scanners looked for a way to stop this, to get him back, but the thing inside him seemed unbothered. Almost amused.

"He loves you..." It laughed. "It's an intense, burning thing. He wants nothing more than to feel you under him, in the throws of his LOVE... Your nails digging into his back, screaming his name... His obsession is what let us in... So singularly-minded... It was almost too easy..."

"We came into his body, his mind... it was hard not to be consumed by the thoughts of you. His wants became our wants. We are one, love. His love, OUR love... Be ours, and nothing else will matter..."

You paused. The thing inside him, It was speaking in the present tense. Like he was still in there somewhere. Or at least he wasn't dead. This thing wasn't possessing his lifeless body. It was in there with him. You felt more determined than ever.

You told it you would keep it here until you found out how to get it out of him. Even if you had to study him for days, weeks, you wouldn't stop until he was safe.

"You don't know how happy you've made him, love." It smiled, licking his lips. "He always wanted you looking only at him."

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light novel-ass titles are so funny to me

still working on CO3 but i needed to write this. i promise it's coming soon

can y'all guess what movie i went and saw that made me think of this one?

i've been thinking of a yandere that it actually some kind of possessing entity, and the idea latched onto a sci-fi vibe.

i wanted the header to reflect a darker haired, scruffier guy with a bit of chin hair who gives off a real loser vibe, but i usually source from other people's ai images (can't be copyrighted), and damn it all if they aren't all baby-faced little guys lol

something more like this:

but that's just fanart of Eraserhead from MHA lol

[calebsmoocher]

Sucking him off while he fucks you with his evol

Being a renowned thief, Caleb knows where to go first when his things go missing: her room. In his search, however, he finds a peculiar, pink, phallic possession of hers. Cw: smut, so MDNI, oral (m receiving), inappropriate use of evol, use of sex toy, girl i tried to put fluff in there

She had a habit of taking things. Well, borrowing, she’d justify vehemently. First it was his sweaters. Turn his back once and she’d snatch the pillars of comfort that got him through the winter.

“You know, I do your laundry as well,” he’d say. She wouldn’t spare him a glance, swaying slowly in her chair. She’d be hunched over her coursework, pen tapping at her lip.

“Yeah? Well why can’t I find my sweater? The pink one with hearts.”

“Now I’ve gotta fold your laundry as well?” He approached her focused form, leaning down to hover above her head. His fingers pinched the fabric of his sweater, the expanse of fabric allowing him to tug on it without the chance of pulling her arm with it. “It doesn’t even fit you.”

“I’m not taking it off. I’m too warm,” she whined, throwing her head back to lean against him. Warmth flooded his cheeks. Stifling a cough, he pushed her head back down playfully.

“I’m not asking; don’t worry. Go back to doing your work.”

Sometimes it would be his headphones. 

“I have to twist mine a certain way to get them to work!” She’d cry.

Or his switch. 

“Oh please, just ten more minutes. I even beat your high score!”

Even on occasion his aerospace textbooks. 

Caleb was rifling through his bookcase, wanting to refresh his mind on his academy coursework. It was only after he cleared the first two shelves when had clocked his biggest mistake being not checking her room first. And there they were, right as his eyes landed on her desk. She had three of them stacked under her monitor.

“You’re just taking anything at this point. Are you sure it’s not because you miss me? Should I also take some time off?”

She’d scoff, handing him the books. “Yes, my eyes miss my monitor being at eye-level. You’re going to be the one massaging me when I have neck problems from hunching over this screen.”

With her constant violations of petty thievery, it was impossible to tell his room apart from hers. 

And this behaviour continued its way to Skyhaven. She was staying with him while on leave at the association. Over her frequent but brief visits, a lot of her items had already accumulated within his house.

Caleb had just returned from an early finish at the fleet. He narrowed his eyes; his house was empty. Had she gone sightseeing without him? Pulling his uniform cap off, he figured he’d start on dinner. Would she even be back in time? Should he call her? He swallowed thickly. He should lay off her; she wasn’t a child anymore. 

He pulled his gloves off and reached for his necklace on the bedside table. But his nails hit the smooth surface, no chain in sight. That was weird. He had placed it here before he left in the morning, the particular fleet mission not allowing him to wear metallic accessories. Had he placed it somewhere else? He wasn’t one to forget where he’d place such an important keepsake. Maybe his table? He turned around before scoffing. Oh. Nevermind. He was ashamed it hadn’t been his first instinct. Of course, she had taken it. Or borrowed it, whatever. 

The first place he looked was her desk. It didn’t immediately jump out at him. Of course, she could have it on, he thought. But now that he was in her room, it’d give him the chance to retrieve any other items she had managed to paw off him. 

He pulled the top drawer of her bedside table out. Score, he thought. There was an assortment of silver jewelry poking out between the ruffles of fabric of one of his favourite shirts. He’d hit two birds with one stone, he guessed. But when he pulled the shirt away his eyes widened, blood rushing to his ears. The pounding echo of his heartbeat was sounding right in his ears. Hidden, poorly under his shirt he’d add, was a pinkish translucent, silicon dildo. And it was rolling side to side in all its thick, girthy, glory. Caleb gaped. This thing was huge. Easily ten inches, with artificial veins protruding from its smooth surface. 

The familiar chime of her placing her keys on the kitchen bench caught his attention with a jolt. He slammed the draw shut.  

“Caleb?” The girl swung her head up at the sharp noise, cautiously dropping her bag. The noise had come from her bedroom. When she went to investigate, he was standing over her bed, not facing her. “You’re back already? I bought some mushrooms and water chestnuts. How about we make wontons tonight?” Caleb sucked in a breath before turning, slowly. He shot her a smile. As he took her in, there his chain lay, gleaming brightly on her chest. Maybe curiosity really had killed the cat. She followed his gaze and smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, I felt like wearing it. I didn’t want it to be lonely.” “You’re cute.”

She reached for the clasp behind her neck. “Were you looking for…” Her voice slowed as her eyes moved over his rigid form. His face was calm, but the tips of his ears were ember. She furrowed her brows, eyes tracing down to his hands. He was holding her shirt. His shirt. The shirt. Her heart dropped. 

No. Why did all the embarrassing shit happen to her? She didn’t have to address this. She’d turn right around and march back into the kitchen.

“You can say your excuses now. I’m listening.” Caleb had straightened up, relaxing from his previously robotic stance. 

Run. Run. That’s all she knew how to do. Because crossing this boundary would destroy her. His jaw tightened in the silence. Was he letting her run away from this? Or was it finally time to address the overbearing tension that had been neglected for so long that it had seeped its way into their every interaction?

“I…” she took a step back. The kiss they silently swore to never talk about haunted her. Had it harrowed over his mind in the same ways? 

She could play it off as not being a big deal. “I’m an adult. This… These things are natural,” she would argue.

“But wrapped in my shirt? I don’t think that’s appropriate.You know my feelings towards you,” is what he’d say in reply. Cold, callous and without the comforting, teasing lilt to his voice. She shook her head, wanting to scream into her fists. There were too many bad possibilities to come. 

She felt the sting of tears brim at her waterline. Fuck. Caleb noticed, mouth opening then shutting then opening again. His eyes were frantic over her form.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I know it’s…” He began to stammer. “It’s…normal to…”

She cut him off. “It’s not weird, right?”

He shook his head slowly. A pause. “Weird that it was…?” At a loss for words, he gestured to his shirt still held tightly in his hand. Wrapped in his shirt.

Fuck. She swallowed thickly.

“Does it mean anything?” His voice was gentle. Cautious.

She shut her eyes tightly. “Maybe.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Is it weird?” Her voice was on the precipice of breaking. She felt his hand at the back of her head, bringing her in for a ginger hug. He laughed softly.

“No, it’s not weird.” He tilted her chin to meet her reluctant gaze. “How often do you use it?”

This time she actually sobbed. “You’re joking, right?”

He struggled to suppress a smile, wanting to shift the heaviness in the room out. “Do you think about me when you…”

Oh, she had had enough of this man. Almost smacking him across the face, she pressed her palm over his mouth. Fuck this was no happening right now. She did not just hear that. 

Her eyes clenched shut as she hung her head. She felt him snicker into her palm and her brows creased.

“I’ve heard you in the shower, you know? Do you think about me when you’re…” She trailed off with purpose and furrowed her brows up at him. It contrasted his sickly sweet smile. 

“Yes, I do.” His smile widened at her gasp. “Always. It’s only ever been you.”

“Caleb…”

He pulled her hand away from his mouth. His hand slid down from her head to her lower back, thumb pressing small strokes into the fabric. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering, she reached up to gently clasp at his neck, guiding him down. The few seconds it took for him to close in on her strained her breath. His eyes trained on her. The part of his lips and ragged breath that fanned over her own. She didn’t want to bask in it any longer, lest she lost the adrenaline thumping through her veins. His kiss was firm, nothing like the cautious exterior he had been so careful to display. His left hand cupped her cheek, tipping her jaw up to deepen the kiss. She clung to his wrist. 

His scent engulfed her. She wanted to get closer, worm her way right against his chest. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair. See if she could elicit a sound so vulnerable from him. 

When he broke the kiss, it was only to begin pressing frantic kisses down her jaw and neck. She gasped, using the moment to gently grab strands of hair at the back of his head, running her nails down to his nape. 

He groaned into her. And she felt a spark in her stomach.

“Will you…” His breath was short as he continued to press kisses into her skin through his words. “Will you show me how you use it on yourself?” He had opened her bedside table again, pawing blinding at the silicone toy. Fuck, he was joking. 

Her face reddened. “Caleb…”

“Am I asking for too much?” He asked genuinely through a laugh. 

She rolled her eyes, feeling the adrenaline plateau inside her. He had left her breathless far too many times in the span of five minutes. 

“I think you’ve done enough.” She pushed at his chest, guiding him backwards. When his legs hit her chair, she pushed him down into it. He laughed through his chest, gleaming up at her with an arrogant smile.

“You have me all to yourself. I’m completely in your care.”

She flushed at his brazenness, slowly dropping to her knees before him. Maybe the adrenaline was spiking again, but seeing him from this new angle had her heart threatening to jump out of her throat. 

“Can I use my mouth on you?” 

His arrogance slipped. He caressed her head again, searching her eyes. “Please,” he said. Gently, weakly.

She sucked in a breath before shakily reaching for his zipper. The whine of the zipper undoing was the only sound besides their ragged breaths. His eyes scrutinised her every move, mouth agape. He helped her drag his pants down, pooling at his knees. He guided her to look up at him again, and they both had a chance to recognise the mutual fear thrumming within them.

“You’re so pretty.” He stroked her hair. “My pretty girl.”

Through his briefs she guessed he was half-hard. She brought her hand up, palming him gently. She had never done this. Was this okay? Was she being too rough? Not rough enough? He sensed her hesitance, encompassing his own hand over hers.

“Like this,” he offered, pressing firmly. His fingers curled around hers, encouraging her to take a confident grip over the fabric. It was hot, and it filled her entire hand. She assumed a steady pace, moving her grip up and down. He let out a shaky breath, and his other hand tightened around the arm chair. She could feel his cock twitch and begin to fully harden. Something in her stomach jumped. Gaining confidence, she tugged at the waistband of his briefs, shimmying them down to join his pants. His cock sprung up against his stomach, beads of precum dripping down a thick girth. She swallowed in anticipation. And placed a fleeting kiss on his tip.

“Fuck…” His cheeks were dusted pink. He leaned forward planting his own quick kiss on her forehead before reaching down between her legs. “Should I help you out as well?” He tugged on her skirt, flipping the fabric up over her ass. His breath hitched as he stared down at her cotton panties. “Are these new?”

If she wasn’t gripping his cock and trying to pleasure him as best she could, she would have slapped him upside the head. “What, don’t tell me you’re a panty sniffer.”

He barked back a laugh. “I think it’s more concerning that you still ask me to do your laundry at your ripe age.”

“Yes, I’ve got the Colonel wrapped around my finger, doing trivial things like my laundry.”

He traced the seams of the fabric, pressing into her skin. “Yes, you’ve got the Colonel entirely to yourself. Will you be good to him?” His fingers followed the fabric to circle at her heat. She gasped. It was hard to keep a steady rhythm as his fingers teased pushing in. Eventually, he settled for drawing gentle circles at her clit; then looping down to tease her entrance through the fabric. “Don’t stop.”

She listened, guiding him into her mouth. She sucked at the tip, rolling her tongue to sweep the underside of his cock. She watched him intently, stomach mimicking all the sharp intakes he did as he shifted in his seat.

“You feel so good,” he whined. The steady motions of his hand were breaking up. But it felt good. Knowing that she was doing this to him. That her cunt was leaking and swollen in anticipation for his fingers. “Good girl,” he choked out, “you’re so good to me.”

She took him deeper, supporting the base of his cock with both of her hands. Her eyes were trained on his. Shaking slightly, she experimented with taking him deeper. The tip of his cock hit the back of her throat and she lurched back, gasping for her as he slid out from her.

“Fuck, are you okay?”

She laughed. “I’m okay. Was I okay? Did it feel good?”

He stroked her chin, wiping the saliva from her lips. “You were amazing. You made me feel so good.” He brushed the stray hairs away from her eyes. “Don’t push yourself to take more than you can.”

“I wanna keep going.” She nudged his hand away, taking the base of his cock into her hands again.

“Woah, wait up.” He reached over her towards her bed, grabbing her pillow. “Lift your legs.” Shakily, she let him place the pillow between her and the floor. She sunk down into the plush, her knees buzzing from being pressed into the carpet. 

“Thanks…”

He leaned over her again, and she heard the drag of her bedside table opening. “I think it’s time you showed me how you’ve been using this toy of yours.” Her ears reddened. 

“Caleb, that’s embarrassing.” She tried to grab the dildo from him, but he held it out of her reach. “Don’t you want me to keep using my mouth on you? You said it feels good. I want you to cum.” He remained unfazed by her words, much to her dismay. 

“I really want to use this on you, though. Won’t you let me see you take it?” He studied the obscene phallic item closely. Now that she could see it in comparison to Caleb’s cock, she noted that while Caleb was thicker, the toy was longer. That’s what she got for ordering a size large. 

“What are you going to do?” She mumbled. Her cheeks were still ablaze as she watched him.

“Don’t worry. I have an idea you’ll like.” To her horror, she watched as the dildo began to hover in his hand, held up by an invisible force. It rounded her field of vision until it prodded at the fabric of her panties. She felt her stomach flip. Like the ground beneath had suddenly given out and she was in free fall.  “Pull your panties to the side.”

Shakily, she did as she was told. The rush of cold air almost made her jump until she felt the the cool silicone press against her heat. 

“Your toy is so big. Can you really take all of it?”

She covered her face. She was never going to live this down. “Not all of it. Please be gentle.” She felt him kiss her forehead before lifting her head to meet his gaze. 

“I’ll let you decide. You’re the one showing me how you use it, remember?” Confused, she nodded anyway. She guided the dildo into her swollen cunt, gasping shakily at the intrusion. No matter what she did, the initial push would always elicit a quivering moan. “Good girl. Hands on me.” She expected the toy to slide back out of her once she withdrew her hands but it stayed perfectly in place. Her hands returned to their position at the base of his cock. More precum had leaked out, dripping down into her hands. She suckled on the tip, eager to prevent anymore from making a mess. Caleb groaned, positioning one hand at the back of her head. The other, he held out beside her in a beckoning motion. 

“Mmph!” Her eyes snapped open as the toy began to move inside her. Slowly. On its own. But shallowly. Her eyes caught onto Caleb’s fingers, matching the steady push and pull of the toy inside her. 

“You can hold onto me. Show me how much you can take.”

Mouth full of his cock, she latched onto his hand for support, feeling him tug her fingers back and forth with him. Her index and third finger curled around his own two fingers. And he moved them slowly, bringing them closer to his palm. She felt the toy push into her. When his fingers expanded out again, she felt the toy retreat. 

“Go faster or go slower; whatever you want. I want to see.” 

Tears brimmed at her eyes. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Slowly, she maneuvered his fingers faster, fucking herself. His eyes gleamed as he stared down at her. His breath was uneven. He could barely contain his groans from spilling out. Here she was, fucking herself with her secret dildo through his evol. He didn’t know how much longer he could watch before he came.

She moaned onto his cock, the vibrations setting him off with another groan. The salty taste of his precum was all she could taste. His girth alone was stretching her mouth, forcing laboured breaths through her nose.

“You’re doing so well. Keep going. Keep fucking yourself.”

Maybe there was no shame in it. He wanted to see her fall apart. She pushed and pulled his fingers faster. Rougher. Brazenly pistoning the dildo in and out of herself. Her body jolted forwards, forcing his cock deeper in her mouth. She wasn’t sure she could fit more than half of him in her mouth without gagging. 

“Mmmph.” She couldn’t even speak. And his words only pushed her further towards the edge.

“Fuck, you feel you so fucking good. Keep going, baby. I’m gonna cum.”

She moaned in reply. Her mind was going delirious. Her fingers began to falter around his, losing pace of the toy. She couldn’t keep focused on so many things at once.

Caleb leaned down to her ear. “Want me to decide?” 

She groaned in approval, forfeiting control and letting her hand slide back down to his cock.

“Alright then.” The pace of the toy picked up. It was harder and faster, but she could take it. Her legs were shaking, barely able to hold her body up. She watched his fingers strain in their curled position, his frantic want for her to cum amplified through the dildo’s relentless thrusts.

“Are you going to cum?” 

She moaned in affirmation, voice getting frantic. Her walls were clamping down along the toy. To stop it? To keep it from pulling out? She couldn’t tell; all her thoughts had melted down into drool seeping from the corners of her lips. She felt the coil in her stomach twinge and strain as her legs shook.

“Fuck. Come. You can let go. Let go for me.” 

She whined, squeezing her legs together. The next thrust pushed her over the edge, snapping the coil and forcing her legs to squeeze as tight as she could. Caleb slowed his fingers, letting her ride out her orgasm. 

She sucked in a huge gasp of air before lowering back down on his cock. She was determined to have him cum in her mouth after that.

“Fuck. Holy shit,” he groaned. His grip on her head tightened, following her movements as she moved up and down his length. “Stop. I’m gonna cum.” She met his eyes and shook her head. “I’m going to come in your mouth. Please…” 

She gasped. “Do it. I want it.”

He groaned, throwing his head back. He couldn’t stop his hips from bucking, pushing his cock further into her mouth. She tried to swallow the gag, determined to let him finish. He bit his lip to filter out the sound of his groans as he came. Ropes of come spilled into her mouth. Hot and slightly thick. She furrowed her brows, not allowing any to escape. She wanted to be good for him.

He gave a few more weak thrusts up into her before sagging back down into the chair.

“You…” He laughed. His hands came around her face, lifting her off him. “Are you okay?”

She was breathless, forcing a smile through her exhaustion.

“Tired, but okay. How was it?”

“You killed me.” He wiped a hand over his brow. He was still using his evol to keep the dildo in place inside her. “Can I take it out?”

“Yeah. Slowly.” The toy withdrew from her and she winced as she felt the run of warm liquid down her thighs.

“Fuuck,” he dragged out. Despite the mess on both of them, he lifted her off her knees and pulled her into his lap. “Does it hurt anywhere?” She shook her head, leaning against him. He moved in to kiss her, but before he could she frowned.

“You want to kiss me? After all that?”

He shook his head in dismissal, scoffing at her. His lips met hers and he gave her a firm kiss. She felt her cheeks tingle at the sight. 

“Let’s stay like this for a minute. Then I’ll clean ya up, promise.”

She nodded, reaching up to brush his hair away from his sweaty forehead. A silence enveloped them as they caught their breaths.

She shifted in his lap, looking up at him.

“How come you were in my room?” 

He gave her an expression of feigned hurt. “Now I’m not allowed to come into your room?”

Shaking her head, the corner of her lips curled up. “I caught you snooping.”

He kissed her nose. “I think I caught you with something worse, you pervert.” Hell, he was never going to let her live this down. 

a/n: the idea that made me create a tumblr! This has unfortunately just opened my mind to what else his evol might be capable of. 

[beloveds-embrace]

(poly 141 x protective reader) | Part One | Part Two

You leave them resting.

It had taken time to get them there, settled into the quiet comfort of home after the hospital had finally deemed them well enough to leave. You had guided them through the front door one by one, careful with their injuries, watching the way they moved, the stiffness in their limbs, the exhaustion that clung to them like a dark shroud. You had spent the past few weeks devoted to their care, pouring yourself into it, because it was easier- safer- to focus on them than to let your thoughts spiral elsewhere.

You had taken on the role with practiced ease, slipping into it so naturally that they never questioned it, because it was something they were already so familiar with. Of course, you would be the one to tend to them, to ensure their wounds were healing properly, that they were eating enough, that they were sleeping, even when rest came fitfully.

They never fought you on it, never turned you away when you hovered, when you smoothed fingers through Simon’s hair as he dozed on the couch or curled up against Johnny while he recovered from his own injuries. Kyle would let you fuss over him, let you press your lips against his brow while you checked his bandages, always murmuring something soft, something reassuring. They’d give you little, soft promises of making it up to you, even if you’d always tsk and tell them there was no need.

And John had let you take care of him, had watched you with quiet eyes that never quite missed the exhaustion you thought you had hidden well. He had let you curl up beside him in bed when he was too tired to fight sleep, had hummed low in his throat when you traced the bruises along his ribs with careful fingers. But he had watched you, always. And you knew, knew, that the wheels in his head had been turning ever since they had come home, ever since you had first sat beside his hospital bed, gaze distant, thinking too hard about something you had refused to share- ever since you knew Laswell had told him to rest and recover before she’d send him information about the “extraction team” that’d been sent for them.

You had kissed him before you left.

Just a soft press of your lips against his temple, the warmth of him steady and solid beneath your hands. He had shifted slightly in his sleep, exhaling a slow breath, but hadn’t woken.

They had let you care for them. Had leaned into you, into your warmth, into the soft words and steady hands you offered so willingly.

And it had been easy to play that role.

To be their sweetheart, their lovely girl, the woman they knew, the woman they needed right now.

So you had smiled and fussed and let them think that was all there was.

But tonight- tonight- you were something else.

And so you slipped into the night.

The bullet sits heavy in your hand now, cool between your fingers as you stand outside Shepherd’s office. The engraving catches the dim light- his name carved into the metal, a promise of the end that was always coming for him.

The engraving catches the dim glow of the overhead lights, the name carved into the casing a reminder. A promise.

Shepherd.

Your thumb brushes over the letters.

He deserves this.

No alarms blare as you slip inside. No guards stop you. Security is lax- too lax for a man who should have known better, who should have felt the inevitable creeping up behind him. He had slunk back into his cushy office, behind paperwork and excuses, behind bureaucracy that would let him slip away unscathed. He had been counting on it.

A mistake.

He looks up, startled, as you step into the room, his mouth parting as if to speak.

He never gets the chance.

The shot rings out, sharp and final.

His body jerks, head snapping back before he collapses forward, the force of the bullet slamming him against his desk. Blood splatters across the scattered papers, soaking into ink, dripping onto the polished wood floor.

It’s done.

Just like that.

There is no satisfaction, no thrill, no catharsis- just the weight of something that had to be done settling deep in your bones. You lower the gun, taking a slow breath, ready to slip back into the night, to disappear before anyone is the wiser. You have no fear, and no regrets.

But then-

“Christ, love.”

Your breath catches, and you freeze. Slowly, slowly, you turn.

John stands in the doorway, dressed in a hastily thrown-on jacket, boots barely laced, his expression unreadable beneath the shadows. But his eyes- his eyes burn with something heavy, something knowing, something gentle in a way you hadn’t expected.

You should have known.

I should have known.

The way he had watched you when you thought no one was looking. The way his fingers had lingered against your wrist when you passed by, a touch grounding you as if he had felt the weight of something unspoken pressing down on you. The way he had known you weren’t just tending to them out of love, out of worry, but because you were stalling. Because you were waiting.

He must have been suspicious-

And now, he was here.

Standing in the aftermath of your vengeance, staring at the blood pooling across Shepherd’s desk, his jaw tight.

“…You’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you?”

His voice is quiet. Even. No anger. No accusations.

You force yourself to meet his gaze. “Yeah.”

His expression doesn’t change. His gaze flicks to Shepherd’s limp body for only a moment before settling back on you, sharp and unwavering. You brace yourself for it- the reprimand, the disappointment, the something that you know must come.

Everything you’d been clinging to, now ripped out of your hands-

But John only exhales, slow and heavy, dragging a hand down his face.

“You didn’t have to do this, love.” His voice dips, rough around the edges.

Your jaw tightens. “No one else would.”

He nods, just once. “I know.”

And that’s what hurts- because he does know. He knows why you did it.

Knows what it felt like to be abandoned, to be left to die. Knows the failures of authority, the way the world would have let Shepherd slip through the cracks, unpunished. Knows that you were the only one willing to put a stop to it.

And he knows that you would do it again, given half the chance.

You glance down at the blood staining the papers, staining your hands. It should feel final. It should feel over, the silence after the guillotine falls.

But it doesn’t.

Then, warmth.

John steps forward, his hands finding your shoulders, solid and steady.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

Your breath stutters, but you go. You let him pull you close, let your forehead press against his chest, let his warmth wrap around you like an anchor. His arms are firm around you, fingers smoothing over the back of your head, his heart a steady thrum beneath your cheek.

“This doesn’t change anything.”

His voice is softer now, aching. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re still ours. Still our sweetheart. Our lovely girl.” His fingers brush over your cheek, wiping away something you don’t even realize is there. “This doesn’t make you any less of that. I just hate that you were… forced to do this.”

Something inside you breaks. Because deep down, some part of you had feared it would. That once he knew, once he saw, he would look at you differently.

But he doesn’t.

Of course he doesn’t.

Because this is John, and you are still his- still theirs. Their precious sweetheart. The heart of their home.

Still loved.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, and he says nothing about the way your shoulders tremble, just holds you- steady, warm, solid. Just presses his lips to your forehead in something reverent and grounding.

“Let’s go home, love.”

And this time, you let him.

(John holds you like you might slip away, once you are back in the familiar comfort of your home.

Like if he lets go, even for a second, you’ll disappear into the night again, off to put another bullet in another bastard who deserves it.

And he can’t let that happen- not to you.

Not ever again.

He tucks you against his chest, one arm wrapped firm around your waist, the other smoothing up and down your back in slow, steady strokes. You’re warm, soft against him, but there’s a tension in your frame that hasn’t fully faded, your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt like you’re still grounding yourself.

He knows you- knows you- and he knows you’re still thinking about it. About Shepherd. About what you did. About how it doesn’t feel different, how you don’t feel changed, even though you thought you would.

John presses a kiss to your temple, lingering, and breathes you in.

He hates that you had to do it.

Not because Shepherd didn’t deserve it- God knows he did- but because it should have never been you.

You, with your gentle hands, your soft voice, your heart big enough to hold all of them in it. You, who tends to their wounds and kisses their scars and still winces when you see them bloodied. You, who they swore to protect.

And yet, it was you who had to pull the trigger.

Because no one else would and because no one else could.

And John hates that.

He hates that you had to bear that weight alone. Hates that you thought you had to, that you couldn’t trust them to take it from you because of their injuries, to stand beside you, to do what needed to be done so you wouldn’t have to.

That ends now.

He tightens his hold, burying his face in your hair, exhaling slow and measured.

“Never again, love.” His voice is low, rough and raw. “You hear me? You’ll never have to do that again.”

Your breath stutters, and he knows you’re about to argue, about to say that if it comes down to it, you’ll always do what has to be done.

But John shakes his head, pulling back just enough to tilt your chin up, to make you look at him.

“No.” There is something like a promise in the way his thumb brushes over your cheek. “Not when you have four men willing to do it in your stead.”

You stare at him, lips parted, searching his face like you’re trying to find something- some hesitation, some doubt. But there isn’t any. There never was.

Because this is who they are.

This is what they do; they get blood on their hands so you never have to.

And will never let you carry that burden again.

“You’re ours to protect, sweetheart.” His voice softens, low and sure, a vow sealed in the space between you. “Let us do that, yeah?”

You swallow, eyes shining, fragile and exhausted and relieved.

And then, finally, you nod.

John exhales, pressing another kiss to your forehead, gathering you closer, letting your weight settle fully against him.

“Sleep, love.” He whispers it against your skin, a gentle murmur, a reassurance, a promise. “You’re home now.”)

[hsjazebel]

Meant to be

Summary: Y/N never expected a college party to change anything—until she met Harry. What starts as a quiet connection over books and movies slowly turns into something deeper, proving that some things are simply meant to be.

Wordcount: 32k+ (I have been carried away, sorry 😅)

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day! ♡ Here’s a little story about love finding you when you least expect it. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

— — —

The party was louder than she expected.

Y/N wasn’t sure why she had let Charlotte convince her to come. Maybe it was the way her roommate had pleaded, eyes wide with excitement, promising it would be “just for an hour.” Or maybe it was the fact that she had spent too many Friday nights curled up in bed while the rest of campus buzzed with energy.

She had thought, just for once, that maybe she should say yes.

But now, standing in the middle of the crowded living room, she regretted it.

The music thumped against the walls, the bass so deep she could feel it in her ribs. Laughter and voices blurred together in an endless hum, broken only by the occasional shout of someone calling out to a friend. The air was thick—too many people, too much perfume, too much heat.

She tugged at the hem of her sweater, suddenly self-conscious. She wasn’t dressed for this, not like the other girls in shimmering tops and short skirts. She had gone for comfort—jeans, a fitted top, her favorite oversized cardigan—but now she felt out of place, like she hadn’t read the unspoken dress code.

Charlotte had disappeared almost immediately, swallowed up by the crowd, probably off to find that guy she’d been texting. Y/N had tried to follow for a bit, but the sea of people made it impossible to keep up.

Now she was alone, pressed against the wall, holding a drink she hadn’t even sipped.

She exhaled, glancing toward the front door. Maybe she could just leave. Charlotte wouldn’t mind—she was too caught up in her own night.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted an open door leading to the balcony.

Without thinking, she headed for it, slipping outside and closing the door behind her.

Cool air washed over her, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat inside. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and leaned against the railing, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal. The city stretched out in front of her, distant lights flickering against the night sky. From here, the noise of the party was muffled, just a dull hum beneath the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle over her.

And then—

“You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

The voice was smooth, warm. British.

Her eyes snapped open.

Turning slightly, she found herself face to face with someone she recognized immediately.

Harry Styles.

Her breath hitched, just for a second.

She had seen him around before, of course. It was hard not to notice him. He wasn’t the typical loud, overly confident guy that thrived in these kinds of settings, but he had a presence that made people gravitate toward him anyway. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—calm, collected, always with an air of quiet amusement, like he was in on some inside joke no one else knew about.

Now, standing in front of her in the dim balcony light, he looked impossibly at ease.

His dark curls were pushed back messily, a few strands falling over his forehead. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, framing sharp green eyes that studied her with quiet interest. His loose button-up was unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the intricate tattoos winding down his forearms.

He held a drink casually in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket, like he had all the time in the world.

She swallowed.

“I—uh—yeah,” she finally managed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

His lips quirked, as if her answer didn’t surprise him at all. “Figured as much.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And how exactly did you figure that?”

He took a slow sip from his drink before answering. “Well, for one, you’ve been out here for at least five minutes and haven’t checked your phone once.” His eyes flickered toward the door. “And two… you look like you’re trying to disappear.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”

Harry smirked. “A little.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city lights flickered in the distance, and the air between them felt charged—not uncomfortable, but something else entirely.

Then, he shifted slightly, turning more toward her.

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

She let out a small breath, amused. As if she didn’t already know.

“I know,” she admitted, then immediately winced. “I mean—everyone knows who you are.”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That’s fair.” He tilted his head slightly. “And you are…?”

“Y/N.”

He repeated it, softer this time, like he was testing the way it felt on his tongue. Then, with a small smile, he extended his hand. “Well, Y/N, it’s nice to officially meet you.”

She hesitated for just a second before slipping her hand into his.

His palm was warm, his grip gentle but firm.

“Nice to meet you too, Harry.”

His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go.

He leaned his elbow against the railing, glancing at her thoughtfully. “So, if parties aren’t your thing… what would you rather be doing right now?”

She bit her lip, thinking. “Watching a movie, probably.”

Harry’s brows lifted slightly. “Anything in particular?”

She hesitated, then decided to be honest. “A romcom.”

His lips curled into a slow smile. “You like romcoms?”

She nodded. “I grew up watching them. Notting Hill, 10 Things I Hate About You, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days… I know they’re cheesy, but I love them.”

He studied her for a second, then let out a soft chuckle. “Cheesy doesn’t mean bad. Those are classics.”

She tilted her head. “Wait… you actually like them too?”

Harry smirked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Course I do. I mean, have you seen When Harry Met Sally? It’s got my name in it. That’s a sign, don’t you think?”

She laughed—really laughed, for the first time that night.

Harry watched her, his expression softer now, like he was pleased to be the reason behind it.

The conversation flowed easier after that. They debated over the best romcom of all time, exchanged favorite scenes, and argued about which movie had the most unrealistic yet satisfying ending. Somewhere in between, Y/N forgot about the party altogether.

But eventually, her phone buzzed in her pocket—Charlotte, probably looking for her.

She sighed, realizing she had to go.

Harry noticed. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She hesitated, then, feeling unusually bold, added, “But… maybe next time, I’ll skip the party and just watch a romcom instead.”

His smile was slow, almost knowing. “Maybe next time, you won’t have to watch it alone.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

And as she stepped back inside, disappearing into the noise and the crowd, she couldn’t help but hope—just a little—that this was only the beginning.

———

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of Charlotte’s voice.

“Well, well, well,” her roommate drawled, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Look who’s finally awake.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face into the pillow. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” Charlotte said, walking over and flopping down onto the bed beside her. “And you have some explaining to do.”

Y/N peeked at her through one eye. “Explaining?”

Charlotte grinned, far too awake for this early in the morning. “Don’t play innocent with me. You disappeared at the party. And when I finally found you again, you looked… different.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “So spill.”

Y/N sighed, rolling onto her back. “There’s nothing to spill.”

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Lies! I saw you talking to Harry Styles.” She poked Y/N’s side. “You—quiet, book-loving, avoider of all social gatherings—somehow ended up alone on a balcony with the most intriguing guy on campus.”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “It wasn’t like that,” she muttered.

Charlotte smirked. “Then what was it like?”

Y/N hesitated. The truth was, she wasn’t exactly sure.

“It was… nice,” she admitted after a moment. “We just talked.”

Charlotte studied her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Talked? That’s it?”

Y/N nodded.

Charlotte huffed, flopping back against the bed. “You’re impossible.”

Y/N smiled, sitting up and stretching. “Did you at least have fun?”

Charlotte let out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, absolutely. And I might have secured myself a coffee date with Mason.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Mason?”

“You know, Harry’s friend? Tall, kind of scruffy, ridiculously charming?” Charlotte waggled her fingers. “I think we have a connection.”

Y/N laughed softly. “I’m happy for you.”

Charlotte sat up again, her expression turning devious. “And speaking of coffee dates…”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered. “No.”

Charlotte pouted. “Come on! I think he likes you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We talked for, like, twenty minutes.”

Charlotte shrugged. “That’s plenty of time to make an impression. And if he really likes you, you’ll see him again.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Because the thought had already crossed her mind.

Would she see him again?

———

She did.

Three days later.

At the campus café.

Y/N had been curled up in a corner booth, a warm cup of tea beside her as she flipped through a book for class. The café was quiet, filled mostly with students studying or catching up on assignments. The hum of conversation and the occasional clinking of cups created the kind of atmosphere she loved—calm, steady, familiar.

And then, a shadow fell over her table.

“Y/N.”

She looked up.

And there he was.

Harry Styles, standing beside her table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a curious tilt to his head. He wasn’t wearing his glasses today, but she still recognized the quiet amusement in his eyes.

“Hi,” she said, feeling her heart pick up speed.

His lips twitched. “Mind if I sit?”

She hesitated for only a second before shaking her head. “Go ahead.”

Harry slid into the seat across from her, setting his coffee down. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Alright, I might have hoped I would.”

Her stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

“What are you reading?” he asked, nodding toward the book in her hands.

She glanced down, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, Wuthering Heights.”

His brows lifted, impressed. “Intense choice.”

She shrugged. “It’s for class, but I like it.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, stretching out comfortably. “So, tell me—are you one of those people who think Heathcliff is romantic, or do you see him for the walking red flag that he is?”

Y/N blinked in surprise. “You’ve read it?”

He smirked. “I have.”

She bit her lip, eyeing him. “And?”

Harry sighed dramatically. “Look, I get the passion, the whole ‘soulmate across time and space’ thing, but let’s be honest—if Heathcliff were around today, he’d be sending late-night ‘u up?’ texts and brooding over his ex’s Instagram posts.”

Y/N let out a surprised laugh. “That is… disturbingly accurate.”

Harry grinned. “And you? Are you a Heathcliff apologist?”

She shook her head. “I think he and Cathy deserved each other—because no one else should have to deal with that level of drama.”

Harry chuckled. “Harsh, but fair.”

There was something about the way he looked at her—curious, amused, like he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. It made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t used to.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then—

“So,” Harry said, breaking the moment, “you never told me your verdict.”

Y/N frowned. “My verdict?”

“The best romcom of all time.”

She smiled, relieved by the lighter topic. “That’s impossible to answer.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright. Then let’s make it simpler. What’s your go-to comfort movie?”

She thought for a second. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.”

His eyes lit up. “Classic.”

She nodded. “It’s just fun, you know? The whole fake dating thing, the ridiculousness of it all. And Kate Hudson? Iconic.”

Harry smirked. “And the ‘You let it die!’ scene? A cinematic masterpiece.”

Y/N laughed. “Exactly.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then said, “I like that.”

Y/N suddenly felt warm under his gaze. She looked down, tracing the rim of her cup. “What about you?”

Harry pretended to think. “Mmm… Notting Hill.”

She grinned. “Oh, come on. You just like it because of the ‘I’m just a girl’ scene.”

He laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe I like the idea that two people from completely different worlds can still find their way to each other.”

Something about the way he said it made her stomach flutter.

The conversation drifted after that—talk of books, movies, little things that made them both feel at home. The more they spoke, the more Y/N felt that strange, unexpected ease settle between them.

And when she finally glanced at the time, she realized an hour had passed without her even noticing.

“I should probably get to class,” she murmured, closing her book.

Harry nodded, but didn’t look particularly eager to leave.

As she stood, sliding her bag over her shoulder, he tapped his fingers against the table. “So…”

She looked at him expectantly.

He smirked. “Movie night?”

Her heart skipped. “Are you asking me out, Harry Styles?”

His expression was all mischief. “Maybe.”

She bit her lip, pretending to consider. Then, feeling unusually bold, she said, “Okay.”

Harry’s smirk turned into something softer.

��Good,” he said.

And as she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her the whole time.

———

The library was quieter than usual.

Y/N liked it that way. She liked the solitude, the way the world seemed to shrink down to just her and the words on the page. It was calming—predictable.

What she didn’t expect, however, was a voice breaking through the silence.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to hide away in a library for fun.”

She looked up, already knowing who she would see.

Harry stood in front of her table, a familiar smirk on his lips, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He had a notebook tucked under his arm and a coffee in hand, looking completely at ease despite the way his presence sent her heart racing.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “And yet, here you are.”

Harry hummed, sliding into the chair across from her. “Touché.”

She watched as he set his coffee down and flipped open his notebook, as if he belonged there—like this was routine.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually here to study, or are you just bothering me for fun?”

Harry grinned. “Can it be both?”

She huffed, biting back a smile as she returned her gaze to her book. But she could still feel his eyes on her.

A beat passed before he spoke again. “Wuthering Heights, huh? Still brooding over Heathcliff?”

Y/N sighed, looking up. “You do realize I read more than one book, right?”

Harry’s smirk widened. “Do you, now?”

She rolled her eyes and turned the book so he could see the title.

His gaze flickered over the cover before he raised an eyebrow. “White Nights?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Surprised?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, studying her. “A little. Didn’t take you for a Dostoevsky kind of girl.”

“And what kind of girl did you take me for?” she challenged.

He smirked. “Jane Austen, maybe. Brontë sisters, definitely. But Russian literature? That’s a surprise.”

She shrugged. “I like stories about lonely people.”

Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone too fast for her to catch.

“Lonely people,” he repeated. “And here I thought you just liked tragic love stories.”

Y/N hesitated, then said softly, “Aren’t they the same thing?”

Harry studied her for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, in a voice quieter than before, he said, “I guess they are.”

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something had shifted—like she had let him see a part of her she didn’t show to just anyone.

Then, after a moment, Harry’s lips twitched up into a smile. “So, is White Nights a re-read, or am I catching you in the middle of a first-time experience?”

She exhaled, grateful for the change in tone. “Re-read.”

His grin widened. “Interesting. That means you must really like it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you about to judge my taste in books?”

Harry smirked. “Not at all. I was actually going to say… maybe I should let you convince me to read it.”

Y/N studied him. “You’ve never read it?”

“Not yet,” he admitted.

A small smile played on her lips. “Maybe you should.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe I will.”

———

That night, her phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

Unknown [9:07 PM]: So, lonely people, huh? Convince me why I should read White Nights.

Y/N frowned, staring at the screen. Who the hell—?

Y/N [9:08 PM]: Who is this?

A pause. Then—

Unknown [9:08 PM]: Wow. That hurts.

Her heart skipped.

She squinted at the message, then at the number, but it wasn’t saved in her contacts.

Y/N [9:09 PM]: Seriously. Who is this??

A few seconds passed before a reply popped up.

Unknown [9:09 PM]: It’s Harry.

She blinked.

Then—

Y/N [9:10 PM]: …How did you get my number?

Harry [9:11 PM]: Your lovely roommate gave it to me.

Y/N groaned out loud. “Charlotte!”

Across the room, Charlotte barely glanced up from her laptop. “Hmm?”

Y/N waved her phone in the air. “Did you seriously give Harry my number?”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh. So he finally texted you?”

“Charlotte.”

“What?” she said innocently. “He asked, and I figured it would take you forever to do it yourself.”

Y/N let out a long, dramatic sigh, turning her attention back to the screen.

Y/N [9:12 PM]: I hate you.

Harry [9:12 PM]: No, you don’t.

She rolled her eyes.

Y/N [9:13 PM]: Maybe you should read it and see for yourself.

Harry [9:14 PM]: Bold of you to assume I have time for Russian literature.

Y/N [9:15 PM]: Bold of you to assume I’d let you borrow my copy.

Harry [9:16 PM]: So possessive. I like it.

Y/N [9:17 PM]: You’re impossible.

Harry [9:17 PM]: And yet, here you are, still texting me.

She bit her lip, trying not to smile.

Harry [9:18 PM]: You still good for our not-date movie night?

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Y/N [9:19 PM]: You mean the highly academic film screening of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?

Harry [9:20 PM]: Exactly. For research purposes.

She hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

Y/N [9:21 PM]: Yeah. I’m still in.

His reply came almost instantly.

Harry [9:21 PM]: Good.

She stared at the word for a long time, ignoring the way her face felt impossibly warm.

———

“You’ve checked your phone three times in the last minute.”

Y/N shot Charlotte a glare from across the room. “I have not.”

Charlotte smirked, finishing the last touches of her makeup. “You so have.”

Y/N huffed, locking her phone and tossing it onto the bed like that would somehow make her friend drop the topic. “I’m just checking the time.”

“Mm-hmm.” Charlotte turned, arms crossed. “Because, of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that Harry is coming over.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her face felt warm. “It’s just a movie night.”

Charlotte grinned. “And yet, you’ve changed your sweater twice.”

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillows. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Charlotte grabbed her bag, checking her reflection in the mirror. “I think it’s cute that you’re all flustered over him.”

“I’m not flustered.”

Charlotte raised a brow. “You are so flustered.”

Y/N groaned again, covering her face with a pillow.

A knock at the door made her sit up way too fast.

Charlotte smirked knowingly. “That’s my cue.”

Y/N watched as Charlotte opened the door, revealing Harry—standing there in his usual effortless way, glasses on, a bag of snacks in one hand.

“Oh, hey, Harry,” Charlotte greeted with a grin, throwing Y/N one last look. “I was just leaving.”

Harry glanced between them, looking mildly amused. “Leaving?”

“Yep.” Charlotte winked at Y/N. “Have fun.”

And before Y/N could even form a reply, she was gone.

Harry stepped inside, brow raised. “Did I just interrupt something?”

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head. “No. She’s just being Charlotte.”

Harry chuckled, setting the snacks down. “That explains a lot.”

Settling onto the couch, Y/N pressed play on 27 Dresses, tucking her legs under her.

Harry sat beside her, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. The space between them was small—too small—and she tried not to focus on the way his knee almost brushed hers.

“Have you seen this before?” he asked.

She scoffed. “Please. At least twenty times.”

Harry smiled. “Figures.”

For the first half hour, they made occasional comments about the movie—Harry teasing her about knowing all the lines, Y/N defending why it was a romcom classic.

But eventually, the room grew quieter. The soft glow of the screen cast shadows across Harry’s face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the way his glasses slid down his nose.

And Y/N—despite her best efforts to stay focused on the film—felt her eyelids growing heavy.

She shifted slightly, trying to stay awake, but the warmth of the room, the steady sound of the dialogue, and the presence of Harry right beside her made it impossible.

At some point, she leaned just a little too far to the side—

And before she could stop herself, her head landed gently on his shoulder.

For a second, she almost panicked.

But Harry didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

If anything, he relaxed.

She felt him shift slightly, adjusting so that she fit more comfortably against him.

And just like that, sleep took over.

———

The next morning, the first thing Y/N registered was warmth.

A slow, steady warmth surrounding her, lulling her in a sleepy haze.

Then, she felt movement.

Her eyes fluttered open, and it took her a moment to realize:

She was curled into Harry’s side, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders.

The snack bag was on the floor. The TV screen had long since gone black. The early morning light was filtering through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room.

And Harry—

Was still asleep.

His head rested against the back of the couch, lips slightly parted, curls falling across his forehead. His glasses were slightly askew, one arm still tucked around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N barely breathed.

She should move. Should sit up, stretch, do anything to break the moment before he woke up.

But before she could, she felt him shift.

A slow inhale. A stretch.

And then, with a small frown, Harry’s eyes blinked open.

For a second, he looked confused. Disoriented.

Then, his gaze landed on her.

They both froze.

Silence.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

And then—

Harry’s lips twitched, still laced with sleep. “Morning.”

Y/N swallowed. “Morning.”

Another pause.

Then, realization dawned in Harry’s sleepy eyes. He glanced down at their position—her body still tucked into his side, his arm still loosely wrapped around her.

And yet—he didn’t move away.

Instead, his mouth curved into something softer.

“Didn’t mean to steal your couch,” he murmured.

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh. “Didn’t mean to steal your shoulder.”

Harry smiled.

And for a moment, they just… sat there.

Close. Warm. Unmoving.

Y/N was still sitting on the couch, trying to process the fact that she’d just spent the night curled up against Harry Styles, when she heard him stretch beside her.

She glanced over. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, one hand running through his curls, the other adjusting his glasses.

And he looked… way too good for someone who had just woken up.

Before she could stop herself, she spoke.

“Do you—” She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. “Do you want some coffee?”

Harry turned to her, blinking.

Then, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Are you offering me coffee, Y/N?”

She rolled her eyes, standing up. “I regret it already.”

Harry chuckled, pushing himself up from the couch. “Too late.”

———

They ended up in the small dorm kitchen, Y/N fumbling with the coffee machine while Harry leaned against the counter, watching her with amusement.

“I didn’t peg you as the type to function without caffeine,” he said.

She scoffed. “Who says I function at all?”

Harry smirked. “Fair point.”

Once the coffee was ready, she handed him a mug, grabbing one for herself before hopping up onto the counter.

Harry took a slow sip, humming in approval. “Not bad.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Not bad?”

“Yeah.” He nudged her knee playfully. “Could be better.”

She gasped in mock offense. “You are such a snob.”

Harry grinned. “I have high standards.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling.

They fell into comfortable conversation, talking about everything from classes to 27 Dresses to how Harry apparently had a very strong opinion about the correct way to make tea.

And Y/N—despite the fact that she had woken up to a situation that should have been extremely awkward—found herself relaxing.

That was, of course, until Charlotte walked in.

She stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight before her—Harry standing in the kitchen, hair still tousled from sleep, drinking coffee from their mugs.

Y/N sitting on the counter, wearing the same clothes from last night.

Charlotte’s eyes widened.

Then, a slow smirk spread across her face.

“Oh,” she said, drawing out the word. “Good morning.”

Y/N groaned. “Charlotte—”

Charlotte ignored her, turning to Harry with an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Wow, Harry. You’re still here?”

Harry, to Y/N’s horror, grinned.

“Apparently, I make decent company, and your couch is not too bad” he said, sipping his coffee.

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Did Y/N let you sleep on the couch? That is so rude.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Charlotte.”

Charlotte pressed a hand to her heart. “I mean, I was gone all night, you totally could’ve used my bed—”

Y/N almost choked on her coffee. “Oh my God, stop.”

Charlotte just smirked, eyes dancing between them. “I’m just saying…”

Y/N glared. “You’re the worst.”

Harry chuckled, setting down his mug. “I should probably get going before Mason starts wondering where I am.”

He turned to Y/N then, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he murmured.

She swallowed. “Yeah. Anytime.”

Charlotte wiggled her eyebrows.

Y/N shot her a warning look.

Harry—completely amused—grabbed his bag and made his way to the door.

“See you later, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone.

Y/N barely had time to let out a breath before Charlotte pounced.

“So.”

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Don’t.”

Charlotte ignored her, flopping onto the couch with a wicked grin. “You slept together.”

“Oh my God—”

“Not like that,” Charlotte amended. “But still. You slept together.”

Y/N groaned. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Charlotte scoffed. “Oh, honey. It so was.”

———

Y/N had spent the entire morning convincing herself that nothing had changed.

That waking up next to Harry hadn’t felt different.

That the way he had smiled at her over coffee hadn’t made her stomach flip.

That she wasn’t replaying every second of their time together like some lovesick idiot.

But she was failing—miserably.

And Charlotte wasn’t helping.

“So,” her roommate drawled, flipping through a magazine on her bed, “are we just gonna pretend that last night never happened?”

Y/N, sitting at her desk, sighed. “Nothing happened.”

Charlotte scoffed. “You cuddled on the couch, made him coffee in the morning, and practically gazed at each other the whole time. That’s something.”

Y/N turned to glare at her. “I wasn’t gazing.”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh, honey. You were gazing.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her head onto her desk.

Charlotte laughed, tossing the magazine aside. “Look, all I’m saying is—he’s different, isn’t he?”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte shrugged. “I mean, I’ve never seen you act like this over a guy. You usually keep your distance, but with Harry… I don’t know. You let him in.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest—but nothing came out.

Because, as much as she hated to admit it, Charlotte wasn’t wrong.

Harry was different.

And that was what scared her the most.

———

That afternoon, she tried to focus on studying.

Tried being the keyword.

She was in the library, sitting at her usual spot by the window, but the words on the page blurred together.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it, already knowing who it was.

Harry [3:27 PM]: You’re not skipping the library today, are you?

Y/N [3:28 PM]: I’m literally here right now.

Harry [3:29 PM]: Good. Would’ve had to question your commitment to academia otherwise.

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips.

A minute later, she heard a chair scrape against the floor.

She looked up.

Harry slid into the seat across from her, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Hi,” he said, smiling.

Y/N tried to ignore the way her heartbeat definitely sped up. “Hi.”

He set down his bag and pulled out a book. “What are we studying today?”

Y/N sighed. “I’m trying to get through this reading, but it’s not working.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Do you want me to quiz you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You just got here.”

He smirked. “And?”

She shook her head, amused. “Fine.”

And so, they studied. Or at least, they tried.

Every time Harry read a passage aloud, he did it with exaggerated dramatics, making Y/N laugh.

Whenever she got an answer right, he’d tap his fingers against the table like a drumroll.

At some point, he reached for her book, fingers grazing hers—and neither of them pulled away.

The touch was brief, but her skin tingled where it had been.

Harry didn’t say anything, but his gaze flickered to hers, something unspoken lingering between them.

For the first time, Y/N felt like she was on the edge of something.

And she didn’t know whether to step forward—or run.

———

An hour later, Y/N packed up her things.

“I should go,” she murmured.

Harry nodded, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Alright.”

She hesitated before speaking. “Thanks for—y’know. Keeping me sane.”

Harry’s lips quirked. “Anytime.”

As she turned to leave, he called after her

“Oh, Y/N?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

Harry reached into his bag, pulling out a book.

She frowned as he held it out to her.

“The Symposium?” she read aloud, eyebrows raised.

Harry smirked. “Figured you might like it.”

She stared at him. “Harry, this is your copy.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So, I know you annotate all your books.” She flipped through the pages, confirming her suspicions—his familiar, neat handwriting filled the margins. “I can’t take this.”

“You can,” he said simply. “And you will.”

She glanced up at him, confused. “But… why?”

Harry held her gaze for a moment, then leaned in slightly.

“Because I think you’ll understand it,” he murmured.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Because there was weight behind his words—something deeper than just a casual book recommendation.

She swallowed, gripping the book a little tighter.

“…Thank you,” she said softly.

Harry smiled. “See you later, Y/N.”

And as she walked away, The Symposium pressed against her chest, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

That, maybe, she had just crossed a line she could never go back from.

———

The night wrapped around them like a quiet secret. The streets were nearly empty, the world softened by the golden glow of streetlamps.

Y/N and Harry walked side by side, their steps unhurried, as if neither of them wanted the night to end just yet.

She wasn’t sure how they ended up here—how a simple goodnight after studying turned into do you want to take a walk? But she didn’t regret saying yes.

It had been a week since that night at her apartment, since they’d woken up together on the couch, and things between them had shifted. Not in an obvious way—there were no declarations, no grand confessions—but something had changed.

Harry had always looked at her like he was intrigued. But now?

Now, he looked at her like he knew. Like he was just waiting for her to admit it, too.

“You’re quiet,” Harry murmured beside her.

She glanced at him. “So are you.”

He smiled, a little crooked. “Guess I don’t always have something to say.”

“Impossible.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Harsh.”

They walked a little further before she spoke again, a quiet admission in the stillness of the night.

“I read your notes.”

Harry turned his head slightly. “My notes?”

“In The Symposium.”

Realization flickered in his expression. “Right.”

She hesitated. “There was one part that stuck with me.”

His gaze softened. “Which one?”

Y/N swallowed.

“The part where you wrote that love is about recognizing something familiar in someone else.”

Harry didn’t speak right away.

Then, quietly, he said, “That’s my favorite part.”

Y/N stopped walking.

So did he.

The silence between them stretched, heavy with something.

She could feel her pulse thrumming in her wrists, in her throat, in the space between them that was growing smaller by the second.

Harry took a step closer. Slowly. Like he was giving her time to stop him.

She didn’t.

His gaze flickered to her lips, just for a second, before meeting her eyes again.

His voice was softer when he spoke next. “You realize I like you, don’t you?”

Y/N felt something tighten in her chest.

Because, of course, she did.

But hearing it—feeling it—was different.

She exhaled, barely a whisper. “I think I do now.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good.”

He didn’t move right away.

He just looked at her, taking her in, like he was memorizing the moment.

Then, so softly it was almost imperceptible, his fingers brushed against hers.

Y/N inhaled sharply.

And that was all it took.

Before she could second-guess it, before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them.

She barely had time to process the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath, before his hand came up, fingers grazing her jaw as he leaned in—slow, careful, waiting.

And then—

Then, he kissed her.

It was soft at first. Just a whisper of a touch, a silent question against her lips.

But the moment she kissed him back, the moment her fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, it changed.

It deepened.

Harry let out a quiet sound—like he had been waiting for this longer than he cared to admit—and then his hands were on her waist, pulling her closer, closer, like the space between them was unbearable.

Her heart was racing.

She could feel the warmth of his palms, the faint scrape of his stubble against her skin, the way he kissed her like he was learning her—like he wanted to know exactly how she fit against him.

And she let him.

By the time they pulled apart, her head was spinning, her breath uneven.

Harry’s forehead rested against hers, and he let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” she asked, still breathless.

He shook his head, smiling. “Nothing. Just… glad I finally did that.”

She bit her lip, trying—and failing—not to smile.

“Me too.”

Harry’s thumb brushed against her waist absentmindedly.

“Can I walk you home?” he asked.

Y/N nodded.

But neither of them moved.

Not right away.

And when they finally started walking again, Harry’s fingers found hers, intertwining them effortlessly—like they had been waiting to do that, too.

———

It had only been a couple of weeks since that night—their first kiss under the dim glow of the streetlights—but things between them had changed so much.

Not in an overwhelming way. Not in a way that made Y/N feel rushed or pressured.

But in a way that made her soften.

In a way that made it impossible to ignore how utterly smitten Harry was.

It was in the way he always found a reason to touch her, even in the smallest ways—fingertips brushing against hers when they walked, absentmindedly tucking her hair behind her ear when she was focused on something, resting his chin on her shoulder just because he could.

It was in the way he remembered things, like how she liked her coffee and how she hated the sound of loud chewing. In the way he always waited for her outside class even when they had different schedules. In the way he looked at her, like he was always choosing to.

Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Today was no different.

Y/N sat curled up on the library couch, actually trying to get some work done, while Harry sat beside her, flipping through a book he had absolutely no interest in.

At least, that’s what she assumed—because instead of reading, he was staring at her.

She sighed, setting her pen down. “Harry.”

“Hm?” He looked unbothered, too comfortable as he rested his head against the back of the couch.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

She shot him a pointed look.

He smirked, unfazed. “Looking at my girlfriend?”

Her stomach flipped.

Even after two weeks, the word still did something to her.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were warm, and Harry knew it.

With a quiet chuckle, he reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers, absentmindedly running his thumb across the back of her palm.

“Should I be studying?” he murmured, lips twitching.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Harry pretended to consider it. Then, with zero hesitation, he squeezed her hand and dragged it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.

“Too bad,” he murmured against her skin.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

This boy.

She was so doomed.

———

Y/N had tried to keep things subtle.

Not because she wanted to hide it, but because Charlotte was the biggest menace when it came to teasing her, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that just yet.

Too bad Charlotte noticed everything.

Like the way Y/N smiled at her phone when she thought no one was looking. The way she suspiciously left the dorm at night with an “I’ll be back later.” The way she got flustered when Harry’s name came up in conversation.

She had her suspicions, but she didn’t have proof.

Until now.

Because today, as Charlotte was walking toward the dorm, she saw them.

Saw Harry pressing a lingering kiss to Y/N’s forehead. Saw the way she leaned into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And that was all she needed.

“I KNEW IT!”

Y/N jumped, turning to find Charlotte standing a few feet away with the biggest, most victorious grin on her face.

“Oh my God,” Y/N muttered.

Harry—who clearly wasn’t fazed at all—simply raised an eyebrow. “Did you, though?”

Charlotte turned to him, still grinning. “YES. I just didn’t have evidence.” She turned back to Y/N, wiggling her eyebrows. “But now I do.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Charlotte sing-songed.

Harry chuckled, amused, before leaning down and whispering into Y/N’s ear, “I’ll leave you to it, sweetheart.”

She sighed dramatically. “Coward.”

He smirked, kissed the side of her head one last time, and walked away, leaving her to deal with Charlotte’s relentless interrogation.

Y/N was so in trouble.

———

After an hour of being mercilessly teased, Y/N flopped onto her bed, groaning in frustration.

Charlotte smirked from across the room. “Oh, come on, you love me.”

“Debatable,” Y/N muttered, reaching for her phone.

She scrolled through her messages before typing.

Y/N [10:08 PM]: I officially hate you.

Harry [10:09 PM]: That’s unfortunate.

Y/N [10:09 PM]: Charlotte won’t stop teasing me. This is your fault.

Harry [10:10 PM]: Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you, won’t I?

Y/N froze, rereading the message at least three times.

Before she could even think of a response, there was a quiet knock on the door.

Charlotte and Y/N shared a look.

Y/N opened it—and there he was.

Harry stood there, a lazy smirk on his lips, holding a small pastry in a white paper bag.

“Hey,” he murmured.

Y/N blinked.

Charlotte—who was watching the whole thing unfold—snorted. “Oh, my God. You are so whipped.”

Harry didn’t even deny it.

He just shrugged, handed Y/N the bag, and kissed her temple like it was the most normal thing in the world.

When she looked inside, she found her favorite pastry, the one from the café across campus.

She looked back up at him, eyes soft. “You went all the way to—“

Harry simply shrugged. “Felt like it”

Y/N pressed her lips together, trying not to melt right then and there.

Charlotte, however, had no such restraint. “You two are disgusting”, she muttered, rolling her eyes before dramatically throwing a pillow over her head.

Harry chuckled, then leaned down and whispered against Y/N’s skin, “Worth it.”

And just like that, Y/N knew—

She was so, so screwed.

[carnalcrows]

JEALOUSY - SUHYEOK

pairing: lee suhyeok x bottom male reader

synopsis: Fighting zombies is one thing; fighting off your secret boyfriend’s jealousy while your friend crushes on you? Pure chaos.

content warnings: 18+, semi-public sex, anal, voyuerism (?), zombies.

word count: 1.2k

A/N: give me more AOUAD reqs yall!!

The classroom buzzed with a strange energy, an odd mix of fear and camaraderie. Despite the ever-present moans and thuds of the undead outside, the boys managed to find ways to distract themselves from the grim reality. The latest distraction? Wujin’s endless monologue.

"You know," Wujin began, leaning back against the wall with the confidence of someone who definitely thought they were the main character, "if we survive this apocalypse—and I mean if—I’m taking Y/N out for a fancy dinner. Like, steak, dessert, the whole deal."

The group burst into laughter. Dae-su nearly choked on his biscuit, while Cheong-san shook his head with a grin.

"Bro, you can’t even afford steak," Cheong-san teased. "Your wallet’s emptier than the cafeteria right now."

"First of all," Wujin retorted, holding up a finger, "rude. Second of all, Y/N is worth it. He’s got that whole ‘strong and silent’ vibe going on, you know? Like, the kind of guy who could carry you bridal style through a horde of zombies and still look cool doing it."

More laughter erupted, and even you—sitting across the room sorting through supplies—couldn’t help but crack a smile. Wujin was nothing if not persistent.

"You’ve got it bad, huh?" Dae-su said, nudging Wujin with his elbow.

Wujin sighed dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d been shot. "Of course I do! Have you seen him? He’s like... the human equivalent of a survival handbook. Practical, reliable, and ridiculously good-looking. If I had a chance, I wouldn’t just shoot my shot—I’d cannonball into it."

Suhyeok, who’d been leaning against the wall a few feet away, stayed silent. He twirled a metal pipe in his hands, his expression unreadable.

"Y/N’s great and all," Cheong-san said, throwing a glance in your direction. "But don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?"

"Me? Dramatic?" Wujin gasped, mock-offended. "It’s not dramatic to acknowledge greatness when you see it. He’s a ten out of ten."

The group burst into laughter again, but Suhyeok barely reacted. He simply shrugged, his voice calm as he said, "Yeah, Y/N’s cool."

Wujin grinned, turning to him. "Right? I mean, come on, Suhyeok, even you’ve gotta admit he’s a catch."

Suhyeok gave a nonchalant hum, his tone light. "Sure. He’s a good guy." His fingers tightened on the pipe for just a moment before he set it down, his movements smooth.

The conversation drifted to other topics, but Suhyeok’s mind stayed stuck on Wujin’s words. The casual teasing and compliments shouldn’t have bothered him, but they did.

He glanced at you across the room, the corner of his mouth twitching up as you focused on organizing the supplies. You were completely oblivious to Wujin’s crush—and to Suhyeok’s growing jealousy.

Later that night, the group settled down, some asleep while others kept watch. You slipped away with Suhyeok under the guise of checking the rooftop, craving a moment of peace.

As you leaned against the railing, the cool night air brushing against your skin, you sighed. "You know, Wujin’s been talking about me all day. He’s funny, but man, he really doesn’t stop."

Suhyeok leaned beside you, his jaw tightening slightly. "Yeah, he’s got a lot to say."

You chuckled, completely missing the edge in his tone. "He’s harmless, though. Honestly, it’s kind of sweet. I think he—"

Before you could finish, Suhyeok turned and kissed you, cutting you off mid-sentence. The force of it pushed you back against the railing, his hands gripping your waist firmly. The kiss was intense, almost desperate, as if he’d been holding back all day and finally snapped.

You froze for a moment before kissing him back, your hands clutching at his jacket. When he finally pulled back, his lips red and slightly swollen, you were left breathless.

"What the hell was that for?" you asked, your voice low and shaky.

Suhyeok’s eyes locked onto yours, his expression unreadable. "You really don’t know, do you?"

"Know what?" you asked, genuinely confused.

He smirked, brushing his thumb along your jaw. "You’re mine, Y/N. I don’t care who else thinks they have a shot—you’re mine."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. "Wait… is this about Wujin? You’re jealous?"

Suhyeok didn’t answer. Instead, he kissed you again, rougher this time, his hands sliding up your back as he pulled you closer. The kiss grew sloppier, your breaths mingling as his lips moved down to your neck. You couldn’t help but let out a quiet gasp as he nipped at your skin, his grip on you tightening.

Your hands moved to his shoulders, as he trailed down to your pants, pulling them down with a firm tug, making you gasp with surprise.

“Here? What if someone–” he interrupted you with another searing kiss as he tugge your boxers down too, leaving your lower half bare.

Out of nowhere, he pulled out a small packet of lube (magician I tell you), and ripped it open with his teeth. You simply stared at him wide-eyed, wondering where the damn thing came from. Suhyeok merely smirked, and poured the cold liquid onto his fingers, watching it run down to his palms.

He gently turned you around and prodded one lubed finger against your ass, slowly inserting it, with you covering your mouth. He then added one after the other– and soon, three fingers were steadily pumping in and out of you.

Your back arched, pushing forward into the wall in front of you– hands digging into the paint, coming off with flecks in your nails.

Deeming you to be prepped enough, Suhyeok removed his fingers and replaced them with his erection, his pants hanging low at his ankles.

He pressed the tip in– followed by the rest of his length, until he fully bottomed out inside of you. He groaned at how your hole was clenching tightly around his cock– feeling every twitch and pulse.

“Gonna move now baby,” he uttered before pulling out all the way before slamming back in. You moaned at the feeling– almost forgetting that the zombies or your friends could hear you at any moment. 

Suhyeok turned you around to face him– having an almost death grip on your waist. One of your hands tightly clutched his shoulder, while the other covered your mouth so that you wouldn’t let out any noises.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning with almost every single thrust. You felt so fucking good around his cock.

"Suhyeok," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Someone could walk in."

As if on cue, the rooftop door creaked open.

Both of you turned, startled, to see Wujin standing there, his face a mix of shock and horror.

"I—I was just—" Wujin stammered, his eyes darting between you and Suhyeok. "You know what? Nope. Didn’t see anything. Carry on."

Before either of you could say a word, Wujin spun around and bolted, the door slamming shut behind him.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. "Great. This is exactly what I needed."

Suhyeok laughed softly, still thrusting gently inside of you, "Guess we don’t have to keep it a secret anymore."

"Yeah, and now I get to deal with Wujin thinking I’m a jerk."

"He’ll get over it," Suhyeok said, pulling you closer. "And if not, who cares? You’re mine, Y/N. That’s all that matters."

You sighed, leaning into him despite yourself. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"And you love it," he teased, pressing a kiss to your temple, before pulling out and slamming back in again with full force– making you let out an almost pornographic moan in surprise.

It was going to be a long night.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[shotmrmiller]

kinktober: cockwarming (john price x reader x simon in underground fighter au)

You're no fan of real-time violence.

Movies can never replicate its visceral reality— the sharp metallic tang that clings to the air, mingled with salt and the bitter stench of the swill these local colors call beer. Even worse is having to be the one to patch Simon up with trembling, blood-slick fingers and your molars sunk into the thick of your tongue to keep your lunch where it belongs.

So when Simon sends you Price's way with a firm palm on your arse and his spit still warm on your lips, you're grateful. He'll keep ya busy.

You're not counting his blood money, if that's what he was thinking.

"Course not, love," Price says, the rings on his thick fingers glinting under the dim light overhead as he opens the door to his office. It smells of worn leather, polished wood, and layered on top is the heady aroma of tobacco, rich, unmistakable. (You will not stay if he lights one of those puppies up. You like your lungs how they are.)

"Tha's wha' the bill counter is for." You can feel the warmth of his palm seeping through your clothes— a steady presence at the base of your spine, guiding you forward with a subtle push.

You'd expected him to let you pluck a book off the well-stocked shelf that's been beckoning you since you laid eyes on it and curl up on his couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders. Maybe even chat you up with small talk, ask about your week, school/job, and how you were adjusting to this new life.

Not with his broad front curling around your back, breath warming the shell of your ear, while you stare at the smooth, raised skin on his knuckles— which is less furry than the rest of him— in hopes that you don't fall apart around the thick of his cock. He's got a hand flat on the desk, small finger slanting to the side probably from where it healed wrong, and the other's signing off paperwork you couldn't even try to understand with a clear mind, much less one that's spinning from the sheer want for friction, relief.

Your arse pulses hot from where he'd reprimanded you earlier for squirming too much.

"Quite obedient. Simon's taught ya well." He hisses when you tighten up involuntarily, indignation cutting through the sluggish heat you've been burning in at his remark. Obedient. Taught. As if you're some kind of lap dog, yipping and rolling over for a treat. (Or in this case, a cock.)

"Easy, love. Jus' a joke." The hand he'd had on the desk comes to squeeze at the meat of your ribs, a small gesture, before weaving down to your cunt, fingers spreading, feeling how well split you are around his length, lips spread wide. "I'd hate f'you to turn my own guard dog against me, eh?" His apology comes in jerky little circles, smearing slick over your neglected clit, coarse hair of your mons coated milky white.

Each stroke of his fingers only bows your spine, winding it like one would a key on the back of a doll, your muscles coiling with tension, bodily response not your own after being denied release for god knows how long.

The sharp tap on the door goes completely unnoticed by you, but not Price. His pace remains steady, continuous, as Simon walks in through the door with crimson peppered on his cream wifebeater.

"John." Through bleary eyes, you see Simon settle in the chair across from you both, legs long, knuckles angry red and swollen as he palms himself over his denim. "Gaz may or may not 'ave goaded Soap into a fight."

Price's hand stops abruptly, desperation clogging your throat, the coil beneath your navel cranked so tight you might just scream. His voice rattles you from behind. "And?"

Simon's got his jeans bunched to his knees now, cock resting heavy atop his thighs, quads' ridges shifting as he gets comfortable. He might just be a tad bigger than what you've got sitting snugly against the plug of your womb.

"They're tumblin' outside, among civil folk. I doubt gettin' 'em out will be as painless this time 'round."

Price snarls and you find yourself empty, straddling Simon's hips, your inner thighs burning at the width. "Bloody fuckin'—," the sound of his belt buckle peters off soon after he walks out the door.

Your hands can feel Simon's shoulders flexing as he runs a fist up his length, eyes heavy lidded and focused on the creamy slick dampening your curls. His cock sits long on your stomach.

"'ave a seat, then." Amusement curls his lip, usual pink scar on his lip stretched silver. Your knees don't reach the cushion he's on properly, so you place your feet right above his own for leverage, legs folded tight.

His fingers dimple your waist as you lower yourself onto him, breath rushing out of your lungs as he fills you, aching, burning, a stretch you'll never really get used to, the pinch deep in your core causing discomfort to clump your lashes together until you're flush against him.

"Sit real pretty now. Gotta wait f'r Price t'give me my earnin's."

You're gonna rip his ear off with your teeth if you don't get to come soon.

"Claws in," he mutters, thumbing your pebbled nipple through your shirt. "Won't be too long."

(It was too long but worth every bloody second in the end.)

[sharkbitten-sailor]

forsaken survivors x cat!reader - headcanons .ᐟ

a/n: not sure if i messed up anything due to lack of experience in writing. plus, english is not my native language, so im sorry for any grammar or spelling errors!

general hcs - you have all the charming features of a cat - a tail that sways when you're curious, ears that twitch at every little sound, and, of course, the softest paws imaginable! - oh, and you have some cat-like traits too. man, how are you so adaptable and flexible? you can literally slip through the thinnest corner ever or loop the killer without getting hit. not even once. - basically liquid at this point/hj - whether it’s scratching at walls or leaving marks on a killer who got too close, your claws are a force to be reckoned with. or simply you get bored :p - you have a favorite hiding spot and get grumpy when someone else takes it/ref - you rarely purr, mostly just hiss at everyone in sight lol unless they’re your absolute favorite.

noob - at first, noob don't quite know how to feel about you. they’re both fascinated by your unique traits and a little anxious, unsure of how to approach you. - it takes them time to warm up, but once they do, they find your presence incredibly soothing. probably because you remind them of their old pet cat, tac. - just having you around helps them feel less overwhelmed. - as a cat owner, they know a few tricks to help you relax: scratching your cheeks, rubbing your ears… but the only issue? they don’t have enough confidence to do it. - still, they did try to groom you once. you looked so peaceful that their face turned red like a berry. total flustered mess. - they have a habit of asking you the most unexpected things out of nowhere. “d-do you like b-boxy cola...?” “w-what about... salty food...?” - it’s their way of making conversation, even if it’s awkward at first. - one time, it was just the two of you left, and noob was completely overwhelmed by anxiety to the point that their figure trembled constantly. - without a word, you nudged them gently. that small act alone made their worries fade almost instantly. it melted their heart in a way they didn’t expect. - you see them as a premium napping spot. no words, no hesitation; you just stroll up, plop down next to them and sleep. - noob's honest reaction: OVERHEATING. brain blue-screening. - the argue to pat those small lil' ears of yours when you're sleeping ughhh >>>>

007n7 - he assumes you’ll steer clear once you learn about his past, just like everyone else. but you? you dgaf. the past is the past, and that’s that. - he’s caught off guard by that attitude of yours, almost unsure of how to react. - is this… genuine? the fact that you don’t just tolerate his presence; you actually seem to enjoy it leaves him a little stunned. and, maybe, a sense of happiness. - sometimes, 007n7 catches himself watching you, wondering how you can be so carefree in this ever-lasting hell. - secretly impresses by how fearless you look when looping the killer. you made it seem way too easy. - adores every moment when you try to mimic his clones. it makes him remember about the old time, in a good way. - after every match, you make it a habit to sit beside him during breaks. no hesitation, no awkwardness. just quiet companionship. - if elliot or others don't take care of his injuries, you do, calmly patching him up without a trace of discomfort. - he learns (the hard way) that you have a habit of affectionate arm-biting. whether he likes it or not, he’s your favorite target, and there’s no escaping it😇 - but hey, at least you do knead him sometimes :D especially his burger-hat. - he finds it both silly and calm to hear your soft purrs. something about them just sounds like honey: smooth, warm, comforting. - somehow, being around you helps. both in and outside the rounds. you've kind of become his metal life support at this point. - he asks if he can pat your ears, and you nod. the moment his hand touches them, he's stunned by how soft they are. a second later, realization hits. his face turns bright red as he quickly pulls away, completely flustered </3 - overall, 10/10.

shedletsky - a cat person meets a cat? what do you expect? chaos? check. instant best buddies? double check. - it takes no time at all for you two to bond. something about your energy just clicks with his. - he finds endless joy in teasing you, not caring if you hiss at him in response. in fact, he lives for it. - flicking your ears just to see your reaction/ref - he’s a menace who constantly pats your head just to get a reaction. always ends up with bite marks and scratches. - but does he stop? absolutely not. - your best revenge? stealing his precious fried chickens. he gets annoyed so bad. "you little gremlin- put that down!" - no matter how serious things get, one way or another, you and shedletsky always make it worse in the best way possible. - likes to stay close to you during rounds. either to guard you (cuz you're too curious and reckless for your own good) or to show off his sword skills. it's kinda awesome until he misses the stun. "oops, my bad. time to run!" - since there isn't enough room, when it's your turn to sleep on the couch or floor, he usually offers you his sleeping spot. (or, y'know… you just end up sleeping together :p) - gives off total 'one dares to think, one dares to try' duo energy. he cooks, you eat. you distract, he stuns. - actually enjoys when you knead on him. it's pretty soothing. - attempted to touch your paws once… and yeah, never again. the sacred toe beans remain off-limits. - little do you know, your presence alone is one of many thing that push him forward.

guest 1337 - dang. how hard is it to write for this guy bruh - when you first got kidnapped here, he was the most wary of you, more than anyone else. even when shedletsky took a quick liking to you. - can't blame him though. he've been through a freaking war himself. - might take quite long (like forever) to earn his trust. - it starts small: offering him a boxy cola (which he side-eyes but still drink) or a medkit, sticking around even when he insists he doesn’t need help. then, saving him more times than you can count by alerting him when the killer is near (thanks to your sharp senses), buying both of you some precious seconds to escape. - slowly, he starts seeing something, rather someone familiar in you, none other than his daughter - it's when your relationship with him takes another path. - he's already someone who puts others before himself, but with you, it's even 'worse'. you might have 9 lives, but he refuses to let you waste even one. - he tends to walk straight to you when the round has just started. something about the thought of you wandering alone doesn’t sit right with him. - he's ready to take the hits, insisting he's fine no matter how battered he gets. you have to threaten to bite him if he doesn't take a break. - doesn't make a difference if you have sharp senses of a cat, you are still a curious lil' goofball creature. guest 1337 has to pull you out of those mess you made + lecture you the n+1th time to not touch john doe's spikes or 1x1x1x1's minions. - he doesn’t trust you around his food. rightfully so. the number of times you've swiped a meal off his plate just to annoy him is unreal. - "unbelievable," he mutters while grabbing it back. - gives you a pat as a way of saying "good job," though it's not something he does often.