#Gesture Control Boot

[vmantras]

BMW iX1 xDrive30 M Sport: Luxury Electric SUV Review

₹66.9 Lakh Design and Build Quality Exterior Styling The BMW iX1 xDrive30 M Sport exemplifies modern BMW design with its M Sport Package enhancements. Notable highlights include: Kidney Grille: Signature M-specific design with chrome accents and gloss-black slats. Lighting: Adaptive LED headlights with cornering functionality, High Beam Assistant, and stylish daytime running lights (DRLs).…

[buckysleftbicep]

for better or for worse (1) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (fake marriage au)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors, dni, sexual tension, one bed trope,

summary: you and bucky are forced to play newlyweds at a luxury honeymoon resort. he’s controlling, you’re reckless, and now you’re sharing a bed. the problem? it’s getting harder to play pretend. and you’re not sure either of you will survive what comes next.

word count: 2.5k

author's note: hi my loves! this is one of my uncompleted series, and i'm posting in hopes i could be motivated to complete it! if you'd like for a chapter two, let me know! your support means a lot to me <333

series masterlist

“You can’t be serious.”

Your voice cut sharply through the room, echoing off the concrete walls of the team's briefing room. The table was scattered with dossiers, mission files, half-drunk coffee, and exactly zero logic as far as you were concerned.

Val didn’t even blink. She just sat there at the head of the table, calm as ever, the faintest glint of amusement betraying her otherwise impassive face. “Dead serious.”

You folded your arms, glaring. “Out of everyone here… him?”

“I’m flattered,” Bucky muttered beside you, tone flat as a dry desert. He didn’t even look your way, probably didn’t want to see the way your eyes narrowed like you were about to throw something sharp at him.

Val’s smirk deepened. She leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, fingers steepled under her chin like a cartoon villain with far too much power. “You two have unresolved issues, so congratulations. You’re married now.”

Yelena let out a full snort of laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth like she was watching a slow-motion car crash.

John gave a low, gleeful whistle. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

“Why can’t you send Walker?” you snapped, jerking a thumb at him. “He already looks like he belongs on a honeymoon with his ego.”

“He have emotional capacity of wrecking ball,” Alexei chimed in, voice thick with his Russian accent, waving a hand dismissively. “Very destructive, not subtle.”

“No, I don’t—” John started to protest, indignant.

Yelena rolled her eyes. “You cried at Fast and Furious 7, and it wasn’t even the sad part.”

John scowled. “It had layers.”

She dropped a thick file onto the table. Glossy surveillance photos slid free, including a few charred, smoking blueprints and a shot of Raskovic toasting champagne in a cabana.

“His last shipment,” Val continued, “levelled half a research compound in Tunisia. I need charm, subtlety. Not testosterone."

You let out a disbelieving huff and gestured vaguely in Bucky’s direction without looking at him. “And you think this has charm?”

“I ooze charm,” Bucky said flatly.

You finally turned to glance at him. “Yeah, I can see that. Real honeymoon material.”

Yelena grinned wide, leaning across the table toward you like she was settling in for the drama. “This is going to be so entertaining.”

“Better than reality TV,” Ava added, her boots kicked up on the table, legs crossed lazily.

Alexei clapped his hands together, beaming like someone’s very drunk uncle at a wedding. “Marriage is beautiful thing, bond of love. Trust."

You turned your gaze back to Val, still hoping against reason that she would crack and admit this was some twisted, long-game prank. “There has to be another way.”

She gave you that look. The one that always meant: I could have you killed and get away with it. And then she smiled, teeth sharp and polished.

“Not unless you want to tell the weapons dealer you’re siblings who sometimes make out.”

You blinked, as John gagged audibly in the background.

“…Fine,” you muttered, jaw clenching.

Bucky didn’t even react. He just let out a grunt, pushing his chair back slightly. “Let’s get this over with.”

With a dramatic flourish, Val produced two small velvet boxes from her bag and slid them across the table. “Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Barnes. Honeymoon begins in twenty-four hours. And if either of you screw this up, if he suspects anything, you’re both done. There are no second chances with Raskovic. None.”

You flipped open your box. Inside, a slim platinum band gleamed under the overhead lights. It looked delicate, elegant, like something a real wife would wear, if she didn’t want to commit murder against her husband before check-in.

Val’s voice was cool as steel. “Play the part. Laugh. Kiss. Look like you can’t keep your hands off each other. Be convincing.”

“Oh, we’ll be convincing,” Bucky muttered as he slid the ring onto his finger, his voice almost too casual. “Won’t we, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer.

You were too busy imagining what it would feel like to punch your fake husband in the face.

Six Hours Later

“Tell me again why I agreed to this,” you muttered, yanking your suitcase behind you as the team's transport SUV barrelled down a sun-drenched coastal road, the ocean stretching endlessly beside it like a taunt.

The scent of saltwater mixed with the heat of the asphalt, the resort town glinting in the distance like something out of a luxury magazine ad you would never willingly sign up for.

Bucky’s voice cut through the silence from the driver’s seat. “Because you have a hero complex,” he said, one hand firm on the wheel, the other draped lazily across the armrest like he wasn’t wearing a metaphorical wedding ring that made your eye twitch. “And you like pretending you don’t.”

You scoffed, adjusting your sunglasses as you shot him a glare. “Because I was assigned to this.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Because you’re reckless and don’t listen to orders.”

Your head snapped toward him, the suitcase thudding into your shin as you turned in your seat. “Because you're a controlling jackass who never takes the stick out of his—”

“Children,” came John’s voice through the SUV’s overhead comms, the speaker crackling just enough to ruin the moment. “Behave. Uncle Walker’s listening in.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.

“I’m placing bets,” Yelena chimed in, the sound of chewing echoing faintly behind her smug tone. “Three days before they fuck. Two before they kill each other.”

“Both, maybe same night,” Alexei added almost cheerfully in the background, as if he were discussing weather patterns.

You let out a long, exasperated breath and turned back to the road, jaw tight, sunglasses hiding the slow blink of disbelief at your life choices.

Bucky didn’t look at you, but you could feel the smugness radiating off him like heat from the dash.

“You should rest,” he said, casting a sidelong glance your way. “You’re crankier than usual.”

You crossed your arms, slumping just enough to make your annoyance known. “Maybe I’d be in a better mood if I wasn't married the most aggravating man on the planet.”

Bucky smirked like you’d handed him a trophy. “I didn’t realise I outranked Walker.”

“I’m flattered,” came John’s voice again, low and mildly wounded. “Thanks, guys. Warms the heart.”

Twenty Minutes Later – Resort Arrival

The second your foot hit the ground, you nearly choked on the air.

The resort was obscene—like someone gave a billionaire an unlimited budget and said, go nuts.

The entrance was framed with cascading white orchids, marble walkways that looked freshly polished gleamed under the golden tropical sun, and an honest-to-god quartet played soft jazz somewhere near a sculpted garden arch.

Fountains bubbled lazily with rose petals floating on the surface, and in the distance, gauzy white silk cabanas shimmered beside an infinity pool that looked like it led directly into the ocean. Uniformed staff moved like clockwork, trays of champagne glasses catching the light like diamonds.

Bucky stepped up beside you, duffel slung over his shoulder, and took it all in with an arched brow. “Great,” he muttered under his breath. “We’re in a Bond villain’s wet dream.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Try not to glower too hard. We’re supposed to be happy newlyweds, remember?”

His gaze flicked to you, mouth twitching like he wanted to laugh or maybe bite. “Try not to stab anyone with your heels.”

You didn’t reply. Not because he was right, but because the stilettos Val made you pack could absolutely be used as a weapon. And likely would.

Inside, the air conditioning hit like a blessing. The check-in lobby was all white marble and gold accents, with soft lighting that made your skin glow unnaturally perfect.

A stunning concierge greeted you with the kind of practiced smile that made you want to start lying immediately.

“Welcome to El Alma Dorada, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes,” she said, hands clasped over a sleek tablet. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Before you could even fake a smile, Bucky’s hand slid into yours.

It was warm—calloused, solid, and entirely too steady. You blinked down at the contact just as he turned on a grin so smooth it knocked the wind out of you.

He leaned in a little, close enough that you could smell his cologne, feel the press of his thumb brushing slow, affectionate circles against your knuckles.

“Couldn’t wait to get here,” he said easily, voice pitched low and full of some fabricated warmth. “Isn’t that right, babe?”

Your mouth went a little dry.

“…Uh—yeah,” you stammered, smile slow to appear as you forced yourself to lean into his shoulder like it was second nature. “We’re just so excited to start our new life together.”

His hand squeezed yours—subtle, but firm. Reminding you.

Play the part.

You turned your head just enough to rest lightly against his bicep, stretching your grin until your cheeks ached. “So excited.”

The concierge giggled, clearly charmed. “Your honeymoon suite is ready, and the champagne has been chilled. You’ll find rose petals and—”

“Perfect,” Bucky cut in smoothly, his voice suddenly thick with something intimate, possessive. “Can’t keep my hands off her.”

Your stomach flipped so fast it made you dizzy.

There was a cough—stifled, but unmistakable through the comms. Someone was definitely listening.

Probably Yelena. Or John, trying not to laugh himself into an aneurysm.

“Aw,” Yelena cooed through the comms, voice syrup-sweet. “You two are so cute I’m gonna throw up.”

And told yourself not to murder your fake husband until at least after the complimentary breakfast.

The suite was ridiculous.

Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around half the space, bathing the room in warm, golden afternoon light. The ocean shimmered beyond the glass in postcard perfection, the view so breathtaking it too pristine to be real.

The ivory stone floors gleamed under your heels, each click echoing faintly as you stepped further inside. Silk-draped furniture was arranged like a magazine spread, and on the private balcony, a plunge pool glistened like a sapphire.

A bottle of vintage champagne waited on ice by the sitting area, and just past that, a trail of red rose petals led delicately toward—

“Oh, hell no.”

You stopped in your tracks, eyes locked ahead, body gone still.

Bucky stepped in behind you and raised a brow as he followed your line of sight. He didn’t say anything, just strolled past with calm and tossed your suitcase beside his own like the room didn’t feel like a honeymoon-themed fever dream.

The bed, if you could even call it that, was massive. King-sized, or maybe some custom size beyond your comprehension. It was piled with pristine white linens, oversized down pillows, and a tufted headboard that screamed expensive sin.

The rose petals continued onto the mattress like an arrow pointing straight to your worst nightmare.

Just one bed.

Of course.

You let out a slow, withering breath. “Real polite of you,” you muttered dryly as Bucky moved toward the closet like this was just another mission and not the set of some soft-core romance movie.

“I’m your husband, remember?” he shot back without looking at you, voice dripping with sarcastic charm that made your eye twitch.

You stepped further into the room, suitcase wheels clicking softly across the marble as your gaze remained stubbornly on the bed. “One bed,” you said, mostly to yourself. “Of course.”

“I’ll take the couch,” Bucky said immediately, nodding toward a chaise lounge in the corner.

It was upholstered in gold-tinged fabric, delicate and ornamental. Clearly decorative. Barely big enough for one leg, let alone a super soldier.

You turned and stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “What are we, five?”

His brow rose. “I just figured—”

“We can share the bed,” you cut in, voice quieter now, trying not to sound as reluctant as you felt. “It’s not like we haven’t been in worse situations.”

He paused. Something flickered in his eyes, too quick to name. Surprise, maybe. Something unreadable, something that made your stomach tighten for half a second.

But then it was gone, shuttered behind the same mask he always wore when things got a little too real.

“Sure,” he said, easy as anything. “Whatever you want, princess.”

You rolled your eyes and turned toward the vanity, focusing on unpacking anything just to keep your hands busy. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

The words came out smooth, sarcastic, like everything else from his mouth—but the undertone lingered. He moved toward the bathroom, muttering something under his breath about needing a shower.

And then—like he knew you were watching—he reached up and began undoing the top button of his shirt.

Your fingers froze on the zipper of your bag.

One button. Then the next. Then the next.

You watched—damn it, of course you watched. It wasn’t the first time you had seen Bucky shirtless, but this wasn’t mid-mission or after a fight.

There was no adrenaline. No distraction. Just him, standing in honeyed sunlight, undoing each button with casual ease like he wasn’t setting your pulse on fire.

He shrugged the shirt off one shoulder, then the other, folding it neatly before placing it at the edge of the bed. His left arm remained wrapped in a sleek black compression sleeve, but the shimmer of gold vibranium still peeked through.

His chest was broad and solid, scarred in places, inked in others. Each line of muscle moved with practiced grace, abs flexing slightly as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

You tried not to stare. You really tried.

And then, just to finish you off, the bastard looked at you.

“Want me to leave the door open while I shower?” he asked, tone light. Innocent. Too innocent.

Your mouth went dry. “Why the hell would I want that?”

He smirked, eyes glittering with amusement as he tilted his head. “Thought you might want to join me. Water pressure’s supposed to be incredible.”

You narrowed your eyes, but the heat rising up your neck betrayed you. “You wish.”

“I do, actually.”

You jerked your gaze to the minibar, to the flowers, anywhere that wasn’t his bare chest or that infuriating mouth. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He stepped closer as he passed—barefoot, because of course he was—his voice lowering to a near whisper. You could feel the warmth of him as he brushed by, feel the smugness radiating off every inch.

“Just say the word.”

Then he disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him with frustrating calm.

You stood there for a long beat, staring at the etched floral pattern on the wall. Your heart thumped uncomfortably, your skin too warm, your thoughts, well, they didn’t belong anywhere near a mission file.

This was going to be a problem.

Your earpiece crackled to life.

“Hey lovebirds,” Yelena said sweetly, voice soaked in amusement. “Remember the comms are still on, yes? We can hear everything.”

You groaned, ripped the tiny device from your ear, and tossed it onto the nightstand like it had personally betrayed you.

“What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

a/n: here is me hoping you enjoyed this chapter! love ya and stay safe out there!

[hoonstqr]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ۫ 𓈒 PUNISH ME, OFFICER ♩

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ────𝗐𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌

警告 : smut, sensory deprivation, porn, bondage, p in v, unprotected sex, dildo fucking, edging, over stimulation, blowjob, organism denial, degradation 2893 for my pretty waifu @kikidoul. actually wrote this for jeno a while back but never posted so now its revamped + edited ><

ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ( ៸៸ ´ `) 𝑜 ──── REBLOG FOR A KiSS !

"babe, i'm home," sunghoon called out as he kicked off his boots, the heavy thud echoing through the quiet apartment. he hung his keys by the door, the metal jingling against the wooden board, and tossed his uniform jacket onto the nearby chair. he had come home earlier than expected, hoping to surprise you with a romantic dinner before his shift started again.

no response? weird, you must be in the bathroom.

as sunghoon approached the bedroom, the faint sound of running water grew louder. he could hear the steady rhythm of the shower echoing through the hallway. he sat on the bed as his gaze fell upon your laptop, lying open on the bed. the screen was alight with a video that made his eyes widen in shock and his heart quicken in a mix of arousal and disbelief. a girl, handcuffed to the bed, was being thoroughly ravished by a man dressed in police gear.

his mind raced as he watched the scene unfold. this was your dirty little secret? seems like his pretty bimbo wife is not so innocent after all.

suddenly, the sound of the shower turning off snapped him out of his trance. your bare feet pattered against the cold tiles, water dripping onto the floor. you emerged from the steamy bathroom, your skin glowing and your hair plastered to your body under a thin white towel. your eyes widened when you saw sunghoon sitting on the bed, his gaze glued to the laptop screen. "oh, sunghoon, you're home already?" you squeaked.

mortification crawled up your spine as you realized what he must be watching. your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and your breath hitched in your throat. the video was still playing, the woman's moans filling the room like an awkward soundtrack to your humiliation. you fumbled with the towel, trying to cover yourself more, as sunghoon's eyes flickered from the screen to your flustered face and back.

"i, uh, i can explain," you began, your voice trembling slightly. but the words got caught in your mouth like a mouthful of cotton. the sight of his strong, authoritative figure sitting there, his eyes dark with a mix of emotions, made your knees wobble.

sunghoon's gaze didn't waver from the screen, the man's handcuffs glinting under the artificial light. "you've been watching some… interesting content." he replied dryly as if you hadn't been caught watching porn about his damned profession.

you stumbled over your words, trying to come up with a coherent explanation, but your mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions. the air in the room grew thick with tension as the video played on, the woman's cries growing louder with each passing second. "i never knew you had a thing for… this," he said, gesturing towards the laptop, his voice a cocktail of surprise and accusation.

sunghoon's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. you could see the gears turning in his head as he processed the scene before him. your heart hammered in your chest as he closed the laptop with a firm snap, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. the sudden silence was deafening, only the dull throb of your pulse and the faint sound of your breath filled the space between you.

he stood up, inching closer to you, his movements deliberate and controlled. you took a shaky step backward, the coldness of the wall against your wet skin sending a shiver down your spine. your eyes remained glued to his, searching for any hint of what was coming next.

sunghoon leaned in, his warm breath ghosting against your neck. "who could've guessed my sweet innocent wife had such wild fantasies," he murmured, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. your body responded with a shiver of anticipation. was he mad? was he… intrigued?

before you could say another word, his strong arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you easily and pushing you back onto the bed. the mattress dipped under your weight, the towel slipping away to reveal your naked form. you felt exposed and vulnerable, but also… excited?

his hand reached for the nightstand drawer, and you watched with bated breath as he pulled out a set of handcuffs, the metal cold and unyielding. your eyes went wide as he held them up, the glint of them catching the light from the bedside lamp. "i guess it's time to play," he says huskily, sending a thrill through your core.

before you could even process his intentions, sunghoon had grabbed your wrist and secured the first handcuff around it, the cold metal biting into your skin. your pulse raced as he leaned over you, his gaze never leaving yours as he reached for the other wrist, cuffing it to the opposite side of the bedframe.

his eyes searched yours for any sign of protest, but all he found was a blend of surprise and desire. "you're okay with this?" he asked, his voice thick with lust. you nodded frantically, unable to form words. he smirked, knowing full well you'd never be able to hide your desires from him again.

sunghoon then stood up, the mattress springing back to life with his release. his footsteps were heavy as he approached the closet, the wood of the floor creaking under his weight. the door swung open with a low groan, revealing your most intimate secrets. his eyes scanned the contents, resting on the monster dildo you had hidden at the back. a smug smile spread across his face as he reached for the shelf, his hand wrapping around the thick base.

how did he even know about it?!

his eyes gleamed with a newfound hunger as he approached the bed. your heart thumped against your ribcage, the anticipation building to an almost unbearable crescendo. you watched as he unbuckled his belt, the leather whispering against the fabric of his pants. his zipper was the next to give way, revealing the bulge that had formed in his boxers.

sunghoon grabbed the dildo, stroking it almost lovingly as he climbed onto the bed. he positioned himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. you felt the mattress shift and sink beneath his weight as he leaned over you, the dildo's tip brushing against your sensitive folds. you gasped, the sensation sending a bolt of electricity through your body.

his hand moved the toy in slow, teasing circles around your clit. "h-hoonie, please," you whimpered, your body arching off the bed, begging for more. the handcuffs dug into your skin as you struggled to get closer to the sweet torment he was inflicting upon you.

sunghoon chuckled low in his throat, a dark, sexy sound that sent shivers down your spine. "patience, baby," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "i want to hear you beg."

his grip on the dildo tightened, and he began to apply more pressure. you could feel yourself getting wetter, your body responding to his touch despite the handcuffs that kept you helpless. he dragged the toy along the length of your slit, teasing you mercilessly. your hips bucked, trying to get more friction, but the cold metal of the handcuffs kept you in place, taunting you with their unforgiving embrace.

sunghoon watched your reactions with a smirk, his eyes gleaming with the power he now held over you. "nngh, please," you whimpered, the word barely audible. he leaned down and whispered, "i want to hear you scream." with that, he pushed the dildo inside you, the intrusion making you gasp.

you felt yourself stretch around the thickness, your body clenching and unclenching, trying to adjust to the unyielding object. sunghoon's movements were deliberate and slow, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, letting you feel every inch of the toy. your eyes squeezed shut, your teeth gritted, as he edged you closer to the precipice of pleasure. the handcuffs bit into your wrists as you tried to grab onto the bed, seeking any purchase to control the sensations overwhelming you.

his hand moved in a steady rhythm, the sound of the dildo's base slapping against your skin echoing in the room. you could feel your orgasm building, a coil of tension tightening in your belly. your breaths grew shorter, your chest rising and falling rapidly. "h-hoon," you begged, your voice a desperate whine. "i'm so close."

with each thrust, the dildo hit that sweet spot inside you, the pressure mounting until you thought you might shatter. your eyes watered, not from pain, but from the intensity of the pleasure that was building, threatening to consume you whole. "please, hoon, i'm gonna…" your voice trailed off into a high-pitched whine as he continued to drive the toy into you.

then, just as you felt the beginnings of your climax, he abruptly pulled the dildo out, leaving you gasping and quivering. your eyes snapped open to meet his, the betrayal and need reflected in them. "please," you choked out, your voice thick with desperation. "please, let me cum."

his smirk grew wicked as he reached for his own zipper, pulling it down slowly. his erection sprang free, thick and heavy, making your mouth water and your pussy ache for his touch. "not yet," he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. "not until i say so."

he grabbed the handcuffs attached to the bedframe and rattled them playfully. the sound sent a jolt of excitement through your body, mixing with the frustration of being so close to release and yet so far.

sunghoon climbed off the bed and removed his clothes, revealing his toned chest and abs, the muscles rippling as he moved. his cock stood erect, a testament to his arousal from watching you squirm under his control. you bit your bottom lip, unable to take your eyes off him as he sits infront of you, his eyes never leaving yours.

he flicks the dildo back on and the gentle hum of the vibration fills the room. you feel the heat rising in your cheeks as he takes a moment to admire the toy glistening with your arousal. "so wet for me, aren't you?" he says, his voice gruff with need. "so desperate to get fucked like a slut."

sunghoon strokes his cock, his eyes never leaving yours as he watches you squirm. the sight of his strong hand wrapped around his shaft, moving in rhythm with the dildo inside you, sends waves of heat through your body. you bite your lip to stifle a moan, the frustration of being so close to climax yet denied it by his teasing driving you wild.

his grip tightens, his strokes becoming more erratic as he watches the dildo move in and out of you, your juices coating it with every thrust. you can see the veins in his neck bulging, his pupils dilated with lust. the handcuffs dig into your skin as you try to hold onto the bed, your body begging for release.

his eyes never leave yours as he jerks his cock, the precum glistening at the tip. "you like being my little fuck toy, don't you?" he asks, his voice a gravelly whisper. you nod, unable to form words as the pleasure builds within you.

just as you feel the first spasm of your orgasm, the telltale sign of release, sunghoon reaches over and flicks off the dildo. the sudden absence of the vibration leaves you panting, your body strung tight like a bow ready to snap. "n-no, hoon, please," you whine, your voice desperate.

his eyes dance with mischief as he watches your frustration, his hand still stroking his own cock, now slick with pre-cum. "not yet," he repeats, his voice a dark promise. your hips buck involuntarily, trying to find any semblance of the pleasure that was just snatched away from you. the handcuffs rattle against the bedframe, a taunting reminder of your helplessness.

sunghoon then leans in, placing the tip of his cock against your parted lips. the heat of him, the smell of him, sends a thrill through you. your eyes widen, but you don't dare move. his hand reaches behind your head, threading through your damp hair, and he pulls you closer, guiding his length into your mouth. you gag slightly as he pushes deeper, filling your mouth with his hardness.

his grip tightens, the handcuffs biting into your wrists as you struggle to accommodate his size. your eyes water and your jaw aches, but you don't dare pull away. you know he's watching you, watching the way your mouth stretches around his cock, watching the way you fight to take him all in. the taste of him is intoxicating, the salty tang of his precum coating your tongue as he starts to fuck your mouth with slow, deliberate strokes.

his hips rock back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of your lips. you can feel the head hit the back of your throat with each thrust, the sensation making your eyes water even more. your hands are bound and useless, leaving you completely at his mercy. you moan around his shaft, the vibrations sending a new wave of sensation through your already overwhelmed body.

sunghoon groans, his eyes rolling back in his head as he fucks your mouth with increasing urgency. you can feel his cock swelling, the muscles in his thighs tensing. his grip on your hair tightens as he starts to thrust harder, faster, his hips snapping against your face.

he pulls out, his cum spurting across your face and chest. it's hot and sticky, painting your skin in ropes of white. you watch, wide-eyed and panting, as he continues to come, his cock pulsing with each spurt. your tits were coated in sticky white ropes.

sunghoon then sits back, panting heavily, his cock still twitching. his eyes never leave yours as he reaches out, wiping the remaining cum from your face with his thumb, and pushes it into your mouth. "suck it clean, slut."

you obey, your tongue swirling around his digit, tasting the salty bitterness of his release. the humiliation only serving to heighten your arousal.

sunghoon's eyes flare with desire as he watches you clean him up. he reaches down to remove the handcuffs, releasing you from your restraints. your arms fall limply to the side, the skin around your wrists red and slightly bruised. you look up at him, your eyes glazed with need.

his cock is still semi-hard, and he uses the cum that's on his hand to lubricate himself, spreading it down his shaft. sunghoon grabs your ankles and pulls your legs apart, your pussy glistening and begging for his attention. you're trembling with need, your body aching for his touch. he climbs between your legs, his eyes dark with desire.

without another word, he plunges into you, his cock filling you up in one swift motion. you scream, the mix of pain and pleasure making your toes curl. your pussy stretches around his girth, your walls tightening around him like a vice.

sunghoon's eyes never leave yours as he starts to move, his hips pistoning into you. every stroke hits that perfect spot, the one the dildo had been teasing all along. your breath comes in ragged gasps as he fucks you.

his hands are everywhere, grabbing at your hips, your breasts, your throat. his teeth bite into the flesh of your shoulder, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. you arch up to meet him, your nails digging into his back, leaving trails of red against his pale skin.

his strokes are deep and punishing, his cock claiming you in a way that you never knew was possible. you're so wet that you can hear the wet smack of his skin against yours, the sound echoing in your ears like a dirty mantra. your orgasm is a tight coil in your belly, winding tighter and tighter with every thrust.

sunghoon's movements become more erratic, his breaths coming in harsh pants. you can feel his muscles tense, his body poised on the edge of his own release. you're so close, so close…

and then, it happens.

you squirt, your body letting go of the pent-up pleasure that had been building since the moment he first touched you with the dildo.your pussy spasms around his cock, the muscles clenching and releasing as wave after wave of ecstasy rolls over you.

the sensation is so intense that you scream his name, your voice hoarse from the restrained moans and pleas of the past few minutes. sunghoon's eyes widen in surprise and delight, his pace never faltering as he continues to pound into you. the warmth of your release coats his cock, making the sensation of him moving inside you even more exquisite.

his own climax follows shortly after, a growl ripping from his throat as he empties himself into you. the feeling of his hot seed filling you sends another shockwave through your body, making you come again.

sunghoon collapses onto the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress. your legs are still wrapped around his waist, his cock still buried deep inside you.

you have never been more glad to have left your laptop open before going to shower…

── : @rikkesttz @nics-fxy @woniesbae

[websterss]

THE HAND THAT’S FORCED (1) — ROBERT REYNOLDS

SUMMARY: You hadn't meant to get attached to Bob, much less fall in love with him. You hadn't meant for things to slip out right from underneath your grasp. Out of your control, much like Valentina holding your love for one another over your heads.

WARNING(S): angst, a slur, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of death, a bit of a graphic depiction towards the end, Valentina being terrible

WORD COUNT: 2,739

PAIRING: Robert Reynolds (Sentry/The Void) x fem!reader

A/N: Hope you guys like it.

MASTERLIST | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

"What is this, Bob?" Yelena was curious as they all watched a new illusion appear before them.

"M-My memories..."

"Whose the girl-"

"J-Just watch." Bob silenced John.

-

"Hi Bob, remember me?" You smile up from your chart.

"You're Y/n." Bob answers.

"Yes, that's me. Would it be alright if I could draw some blood from you today?"

"You're asking." Bob's head remains faced down. You're highly aware of the two former doctors he's turned into shadows right behind you. "The other's never asked..." His brows crease in wonder.

"Well, I...I think we all deserve to be shown some bedside manners. Some respect for our boundaries. You more so than others..." You trail off.

"Do you think you do?" Bob finally raises his head to look at you.

"Do I think I deserve to be shown respect?"

"Mhm."

"I would like to think so."

"Why's that?"

"I haven't given you any reason to believe otherwise. I'm not here to poke and prob you. I don't have ill intentions, Robert."

"Why should I believe you?"

"I like to think we're a bit alike, honestly."

"Alike...you think we're alike?" He releases a dark chuckle.

You nod. "We're both here against our own will." You place the chart beside him. "My reason, albeit in contrast to your own, I'm under contract to see that you succeed in our experiments. Though if I fail...to meet certain requirements." You inhale shakenly. You muster your best smile, though it's far from meeting your eyes. "My family gets killed. So I can't afford to mess up."

"I don't want to be pricked by anyone anymore..." Bob finally admitted.

"I can work around that." You nodded in reassurance. "Needles isn't the only way. There are cotton swabs we could try..."

"But blood is what you need, though, right?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Blood samples are more effective for the test we want to conduct."

"You got a knife anywhere or a scalpel?"

"What for?" You tense.

"So you can get your blood sample..."

"Oh, yeah, I do!" You scurry around the room in search of something sharp. You instead find a sewing needle, something you found similar to the needles he didn't want anymore. "There's a needle, but I can step out if you want the scalpel."

"That'll work." He gestures it over.

-

"Where are we going?" You peer over your shoulder as Bob guides you into a broom closet. You hold your breath as heavy boots hurry past the door he shoved you both in. You peer at him in curiosity, in wonder as he strains his ear. "Valetina will have my head if she finds us alone-" You gasp as he cups your face. His lips silenced your worries in a matter of seconds. You sigh into the kiss as he backs you up against the metal storage shelves. You raise your hands to rake them through his locks.

"Bob, we can't stay in here-" You push back slightly, only for him to chase the kiss again.

"Shh-"

"Bob, I'm serious we can't risk this-" Your whisper is muffled by another kiss. You go to protest only to see he was quieting you once more with precaution.

"What do you mean you can't find him? Well, where's Dr. Y/L/N? She was the last one to know about his whereabouts?" You both pull back in time to hear and see Valentina's shadow fall below the door. You hold your breath again. "Well, page her now!" You begin to panic as you reach for the device tucked into your scrubs. Before it could emit its alert tone, you feel Bob reach forward and crush it in his hand. "You're all useless!"

-

You had been a former member of the team of scientists that had run tests and experiments on Bob when the team was only at the beginning of their trial runs.

Heavily emphasized as former, when Valentina viewed your empathy towards the man, incompetent to her wretched morals. Your perspective on your team's ethics and your reluctance to keep sticking needles in his veins had guaranteed you your very own enemy. A target on your back if you didn't comply with her wishes.

Bob had grown fond of your sweet nature, having made a friend out of you during your time spent in the lab. That friendship, though, the closeness you garnered, had cost you, cost him your company.

Valentina proposed access to you if he did what was asked of him. He too fell victim to Valentina's manipulation. What small but significant leverage she dangled over your own heads like dogs. You were his demise, as much as he was yours. But you would ensure the safety of one another, go to certain lengths, of what was asked of you to see each other. Then and only then would she bring you up the tower to see him. And she did for what felt like a month's worth of waiting to see him. Though it wasn't like any of the other times she dragged your cuffed hands towards the top floor. Dragging felt like a misconception; she all but shoved you face down onto the ground before Bob's feet. He knelt, brushing the disheveled locks back behind your ears as your fear-stricken gaze met his bewildered one.

This wasn't like your regular visits.

"Your lip?" Bob pointed out. It was busted.

"Bob, don't listen to her-" He helped you onto your feet before the clock of a gun triggered his fight or flight.

You turned cautiously towards Valentina, who directed the end of her pistol right onto you. Bob shoved you behind him, his hands out before him as though to tame a wild beast, in your case, Valentina, who always felt like the devil incarnate.

"Here's what's gonna happen, you two...I'm gonna send some people your way, Bob, and you are gonna deal with them for me, cause I'm getting real tired of having to put up with them. If you don't comply. I'm gonna shoot her dead. Right here." Valentina grinned, thumping her forehead with the butt of her weapon for her example. "And you'll never see her again. Though to be honest, I should have shot her the second she got attached to you. I'd have shot you too, but this won't do shit I'm afraid." Valentina sighed, tired of over-explaining herself. "You just had to go and let your heart win." Valentina glanced at you over his shoulder. Your face was reminiscent of a lost child, scared. Fearing the unknown. Like, where did your future lie in her hands?

"You broke your contract, you little bitch. What was the one thing I asked of you?"

"To not get-"

"What was that?" Valentina turned her face, cupping a hand behind her ear to mock you. "Oh, that's right, to not get attached, to not make a connection. Now look at you." She feigned a gag of disgust towards you both. "I hope you've been smart enough to keep your legs shut. Otherwise, that's a whole other problem that I don't have time for." Though the faint dread that crossed your face had her paling at the sudden realization. "Oh...you didn't, please tell me you didn't? When would you two have even found the time?"

"What kind of people?" Bob tried to shift her attention to anything else besides you.

"No, now I'm mad. When the hell did that happen? God, you're not pregnant, are you?"

"N-No." You promised.

"Well, good. At least you weren't stupid enough to conceive a baby of destruction. The press would have a field day with this!"

"What people?" Bob asked again.

"You'll know when they come. Let's go!" Valentina gestured for you to come over with the gun.

"I don't get my hour with her?" Bob circled an arm around you to keep you behind him.

"No."

"I've done everything you've asked of me..." Bob pleaded.

"Your lover hasn't. Why don't you tell him what I found out today? It'll help explain your fault for ending up shoved against the ground. Let him in on why I decided to bust your lip open."

"Y/n?" Bob turned to face you, confusion written across his features. Hoping your truth wasn't some form of disloyalty towards him.

"I tried to..." Your gaze averts Valetina's, feeling the water works begin. "I tried outing her plans...to the public, what they've done to you. The public should know of her cruelty. I tried reaching out to a contact of mine, but he was struck down in the air last I heard, going through therapy and training, so I was on my own. V-Valentina broke into my house this morning."

That explained your pajamas. His gaze shifted to your slippers.

"And that is why we are here today. Maybe I will give you your hour, to remind you of the good I do to allow you both to be together, since both of you comply so well." Just as she said this, her phone rang. Her mood shifted into one of ease and joy. "Ah, I've got to take this. You get an hour." She waved you off. As soon as she entered the elevator and the door closed behind her. Bob broke the cuffs, freeing your trembling hands that now circled around his neck to hide yourself in the nape of his neck.

"Hey, hey, you're with me now. She's gone, we have an hour again." Bob hurried you off to his enclosed case that remained open now. The single mattress on the ground welcomed you. Bob pulled you down with him. His lips colliding with yours in a desperate rush. Valentina hadn't let him see you for a month. Sometimes a month expanding into three, and before he knew it, three months had turned into more if he acted out. That solemn year without you had set him off. He was on his best behavior now, desperate to even catch a glimpse of you if Valentina was in good spirits.

Your tears hadn't stopped even if Bob kept wiping them away. Whatever grief you were withholding had broken your resolve. He could feel it in the way you gently ran your hands through his locks. Foreign to your usual wanting grip.

He'd never coax it out of you like Valentina would. He'd wait, and he'd be patient with you-

"I-I'm pregnant." You choked back a sob amid another kiss.

Bob's breath hitched at the sudden confession. His gaze neutralized as he continued to caress your wet cheeks with his thumbs. His only response in the moment was to kiss you sweetly, then lift the hem of your shirt, just enough to place a faint whisper of a kiss against your stomach.

His words of comfort only being. "I don't want her to use it against me if she finds out."

"She won't find out..." Your eyes space out as Bob reaches up to push back your hair. His gaze settles over your cut on your lip before he cups your jaw as he begins his light descent of kisses.

"If she touches you again. I'll raise hell. No one would be safe."

"It should just be Valentina. What does anyone else have to do with it?"

"I don't think I'd be in the right mental capacity to determine whose good and whose bad. I'd be too angry to try to be coaxed out of seeing any good morals in anyone."

"All because Valentina touched me?" Your heart felt overwhelmed by how deeply he felt about your safety. It warmed you as much as it almost concerned you.

"Because she hurt you." Bob's soft gaze hardened.

-

“That’s Y/n. My love.” Bob tilted his head with a smile as he showed the thunderbolts another memory of you. “I haven’t seen her since this day. I’m lucky enough to get any time with her throughout the month. Y-You guys haven’t seen her, have you? Valentina said she would bring her by today, but she hasn’t come.”

Yelena felt like throwing up at his words. If your discarded self, which she saw in the broom closet, wasn’t enough evidence to indicate your demise, then she hated the idea of telling him where you really were even more.

Yelena turned her gaze to close her eyes. The heaviness weighed down with the guilt that tightened in her throat. You poor thing. You only wanted to be with him, nothing more than wanting to see him again and again. You were innocent, a helpless life that Valentina took.

"You don't think she's done something to her, right?" Yelena looks up this time to find his gaze has settled onto her.

Bob's gaze was solemn yet imploring as he searched Yelena's expression for reassurance. His hands clenched involuntarily, a visible sign of his anxiety and concern. Her silence only fueled his unease, making the air around them feel heavy with suspense.

"Valentina wouldn't. She wouldn't go that far, right?" Even as he asks, the lingering doubt in his voice exposes his inner turmoil.

Yelena knew the truth, and the weight of that knowledge pressed upon her conscience. The guilt churned within her, and she wrestled with the difficult task of finding a way to break the news to Bob.

"No..." Yelena finally replied, shaking her head as her voice was soft and filled with hesitation. "I hope not..."

You're a bad liar, you know? Bob’s voice appeared in her mind.

Yelena's heart sank as she heard him breakthrough her mental walls, the weight of her deception settling heavily on her conscience. She knew her lie had been detected, and the realization hit her with a pang of remorse.

I know. Yelena silently admitted, unable to meet his gaze. The weight of guilt threatened to overwhelm her, knowing she couldn't bring herself to reveal the truth to him. I don't know how long she's been there...

Bob's expression shifted, his eyebrows furrowing as he read the guilt in her eyes. He could sense the internal conflict that plagued her conscience, the secrets she was wrestling with. It made his heart ache to witness her torn by the burden of his ignorance.

"You…do you know where she is then?" His words cut through the tension like a knife, his voice a mixture of desperation and urgency.

"Know where who is?" John's confusion was evident in his voice as he looked to Bob for clarification. "No one's said anything?" John and the others looked over to Yelena, who kept looking down at her chipped nail paint.

"He just read my mind...Bob, I'm so sorry, but I found her body in a closet. By the looks of it, it could be the same one you dragged her inside of."

Bob's expression paled as Yelena's words hit him like a ton of bricks. His mind struggled to process the news, the weight of her revelation crashing upon him like a tidal wave.

"W-What...? You're not saying-" His voice trembled as he searched Yelena's face for any indication of falsehood.

"I do think Valentina would go that far, and she has."

Bob's emotions flared, a mixture of anger, despair, and disbelief swirling within him. The revelation that Valentina had gone to such extremes struck a chord deep within him.

"Damn it!" The outburst escaped his lips like a strangled cry, his fist clenched tightly as he struggled to come to terms with the harsh reality. "How?" He stopped to glare at her. "How'd she leave her?"

"Knowing won't change any-"

"Tell me!" Bob's voice rose. An echo of darkness mixed with grief, his emotions on the edge of uncontrollable. He was demanding answers, desperate for anything that could help him piece together your tragedy. “Just tell me.”

"T-There was bruising around her neck-" Yelena shook her head, not wanting to think about the state she found you in. "Her face was beaten..." Yelena's shoulders fell. She shook her head at Bob. "It looked intentional. Like it was done out of spite. If she fought back, I don’t think she stood a chance. I'm so sorry, Bob." Yelena's voice cracked.

Bob's world shattered around him as Yelena's words painted a haunting picture of your fate. He couldn't bear the thought of you gone. His anger flared, mixing with a profound heartache, as he processed the cruelty inflicted upon you.

"Out of spite…" He repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. The thought of someone, particularly Valentina, intentionally causing you such pain made his blood boil.

[usagii-bun]

𝐄𝐗𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑. jing yuan x fem foxian! reader (nsfw).

In which Jing Yuan, a man renowned for his unwavering control and discipline, finds that resolve unraveling in your presence — your every move, every glance, every touch igniting a fire within him he can no longer contain discovering an intoxicating solace in the sensual art of your dance, each sway of your hips pulling him deeper into an obsession he cannot, and will not, resist.

word count : 12k (12k words of edging)

warnings: explicit sexual content includes detailed descriptions of sexual acts (fingering, oral—f receiving, dry humping, thigh riding, implied future penetration), obssesed jing yuan, possessive jing yuan, slight power imbalance implied, erotic dancing/ adult entertainment , sensory overload, marking.

minors are NOT to read this story. If you are uncomfortable with detailed sexual content or themes of dominance and obsession, this is not the story for you. please proceed responsibly and at your own discretion.

DO NOT REUPLOUD OR CLAIM my work as yours. i have taken a lot of time to write this and it would be very disheartening to see someone claim something i took so long to write and craft.

anways, please do enjoy and leave a comment :3 reblogs, likes and follows are high appreciated

— usagii-bun <3

The moon hung high, casting a silvery glow over the quiet, cobblestone streets of Aurum Alley. It was a place where the night whispered its secrets, and the air, thick with the heavy scent of incense and mystery, carried tales only the privileged knew. Tucked away behind a discreet set of bamboo doors was the establishment—a brothel veiled in silence but brimming with the hum of indulgence. Even a general like Jing Yuan, weighed down by the armour of responsibility, found solace in the allure of its hidden embrace.

His feet moved almost of their own accord as he made his way to the entrance. Tired eyes, burdened by countless battles and endless politics, sought release in the only way he knew how—a brief escape from the turmoil of his mind. The soft click of his boots echoed, barely audible against the gentle wind that danced through the alley. And there, the door opened, not by his hand, but by a woman’s, poised and serene.

The Foxian lady who greeted him stood in the doorway like an ethereal figure, her beauty transcending time. Her skin was porcelain, her long, raven-black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall, framed by the glow of lanterns. Dressed in silk, her robes shimmered in shades of crimson and gold, the fabric clinging to her form in ways both graceful and alluring. She held herself with an air of elegance, her fox ears twitching lightly with every movement, her tail curling behind her in soft, languid strokes. She was an embodiment of allure, wrapped in silk and mysteries, every inch a vision of untold desires.

"Welcome, General Jing Yuan," she said, her voice smooth as velvet, respectful yet laden with something deeper, something more intoxicating. "Please, allow me to show you the wonders within."

With a graceful gesture, she led him inside, and Jing Yuan, caught in the captivating pull of her presence, followed. The atmosphere shifted the moment he stepped over the threshold. The entrance was bathed in the soft glow of lotus lanterns, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The scent of incense—jasmine, sandalwood, and something sweeter—hung thick in the air, enveloping his senses like a warm blanket, clouding his thoughts and easing the tightness in his chest. The walls were adorned with delicate scrolls, ancient calligraphy curling like the wind in a lover’s embrace, telling tales of forgotten empires and lost passion. Red and gold adorned every corner, the hues rich like blood and treasure, a royal reminder of the power that pulsed through these hidden chambers.

The floors beneath him were smooth stone, cool and polished, reflecting the shimmering silk curtains that hung like veils, concealing whatever lay beyond. The gentle swish of the fabric was like a soft caress, a whisper of something forbidden. There were flowers everywhere—tiger lilies, peonies, and chrysanthemums—arranged in intricate vases, their fragrant petals drifting lazily in the air, mixing with the incense to create a heady perfume that seemed to linger in his very breath.

As they moved deeper into the establishment, the general’s eyes took in the sight around him. Men and women, dressed in delicate silk robes of every colour imaginable, wandered freely, mingling with one another. The silk shimmered in the candlelight, revealing glimpses of soft skin and delicate features. Women draped themselves over men, while men held women in their arms with equal parts reverence and longing. The air was thick with the hum of quiet conversation, with laughter and sighs mingling in a sweet symphony that seemed to be playing just for those fortunate enough to be here.

"Come," the Foxian lady said softly, leading him up a staircase adorned with red and gold lanterns. "If you wish, you may enjoy performance privately upstairs."

Her eyes, sparkling like the night stars, hinted at something playful, something dangerous. Jing Yuan, ever the composed general, only nodded, his lips curling slightly at the invitation.

The night stretched out before you, the rhythmic beat of the music setting the pace for the dance that would soon unfold. Your heartbeat in time with the soft melody, the flickering candlelight reflecting off your skin as you prepared to enter the stage. The room below you were full of people—men, women, all draped in delicate silks, moving among each other in whispered conversations and soft laughter. The atmosphere was intoxicating, thick with the scent of incense and roses, the air so rich with desire it nearly hummed.

Tonight, you were not just a dancer; you were a vision, a creature of silk and allure, meant to captivate every gaze that fell upon you. You had practiced this for hours, days, months—the art of seduction through movement. As you slowly ascended onto the stage, the soft rustle of your costume, the shimmer of the golden jewellery adorning your body, set the tone for the entrancing spectacle to come. Your tail swayed behind you, brushing against the floor like a soft whisper, your ears twitching with the anticipation of the performance to come.

The room quieted, the hushed murmurs dying down as you took your first step into the spotlight. The soft glow of lotus lanterns, their flames flickering in the dim room, bathed you in an amber hue. Your body moved, fluid and graceful, as if the music itself was a part of you, guiding your every step. You could feel the eyes of the room on you—every gaze fixated; each breath held in anticipation of your every move.

From the elevated room above, General Jing Yuan watched. The scene below him was nothing new—he had seen these kinds of performances before—but this time, something was different. As you danced, his attention was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. There was something in your movement that was unlike the others. The grace with which you moved, the way your body seemed to flow effortlessly with the music, drew him in. It wasn’t just your physical beauty, though you were undeniably stunning—every curve, every movement was perfection—but something deeper, something intangible. It was the essence you exuded—the confidence, the strength, the raw magnetism that seemed to pull him closer despite the distance between you.

Your movements were slow, deliberate. Your arms flowed through the air, a soft trace of elegance, while your hips swayed in time with the rhythm of the instruments, your skin glowing in the soft light. Each step you took was an invitation, each flick of your wrist a silent promise, each roll of your hips a beckoning. It was erotic without being crude, sensual without losing its grace. You were a goddess in motion, a creature born to captivate and beguile.

As you moved, your eyes flicked upwards, meeting his gaze for just a moment. It was a brief connection—one that he felt more than he could explain. His breath caught in his throat as your gaze locked with his, your eyes filled with an emotion that seemed to pull him in, deeper than he ever expected to go. The flicker of awareness between you made his chest tighten, and his pulse quickened. It was like you knew exactly what effect you were having on him, like you could feel his gaze following every step, every motion.

Your body twisted and arched as you danced, the silk of your costume brushing over your skin like a soft caress. The jewellery you wore—delicate chains, pearls, and golden rings—clinked softly with every movement, drawing attention to the curves of your body. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, intoxicating and heavy, as your tail swished behind you, swaying in perfect rhythm with your every move.

Jing Yuan, sitting in his private alcove, could barely tear his eyes away from you. He felt an inexplicable pull, a hunger that wasn’t just for your physical form, but for the energy you radiated. It was raw and untamed, a force he couldn’t quite explain, yet he felt it in every fibre of his being. His hands clenched at his sides as the tension built in his chest, a wave of heat spreading through him. His body reacted against his will, betraying him as he watched you.

You were no longer just a dancer. You were the embodiment of something else—something deeper, more primal. You were pulling him into a world he hadn’t known he was even willing to enter, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something—something he hadn’t felt in years. The weight of his responsibilities, his title, the endless wars and battles that had marked his life, seemed to fade into the background. They no longer mattered.

The music picked up, becoming more intense, the tempo quickening. Your movements followed suit, each step becoming more deliberate, more daring. The room was alive with the heat of desire, the air crackling with tension. Jing Yuan’s breath caught in his throat, your body undulating in a way that was both art and allure. You were making a show of it—of him—and for the first time in a long time, it was his turn to be caught.

The music slowed, and you took your final step, the dance reaching its end. Your body twisted, swayed, and your movements grew more subtle, teasing. As the final note of the music played, the room fell into a hushed silence. Jing Yuan remained frozen, captivated by your performance. His mind buzzed with a million thoughts, none of them clear, none of them rational. All he knew was that he needed to be closer to you, to taste whatever you were offering.

As the lights dimmed and the room came back to life with murmurs and applause, Jing Yuan finally found his voice. He leaned forward, his gaze never leaving you. “Can I… request her?” His words were barely above a whisper, filled with an urgency that surprised even him.

The Foxian lady, who had been watching with knowing eyes, nodded with a smile. "Of course, General Jing Yuan. She is yours for the evening."

The air inside the private alcove was thick with a sensual tension, the dim light casting soft shadows around the space. Jing Yuan sat back in a velvet-covered chair, his posture commanding yet relaxed. His mind was still reeling from the magnetic performance he'd witnessed, but now, as he sat alone in this private setting, the anticipation built again.

The door slid open, and the woman who had greeted him earlier entered, guiding you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. Jing Yuan could now get a better look of you, the lingerie delicately adorns your body, the jewels that were placed on you still twinkled and shimmered under the dull lighting. Your fox ears were perked, stiff with nerves, and your tail swayed ever so slightly behind you, betraying your inner restlessness.

Your gaze never met his. You kept your head low, your expression unreadable, as if you'd become a different person. This wasn’t the confident, playful woman who’d mesmerized him with her dance. This was someone subdued, cautious, and perhaps even a little fragile. Jing Yuan’s brow furrowed at the sight, and a pang of something unfamiliar stirred within him. There was an undeniable sadness at the change, a realization that you were a contradiction, both in the freedom you’d shown during your dance and the restraint you now carried.

The woman who led you whispered softly to you as she passed by, "Take care of the general." Her voice was gentle but firm, as if entrusting something delicate to your care. She gave Jing Yuan a final look, a knowing smile before exiting the room, leaving the two of you in silence.

You stood in front of him, head lowered, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The air felt heavier now, the sense of being watched almost suffocating, yet you remained still, as though obeying some invisible rule.

Jing Yuan studied you for a moment, trying to piece together the shift in your demeanour. His mind, clouded with the memory of your dance, struggled to reconcile the two versions of you. His large, calloused fingers lifted from his side, brushing gently beneath your chin, his touch soft but insistent as he lifted your face to meet his.

"Why do you not make eye contact?" he asked, his voice low, his words smooth as they hung in the air. His gaze was intense, capturing you as he locked his eyes on yours. You could feel the weight of his stare, the depth of it, and it sent a flicker of something through you—surprise, confusion, maybe even fear.

You blinked rapidly, trying to avoid his gaze, but his touch lingered, a slight pressure against your chin. You quickly averted your eyes, your cheeks flushing at the intensity of his attention.

"It is not allowed," you murmured softly, the words barely escaping your lips. "I am not allowed to look at the customer unless... unless told to."

Jing Yuan’s expression softened, but his curiosity remained, his gaze never leaving you as you stood before him, silent and restrained. His fingers remained on your chin, though no longer pressing, just gently resting there. He tilted his head slightly, considering your words. He couldn't help but be intrigued by the contradiction you presented: the woman who captivated an entire room with her dance now so reserved, so obedient.

"You are allowed to look at me," he said, his voice almost playful, though the undertone of command was still present. "But for now, I will permit your discretion."

There was a quiet pause between you both, as you silently struggled with the unspoken tension that now swirled in the room. Jing Yuan leaned back, his large frame sinking into the chair as he relaxed, his eyes never leaving you. "Come, sit with me," he said, motioning to the empty seat beside him. "Let us share a drink."

His invitation hung in the air like a challenge, but it was delivered with a calm, measured tone. You hesitated for a moment, still unsure of how to act, still feeling the pressure of his gaze as he observed you carefully. Finally, you took a cautious step forward, your body moving with the grace of a fox, and sat at his side, careful not to brush too close against him.

The room was filled with the scent of incense and flowers, but the closeness between the two of you heightened the atmosphere, thickening the air. Jing Yuan poured two glasses of wine, his movements slow, deliberate. He handed one to you, his fingers brushing against yours, and for a brief moment, the touch felt more intimate than it should have.

"You have a beautiful presence," he said quietly, taking a sip of his own drink. "But I can see there is more to you than what you show. Tell me, what is it you desire, in a place like this?"

You remained silent, unsure of how to respond, but Jing Yuan didn’t rush you. His gaze held a quiet intensity, as if waiting for you to let down the walls you’d so carefully constructed around yourself. The tension between you both lingered, a palpable force, as your bodies sat close together yet distanced by invisible barriers. Your heartbeat faster, your breath shallow. This was new territory for both of you. And for Jing Yuan, it felt like the beginning of something far deeper than either of you had expected.

You shifted in your seat, thighs brushing together under the soft silk of your gown, the sensation sending a faint shiver through you. The air between you and Jing Yuan was thick, charged with an intensity you could neither name nor escape. His gaze was locked on you, and every question he asked felt like it was unravelling pieces of you.

"Why here?" he murmured, his voice smooth, like the finest silk. "A place like this—it doesn’t seem to match your spirit."

His words hung in the air, and you found yourself twisting the fabric of your gown again, seeking some kind of anchor. "It’s... complicated," you whispered, your eyes darting away from his. But the way he leaned closer—close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him—made it impossible to hide.

"Complicated," he echoed, his tone laced with curiosity, as though he wanted to peel back every layer of meaning behind your answer.

You glanced up at him, and your breath caught in your throat. His amber eyes glimmered in the dim light, soft but piercing, holding you captive in their gaze. And then, he leaned in further, the space between you shrinking until you could feel his presence, overwhelming and intoxicating.

The scent of him—clean and faintly spiced—mixed with the sweetness of the wine he sipped moments before. The aroma seemed to curl around you, tangling with your thoughts. His lips were so close now, and you couldn’t stop your gaze from flicking down to them.

"May I?" he asked, his voice a hushed murmur, and his eyes searched yours, waiting. It wasn’t a command, as you’d expect from a man like him, but a request, gentle yet brimming with restrained desire.

Your throat tightened, and you nodded slowly, words escaping you.

His hand came up, fingers grazing your cheek before curling under your chin, tilting your face toward his. The touch was warm, firm yet tender, sending sparks skittering along your skin. Slowly, achingly, he closed the distance.

When his lips met yours, the world fell away.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle brush of lips, testing, coaxing. But then, like a flame catching the wind, it deepened. His mouth moved against yours with a slow-burning passion, drawing you in, leaving no room for hesitation. You felt the firm press of his lips, the intoxicating heat of him, and your heart thundered in your chest.

His hand slid from your chin to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking the edge of your cheekbone. It was such a careful gesture, but the kiss was anything but. His tongue swept against the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you yielded, parting your lips for him.

When his tongue slid against yours, a low hum of pleasure escaped you, your hands clutching at the silken folds of your gown as if it could keep you grounded. He tasted of wine, rich and heady, and the faintest hint of something sweeter, something entirely him.

His other hand moved to your waist, fingers splaying across the delicate fabric that barely covered you. The pressure was light, a silent promise of what could come, and yet it was enough to make your pulse race, your body alight with sensations you couldn’t control.

You couldn’t help but respond, your hands tentatively brushing against his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath his robes. His lips moved with a practiced confidence, but there was something raw in the way he kissed you, like he was holding back a storm, giving you only a glimpse of the tempest that raged beneath.

When he finally pulled back, his lips hovered just a breath away, his forehead resting lightly against yours. Both of you were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with his.

"You’re... mesmerizing," he murmured, his voice rough and low, as though the words had been dragged from somewhere deep within him.

You opened your eyes, and his gaze bore into yours, intense and unyielding. His thumb brushed against your swollen lips, and you could see the faint flush dusting his cheeks, a rare crack in his usual composure.

"I’ve wanted to do that," he admitted, his voice softer now, "since the moment I saw you."

Your heart raced, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the weight of his confession crashing over you like a wave. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your skin, and you knew—this was only the beginning.

Jing Yuan’s hands were impossibly large, their warmth seeping through the sheer silk draped over your body as they slid down, slow and deliberate. His touch felt like a whispered promise, each fingertip tracing a path that left fire in its wake. You couldn’t help but shiver when his palms grazed the curve of your hips, his fingers splaying possessively over them as he was now on his knees between your thighs.

The silk clung to your skin like dew, yielding under his touch as his hands lingered, pressing into the plush softness of your thighs. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he wanted to savour every second, every inch of you that he claimed. His thumb stroked a languid circle against your skin, teasing the sensitive flesh just below the curve of your hip, and your breath hitched.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety whisper that seemed to echo in the dim, scented air. His words held a teasing lilt, but his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded with something far deeper than amusement.

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of silk and the faint crackle of a distant candle. His hands moved lower, trailing down the sides of your thighs as if he were sculpting you from memory. He paused, his fingers flexing slightly, almost reverently, before sprawling over the fullness of your legs. The pressure was firm but not harsh, his touch grounding you even as it left you breathless.

Jing Yuan’s head tilted, his silver hair catching the dim light like threads of moonlight spun through shadow. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over your skin, and his hands tightened their hold on you ever so slightly. The contrast of his strength and the tenderness in his touch made you feel both vulnerable and cherished, like a treasure he had no intention of letting slip away.

"You’re exquisite," he murmured, his voice soft yet weighted, as though the words carried a gravity only, he could understand. His thumbs traced upward, following the natural curve of your thighs, his hands mapping you with a deliberate slowness that felt like an exploration, a quiet devotion.

When his eyes flicked back to meet yours, his gaze was molten, heavy with desire yet tempered by something gentler, something that made your heart stutter in your chest. His hands stilled, settling like a question, a challenge, as if to ask how far you would let him go. And in that moment, you were weightless, caught in the intoxicating pull of him, the world beyond fading into nothingness.

Jing Yuan's fingers, warm and deliberate, slid down to the edge of your thigh highs, the lace soft under his touch. He let his fingertips dip beneath the delicate material, brushing against the bare skin beneath, sending shivers coursing through your body. The contrast of silk and skin was electrifying, his movements unhurried as though he had all the time in the world to explore.

Your breath hitched, and you gripped the silk of your gown, desperate for something to anchor yourself. The sensation of his hands so close, his strength tempered by the tender way he handled you, made your mind race. The General of the Luofu, a man revered for his authority and composure, was here, knelt before you, his hands on your thighs as though you were the centre of his universe.

His thumb traced lazy circles against your skin, the pressure both teasing and grounding. "You’re trembling again," he murmured, the teasing lilt of his voice sending a new wave of heat through you. His silver hair gleamed faintly in the soft, golden light, the contrast between his composed expression and the intimacy of his touch almost too much to bear.

Then, without warning, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your thigh. It was a feather-light kiss, soft yet searing, and it stole the breath from your lungs. The warmth of his mouth lingered, a silent claim that left your heart pounding.

Your mind spiralled, the weight of the moment crashing over you like a tidal wave. This was the General—the General—his broad shoulders and imposing presence now knelt before you in an image that burned itself into your memory. The sight of him, his head bent, his lips on your skin, was something you knew you’d never forget.

Your pulse quickened as his hand slid higher, his palm pressing into the softness of your thigh with a deliberate slowness that made your body hum with awareness. He tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes flicking upward to meet yours, his gaze heavy with something that made your heart stutter.

"You’re beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice low and rich, the words wrapping around you like silk. His fingers flexed against your skin, and you swallowed hard, feeling as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you. The scent of incense, the warmth of the dimly lit room, and the weight of his attention made it impossible to think of anything else.

Your breath hitched as his lips lingered against your skin, so close yet unbearably distant. A soft whimper escaped you, unbidden, the sound trembling on your lips. "General..." The word was barely a whisper, carried more by instinct than thought, but it was enough.

Jing Yuan’s golden eyes gleamed at the sound, a primal intensity overtaking his usual calm. That composed facade he wore so effortlessly cracked, revealing something raw and untamed beneath. His lips curved into a slow, almost predatory smile, and you felt the heat of his gaze burn against your skin.

He leaned closer, his broad shoulders dipping as his face moved towards your clothed pussy, the faintest warmth of his breath ghosting over the flimsy material of it. The sensation was maddening, a tantalising promise that made your thighs tense under his hold.

Your ears twitched uncontrollably, betraying your spiralling emotions. You tried to steady them, but they betrayed you with every sharp intake of breath. Your tail curled and flicked at the edges of the plush cushions beneath you, the movement erratic, mirroring the storm building in your chest.

Jing Yuan noticed everything—of course, he did. His gaze flicked to your twitching ears, and the corner of his mouth quirked, a dark satisfaction dancing in his eyes. His hands remained steady, sprawling over the plush of your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to ground you while still making your skin tingle.

"You’re so responsive," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air. "It’s captivating."

The warmth of his breath fanned over the delicate fabric again, sending a shiver racing up your spine. He paused, his lips so close yet maddeningly still, his eyes watching every tremble, every twitch, every unsteady exhale. You felt utterly laid bare beneath his gaze, a mixture of vulnerability and desire tangling in a way that left you breathless.

"Tell me,” he said softly, the words a mere whisper against the heat of your skin. "Do you always react this beautifully... or is it just for me?"

Your entire body felt as though it had been set alight, the heat rushing from your cheeks to the very tips of your ears as Jing Yuan's lips hovered ever so teasingly over your cunt. The blush that painted your skin deepened, spreading like wildfire, your hands clutching the silken material beneath you in an effort to steady yourself.

And then, his lips pressed softly against your pussy—through the delicate fabric that barely served as a barrier. The kiss was unhurried yet deliberate, and the sensation made you gasp, your heart leaping into your throat. Your thighs quivered slightly beneath his strong, steady grip as your body betrayed the flood of emotions overtaking you.

Jing Yuan closed his eyes, the scent of you filling his senses as though nothing else in the world existed. Sweet and heady, with a potency that made his mind spiral, it was unlike anything he had imagined—and oh, had he imagined. His fingers curled slightly against your skin as if grounding himself from the overwhelming allure.

The sweetness of it mingled with something darker, more intoxicating, and utterly unique to you. It was pungent but not overpowering—an earthy, sensual fragrance that clung to the air around you and pulled him deeper into the haze you created.

His breaths grew heavier, his mind clouding as the scent wrapped around him like an invisible tether, binding him to you in a way that felt both maddening and necessary.

"Addictive," he murmured, his voice low and rough, the single word almost swallowed by the quiet intimacy of the room. His lips brushed against you once more, this time lingering a second longer, his tongue darting out briefly to taste the fabric.

A groan rumbled deep in his chest, and his grip on your thighs tightened ever so slightly, his composure slipping as he inhaled deeply again, utterly consumed by the fragrance of you. His golden eyes, now darkened with something primal and insatiable, flickered up to meet yours—a blush still staining your cheeks, your wide-eyed gaze unsure and yet filled with undeniable need.

Jing Yuan's tongue pressed firmly yet gently against the thin fabric, a deliberate movement that sent shockwaves coursing through your body. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever felt, the warmth and softness of his mouth combining with the teasing pressure to ignite every nerve in your skin. Your toes curled instinctively, the sheer intensity of the moment leaving you breathless, as though the air itself had thickened.

His large hands, splayed across your trembling thighs, gripped you tighter, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh in a way that left you aching for more. The contrast of his strength against your vulnerability only heightened the whirlwind of sensations overtaking you. He groaned softly, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through you, as if he too was succumbing to the weight of his desires.

Jing Yuan’s gaze lifted, drinking in every detail of you. The flush that coloured your cheeks, spreading down your neck and disappearing beneath the thin fabric of your gown. The way strands of your hair had fallen loose, framing your face like a delicate painting. The rise and fall of your chest as your breath quickened, each exhale shaky and unsteady.

He felt an unrelenting need to unravel you, to witness you laid bare, in every sense of the word. His hands moved slightly, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your skin, grounding you and driving you to the edge all at once.

His tongue pressed against the fabric again, this time with more insistence, and his lips followed with a lingering kiss. The heat of his breath seeped through, and it felt as though he was marking you with each touch, his presence imprinted on your very soul.

“Do you feel it?” he asked softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours as his hands squeezed your thighs again. “The way I want to devour you—piece by piece—until there’s nothing left of this composure we’re pretending to hold on to?”

Jing Yuan's grip on your thigh loosened as he let his hand slip away, only to settle firmly on your shoulder. The weight of his touch grounded you, but the intensity in his golden gaze sent your mind spiralling into chaos. His other hand moved with a deliberate slowness, two fingers brushing against the fabric that separated him from you, as though he were savouring the act of uncovering you.

He pushed the fabric aside, exposing your glistening skin beneath. The air felt cool against the heat of your pussy, and the juxtaposition made you shiver. Your scent—intoxicating, sweet, and unmistakably you—filled the space between you, strong and pungent in a way that made his breath hitch. His eyes could not leave the sight of your cunt, your clit throbbing, clear liquid oozing from between your glistening folds as he glances at your face, lips swollen and eyes teary – a sight that made his cock leak.

His eyes darkened, a glimmer of something primal flickering in their depths as he took you in. You were fluttering, every part of you trembling in anticipation, and it made his lips curl into a faint, knowing smile.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, yet laced with raw hunger.

His hand tightened slightly on thigh, grounding you further, while his gaze remained fixed on you as though you were the most captivating sight he had ever encountered. The vulnerability in the moment only seemed to embolden him, and the way his breath fanned against your exposed skin made your thighs tremble under his hold.

Jing Yuan's tongue pressed against your clit, lapping up the sweetness that spilled from you with a deliberate, unrelenting pace. The warmth of his mouth against such a sensitive part of you was overwhelming, sending jolts of pleasure rippling through your body. His eyes, golden and intense, never strayed from your face, watching every twitch of your expression, every blush that spread across your cheeks, and every soft whimper that escaped your lips.

A low hum of approval resonated from him, vibrating against your core as he worked, his large hands gripping your thighs firmly to hold you in place. Each stroke of his tongue was purposeful, slow at first, then more insistent, as though he were a man on the brink of starvation, and you were the feast he'd been denied for far too long.

Your fingers clawed at the leather couch beneath you, the cool material a stark contrast to the heat building inside you. Your hips bucked slightly against his face, but his strong grip kept you steady, his mouth never faltering.

"General..." you whimpered softly, the word barely audibles through the haze of sensation.

At that, his eyes gleamed with a feral satisfaction, something primal and wild flickering within them. He groaned softly, the sound muffled as he devoured you, his tongue exploring every inch with unyielding hunger. The sight of him—so composed, so regal—reduced to this raw, unrestrained desire sent your mind spinning, leaving you trembling under his touch.

Jing Yuan's tongue dragged deliberately against your slick folds, his pace torturous yet intoxicating. Without a word, two of his thick fingers slid down, pressing against your entrance before sinking into you without warning. The stretch was immediate, a mix of pleasure and intensity that tore a loud whimper from your lips. Your body arched into his touch, thighs trembling uncontrollably as your breath hitched.

"General... General..." The title fell from your lips in a broken chant, each syllable a prayer as your mind spiralled. Nothing else existed beyond the overwhelming sensations he wrought upon your body—his tongue flicking expertly up and down your slick heat, his lips closing around the sensitive bud that made your vision blur.

His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made your entire body jolt. He pressed into it mercilessly, dragging a sob from your throat as your thighs quaked against his face. His other hand gripped your thigh tightly, holding you still as he worked with relentless precision.

The wet, obscene sounds of his tongue and fingers filled the air, mingling with your soft cries and whimpers. Your world narrowed to the molten heat pooling low in your belly, each flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers sending you closer to the edge.

He sucked on the swollen bundle of nerves, his tongue circling with maddening skill. You sobbed his name again, your thighs trembling, your body barely able to keep up with the intensity of his actions. Through the haze, you felt the curve of his lips against you—a smirk, as though he took pride in unravelling you completely.

Your vision blurred, tears threatening to spill as a tight knot in your stomach coiled and twisted unbearably. Each thrust of Jing Yuan's fingers pressed against that devastating spot inside you, sending shockwaves through your trembling frame. Your eyes rolled back, a broken cry escaping your lips as the tension snapped, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave.

Your entire body quivered, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as the release tore through you, leaving you gasping and breathless. But Jing Yuan didn't stop. His fingers maintained their relentless rhythm, coaxing you through the aftershocks, prolonging every moment of your bliss.

You felt his warm tongue, soft yet firm, trailing along your folds as he licked up every drop of your release. His eyes, golden and piercing, never left your face. He seemed captivated by the way your lips parted, the flush painting your cheeks, the glazed look in your eyes.

"You're beautiful," he murmured softly, his voice thick with reverence and desire, the words vibrating against your sensitive skin as he placed a soft kiss against your fluttering clit. His gaze was heavy with pride and satisfaction, as though committing the sight of you undone to memory. He slowly moves up your body, Jing Yuan’s lips traced a delicate path up your neck, each soft kiss like a whispered secret against your skin. The air between you thickened with warmth, every subtle movement drawing you deeper into the moment. He paused just below your ear, his breath mingling with yours, before he reached out for the bottle of alcohol and took a slow, deliberate swig of the sweet alcohol. He placed the bottle down and he finally met your gaze, something unspoken passed between you.

With a gentle but firm pull, he lifted you, as if in a trance, and brought your lips to his. The kiss was tender at first, like a soft brush of silk, but then it deepened, becoming something slower, more languid. The sweet taste of the alcohol seeped into your mouth, dribbling out of the corner of your lip as you moaned when his tongue brushed against yours, the alcohol, sweet and intoxicating with the taste of your essences mingled between your tongues, each shared taste adding to the heat building between you. He tasted you and you tasted him, the kiss a slow, sensual exchange, each second stretching out as if the world outside ceased to exist.

You could feel the warmth of the alcohol in your veins, but it was nothing compared to the warmth that spread through your chest as his hands held you close, pulling you deeper into him. The kiss deepened, became more desperate, yet still slow—each movement deliberate, a beautiful rhythm of lips and tongue, a dance that belonged only to the two of you. Time seemed to stretch, the room fading away as you lost yourself in the sweetness of the moment, the alcohol, and the slow burn of his kiss.

Jing Yuan’s lips lingered against yours for a moment longer, his breath warm on your skin, before he slowly pulled away. His tongue tracing the bit of alcohol that dribbled out of your mouth, gaze intense and molten. The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat, leaving you suspended in the air between his touch and his gaze. Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited, uncertain of what he might do next, but instead of drawing you back into his embrace, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, the gentle gesture so tender it made your breath catch in your throat.

He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, and in that moment, there was a strange, knowing calm about him. “Thank you for the... meal,” he said, his voice low, smooth, and unhurried, as though savouring the taste of the drink, you and the moment.

His words hung in the air, unexpected and enigmatic. The meal? You blinked, a flush creeping up your neck, your heart fluttering in confusion. Was that truly all he wanted from you? Was it just a fleeting moment, a passing indulgence?

Your gaze dropped to his chest, your eyes tracing the contours of his form—strong, unwavering. His shirt clung to him in a way that made you acutely aware of the man standing before you. And then, your gaze caught something—he was...

Your breath caught, and your eyes snapped back up to his, meeting his with a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken. But he only smiled softly, almost like he understood the storm brewing within you, before gently reaching up to pat your head, a small, affectionate gesture that sent a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your hair, making your fox ears twitch involuntarily. The touch was so casual, yet somehow it deepened the flush that spread across your face, your heart racing at the intimacy of the moment. It was a small, almost teasing action, but it made you feel as though you were suddenly laid bare in front of him.

His smile softened, his eyes warm yet impossibly distant, as though he were saying goodbye without words. “I enjoyed your company,” he said, the weight of his words settling between you like an unspoken promise that felt both comforting and impossible to decipher. “I will be anticipating another dance soon, until than darling.” His voice smooth as honey, your face turning crimson at the word ‘darling’.

His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer, filled with a complexity you couldn't understand, before he turned and left the private area. The soft sound of his footsteps faded, but his presence remained, lingering in the air, as if he had never really left at all.

You stood there, the room suddenly feeling too large, too empty. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ The question echoed in your mind, drowning out the quiet hum of the space. He had seemed so... needy, as though there was something more. And yet, now he was gone, leaving you with nothing but his words and the warmth of his touch.

Why didn’t he want more? You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was left unfinished, the desire you felt mirrored in the air between you. Why had he stopped? Why hadn't he sought what you had both seemed to crave? It was as if your body had been aching for something deeper, and yet he had held back.

As the silence grew heavier, your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. The owner stepped inside; her voice sweet like honey but with an edge that sent a chill down your spine.

“You’re done for the night,” she said, her smile thin but knowing. “You can go home now.” Confusion clouded your thoughts. “But... I thought you only let me go after twelve?”

The owner’s smile grew, as though your question amused her. “I won’t be needing you until I call for you,” she replied, her tone light but filled with something more. A finality? You weren’t sure. The words left you unsettled, uncertain of what she truly meant.

She reached into her pocket and handed you something—a silky pouch. The weight of it felt strange in your hand. “Here’s your pay from the General,” she said, her voice dripping with a sort of satisfaction that you couldn't place. “You sure did make him happy.”

Your mind whirled. Made him happy? The words bounced in your skull, unanswered questions stirring within you like a storm. What had just happened? What had you been to him? The idea of him leaving with only that—just that—felt like a question mark lingering in the air. He had seemed so close, so wanting, and yet he left.

The thought of the lingering kiss, the sweet warmth of the alcohol shared between you both, made your chest ache. He had left with a soft smile, but you couldn't shake the sense of something unfinished, something unspoken. Had you misread the moment? As you looked down at the silky pouch, the weight of it felt more symbolic than ever. The pay was there, yes, but the ache, the unanswered longing in your chest—it was something deeper, something that the money couldn't soothe.

The owner’s grin widened as she stepped back, her eyes gleaming with that same knowing look. You were left with the pouch, your heart full of questions, but no answers.

Jing Yuan hadn’t been himself lately, and he knew it. No matter how many duties he fulfilled or how much paperwork he completed or the many sneaky naps he took, his thoughts consistently drifted back to you. He couldn’t erase the memory of your skin beneath his hands—soft and warm, the kind of touch that lingered even after parting. Nor could he forget the taste of you, intoxicating and sweet, or the way your body moved with such elegance and allure during your dances.

It had been nearly a month since Jing Yuan began seeking you out, yet with each encounter, his fascination deepened into an obsession. He couldn’t get enough of you—the way you moved, the sound of your voice, the way your presence filled the room and consumed his thoughts. After every performance, he would reward you in ways that left you trembling, his mouth devoutly working between your thighs, tongue lapping at every drop of your arousal as his fingers thrust deeply into your slick heat. Yet, he never allowed you to touch him, never let you return the favour. His pleasure came solely from your moans, the way your body responded to his touch, and the sight of your unravelling beneath him. He would grind against his own restraint, rutting against his pants, hard and aching, but never crossing the line. He wanted to wait for the perfect moment, the right time to claim you fully—a moment that would be as unforgettable as you were to him.

It wasn’t just your beauty that consumed him, though it had ensnared him first. It was the quiet calmness you exuded, a soft-spoken grace that contrasted so deeply with the fire of your movements. The way your tail swayed behind you, how your ears twitched in subtle reaction to the world around you—it was as if you were always caught between serenity and mischief. The thought of you was a constant hum in his mind, an ache he could not shake.

He found himself wandering the streets of the city more often now – much to Fu xuan dismissal, hoping to find distractions from you. Yet even his usual escapes held no relief. And today was no exception.

As he strolled through Aurum Alley, the faint clinking of porcelain caught his ear, drawing his attention to a small tea shop tucked into the corner. He stepped inside, the familiar scents of herbs and dried flowers wafting over him, soothing but unremarkable—until his eyes fell on you.

You were standing near the back, your head tilted slightly as you admired the display of teacups arranged on a low wooden shelf. The dim lantern light cast a golden glow over you, highlighting the soft fur of your ears and the elegant sweep of your tail swaying absently behind you. You were dressed in a delicate white dress, its

fabric light and airy, brushing against your knees with every movement. The dress was adorned with tiny floral embroidery, dainty and unassuming, much like the way you carried yourself.

Jing Yuan’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected to see you here, not outside the confines of your world of silk and candlelight. Here, you looked softer, more natural, yet no less captivating. It was a sight that made his chest tighten, as if the universe had conspired to remind him that you were always just out of reach.

You seemed unaware of his presence, your attention wholly captured by a teacup you held delicately in your hands. It was a beautiful piece, adorned with intricate floral designs, vines curling around painted blossoms, the base glimmering faintly with gold. You turned it slowly in your fingers, your tail swishing with a faint, almost wistful rhythm.

The sight of you, so enraptured by something so simple, made his heart clench. And when you set the cup back down with a small, defeated sigh, it took all of his willpower not to close the distance between you immediately.

Instead, he lingered, watching as you hesitated, your fingers brushing against the rim of the cup one last time before you turned away. Jing Yuan didn’t need to guess why you’d left it behind—the soft downturn of your lips told him everything.

He stepped forward then, his presence a shadow that fell over you before his voice, low and smooth, broke the silence.

“Admiring something, are we?”

You startled, your ears twitching at the sound. Turning to face him, your eyes widened briefly before you quickly averted your gaze. “Oh, General,” you murmured, your hands clasping nervously in front of you. “I didn’t see you there.”

He allowed himself a small smile, though his golden eyes remained fixed on you. “It’s a charming shop, isn’t it? Something here seems to have caught your attention.”

You hesitated, glancing toward the shelf where the teacup sat. “It’s nothing,” you said softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. “Just a pretty cup. I was… just admiring it.”

“Just admiring it?” Jing Yuan repeated, stepping closer, the faint scent of his cologne filling the space between you. “And yet, you look as though you’ve left a piece of your heart behind with it.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you shook your head. “It’s beautiful, but it’s not something I can…” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely, unwilling to say the words aloud.

Jing Yuan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—part amusement, part something darker. “A beauty such as that shouldn’t be left behind,” he said, his voice dropping lower, softer, as though he were speaking to himself as much as to you. “Nor should one such as you.”

Before you could respond, he moved, his hand reaching out to lift the teacup from the shelf. With a smooth motion, he turned toward the shopkeeper, the transaction over before you could protest.

“General—”

“Consider it a gift,” he interrupted, his tone firm but kind as he handed the cup to you. His fingers brushed yours as you took it, the brief contact sending a jolt through you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, clutching the cup to your chest. Your tail swished nervously behind you; your ears flattened slightly as you avoided his gaze.

Jing Yuan watched you with a quiet intensity, his smile never faltering. Yet, beneath his calm exterior, his mind raced. Seeing you here, holding something he’d given you, made something primal stir within him. You were no longer just a fleeting obsession, no longer a memory confined to dimly lit nights. You were here, real and tangible, and he wasn’t sure he could ever let you go.

Jing Yuan couldn’t help himself. The moment you stepped outside the tea shop, clutching the intricately designed cup he had bought for you, he was already glancing back at the shelves. He ended up purchasing an assortment of things—fine tea leaves, a brewing set that complemented your cup, and even a small silk pouch embroidered with a motif. It wasn’t about the items themselves; it was the thought of you using them, of you remembering this moment, that drove his actions.

He exited the shop with a bag in hand, catching up to you with ease. The sun cast a warm glow on the cobblestone streets, and your figure seemed to glow in the light. Your white dress fluttered softly with each step, and your tail swayed gently behind you, a detail he couldn’t help but admire.

“You didn’t have to get more,” you said softly, glancing at the bag he carried.

He chuckled, his deep voice warm. “It’s no trouble at all. Tea is best enjoyed with care, wouldn’t you agree? Besides, you deserve nothing but the finest.”

Your cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink, and you glanced away, your ears twitching. “Thank you… General.”

“Jing Yuan,” he corrected smoothly, his golden eyes gleaming. “When it’s just us, there’s no need for formalities.”

You hesitated but nodded. “Thank you, Jing Yuan.”

As you walked together, he took the opportunity to get to know you better. It started with small questions—your favourite teas, if you frequented the shop often—but soon, the conversation deepened. He found out that you were passionate about dance, your eyes lighting up as you spoke about it, despite the soft-spoken nature of your words.

“It’s always been something I loved,” you admitted, your fingers brushing the edge of the teacup you still held. “But… the work I do now, it’s not exactly what I envisioned.”

“Oh?” he prompted, his gaze sharp but gentle, encouraging you to continue.

You hesitated, glancing at him briefly before looking back at the path ahead. “The dancing I do now… it’s to pay off my father’s debts. It’s… different from the dancing I dreamed of as a child.”

Jing Yuan’s jaw tightened, though his expression remained calm. The thought of you, someone so poised and graceful, burdened by another’s mistakes, ignited a protective streak within him. He didn’t press further, sensing you weren’t ready to elaborate, but the knowledge lingered in his mind like a seed waiting to take root.

When the time came for you to part ways, you stopped at a small intersection, turning to face him. Your hands clutched the teacup tightly, your expression shy but sincere. “Thank you again, Jing Yuan. For everything.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, his golden gaze held yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “I’ll see you later,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. You blinked, your cheeks heating up as you realised what he meant. You gave him a small, flustered nod before quickly excusing yourself, your tail swishing nervously as you hurried away.

Jing Yuan watched you go, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. He would see you later, of course, but not just as part of a crowd. No, when you danced tonight, it would be for him, and he would make sure you knew it.

The brothel exuded an even more sinful opulence. Red and gold fabrics draped like cascading rivers of silk from the high, arching ceilings. The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of sandalwood incense, mingling with the faint sweetness of lotus blossoms arranged in ornate porcelain vases. The walls were adorned with intricate scrolls of calligraphy, their elegant strokes illuminated by the flickering glow of countless candles. Every corner seemed steeped in temptation, every detail carefully crafted to blur the lines between reality and indulgence.

Jing Yuan sat alone in a private room; a sanctuary veiled by velvet curtains. The plush cushions beneath him did little to ease the tension coiled in his body. A lacquered tray before him held untouched tea and delicate fruit, but his golden gaze never wavered from the stage below. The brothel’s ambiance—a sultry blend of murmurs, soft music, and rustling silks—faded to nothing as you stepped into the spotlight.

Your presence commanded every eye in the room, but his was the only gaze you truly felt. You were a vision of raw, untamed allure. The outfit you wore left little to the imagination, sheer fabrics clinging to your every curve, your skin gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat under the dim, golden light. Crimson painted your lips, a bold invitation, while the smoky shadow around your eyes framed them like a weapon. Your tail swayed with each step, teasing, enticing, an extension of the sensual rhythm that seemed to pulse from your very being.

The music began, slow and sultry, and you moved with a deliberate grace, every step a calculated seduction. Your hips swayed in time with the haunting melody, and the way your hands glided over your body had the audience mesmerized. To him, however, it was something more—a torment, a fire that spread through his veins and pooled low in his stomach.

Jing Yuan’s usually serene expression was gone, replaced by a raw intensity that darkened his golden eyes. He leaned forward, his broad shoulders filling the dimly lit alcove as his focus narrowed solely on you. His fingers tightened on the armrest, his chest rising and falling in steady, heavy breaths. The soft sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, the subtle arch of your back, the sway of your hips—it was more than he could bear, yet he couldn’t look away.

The room disappeared for him; the murmured conversations, the soft laughter, the flickering candles—all of it was drowned out by you. Every slow, sensual turn, every flick of your tail, every teasing brush of your fingers across your skin seemed crafted solely for him.

When your eyes lifted and met his, just for a moment, the tension snapped taut. That fleeting connection sent a visceral thrill through him, a silent challenge in the way you quickly looked away. His lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. The denial—the way you teased and withheld even your gaze—was maddening.

You spun again, your bold crimson lips parting as though whispering secrets to the air, your hands brushing over the curve of your waist. The sheer fabric clinging to your body teased him mercilessly, every contour revealed in the flickering candlelight. His golden gaze roamed over you hungrily, his breaths deep and deliberate as if trying to anchor himself against the storm of desire you had unleashed.

The sweat glistening on your thighs, the way your hair clung to your neck, the confident arch of your body—it was intoxicating. Jing Yuan could feel the heat rising

within him, his control slipping with every second. You were temptation incarnate, and he was utterly, completely ensnared.

Jing Yuan's hand moved to rest against his thigh, but the tension in his body betrayed the calm demeanour he fought to maintain. His fingers flexed, slowly drifting, palm pressing lightly against the growing ache beneath the rich fabric of his robes. The weight of his breath was deliberate, measured, but his chest rose and fell with an intensity that mirrored the fire coursing through him.

His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering, devouring. The way you moved-every sway of your hips, every arch of your back, every tantalizing flick of your tail-was an exquisite torment.

You were more than a dancer; you were an artist, painting desire across the room with your body as the brush and the music as your canvas. The strain in his muscles was palpable, his golden eyes darkening with an unspoken hunger. Yet even amidst his rising heat, there was admiration- appreciation for the elegance and mastery of your movements. The way your body told a story, the way your presence commanded the room, it was more than alluring; it was transcendent.

But the intensity of his desire could not be denied. The hardness beneath his robes grew, a throbbing reminder of the effect you had on him. His jaw tightened as his fingers pressed harder, a fleeting attempt at control. Every step you took, every glance you spared his way, only served to unravel the restraint he so desperately clung to. Jing Yuan's breath hitched, his usually steady composure unravelling. The beauty of your art left him enraptured, the sensuality of your dance leaving his mind clouded, his body heavy with need. You were a siren, and he was helpless against your call, a prisoner to the exquisite torment you inflicted upon him.

As your performance came to its crescendo, the room seemed to hold its breath. The music faded into the background, muffled by the pulse pounding in Jing Yuan’s ears. His hand twitched against his thigh, his entire body taut with unrestrained tension as you stepped down from the platform. Each movement you made was deliberate, a purposeful seduction that left his chest heaving, his golden eyes drinking in every detail of you.

And finally, you were upstairs in the room with him.

The space between you closed, and Jing Yuan felt his pulse quicken, a rare break in his usual calm demeanour. His fingers clenched briefly before releasing, as if bracing himself for the storm that was you. You stopped just shy of his seat, your eyes meeting his, bold and teasing, yet softened by something unreadable. The flick of your tail and the slight quirk of your lips only stoked the fire inside him further.

He didn’t wait.

Rising from his seat in one fluid motion, Jing Yuan closed the distance between you in a heartbeat. His large hands found your waist, pulling you to him with a fervour that left no room for hesitation. The moment his lips met yours, it was as though the world fell away. The kiss was urgent, demanding, and possessive. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fire and hunger, consuming and overwhelming.

His lips pressed against yours like a man starved, tasting, exploring, memorizing every inch of you. One hand cupped the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, while the other splayed firmly across your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping across your lower lip before slipping inside to claim more of you.

The taste of you was intoxicating, a heady mix that made his restraint crumble. Every small sound you made—a whimper, a sigh—drove him further into madness. The way your soft hands gripped his robes, clutching at him like he was your anchor, only fuelled his need to devour you whole.

Jing Yuan’s mind raced; his thoughts consumed by you. The way you moved, the way you felt pressed against him, the way you yielded under his touch—it was all too much and yet not enough. His hold tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin, as if trying to etch the memory of this moment into his soul.

He wanted more.

No, he wanted everything.

The desire coursing through him wasn’t just lust—it was something far deeper, more consuming. He wanted to know every part of you, to uncover the layers of your soul as thoroughly as he wanted to explore your body. The thought of you with anyone else sent a possessive heat surging through him, and the idea of keeping you close, of having you as his, was a temptation too powerful to ignore.

He broke the kiss only when breathing became a necessity, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. His breaths were ragged, his chest heaving, but his hands never left you, as though afraid you might vanish if he let go.

“You’re driving me mad,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. His golden eyes bore into yours, intense and filled with something that bordered on obsession. “Do you know what you do to me? How every moment I spend away from you feels like an eternity?”

You didn’t respond—not with words. Instead, your lips found his again, softer this time but no less heated, as though silently answering his unspoken question.

Jing Yuan’s grip softened, his thumb brushing along your jawline with a tenderness that contrasted the fervent need in his kiss. He pulled back just enough to study your face, his gaze tracing every feature as though committing it to memory.

“You have no idea what you mean to me,” he said, his voice quieter now but still laced with that same raw intensity. “But I’ll show you. One day, I’ll show you.”

The promise lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, as he held you close, the room around you fading into nothingness. For now, in this moment, you were his entire world.

Jing Yuan's gaze darkened as his hands slipped to the hem of your lingerie top, his breath heavy, his movements deliberate. With a fluid motion, he pushed the delicate fabric up and off, revealing the soft curve of your breasts. His eyes lingered, golden and molten, as though the sight of you alone was enough to undo him completely.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with reverence and desire.

Before you could reply, his lips descended, capturing one pert nipple between them, his tongue swirling feverishly. He suckled with an intensity that left no doubt of his hunger, his large hand cupping your other breast, kneading, and teasing. Every soft moan and gasp that escaped your lips only seemed to spur him on, his groans vibrating against your skin as he lavished attention upon you.

His kisses trailed down, wet and open-mouthed, over the curve of your stomach, lingering at your navel before he retraced his path back up. His lips found yours again, searing and demanding, his hands never leaving your body, holding you as if you were a treasure he refused to let go.

Without a word, Jing Yuan sank down into his chair, his strong form commanding even in the act of sitting. His hands gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly to place you astride his thick thigh.

The moment your clothed pussy settled against him; his sharp inhale betrayed just how much he could feel. The thin fabric separating your body from his was soaked with your arousal, a warm, damp heat that sent a pulse of need through him.

"You’re already so wet for me," he rumbled, his voice a deep, velvety growl. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you to grind against his thigh. "Go on. Show me how much you want this."

The friction was delicious, the firmness of his thigh pressing against your most sensitive spot. Your hands clung to his broad shoulders for balance, your body moving instinctively to his rhythm.

Jing Yuan’s eyes never left you, his intense gaze locked on your face, drinking in every expression of pleasure. His lips quirked into a sinful smirk as he watched you lose yourself, your breath hitching, your movements growing more desperate.

"Good girl," he murmured, his words a heady mix of praise and possession. His fingers dug into your hips, guiding you faster, harder, his own breath growing heavier as he watched you unravel. "Let me see everything. Don’t hold back."

You trembled in his lap, your soft, perky nipples pebbled from the cool air and the intensity of his gaze. Jing Yuan’s large hands skimmed down your sides, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His golden eyes flicked lower, settling on the thin scrap of fabric that barely covered your most intimate place.

The sight made his breath hitch—a damp patch spreading across the delicate fabric, clinging to the shape of your pussy lips, leaving absolutely nothing to his imagination. The thin barrier split against the firm muscle of his thigh, framing you in a way that sent his thoughts spiralling.

Jing Yuan's jaw tightened, his head tilting back for a moment as he groaned low and deep. The image of your leaking cunt pulled taut around his thick cock flashed unbidden in his mind, the mere thought causing his grip on your plush hips to tighten.

"Not yet," he muttered under his breath, his voice rough, his restraint hanging by a thread. His arousal throbbed painfully beneath his robes, but he refused to let the tension break—refused to give in until he had you entirely, in the only way he could truly claim you.

His hands flexed against your flesh, fingers sinking into the soft curves as he guided you to move against his thigh again. His golden eyes burned with raw want, but there was something deeper there—something possessive, primal, and utterly consuming.

"You’ll have me, but not like this," he rasped, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath warm and heavy. "The only way I’ll give you my seed is when I’m inside you. Completely. Do you understand?"

The words sent a shiver through you, your body trembling even more as his intent settled over you like a tangible weight. You nodded, unable to form words, lost in the way his hands and his voice claimed every part of you.

Tears welled in your eyes as Jing Yuan’s strong hands gripped your hips, roughly guiding you against the firm muscle of his thigh. Each drag of your soaked core over the thick fabric sent shockwaves through your body, your clit throbbing with an ache so overwhelming it made your head spin. You clung to his broad shoulders, gasping for air, your cries a mix of pleasure and desperation.

Jing Yuan’s mouth found the delicate curve of your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he sucked hard, determined to leave a mark—a vivid bloom that declared you his. The sting only heightened the sensations coursing through you, and your moans spurred him on, his movements growing fiercer, more relentless.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your skin, his deep voice sending a tremor down your spine. His golden eyes, darkened with unrestrained hunger, never left your face, drinking in every reaction, every sound, every shudder of your body.

Your back arched, a broken cry spilling from your lips as the tension in your core snapped. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as your release soaked through the flimsy fabric barely clinging on you. Jing Yuan’s large hand splayed across your lower back, holding you steady, his grip firm yet comforting as he guided you through your climax.

You collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling. Your underwear, a soaking mess as Jing Yuan’s arms enveloped you, his large hands moving gently now, one rubbing soothing circles along your back.

“There we go,” he murmured, his voice low and tender, a stark contrast to the possessive fire that had consumed him moments before. “I’ve got you.”

His lips brushed against your temple, the touch grounding you as you nestled into his embrace, your breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

Jing Yuan’s hand glided gently along the soft, velvety fur of your tail; his touch light yet deliberate. A small, breathless whine escaped your parted lips, your cheeks warming as you instinctively nuzzled into the solid warmth of his chest. His scent, calming yet intoxicating, filled your senses, easing the tension in your body while making your heart race.

“M-My tail... it’s sensitive, Jing Yuan,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, shy and muffled against him.

He paused, his golden eyes glinting with curiosity as a faint smirk curved his lips. “I see,” he replied simply, his tone smooth, holding an edge of playfulness. Instead of lingering, his hand shifted to rest on your back, his large palm moving in slow, soothing circles. Though his touch remained comforting, the knowing look in his gaze hinted that he had filed away this discovery for some other time.

All Jing Yuan wanted, with every fibre of his being, was to bury himself deep into the irresistible warmth of your slick, aching pussy, to lose himself entirely in the pleasure you could give him. But he could not—not yet. Not when he knew you deserved more than just raw passion. He wanted to show you his devotion; to prove he was a man worthy of claiming you fully.

His chest rose and fell with effort as he reined in the primal urges clawing at his restraint. The soft tremble of your body against his own pulled him back to the present, grounding him in the tender moment.

Jing Yuan’s large hand moved to thread gently through your hair, his fingers combing through the strands with a soothing rhythm. “You did so well,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. His other hand continued to rub light circles on your back, coaxing you to relax as your breathing slowly evened out.

When he finally pulled back slightly, his golden eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?” he asked, the question tender, yet filled with an underlying intensity that promised this was not a mere casual invitation.

The warmth of his gaze and the sincerity in his voice made your heart flutter. You blinked up at him, dazed and blushing, but managed a shy nod, your voice barely above a whisper as you replied, “I’d like that.”

His smile widened, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Good,” he murmured, already envisioning how he would make the evening one you would never forget.

Author’s Note:

Part 2 ? Dinner turns into a full-on session of raw fucking cause reader got her heat ? :3

reblogs, likes, comments, and follows are highly appreciated <3

also check out my masterlist if u are interested in any of my other works <3

if you want u can check out my ko-fi <3

[connorsui]

╰┈➤˗ˏˋ. "You were going to ...save me?"

141 task force x fem! reader

₊⊹⁀➴ there's this one scene from "the suicide squad" where Flagg takes it upon himself to save Harley Quinn, and I couldn't help but imagine that entire sequence happening with all the 141 doing the same for us♡

This was supposed to be a rescue mission.

Tactical entry. Controlled aggression. Get in, neutralize threats, and get you the hell out. Standard procedure.

But reality? Reality had... a sense of humor.

Ghost spotted you first, stepping out of the warehouse like you’d just finished a coffee break instead of—well. Whatever the fuck just happened in there.

You were drenched. Blood soaked through your gear, congealing in thick streaks down your arms, dripping from your chin, pooling at the base of your throat. It had seeped into the seams of your gloves, sticky between your fingers, darkening the fabric of your pants and boots until you reeked of copper and gunpowder. It clung to you in handprints that weren’t yours, in splattered patterns across your jaw, in a slow rivulet curling down your temple, almost elegant in its descent.

And behind you? The warehouse was silent. Corpses littered the floor in ruinous heaps, bodies torn apart with surgical precision. Walls, once stark and industrial, were streaked in crimson. The air was thick with the scent of burnt gunpowder, metal, and death.

For the first time in a long time, your team didn’t quite know what to say.

The blood still hadn’t dried on your face when you tilted your head, blinking at them like you hadn’t just obliterated an entire battalion single-handedly. Then, with a small, almost amused smile—

“What are you guys doing?”

Silence.

Soap let out a breath. Gaz dragged a hand down his face. Price didn’t move.

Ghost’s grip on his rifle didn’t ease.

Then, finally— “…We were here to save you.”

Gaz’s voice was careful, measured, like he wasn’t quite sure what reality he was operating in anymore.

You looked between them, brows raising. “Save... me?” You gestured vaguely to yourself, fingers still slick with blood. “You were going to save me?”

Ghost, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. “It was a very good plan, too.”

That’s what did it—Soap huffed out a breath, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Fucking christ, bonnie. What the hell happened in there?”

You exhaled, rolling out the tension in your shoulders, glancing back at the bodies cooling behind you. “Well..I didnt think you guys were actually going to come!?"

Price’s gaze was sharp, unreadable. “How many?”

You considered that, tipping your head. The blood was starting to dry on your skin, crackling slightly as you flexed your fingers. “I lost count after the last guy...so maybeeee twenty?, I think it was twenty? But, I know for sure it was a lot... more.”

Gaz looked at you, then at the bodies, then back at you. He gestured vaguely. “And you didn’t think to radio in?”

You gave a small, sheepish shrug. “I didn’t wanna be ruuude?.”

Ghost made a sound—something between a sigh and a chuckle. Price pinched the bridge of his nose like this was giving him a migraine. Soap peered past you, lips parting slightly as he took in the sheer fucking carnage.

“...You did leave one alive, yeah?”

A pause.

You blinked. “Oh...Oh waaait”

Gaz let out a low groan, looking up at the sky like it might give him strength.

Price sighed through his nose, adjusting his stance. “We’re leaving.”

You fell in step beside them, still trailing blood like a second shadow. The air between you all was heavy, thick with disbelief and something close to exasperation.

"So... does this mean I still get a dramatic rescue next time, or did I just waste my one freebie?"

Soap snorted. "Next time, just let us know when you've already killed everybody."

You smirked, shaking the blood off your hands, letting it splatter against the dirt. The scent of it curled in your nose, rich and sharp, staining the air around you. “Well, where’s the fun in that?”

And then, before anyone could react, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around Soap.

He stiffened for half a second, tension laced through his frame like a coiled wire—then one hand slid up your back, firm and warm, the other still gripping his gun.

Blood smeared across his vest as he let out a slow breath, fingers pressing lightly against your spine. Careful. Measured. The weight of the rifle in his other hand was a stark contrast to the slow, absentminded way he caressed your back, like grounding himself against something visceral, something real.

"You're a fuckin’ menace," he muttered against your hair, but his touch was steady, voice softer than it should’ve been.

You grinned against his shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath layers of Kevlar and sweat. “Yeeeaaah, but you loooove meeee”

Soap exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

Behind you, Ghost just shook his head. Price sighed. Gaz muttered something under his breath about "absolute fucking lunatic."

You hummed in amusement, blood still dripping from your clothes as you looked up at him with a soft smile.

[mintmatcha]

cw: kids, reader has birth control implant

"Do you have something to tell me?"

Bakugo still has half of his hero uniform on, smudges of grime and soot across his face and neck. There's a clear, white demarcation where his shirt was and a trail of dirt behind his boots.

"I just fucking vaccuumed."

"I'll do it later." He quickly dismisses, even as he begins to kick off his shoes. "Why are there condoms on the grocery list?"

You shrug and go back to parusing on your phone. "We'll need them."

"For fucking what?"

You shoot his a glance, one eyebrow lifted. "For sex, dumbass."

"Dumbass." He repeats back, tone high and mocking. "We've never used a single condom our whole relationship-- you let me cream you the first fucking date."

You wrinkle your nose, even though he's right. There hasn't been a day since that first date that you haven't felt the delightfully uncomfortable wetness of cum sliding around inside you.

"Don't say it like that- you're gross." You raise your arm and gesture to the little scar there. "My birth control has to come out- its at the end of its life."

He rolls his eyes with a grunt, arms crossed tight over his torso. "That's it?"

"You were the one who said a kid 'maybe next year,' so we'll need condoms until then."

Bakugo plops down on the couch next to you, throwing your calves over his thighs. "We'll just move up the timeline. Start making one now, baby for the summer. No condoms."

"No."

"No?"

"No. I don't want to be pregnant in the summer. It's too hot to be carrying another human-- and I want to drink on the beach."

Bakugo looks at you with a grimace, lip curled up to show gum. "Are you fucking serious?"

"We can start trying in, I dunno." You count on your fingers, trying to do the math. "End of August."

"August?!" he gapes. "Motherfucker. I gotta call Kirishima."

"About condoms?"

"I gotta ask him about saving his brats onesies." He leans back on to the couch, brow knitted tight. "There's no way I'm not knocking you up by accident before August."

You shoot him a glare.

He meets your eye. "Keep giving me attitude and you'll have a bun in the oven by next month."

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

REDAMANCY. 18+

pairing. logan howlett x fem!reader word count. 3915 summary. you often worry you can never keep up with your husband's continuous acts of love and care, your attempts always seeming to come up short. logan catches on and shows you that there’s nothing for you to prove. warnings. 18+ only!! reader has a moment of inadequacy at the beginning, logan being attentive<3 quick description of thigh riding but it's not proper, titty kissing, fingering, cum eating? (licks his fingers) pinv sex. angst start, fluff middle, smut ending. mdni a/n. #needthat

Feelings of inadequacy seem to follow you like a stray dog. The constant, repetitive thought that what you do or say or think or feel may never be enough. But it was silly really, to be afraid of the contents of your own mind, especially when you had no reason to feel that way.

You thought these feelings were controlled, contained even. But as you anxiously twist your wedding ring upon your left finger, you can’t help but slip into that prior mindset you believed to be packed away. You stand beside the stove, mindlessly watching the simmering pot of tonight's dinner, staring at the vegetables bubble around in the sauce. 

It was Logan’s favourite, and it was a token of your appreciation for yet another grand gesture of his love towards you – the thanks a slither of what he does for you on the daily. But as you watch over the chicken pie filling in the saucepan, you can’t help but notice something missing, something that’s supposed to be there but isn’t. 

And when you blink from your fixed, hazed stare, you see exactly what you need on the countertop. The chopped up pieces of bacon on the board —his favourite part— sitting there like it’s mocking you, telling you that you’re terrible for forgetting it. And it’s not like you can add it now, it would be horrible and ruin it completely. 

All you can do now is move on, move past it. Though now it feels like you can do anything but. The bacon a reminder of your apparent failures, inadequacies. It was silly to be caught up on missing meat, but it wasn’t just about that – it was like it was even more proof that you were out of your depth with Logan. That forgetting the bacon somehow made you a horrible, horrible person.

You stare at the board for a moment, trying so desperately hard not to let it get to you and then you see Logan walk past the window – a couple fresh chopped logs of wood under one arm, an axe and a bunch of wildflowers in the hand of his other. And somehow the sight made you feel nothing short of awful. His thought and care once again overshadowing your attempts.

You quickly wipe under your eyes, an act of precaution to make sure nothing had seeped from you while you beat yourself up over something so tiny. You follow the sound of the front door opening, the scuffling of his boots following shortly after as he places down the pieces of timber. 

“Smells fuckin’ good,” he compliments, the warm, homely smell hitting at his nose immediately. 

He walks over to you, right, flower-held hand tucked from your view as he moves to stand behind, free arm reaching for your waist the second he’s close enough. 

“I got’ya somethin’,” he whispers behind you, punctuating his sentence with a kiss under your ear – his neck peering round and over your shoulder. 

You turn into him, your back against the edge of the counter to see what you already knew to be in his hand. He pulls the flowers from behind his back, the stems cut neatly with the help of his adamantium tools. They’re beautiful, all hand picked from the surrounding forest around the cabin. 

He guides them to your hand, noticing your unusual hesitation as you stare at the bouquet. He, too, pauses, looking over your face to understand your silence. Did you hate them? You never usually hate them.

“Do you…” he hesitates, trying to find the words. “Hate them?”

“No,” you say, word soft as you shake your head, the motion just as gentle as your voice.

Logan cocks his head slightly, angling to meet your eyes but you only divert them again, turning away from his gaze as you reach for the bunch of flowers. Only now they’re out of your grasp, his hand to his chest. 

“You okay?” he asks, the withdrawal of the gift an attempt to make you meet his eyes. 

“Yeah,” you lie with a nod, a small, faint, smile accompanying the fib. 

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” 

You look over him quickly, expression bashful as you shrug. He hates when you lie to him, especially about these things. It was only a white lie really, just a small, teeny tiny mistruth to spare yourself from embarrassment. But your silence doesn’t last long.

“I messed up dinner,” you admit, the confession pried from you by his prolonged, patient silence. Your words are quiet as you avoid his eyes, instead staring down to his chest.

He glances past you and into the saucepan, seeing no such fault. He faintly shakes his head, features quizzical as he tries to understand.

“It looks good to me,” he says, with a slight, but genuine shrug – unable to see what you see.

You close your eyes with a sigh, the noise light and airy as your head drops, gaze lowering. 

“I forgot the bacon.”

His head cocks once again, the motion like he’s growing more and more confused. 

“Yeah?” he prompts, trying to get you to say more. 

But that’s all there is to say, you forgot the bacon – that’s it. It wasn’t like it was a pause or the beginning of some speech.

“It’s your favourite part,” you reply, defeat evident in your voice. 

“Uh-uh?” he guides you through your confession, still unsure of what the issue is. He knew there was more, he just had to ease it out of you. 

“It’s your favourite part,” you repeat, momentarily glancing up to meet his eyes. “It’s not your favourite meal if I forget your favourite part,” you cut yourself short as your voice begins to waver, a bubble forming in your the back of your throat. 

He holds onto your short eye contact, following your gaze when your head goes to turn. “Come on now, talk to me,” he offers his comfort, speaking like it was a plea.

“I feel like I can never keep up.”

“Keep up with what?” he questions, desperate to keep you talking. 

“With you,” you pause and place your hand over your opposite upper arm, the act a brief moment of self soothing. You exhale softly before continuing. “You do all these nice things for me— see? Look,” you point to the flowers in his hand. “Right there. You thought of me and you got them and they’re beautiful. Why can’t I do that?”

Logan opens his mouth to speak, though you’re keen to continue. The bandaid free and invoking all your feelings to come out at once. 

“I make you desserts, I make a mess. I buy you something, I buy the wrong thing. I make your favourite dinner, I ruin your favourite dinner,” you pause, your vision growing blurry. “Sometimes,” you pause once more, wiping your eyes. “Sometimes I don’t know if you know how much I love you. Like, I can never seem to prove it and I don’t—” you cut yourself off, stopping yourself from what you were about to say. You didn’t want to make a further mess of things. 

“You don’t, what?” he asks, his attention undivided as he listens to you. “You don’t, what?” he repeats, eyes boring into yours as he urges a response from you. 

“Want you to feel like you made a mistake,” you confess, voice quiet like you were ashamed for thinking such thing. 

“Do you think I made a mistake?” he questions, flipping your moment of insecurity back on you. Though his words hold no malice, no intention of hurt – just simply speaking like he was trying to figure you out. 

Your silence speaks louder than any words could. Your eyes quickly flickering over his face like you were anticipating what he may say in response. It could go one of two ways: irritated and angry or soft and hurt. 

“I haven’t,” he says, voice as firm as his eyes. “I know I haven’t,” he repeats, trying to engrain it into you. 

All you can offer Logan is a faint, flattered smile, fragments of disbelief just as evident within you as before. One thing about your husband you knew to be forever true, is his earnest nature. So you knew he wasn’t telling you what you wanted to hear only to spare himself.

Logan places the flowers on the counter to the right of you, laying the bunch neatly at your side. He keeps his attention on you, eyes fixed on yours as if he’s trying to prove his sincerity – his honesty. 

His head drops slightly as he rests his lips against your forehead. “Do you believe me?” he asks gently against your skin, punctuating his question with a kiss to where he just spoke.

You wrap your arms around him as you tuck your face into his neck, hands connecting in the middle of his back. “Yeah,” you reply, word muffling into him. 

It was a lie, a partial lie at that. You knew in your heart —deep, deep in there— that it was true, and that you believed it, but right now? You just couldn’t get it into your head. So you lied, not wanting to run around in circles with repetitive asks all evening.

But this is Logan, he knows your tells and when you’re lying. But he doesn’t poke any further, instead pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling away, clearing his throat briefly. 

“Why don’t you go lay in the tub,” he starts, usual gruff voice now soft, speaking like he’s trying to soothe you. “I’ll finish that off,” he gestures with his eyes, nodding to the stove top on the other side of you. 

You turn to look at the ‘mess’ beside you and nod, accepting his help with no more deflecting or avoiding. And as you step aside, you stroke over his back where your hands laid just moments before, the act another one of your silent thanks.

His left, ringed hand brushes your left, ringed hand as you move from your placement in front of him, your fingers loosely entwining for a short, brief second before passing. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Standing in front of the dresser in your shared bedroom, you change from your towel and into something a little more comfortable – opting for a robe and slippers. You give yourself a quick glance over as you pass the mirror on your way out the room, though you don’t take too much notice, instead flicking off the light switch as you set off to the living room.

The bath helped. It helped massively, actually. 

Your slippers scuffle along the hallway of your cabin, the floorboards worn and creaky by it’s old age. Lingering in the doorframe, you look over at Logan on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the lit fireplace ahead – looking as though he’s lost in thought.

“Hi,” you start, capturing his attention.

His eyes flick up to you, a faint —his usual— smile welcoming you back. He clears his throat like he’s going to speak but instead he taps the empty seat on the couch beside him.

You look around the open space before your eyes land on the orange, warm light shining out of the oven and onto the tiles. The pie you started to make now sitting on the centre shelf. The rest of your messes cleaned and tucked away, all evidence hidden. And there he sits, asking for no recognition – no praise or approval for cleaning up after you. He’s just there, patiently awaiting you.

“How long’s it been in?” you ask, gesturing to the oven. “The pie,” you add, turning to look at him with a smile.

“Three minutes,” he reciprocates your warmth as he nods you over to him. 

“Did you let the pastry warm up?”

He nods.

“And the—” 

“Taken care of,” he interrupts, slipping his hand into yours. He guides you to stand between his legs, eyes honed in on you above. Like he’s anticipating you, he answers the question you’re about to ask – once again proving just how well he knows you. 

“Cooked it in ‘nother pan then added it on top,” he replies, speaking casually.

You stifle a laugh as you shake your head – it was really a simple fix. 

With his gaze still focused on you, he begins playing with your left hand, his thumb mindlessly grazing your ring – the fiddling an absentminded act. As if he’s reminding him and yourself of your marital bond.

“Thank you.”

He hums, the sound far more gentle than his typical rough ones. It’s like he’s acknowledging your appreciation without taking the credit for it.

You extend your free hand, reaching for the side of his face, touch light as you brush over his cheek. Your thumb traces under his eye, soothing over the tired skin as you take a step closer – silently instructing him to lean against the back.

Logan does as wordlessly asked, his hips rolling underneath himself as he repositions, sitting in a manspread for you. He follows your movements as you sit on his lap, straddling one of his beefy thighs, your arms briefly hooking around his neck as you do so. He looks up at you from your very, very slight height advantage, eyes keen as he gazes into yours – staring like he’s trying to read you. You seem far lighter, far happier than the last time he saw you. 

One hand rests on his cheek, the other grazing through the shorts of his dark hair – your hold gentle and dear as you press a string of soft, slow kisses across the stubble of his beard. One by one you get closer to his mouth, reaching his lips by the fourth. 

His hands move up you from behind, skimming across the cheeks of your ass until they’re resting on your hips, the presence of his hold noticeable through the robes' thin fabric. He begins a pawing – irregular, needy squeezes into you like he’s silently communicating his thoughts and wants, scoping out whether you feel the same. 

“How much time is left on the pie?” you quietly ask, speaking against his lips. Your question also an attempt to scope him out.

His grasp around you tightens, the slight force of his hold making your grind against his thigh. “Enough,” he prompts, murmuring into your mouth – lips not yet daring to connect.

He grinds you over your thigh, the motion slow and leisured as he holds you over him, working you up little by little. Gentle exasperated breaths from you caught between your closeness. 

Upon hearing those sounds he loves ever so much, he pulls you into him, wrapping you into a brief, momentary hug before turning and laying you on the empty space of sofa beside him. He adjusts, situating above you but to your side, weight anchored beside you. 

You look up at him sweetly, eyes flickering over his face in the same way he does you – specks of admiration and lust forming within each of your glances. You adjust under him, the act like you were trying to redirect him, guide him to above rather than to your side. Wanting to feel him graze up against you.

Logan brings his free hand to the side of your face, touch heavy and desperate as he thumbs over your cheek, holding you there as he presses a couple lengthy kisses to your lips – the contact anything but brisk. And with that hand around the swell of your cheek, he’s grazing it down your neck, trailing towards your chest. 

He parts the loose, flimsy material of the robe, parting the fabric so he can slip a hand inside. Cupping one of your bare tits, he pulls it out from underneath – the full weight of your breast held within his warm, large hand. All of it on display for him to marvel at from above. 

Angling his neck, he reaches for your tit, tongue swiping over the nipple just moments before his lips encompass it. The warmth of his mouth making your stomach tingle and fingers tighten in his hair, a jolt-like roll of your hips accompanying your desperate micro actions.

He holds himself there for a prolonged moment, keeping his lips to your nipple as his fingers begin a very slight pawing around the lower swell of it. The motion like he’s rolling you within his hold. A streak of residual wet being left behind as he pulls his head up from your chest.

You look down to him between your tits, his face just mere inches from yours. One of your breasts still within Logan’s manly hold, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your priorly sucked nipple — the act a soothing caress. 

“Where’d you want me?” he asks, voice quiet between your close distance. “What’d you want?” he adds, just as softly as before, speaking like his one goal is to provide service. Service to you. 

You make a faint, disgruntled whine upon his questioning, your mind whizzing with thoughts of him, ideas of him. The feel of his cock growing hard against your thigh only making your head race faster. 

He shifts above you, lips reaching for yours as his hand around your tit travels down and between your thighs. The warmth of his touch is nothing like your warmth. He slips behind the opening of your robe, his fingers itching to your bare cunt ever so slowly, moving like he’s trying to help you decide. Though he’s doing the complete opposite — making it all the more challenging to answer with your mind whirring like it is. 

He lines the crease of your cunt with the pad of his finger, brushing up and down with the lightest, faintest of touch — his lips resting against yours so he can swallow your jittery breaths. The strokes from him are almost mindless, brushing over you like he’s unaware of the effects he has on you. Still has on you after all this time. 

“This?” he whispers against your mouth while his finger trails up the slit of your pussy, grazing over your folds.

You nod against him in response, the motion gentle and careful.

Logan teases over your cunt’s lips, collecting the slight build up of slick to smear and trace over you — spreading your arousal with his light touch. Working you up the and more. He pulls away to look over you, wanting to watch your face. 

And when your eyes find his, that’s when he slips his middle finger into you. Holding onto your gaze as he presses inside with the utmost of ease. 

It was what you needed, not what you wanted. And he could tell — the knitting of your brows and slightly unsatisfied crumple of your nose telling him before you even got a chance. And as you open your mouth to speak, mere milliseconds away from asking him to add another, he’s already lining his ring finger up with you, slipping it inside to accompany his middle. 

The steady rocking of him further blurs any sense of coherency in your mind, the slow massage-like fucking of his fingers against your g-spot loosening you up nicely for him. 

Your hand in his hair moves to the side of his face, grip desperate as you hold him there, muffling incoherent words of thanks — each murmur being overshadowed by those blissed noises he can never seem to get enough of. And while you keep his face to yours, your other hand is reaching for his arm between your thighs, fingers struggling to enwrap the meat of his upper wrist. 

The pumping of his fingers into you is steady, each graze of him from the inside coming from a place of leisure, like the concept of haste is the furthest thing in his mind. 

Though, he’s only human and there’s only so much he can take. Especially when you’re squirming under him like you are. The clicking of his fingers in your pussy only making it harder on him. 

So, he slowly retracts from the wet warmth of your cunt, strings of your arousal remaining connected to him, until they don’t. And as he pulls himself away from you, he licks over his knuckles, lapping over the milky white band you left around him.

Logan sits on his heels between your thighs as he unbuckles his jeans, his dry hand tasked with the job of unbuttoning. He gives the band a hasty tug down, the act nothing short of pure desperation. 

He digs down the front to grab a hold on himself, grasp tight around his dick as he pulls it out over the top of his jeans. Cock hard and heavy within his hold. And as he gives himself a few preparatory strokes, he leans back over you in his prior hovered position — weight anchored on his free arm beside your head.

Guiding his cock to you between the opening of your robe, he pushes his head through your lips, collecting your arousal like it’s his personal, endless supply of lube. And only when he deems himself ready, he’s lining up with you, the tip of his dick pressing up against you for a brief moment before he’s easing in. Slowly but surely feeding himself into your cunt. 

Upon the entry of his thick, heavy cock, your hands fly up to his face, holding either cheek to keep him close, lips skimming like they did just minutes before. Breath being caught in your throat, the air almost trapped as you feel him sink further and further inside, filling you entirely with himself.

He stills, keeping the whole, full length of his cock plugged inside, the motion of his hips non-existent as he gives you a quick second to get reacquainted with his size. He lowers his head, pressing his forehead against yours while he catches his own breath, the suction-like feel from your cunt having the same effect on him as he does you.

You squirm underneath him and your knees cling to his sides, keeping him glued to you.

“Move,” you whisper, the word like that of pure need. “Come on.”

His lips straighten against yours, a subtle smile forming. “Thought’ya liked the buildup,” he speaks quietly. 

The hand that was around his dick, feeding into you, now rests on your face — carefully manhandling you and keeping you put. Logan nips at your lips quickly, pressing a chaste kiss to them as he rolls his hips into you, bumping his cock up.

“That’s what you wanted?” he teases, pressing a kiss just under your chin, making you tilt your head back. Hand moving with the motion of him, palm grazing to rest at the base of your throat. “It is, ain’t it?” he continues with his teasing, muttering between kisses along your jaw. “Hm?”

You hum, the noise sounding like a whine amongst your other blissed sounds. The concept of formulating coherent speech seeming to be far too difficult with the way he feels inside of you. All you can do is squeeze your eyes closed and nod, unable to do anything more than that – just lay beneath him, taking his tender, loving fucking. 

Logan’s one true goal: to replace all prior feelings of pain with pleasure, wanting to make you forget about your upset from before. And with the way his dick is winding into you, he’s getting closer to that goal. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

including the moodboard bc she’s cute

[gukcnt]

03 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

a criminal's obsession with a shy medical student starts a passionate mix of desire and darkness. As their worlds collide, secrets get exposed and possession turns into love. In a world filled with betrayal and the weight of their own pasts, can they find a way to survive together? or will their twisted bond ultimately destroy them both?

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre — criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, lots of angst, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, angry!jungkook, posessive!jungkook, toxic!jungkook, emotional vulnerability, isolation and loneliness, intrusion and stalking, romantic gestures, violence and gore, fear, emotional manipulation, power dynamics, d/s dynamics, argument, crying and cursing, crying from pleasure, rough oral sex, multiple orgasms, aggressive and forceful consensual sexual acts, hair pulling and fisting, making out, marking and bruising, pain play, breast play, nipple sucking and biting, overestimation, sensory overload, pushing physical boundaries, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, she rides his fingers, solo masturbation, orgasm denial/control, jungkook watches reader masturbate, masturbation using a rose, intense clit play, body worship, dirty talk, slight degradation, praise kink, cum eating, absence of aftercare

wc — 11.7k

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

It was nighttime, jungkook stood in the middle of the street, broad shoulders hunched, as always, his black leather jacket hugging his frame. The fabric was slick with sweat and a fresh splatter of blood from his latest victim, and it was soaking through his fabric, staining him with the weight of his sinful actions.

His knuckles were split open, the skin coated with blood—some his, most not. Beneath his boots, a man lay, his face pulped bloody flesh and shattered bones, unrecognizable as a human.

The man's chest no longer moved, his life taken away by jungkook with his knife and anger. The air was thick with the smell of blood, a cigarette between his lips.

He exhaled as dark eyes stared down at the dead body, but he felt nothing—no remorse, no mercy, only more of the rage that was clawing at his insides.

It had been seven days since he’d left you, since he’d tasted the sweetness of your pussy and felt your thighs tremble under his tongue. Heard the desperate, broken moans that spilled from your lips as he consumed your innocence.

Seven days since he’d knelt for you, something he never does for anyone, not even in the brink of death, but he did for you, his fragile petal.

Your purity weakened all his defenses.

He’d promised himself that he’d stay away, he’d let you live your soft, risk-free life untouched by the danger of his existence. But that promise felt like a lie that was making him suffer with the agony of your absence.

He was going completely feral, like a monster, his violence increasing to a limit that he himself couldn’t control.

In a single week, he’d killed three men—three lives taken from his fists alone, sometimes blades, and each death was more wild and severe than the last.

He didn’t kill for pleasure, he killed because he hated how tainted the world is, because his hands constantly itched to destroy something, and mainly because every moment away from you was driving him closer to madness.

“Fuck you,” he snarled at the corpse, voice guttural, “fuck all of you!”

His words were directed to no one, only something to fill his void. He kicked the body so hard it sent a jolt of pain through his leg, and he welcomed it, craved it, because pain was like an old friend to him, kept him grounded to a reality that he was losing.

His chest heaved, breaths ragged. His hands trembled not from fear but from the need to break something else, to tear the world apart until he felt even a small fraction of peace in his soul.

He lit another cigarette, trying to distract himself, jaw clenching. The first drag burned his throat, but the nicotine did nothing to dull the ache in his chest.

He smoked through several packs now, each cigarette was a mark of time spent without you. Sometimes he drank cheap whiskey, expecting it to help him, but it did absolutely nothing to numb his pain.

The nights were the worst when everything grew quiet.

Your face haunted him.

Your wide, innocent eyes glistening with fear and want as your lips trembled, whispering his name.

Your pussy, it was something he can never forget, no matter how much blood he spilled. Your pussy was so tight and wet, clenching around his fingers when he’d pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

He groaned, the sound breathy and animalistic, his cock twitching at the memory, body betraying him even as his mind screamed at him to forget.

“Why?” he muttered, voice breaking, the cigarette shook between his fingers.

“why can’t I get you out of my head?”

He slammed his fist into the wall, already bloodied knuckles getting even more bruised. The pain was sharp, but it helped to distract his mind, even for a little bit.

He wanted to storm back to your apartment, pin you down and fuck you until you were his, until everything in his world made sense again.

He couldn’t.

You were a flower, so very delicate, your petals soft compared to the harsh reality of him and he’d ruin you until your purity disappeared.

He sank to his knees, the pavement cold and rough, cigarette falling from between his lips and into the pool of blood.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered hoarsely, eyes burning, “you’re fucking killing me and you don’t even know it.”

The words were for you, for the girl who’d undone him with just a single act of kindness, you’d gotten into his soul and refused to leave. He pressed his forehead to the ground; body shaking with his despair and need.

He was a criminal, a killer, a man who’d lived for himself alone.

But you—you were it for him.

And he couldn’t change it no matter how much he tried.

۶ৎ

Early morning light hit you sharply through the bedroom curtains. You woke with a jolt, chest heaving, skin still humming with the memory of Jungkook's hands, his tongue, his presence.

Your room was still filled with the smell of him—cigarettes and musk—and it clung to your skin, even your very breath. The taste of him still clung to your tongue.

Your pussy still pulsed, a slight ache from the way he’d eaten you out, lips and fingers worked together to unravel you until you had shattered for someone for the first time, almost losing consciousness from the intensity of it.

You pressed your thighs together, pussy lips still coated in slick from last night, a soft whimper escaping your lips at the memory of his voice.

“You’re mine.” he growled, eyes burning into yours, stripping you bare with his eyes alone.

You sat up, heart pounding, your fingers clutched the sheets as if they could anchor you to the moment.

You stumbled out of bed. Everything felt wrong, way too quiet, the silence pressing heavily on your chest.

You searched every corner, breath hitching with every step, hoping for a trace of him. No pink roses on your kitchen counter, their sweet scent absent.

He left, just like that.

After last night, after making you feel so alive, he left with no glimpse of him left behind.

No usual cigarette butts around your house, no smoke in the air. The absence was something you had wanted for so long, you wanted him to leave you alone, but now it felt hollow, it twisted at the pit of your stomach.

“jungkook.” you exhaled, as if saying his name could bring him back, no one answered your small plea, a cruel reminder of how he had invaded your life and just left.

You moved to the window and pushed it open, air brushing against your face. You leaned out and looked at the street below.

Wanting to see that familiar shadow, someone with dark eyes, always staring at you from this very window

But there was nothing.

Just the hum of the city going on with their day.

The world moving on without him

۶ৎ

A week went by, each day felt too long, and the usual spark of your days gone. The apartment, often a comfort of your own, now felt far from it, like something was missing.

You’d always been introverted, content in your own space but this was different—this was loneliness.

You’d hated his stalking and feared him, along the intrusion of the gifts he’d leave in your house but now their absence felt like a wound increasing with each day.

Your clothes stayed in their place no matter where you left them, lazily tossed, no panties missing or no clothes displaced as if someone went through them.

Everything was left untouched, your world converting into what it used to be and you hated it.

You walked home after classes, backpack heavy against your shoulders. The university library that you usually loved to be alone in and immerse yourself in studies now only reminded you more of your isolated life and how Jungkook, even for a bit, made you forget about the isolation.

You’d clutch your warm teacup, hoping to feel the goosebumps arise from his stare, the shiver that would go down your spine from the feeling of being watched.

Nothing.

Nothing could drown out the silence in your heart, no matter what you tried.

You’d reach your apartment, keys trembling in your grip, heart racing with a desperate hope. You’d open the door and search frantically everywhere—under the couch, your rooms, behind the curtains—for a rose, a cigarette butt or a note, anything to prove that he hadn’t vanished completely.

But there were no traces of him.

“Damn it, jungkook,” you croaked, “why did you leave me?”

The words felt foolish and dangerous, it felt like a betrayal to the good girl you’d always been.

You wanted to be a doctor, to heal and save the world, yet here you were pining and aching for a criminal, a murderer who’d stalked you… but he’d made you alive in a way that terrified you

You buried your face in your hands, tears streaming down your face.

“I should be happy,” you whimpered, “I should be glad you’re gone, you… you monster!”

But the words felt wrong, a lie you couldn’t believe.

۶ৎ

The nights were the worst for you as well, body relentless constantly. You’d toss in bed, tangling the sheets as your cheeks get flushed with heat.

The memory of that night always consumed your head—his deep, commanding voice talking you through the orgasm, fingers curling inside you, tongue lapping at your sensitive clit until you’d screamed his name.

You’d wake up panting, pussy throbbing and panty soaked with need, as your breasts heaved with pants.

“Stop it.” you’d hiss, angry at your own self.

You’d try to squeeze your legs together trying to dull the ache, but it was of no use; it worsened it, your little nub pulsing away, making you whine shakily.

You’d imagine his hands, calloused and strong, pinning you down, lips claiming yours in that possessive, hungry way like that day, until all you breathed or tasted was him.

His cock—oh god... you’d never seen it, but you imagined it, not being able to help yourself. He’d be thick and heavy, filling you until you broke, taking a part of you that you never thought you’d give to someone, especially a man like him.

You bit your pillow, whimpers muffling in it as your body trembled with a need you hated yourself for experiencing.

In a moment of desperation, you even stopped locking your door. You left your windows open, the night air entering freely in your apartment. You’d stand in your living room looking outside the window.

“Come back, please.” a plea to the darkness that you’d come to crave.

“I’m losing my mind,” you whispered to the empty room, staring up at the ceiling.

“You’re a criminal, a murderer, and I... I want you. What's wrong with me?”

The emptiness was getting deeper each day. Your apartment felt like a cage. He’d light up your world in his own twisted way, it scared you but even brought you excitement in a way that nothing can.

You hated yourself for missing the man, for craving that danger he always caused, the thrill, and, most importantly, how he made you feel so seen and wanted in a way no one ever had.

But the truth was undeniable: without him you felt like you were fading.

۶ৎ

It has been several days since he promised himself that he’d stay away, that he’d let you, his petal, live free off his presence.

But it was enough.

He needed to see you, even from a distance, to ground himself to something real, something pure. He tried to resist it, tried stopping himself a lot, but nothing worked, so he convinced himself that one glance was all he wanted from you, not knowing exactly how wrong he was.

He started walking, hands bloody from a kill but with his intention straight.

Your neighborhood was a big difference compared to his own tainted world.

He reached your apartment, and slipped into the darkness in the street, his back against a tree.

He lit another cigarette, jaw clenching. The smoke filled his lungs, a harsh comfort, as he watched your window. He could see the slight glow of your desk lamp from where he stood.

There you were.

Seated at your study table, you are surrounded by several of your textbooks and notes. Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, plump pink lips slightly parted as you read, a detail that made his chest ache with a longing he didn’t understand.

Your hair was loose, a few strands falling on your face. You wore a baby tee, light blue as it clings to your curve; it also outlines the swell of your breasts, the hard peaks of your nipples visible even from this distance.

His cock twitched as a growl rumbled in his throat, fingers tightening around the cigarette.

You were so small, so delicate, a doll-like girl in a world of monsters, and he was the worst of them all, hunger for you twisting in his gut.

But you weren’t studying.

Your pen lay still, your eyes looking into nowhere as you stared at nothing, fingers gripping your notebook, like it was your lifeline. Your distress hit him like a punch in his stomach.

He saw it then—the loneliness and the sadness etched in your features, a reflection of the pain that he himself was going through.

You were missing him, craving him, the man who’d haunted you yet claimed you with his touch.

The realization was like a spark fueling his obsession for you even more, along with his anger and need.

He wanted to storm inside your apartment, pin you in that very desk, get you on all fours for him, fuck you from behind until you screamed his name, until your innocence was his forever.

But he stayed where he stood, reveling in the pain and agony of being away from you.

He moved closer, silently. Once he reached near your apartment, he started climbing the fire escape, his movements slow but quick until he was level with your window, the glass slightly open, letting him smell you from your bedroom.

He crouched slightly, looking at you, breaths shallow.

You stood from your study table in frustration, oblivious to the predator watching you, and walked to your bed, sitting down on the edge of the bed, fingers clutching your tee, a habit to keep you in the right state of mind.

The fabric rode up, exposing the soft skin of your waist, and his jaw tightened, teeth grinding.

Your breasts were hardly contained in the tee, they were almost calling for him, begging for his mouth, his hands, or his teeth.

He imagined tearing that sorry excuse of a fabric, wanting to see those tits bounce as they get freed in the air, he imagined your cheeks pinking at the shame, but he knew exactly how much you would want it.

He would lean down and suck your peaks until you sobbed like that night, body arching under him, pussy dripping for him.

You gripped the edge of the blanket, the sight of you was so vulnerable, so his. He saw the way your chest rose and fell, your bottom lip quivering as if on the verge of tears.

“jungkook.” you whispered into the room that you assumed was empty, used to calling his name at least once a day. Your soft voice barely audible, but it reached him, and it was like a knife to his heart.

You were calling for him, body and heart aching for the man who’d ruined you, and it was too much, breaking all his restraints.

He couldn’t stay away.

He slipped through the window as he intruded on your space once again. He looked around your bedroom, a softness that he has missed a lot.

It was a world he didn’t belong in, yet he couldn’t leave.

You were asleep now, body curled on the bed, the baby tee now fully bunched up, revealing your smooth stomach. Your chest rose and fell, breasts a temptation he couldn’t resist, nipples hard from the cool night air.

Your face expressed your longing even in sleep, a frown in your brows, your lips parted in a soft, needy sigh the same way they’d parted when he’d eaten you out and made you come with his tongue.

He stood over you, shadow falling over your form, his hands still bloody from his last kill, as usual.

“You’re killing me, petal,” he rasped, voice low. “I’m trying to stay away, but you’re in my fucking head.”

He reached out with trembling fingers and brushed a strand of hair from your face, which led him to leave a smudge of blood on your cheek—his claim along with his intention to ruin you.

The sight of it, red against your skin, was a twisted kind of beauty that made his heart thunder with need, cock throbbing, a reminder of how much of a monster he is, that he could never be what you needed him to be.

He placed a pink rose beside you. It was a mark of his obsession along with his apology for being away for so long.

“You don’t get to miss me.” he grunted, eyes dark with something he refused to acknowledge, “You don’t get to make me feel like this.”

He leaned closer, lips hovering over yours, his breath hitting your skin. He wanted to kiss you, to taste you again, to fuck you until he is sated and you can never escape his possession.

But he pulled back, hands fisting as the blood dripped down his knuckles.

He turned around slowly, not wanting to stay any longer, otherwise he would cross a line he would regret later.

He left as silently as he’d come, stepping outside. But the image of you—lonely, sad, calling for him—will forever be in his heart, killing him slowly.

You were his addiction, and he cannot let you go.

۶ৎ

You woke up the next morning with a racing heart, skin prickling with an unshakable feeling. The air felt different, like something was here in your bedroom—or someone.

Your heart pounded wildly as your eyes darted all over the room trying to search. The familiarity of your home was tainted by an unknown presence, and even though you couldn't see it, you could feel it.

Then you saw it—a single pink rose, resting on the pillow beside you almost like a lover lying beside you.

Your breath caught, a gasp slipped from between your lips that was half joy and half dread. Your fingers hovered over the flower, shaking, with the thought of what it meant after his absence for so long.

He’d been here.

jungkook.

The man who’d haunted your dreams, your body, and your soul, was finally here.

You reached for the rose, the petals cool against your fingertips, sending a shiver down your spine. You brought the rose close to your nose and inhaled; the scent was sweet, but still a small lingering smell of him—of danger.

A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it, you bit your lower lip, heart filled with hope that he hadn’t abandoned you entirely.

But the joy wasn’t long-lasting as your eyes fell to the mirror. There on your cheek was a smear of blood, your eyes widened, tears welling in your eyes from fear, a gasp escaping.

He was a murderer, a monster, and his deed was there, marked on your face, yet beneath the terror, a sick, shameful excitement was there, even though the fear was very much evident.

No one has ever seen you the way he did, has never claimed you with such ferocity, and you hated yourself for the way your body warmed at the thought of his darkness.

For the way your pussy clenched, already aching for a man you should fear, and you were scared, so very scared of your own feelings, surprised at how he excited you.

By afternoon, you were feeling restless with an energy you didn’t know how to name.

You sat on your bed, the flower in your hand. Its petals felt soft as you traced them, almost sinful with the way it caressed your skin, your breath hitching.

The ache in your pussy returned, a throb that had been there since that night, since his tongue had made you come hard, and his fingers claimed all your intimate parts.

It was unbearable now; your heat demanded release, needed him, and you couldn’t fight it or ignore it anymore.

You didn’t want to.

Your hands moved on instinct, peeling off your clothes with a trembling urgency until you were fully bare except for your bra, the lace hugging your full breasts, nipples hard as the lace teased them, making you mewl.

The cool air kissed your exposed skin, raising goosebumps all over your body and you spread your legs, bare pussy glistening with need. The air brushing against your swollen heat made you gasp, lips parting.

You settled against the pillows, and you kept your legs spread. Your fingers found the clit, circling it slowly in a teasing way.

“Oh gosh… mm yes…”

A gasp escaped you needily, hips bucking on your fingers.

“jungkook.”

you whimpered, his name escaping your lips.

Your voice, a soft plea in the quiet room. Pussy was soaked, arousal dripping on the sheets as your fingers explored your cunt, coating yourself with your own arousal, you slipped one finger inside, walls sucking the finger in greedily.

“Ah!” You moaned at the penetration, shocked at how wet you were, how easily your finger moved, and how your body craved more and more.

You panted as your eyes suddenly fell on the rose, its pink petals calling for you almost like it could sense your own desperation. You grabbed the rose with trembling fingers.

You brought it to your neck and dragged it downward slowly, almost like someone's caress you imagined, that belonged to him. The petals brushed your collarbone, making you bite your lower lip.

It went between your breasts, your breasts heaving.

“Oh mhmm hah.” you let out needy noises as the petals teased your restrained nipples, the lace intensifying the sensation a lot more.

Your nipples ached for touch, for his mouth, or anything from him.

The rose continued its path downwards until it reached the tops of your thighs. You huffed, spreading your legs wider, your pussy exposed, the scent of your arousal evident.

You pressed the rose to your pulsing clit, the petals soft and cool, and the sensation tore a cry from your throat instantly, “jungkook, fuck, please!” you sobbed.

Your hips rocked, fingers thrusting deeper inside your pussy, the wet sounds and your needy noises and breathlessness the only sounds in the quiet room. The rose only felt like an additional torment.

You moved the rose in slow circles, the petals catching your clit, stroking it, stimulating it in a way that made you tremble, your moans high and frantic.

Your breasts bounced with each rock of your hips, nipples ached, and you slid a second finger inside, stretching yourself and letting out a muffled whine. Your arousal was now pooling on the sheets beneath you, making a big mess, but you were too much in ecstasy to care.

The stretch barely anything compared to that night when he used his fingers on you.

The petals were now slick with your arousal, gliding over your clit in a way that made you see stars. You imagined him—his dark eyes, his calloused fingers, and his tongue—and the thought pushed you closer to your release.

“I need you, please.” you cried shakily, thighs shaking as you thrusted your fingers faster and harder, the rose pressing against your clit.

You curled your fingers, and that was it. Your pussy clenched, entire body convulsed, and then it hit—the release so intense that it was almost painful, cum gushing over your fingers and the bed, coating the rose entirely.

You screamed his name, body almost arching off the bed, breasts heaving and you collapsed on the bed panting, pussy pulsing with aftershocks, your skin was slick with sweat.

The rose fell from your hand in humiliation, completely coated in your release, and you looked at it with dilated eyes, chest still heaving as you whimpered at your own shamefulness and how your need took over you in such a nasty way.

jungkook watched the whole thing from the shadows, his cigarette forgotten as it burned in his hand, but the pain didn’t do anything to dull the agony of seeing you like this.

His cock was painfully hard, straining against his jeans, chest was tight with a rage that wasn’t anger but something deeper, something primal.

You were his fragile innocent girl, and yet here you were fucking yourself with the rose he had given you, moaning his name, your body a meal for him that he couldn’t consume, and it drove him angrier.

His eyes were locked on you, taking in every single detail—the way your pussy glistened, cum dripping, breasts bouncing and restrained by your lace bra, those nipples just begging to be freed and sucked on.

Your moans and cries were breaking his restraint; each whimper of his name from you was pulling him even closer.

He didn’t flinch at the burn on his hand from the cigarette as the ash fell on the floor. His jaw clenched, breath ragged.

He was angry—at you, for being so reckless and naughty, and at himself for letting you in his life and trapping him, also for breaking his promise to stay away from you.

Your climax hit him straight to his gut, the scream of his name made his nostrils flare. He wanted to go inside and punish you so hard, wreck that slutty cunt of yours, until you forget everything except him.

But he couldn’t, so he stayed, his hands fisted, cock throbbing.

“You’re killing me.” he husked out in the darkness, the words to no one but himself as he watched you collapse, body trembling as he watched your pussy drip with cum, and he gripped the window, wanting to break the glass with his fist.

He knew he lost, and he was involved with you in a way that would destroy both of you.

You lay there, breaths slowing, oblivious to the man outside watching you, body still trembled with the aftereffects of the pleasure. You didn’t know he was there, didn’t know his eyes had seen every moment, but you felt the weight of something, someone’s stare.

A predator watching his prey.

And somewhere deep inside you, you hoped he’d seen it all and that he’d come for you, hoped that he’d ruin you as thoroughly as you’d just ruined yourself.

Ruined your innocence.

۶ৎ

The days went by after that, each one marking jungkook's absence. Yet you knew that his shadow lingered, stalking you all the time, felt the heat of his stare constantly, a presence you couldn’t see.

jungkook, the criminal who’d come into your life like a storm, had vowed to stay away from you, but his obsession refused to die.

He watched you always and everywhere, his existence a secret into the night.

The air no longer carried his scent of cigarettes and musk, but his gifts began to appear, small things left for you in your absence, and each felt like a spark in your hollow heart.

You’d return from classes as always, your heart pounding with anticipation, hoping for a sign of him, hoping for him to intrude into your home show himself like that night, any glimpse of his darkness, but instead you found gifts.

All of the gifts were intimate, personal things you have always wished for but never had the ability to get or buy, and it almost feels like he’d peeled back the layers of your soul and seen you bare to know all your favorites without you telling him anything.

One evening you came home after studying in the library, fingers aching from hours of notetaking. You opened your door and gasped, your eyes fell on the kitchen table.

A small tub of chocolate ice cream—rare, expensive, the one that you’d randomly written on your bucket list, and you’d tucked it inside a notebook you barely opened and forgotten about it.

Your bucket list was just small dreams of you that you thought would never come true because you could never afford it, but he found it.

Without waiting further, you slowly walked forward and lifted the lid. The rich smell of chocolate made your head spin. Your heart raced, cheeks warming with a smile.

He was here again.

You bit your lower lip bashfully and whispered a shy “thank you” in the empty air, hoping that he is somewhere near enough to hear you.

The ice cream melted on your tongue, each bite reminding you of his absence, and you savored the treat slowly, chest heavy with a longing.

Another day, you found a book on your doorstep—a first edition copy of your favorite book, a novel you’d mentioned randomly to one of your friends during a study session as you expressed your love for the raw romance the characters go through in the book.

The weight of the book grounded you as you whimpered, hugging the book to your chest, you imagined a faint smell of him clinging to the book, you knew wasn’t there.

“How do you know me like this?” your voice cracked, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The book felt like a mirror of your story, and you wondered if he saw himself in the main character's place with his devotion towards you.

The gifts kept coming, increasing each day. A delicate silver bracelet that you wore at all times, never taking it off, engraved with a tiny petal—like the nickname he’d given you.

Another time he left a box of your favorite folded chips, an entire set, the kind that’s very rare to find and you had to hunt for them in every store.

You noticed that you would usually receive such items when you’d have long study sessions and forgot to eat, almost like it angered him whenever you starved yourself, so he made sure to stuff your kitchen with food.

He also gave you a jasmine scented candle you’d once admired in a shop window unknowingly, there was also a note with it that made you light up with joy, you were getting a bit of his interaction.

The note was simple, handwriting sharp just like him: for you.

That’s all it said, just two words, no explanation, no name, yet it was enough to send a shiver down your spine: those words enough to show his possession.

Your stomach fluttered, thighs clenching unknowingly.

You’d sit on your couch, the bracelet on your wrist, his candle lit, the smell of jasmine filling the room as you are busy reading the book and felt him everywhere with his gifts—he took over your place without his actual presence.

Your heart ached, a constant beat in your pussy, tingling with the memory of his tongue and fingers from that night.

You hated yourself for wanting more than just his gifts, for craving him more than anything.

۶ৎ

One night you found a pink teddy bear on your bed, its fur soft and fluffy, it was huge, nearly as tall as you. You froze, heart hammering as you sank down on the bed and clutched the bear, arms circling it.

Tears spilled down your cheeks instantly, soaking into the fur of the teddy, you buried your face in it as you hiccupped; the softness of it made your heart ache even more.

“Why do you do this to me?” you choked out, voice pained.

“You’re gone, but you’re everywhere, and I hate you for it. I hate how much I want you.”

The bear is the only one that hears your words as you curl into it, wrapping your legs around it, dimming your loneliness, your tears continue soaking the pink fur.

“I’m supposed to be free of you,” you cried, “but I’m not. I'm trapped, and it's your fault. You made me need you... you bastard.”

Your tears soon lulled you to sleep, body tired.

jungkook watched from the shadows, your tears slicing through his guarded heart, your pain made him ache even more. He wanted to get inside, wipe those tears away, kiss them away, his tongue would claim each of your tears until even your sadness belonged to him.

He wanted to own every corner of your soul.

“Little petal,” he whispered. “I’m trying to let you go, but you’re making it fucking impossible, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold back.”

۶ৎ

It was midnight, and you were asleep, body curled against the teddy, your body clad in a black t-shirt as it clung to your curves, the hem riding up to reveal your plump thighs.

Your chest rose and fell, breaths quiet, unaware of what is about to happen.

A faint rustle broke the silence, and jungkook stepped inside your room, his presence enough to shatter the calmness of your apartment in an instant.

His gaze fell on your sleeping figure, pinning you to bed. His eyes traced every inch of you—the curve of your hips, your nipples hard against the fabric and especially the way your lips parted in sleep.

His jaw clenched, hands twitching to touch you, but he held himself back.

You stirred, eyes fluttering, a whimper escaping your lips as you felt the air shift in your room with an unknown yet familiar smell of cigarettes and something darker.

Your eyes opened half-lidded at first, then your eyes widened as they met his. The shock was a jolt through your body; your breath caught in your throat.

Fear instantly pressed on your chest, but beneath it there was that twisted happiness, longing finally satiated since he’d left you.

He stood there, no longer only his shadow but in full form, his beauty both deadly and so deeply handsome, he looked down at you, lips in a straight line.

“Do you trust me?” he asked lowly, eyes searched yours, demanding an answer, daring you to lie.

You didn’t speak, couldn’t. Your heart was screaming a desperate cry of yes, but your mind was saying otherwise, it was telling you to run, to scream, to save yourself from this monster of a man.

Your lips trembled, hands clutching the blankets around your body, trying to shield yourself from his intensity.

You sat up, t-shirt slipping further, exposing your collarbone, and he could see the rapid pulse at your throat, and his gaze lingered there, his stare alone felt like a physical touch, and your cheeks flushed despite your fear.

“jungkook,” you croaked shakily, “what are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer, silence louder than his words. In two long strides he was at your bedside, movements predatory.

Before you could even react or move away, he scooped you up easily in bridal style, like you weighed nothing.

His warmth seeped into your skin, and you gasped loudly, hands instinctively clutching his shoulders, fingers dug into his hoodie, eyes wide as you looked at him, breathing in his scent of blood and cigarettes.

It was overwhelming.

Your body was pressed up against his, breasts against his hard chest, his strong arms on the underside of your bare thighs, holding you, and the intimacy of all of this sent a shiver down your spine.

“Where are you taking me?” you asked, voice shaky with panic. Your wide eyes fixed on his face, demanding answers, but he remained expressionless, jaw tight and eyes fixed ahead as he walked.

He didn’t respond and carried you out of your apartment, the cool night air hitting you, making you curl yourself more into him. Your bare feet dangled, legs exposed with your flimsy t-shirt, and you felt vulnerable.

A small thing in the arms of a beast

The street was completely empty and quiet; he walked towards his motorcycle that was parked.

The bike was matte black, it looked as dangerous and fierce as its owner.

He set you down briefly, his hands lingering on your waist. Your heart pulsed, chest heaving, as you watched him take off his black hoodie, revealing the shirt underneath along with all his tattoos all over his arms that you barely saw before, your breath hitching.

He handed it to you, eyes dark and commanding.

“Put it on.” he growled an order for you that held no chance of argument.

You obeyed, hands shaking slightly as you slipped on the hoodie, you were instantly swallowed by the warmth of his body clinging to the hoodie, and it felt like a claim wrapping your body in his belongings.

It was way too big on you, the sleeves hanging.

His scent completely enveloped you—an intoxicating, strong smell of him, making your head spin.

You pushed up the sleeves, trying to fix the loose hoodie on you and he watched you intensely as if memorizing you in his clothes, and you could see the satisfaction it gave him.

He climbed onto the bike and gestured for you to follow. You hesitated, heart pounding as your mind still screamed at you to run back to the safety of your apartment and not follow him.

But your body moved, drawn to him with no further control. You slowly straddled the bike behind him, gasping softly at the feel of your thighs brushing against his hips.

He reached back with his rough hands, guiding your arms around his waist until your chest was flush against his back, breasts molding to the hard muscles of his back.

You squeaked, feeling embarrassed, his fingers squeezed you, trying to reassure you in his own twisted way.

“Hold tight,” he said, a hint of softness beneath.

“don’t let go.”

The bike roared as he started it. He pulled away, the wind hitting your hair and your exposed legs. Your hands tightened on his waist, fingers digging, feeling the heat of his skin through the fabric as you held onto him.

The wind carried a sense of freedom, and for the first time in your life, you felt alive, carefree… In a way you couldn’t explain, the weight of your quiet, lonely world lifting off your chest as a small smile curved on your lips.

You pressed your cheek to his back, his scent grounding you. You hummed a soft, happy sound unknowingly, and it surprised you.

The vibration of the bike, the wind hitting your face, his solid warm presence—everything mingled to a moment of peace. You felt his hand cover yours, grip possessive, and your breath hitched, cheeks flushing as you realized he’d heard you hum with joy.

“Where are we going, jungkook?” you asked, loudly over the wind.

“Please tell me.” a hint of fear in your voice.

He didn’t answer, but his hand squeezed yours again, an action that meant his silent promise, you were safe, that he would shield you, and for some reason you believed him, believed that he wouldn’t let a single hair of yours bulge.

The bike sped up through the night, and you clung to him, heart racing as you closed your eyes, ready for the unknown along with the danger he always brought.

You didn’t know where he was taking you, but for now you didn’t care.

You were his and he was yours.

And it belonged to you.

You both soon reached a forest; surrounded by huge trees and darkness. The forest heavy with the scent of rain and damp earth that grounded you even as your heart raced with uncertainty, confused at where he is taking you.

Finally, his bike rumbled to a stop, he got off his bike. His presence beside you, broad large shadow covering you completely.

You glanced at him, goosebumps breaking all over your skin, as you looked at his eyes, black pools. “Why are we here?” you asked breathily, a whimper lodged in your throat.

The forest surrounded both of you and seemed unfamiliar and endless, scaring you further.

jungkook’s lips curled into a smirk at your distress.

“To keep you locked up for me.” he growls, voice dark with amusement.

Your breath hitched and your eyes widened, finding no humor in it, almost believing his words, and he rasped out a chuckle.

“Relax, petal. I’m joking, for now anyways.” he said.

His nonchalant behavior did little to ease your beating heart, but you followed as he led you forward. His hand brushed your elbow; the slight touch felt like electricity.

Dried leaves crunched under your feet as he guided you, and he soon stopped walking, your heart stopped at the sight before you.

A tent stood in the center, glowing in the dark because there were fairy lights all around it, the glow in the dark making it seem absolutely magical, all the fairy lights looked like tiny stars around the tent.

You stepped closer instinctively, your fingers brushed the tent, and a gasp left your lips once again at what was inside the tent.

It was like a dream woven into reality.

A plush blanket was draped over a mattress, it looked so very smooth, and beside it was a small wooden table that held a stack of all your favorite first edition books that you’d loved since childhood. Along with that, there were also dvds of your favorite tv shows, the selective ones.

The snacks—folded potato chips the one he made sure to give you several before and knew exactly how much you liked them, chocolate-covered nuts, only the specific brand you enjoy, along with all those, there was also a bowl of fresh frozen strawberries and raspberries.

Your heart gripped you in an almost painful ache as you pressed one of your hands to your chest, trying to steady your breathing, tears pricking your eyes. It felt like your heart would combust from gratefulness or sadness, you didn’t know.

This wasn’t just a gift, it was a wish from the little girl inside you with no family or anyone by her side, the wish to get everything.

It was written in a diary when you were a little girl that was now tucked away in a storage box.

It was a silly, childish dream where you wished for a night under the stars surrounded by all your favorite things, a fantasy you have accepted will never come true.

Yet it was here, real, crafted by the hands of a man who was both your stalker and your protector.

You turned to jungkook, finding him standing there looking at you, drinking in all your expressions hungrily, like that’s all that mattered to him.

“jungkook… how did you know? why would you do this?” you croaked, voice barely audible and heavy with emotions.

He leaned at the edge of the tent, expression unreadable as his eyes—those haunted eyes—locked onto yours, searching, yearning, with a mix of anger.

“Don’t ask questions I can’t answer.” he said gruffly, like he was fighting something deep inside him.

“I saw it in your diary. I wanted you to have it. That’s all you need to know.” he finalized.

“But why?” you pressed, stepping closer. “You’re… You’re not this person. You’re dangerous, and you said it yourself, so why give me this? Why make me feel like—”

Your voice broke as tears finally streamed down your cheeks.

“Like I matter to you?”

His jaw clenched at your words, hands fisting at his sides.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

He snapped, voice rising.

“You’re in my fucking head every second, every day. I can't breathe without thinking of you, and it's driving me insane. I don’t do this—fairy lights, complete someone’s dreams. But you… you make me want to burn the world down just to see you smile, and I hate it. I hate you for it.”

His words caused your throat to tighten, stomach fluttering with something you couldn’t name, heart aching as you shakily wiped your tears away and didn’t press him further.

You stepped into the tent, walking slowly to the books, fingers trailing over the books.

“I don’t understand you,” you whispered softly, “but this… this is beautiful. Thank you.”

He didn’t respond, just simply watched you, eyes softening just a bit as if he didn’t want your gratefulness but just your happiness in this moment, with all the things he gave so much effort in. He just wanted you to be yourself now.

You sank onto the blanket, the softness comforting you as you opened a bag of chips and grabbed a dvd of your chosen show, the screen turning on.

The sound of the show playing filled the tent as you nibbled on a strawberry, its juice staining your lips red.

jungkook, settled beside you.

His long legs stretched out, large frame barely contained itself beside you, his body almost too close to you, not exactly touching, but the graze here and there made your stomach clench, the entire moment felt intimate, like you both were a couple, but you shook it off your mind, not wanting to ruin what you were experiencing.

You just wanted to enjoy your time here without overthinking.

“You’re eating,” he said, voice almost gentle, eyes fixed on your lips and the way they glistened with strawberry juice. “Good. You don’t eat enough.”

Your cheeks pinked under his gaze, “I eat plenty,” you muttered, shyly popping another chip into your mouth.

“You’re just… always watching me, so you notice everything.” you huffed, not meeting his eyes.

He smirked, a rare genuine curve of his lips.

“Can’t help it.” he said.

He leaned back, one hand behind his head, muscles flexing under his clothing.

“You’re too fucking distracting.”

You giggled nervously and the tension between you two eased.

You spent hours in that tent, watching shows and eating snacks. You also read passages from a book aloud because jungkook wanted it and you couldn’t deny him.

Your voice was soft as the words felt like they belonged to this exact moment, and jungkook listened intently, his eyes never leaving you and you squirmed under his intensity but had no choice but to continue.

His expression was a mix of awe and hunger as he watched you, the sweet girl, enjoy such little things in life, so different from his criminal life, he thought.

His eyes were fixed on your lips as they moved, pronouncing each word. He wanted to kiss you, his jaw ached from self control, wanting you to have your own moment today without him pushing past boundaries, so he held himself back.

He knew that if he pushed you back in this very blanket, you wouldn't resist and give yourself to him, but you deserved better, so he would do anything for that, even if it meant killing himself in the process.

You played several episodes of your favorite shows, sometimes laughing at the familiar scenes, body relaxed against the blanket, you would sometimes lean on him without realizing.

The whole time he didn’t pay any attention to the shows, having his eyes fixed on you, noting all your expressions and movements hungrily, he knew he wouldn't be able get you so close to himself again.

At one point, you offered him a chocolate covered nut, holding it out to him with trembling fingers.

He raised an eyebrow but leaned forward, opening his mouth as he took it, tongue flicking on your skin for a second as he licked the chocolate off your skin.

Your breath hitched, pulse racing and he smirked, chewing the nut, eyes locked on yours.

“Sweet.” he rasped.

A double meaning that made your thighs clench.

You turned back to the screen, cheeks burning.

You were happy, truly happy, the kind of joy that you rarely experienced, and you were scared that the bubble might burst any second, ruining everything.

The forest outside was distant, and the tent was like a warm cocoon that kept you shielded from the world outside and made sure it wouldn’t touch you.

Where jungkook's darkness softened for the first time from your happiness and your laughter.

The night slowly deepened as your light mood slowly faded; you clutched the blanket heart filling with sadness again. jungkook stood, towered over you, offering you, his hand.

“Time to go.” he gruffed out, but there was also a reluctance in his eyes, something you couldn’t name.

You took his hand slowly, his calloused hand enveloping your small softer ones, as he pulled you to your feet.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admitted softly, eyes searching his, “this… it feels like a dream that I’ll never have again.”

His expression hardened at your words; thumb brushing your knuckles with a soft tenderness.

“You’ll have more,” he said, his voice a promise for the future.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

۶ৎ

He led you back to the bike. You climbed behind him once again, arms circling his waist without him telling you to do so this time, your body on autopilot, cheek against his back.

Your shyness gone from how safe you felt with him at the moment.

The ride home was quieter, almost laced with sadness.

You closed your eyes, letting the wind blow on your face, his warmth seeped into you, anchoring you.

Your hands tightening around his waist even more, heart heavy with words you couldn’t say.

Stay.

Don’t leave me.

I'm scared of what I feel for you.

When he stopped outside your apartment, you knew it would be a goodbye. You slid off the bike, legs shaky from the ride as you clutched his hoodie around your body, twisting it.

You wanted to speak, to beg for him to stay, to explain the ache in your chest, but the words were caught in your throat, stopped by your fear and longing for the man who turned your world upside down.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense, as his hands fisted, trying to hold himself back, jaw clenched, and for a moment you thought he’d kiss you, claim you right here under the stars, and your lips parted with shaky breaths.

But he didn’t.

“Go inside,” he said, voice heavy with anger and something close to hurt.

“now.”

He didn’t trust himself around you. If you stood there for another moment looking at him like that with those needy glistening eyes of yours, he wouldn't be able to blame himself for the animal he’d be.

You nodded, heart pounding, and rushed to your door, a smile tugging at your lips despite the ache in your chest.

You glanced back as you unlocked your door, but he was already turning his bike, about to leave, not being able to bear your presence for a single second without claiming you.

You entered inside, locked the door, leaning against it.

Cheeks flushed, and chest heaving as your eyes were still brimming with the memory of one of the best moments of your life, of the haven he created for you.

He wasn’t aware of it, but he healed the little girl in you without realizing it; he completed the dreams of you that you thought were fantasies only.

He mended something he didn’t break in the first place.

۶ৎ

You were in your bedroom, hunched over your notes, hair in a messy bun as you focused on studying. The world outside was a distant hum, but it was not what unraveled you—it was the presence you felt.

jungkook was here again, somewhere in the shadows as always, his gaze burning your skin, making your heart stutter.

You hated this, hated him, hated how he would give you everything one moment, give you all the happiness in the world, and in the next moment just disappear.

Just like that.

He stayed away, tormenting you, torturing you with his stalking, never giving the satisfaction of making himself visible, complicating everything.

So, you continued focusing on your studies, trying to write, but you couldn’t focus no matter what, senses attracted to him on their own, to the man who’d become your obsession as well.

He’d been watching you for days, his presence always there, but tonight it felt different—sharper, hungrier, almost like he was tired of constantly holding back and hiding in the shadows, just like you.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you tried to focus on your medical book, but your mind kept drifting back to him—his dark eyes, his tattooed skin, and the way his touch had set your body on fire.

You hated how he always consumed you, couldn’t pull him away, body always betrayed you at every thought of him, a constant ache in your core with a need you couldn’t suppress.

jungkook stood in the corner of your room, hidden in the darkness. His jaw tightened as he looked at you, drinking in your features and curves, the way the skirt you wore while studying outlined the shape of your ass.

You looked so damn sexy to him even when you were doing something as innocent as studying.

His cock hard and angry, the ache constant and always there, but tonight it was more than a desire as he watched you shift in your study chair.

He was filled with rage, burning in an uncontrollable anger at how you’d taken his soul in your little grasp, how you’d made him weak.

He’d watched you shower earlier, the door carelessly left ajar, your body a feast for his eyes under the water.

The glass was fogged, but he could see every curve—your full breasts bouncing as you moved, nipples hard and begging for his mouth, plump ass jiggling as you focused on rinsing your hair.

The soap suds slide down your body in a slow, intimate way that made him almost angry at how they were allowed to caress you, and he wasn’t.

The scent of your shampoo that he was familiar with filled the bathroom, along with the smell of your skin, and his eyes were dazed.

You’d been so innocent, so unaware as you hummed softly and washed your body, fingers trailing down your body sensually, and he wanted to press you against the tiles and fuck that tight cunt of yours while he watched your wet body bounce in front of his hungry eyes, your cries echoing in the bathroom.

You would beg for mercy, for a break from his fucks, but no one would be able to save you in this locked space, and he would ruin you completely.

He even killed a man afterwards, wanting to let out his rage on something, and it barely did anything for the release he craved.

Now, as you bent over to clean the kitchen floor, your little skirt rode up, exposing the curve of your plump thighs, along with your panties, the lace clinging to your ass.

The flimsy material doing nothing to cover your folds, it needs to slip a bit for him to see the entirety of your cunt fully.

The sight was fueling his anger even more, and that was it; he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He moved like a beast about to consume you, his steps silent on the floor. Before you could strengthen, he was on you in an instant, hard body pressing you against the wall, hands caging you.

A scream ripped from your throat at the scare of his sudden presence; his scent overwhelmed you. Your body trembled as his hips pinned you against the wall, your hands gripping the wall, trying to steady yourself, his erection hard against your lower back.

“jungkook.” you whispered, voice breathy with a mix of fear and need.

Your nails dug into the wall, heart wildly thrumming.

Before you could react, he pulled you to him harshly, kissing you with a hunger and roughness, a cry leaves your mouth from the pain of his bruising kiss and the shock.

He tasted of smoke and whiskey, his teeth grazed your bottom lip enough to draw blood, and you whimpered, fisting his shirt.

His hands roamed all over your body unrestrained, barely giving you a moment to breathe or think as he roughly felt you up all over, groping you in places.

One hand slides up your side cupping your breast, thumb brushing your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, making it harden instantly. The other hand gripped your hip, fingers digging enough to leave bruises that’d stay for days, and he heaved it up around his waist, making you cling to him.

Your body melted into his despite the shock and fear of his presence and the knowledge that this was wrong, faded at the back of your mind.

He pulled back, eyes burning with desire and anger.

“Why the fuck do you do this to me, huh?” he roared in your face.

“You’re in my head every fucking second, tearing me apart! I can't think, I can't breathe and it's all your damn fault! I want to kill you and then end myself to make it all stop!”

You trembled, tears streaming down your face at his anger and words, cheeks flushed with heat. His words were tearing your heart apart, but your body responded to him, clit palpitating like your heartbeat.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, shaking.

“I didn’t want you to—”

“Shut up!” he snarled as his hand slammed against the wall beside your head, making you jump as your eyes widened, more tears spilling over.

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re a fucking drug I can’t quit, and I hate you for it. I hate how you make me weak, how you make me want to burn the world to keep you.”

You didn’t look away, feeling frightened but gaining a bit of strength to talk back to the criminal.

“Then why are you here?” you croaked.

“If you hate me so much, why don’t you just leave?”

He laughed bitterly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Because I can’t,” he growled, breath hot against your cheek.

“You’re mine, petal, whether you like it or not, and I’m going to ruin you right now.” he murmured.

Before you could respond, he tore at your clothes hands rough and impatient as your shirt and skirt fell on the floor along with your bra panty, the rip loud in the quiet room, a sob of shock left you.

You instinctively went to cover your exposed breasts, but he was quick to grab your wrists, pinning them over your head with one hand, iron like grip.

Your breasts bounced free for him, heavy and full, nipples hard and aching, begging for attention. He stared at them, his eyes dark as a growl rumbled in his chest.

“Look at you.” he murmured, free hand cupping your breast, thumb rolling your nipples until you arched, a soft moan leaving your lips.

“Always teasing me, these perfect fucking tits, always hard, always begging for my mouth. You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

His dirty words made you writhe, tears welling with shame.

He lowered his head, lips finally closing around your nipple, tongue swirling hot and wet, teeth grazed your peak slightly and you sobbed out, head falling against the wall, thighs pressing together.

He sucked harder, hand kneading and flicking the nipple of the other breast, making sure it got the same attention. His finger pinched your nipple, making you squirm, trapped in his grip, having nowhere to go from his torment.

Your moans were loud and desperate as you trembled, his hand keeping your wrists pinned.

“jungkook, please,” you whined.

Pussy so wet you could feel it drip down your thighs. Your own desperation shocked you, but you couldn’t stop your body from craving him, mind feeling hazy.

He released your nipple with a wet pop, releasing your wrists and you instantly clung to him, gripping his hair to ground yourself as he slowly knelt before you.

Leaving kisses all over your collarbone, cleavage, soon reaching your stomach, breath hot against your skin

His knees hit the floor as he knelt just like that night, and without wasting any second, he spread your thighs, eyes locked on your pussy, clit swollen and twitching.

He drinks you up like a starved man even though he saw you exposed before, but it will never be enough to satiate his wild need.

“Fuck, you’re soaked, baby,” he growled, fingers brushing your inner thigh close to where you needed him the most.

“All for me, huh? My innocent little petal dripping like a slut.”

You gasped, cheeks burning with humiliation as your hands struggled in his tight grip, “Stop it,” you uttered weakly, “I’m not… I didn’t”

He ignored you, fingers sliding through your folds, exploring you, collecting your slick.

“Mhmm, gosh.” you gasped, hips bucking at the sensation, pussy clenching around nothing, and he looked up at you, eyes dark and predatory.

“I saw you,” he said voice low and dangerous.

“Fucking yourself with my rose, moaning my name like a needy little whore. You think I didn’t know? you think I didn’t see how much you wanted me?”

Your face burned in shame as tears fell faster, your stomach twisting.

“I didn’t mean to.” you sobbed, trying to push him away, your hands weak on his shoulders.

“I was just ahh—”

He plunged two fingers inside you, cutting off your words, your pussy stretching around him, the penetration sudden and intense for you.

You cried loudly, back arching, your walls clenching around his thick fingers; the sensation was a mix of pain and pleasure.

He curled his fingers, hitting that spot inside you, thumb circling your clit relentlessly until you were moaning, hips grinding on his fingers, riding them, your body out of your control.

“Damn it, you’re tight,” he grunts, eyes locked on your face, watching every gasp and tremble of yours.

“So fucking pure, and yet you’re here taking my fingers like you were made for it.”

You sobbed, moans loud and broken, hips rocking faster despite your attempts to stop, “jungkook, oh god… please,” you begged, bare breasts heaving, glistening with sweat and his saliva.

“It’s too much, I can’t—”

He added a third finger, not paying any attention to your words or begs, as he took you the way he wanted. Your pussy was burning now with the fullness, something you have never felt in your virgin core, it felt like you were stretched at your very limit.

You screamed, body shaking, walls fluttering on his fingers, your slick coating his hand fully. “That’s it, you can do it.” he coaxed, fingers thrusting faster and hurried on your clit.

“You will. You’re mine, petal, and I’m going to make you feel it.” he snarled.

You saw white as your climax built faster than you could imagine, taking your breath away. You tried to push him away again, hands weak and tears falling, your hips moved on their own, chasing the release only he could provide.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccupped, voice breaking, “I… I didn’t mean to make you angry, I just—”

“Stop fucking apologizing.” he said angrily, fingers curled harder, thrusts almost brutal as you were full-on crying behind your hands now, drool trickling down the side of your mouth.

“You don’t get to be sorry. You don’t get to make me like this and then act like it’s nothing. You're driving me insane, and I hate you for it!”

Your climax hit at his words, an explosion that stole your breath, “jungkook, jungkook!” you rambled his name and squirted, pussy spasming.

Your cum soaked his hand as he helped you with the aftershocks, thighs trembling, throat aching from all the screams.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, pussy clenching around nothing, the loss making you whimper. He pulled you close to him, letting your boneless body rest on his chest as you looked at him with dazed eyes.

He brought his cum-soaked fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, your taste enough to make him orgasm with no touch or anything at all, your sweetness better than anything in this world or even comparable to heaven.

“So fucking sweet.” he hummed.

You panted, tears staining your cheeks, body exposed and vulnerable.

He stood, hands gripping your hips, lifting you until you were straddling him, your weak legs supported by him, the harshness of his jeans against your sensitive cunt made you gasp.

His hands roamed your body possessively, groping your tits once again and pulling your already hurting nipples, achy from his teeth earlier. He can never get enough of you; even if he spent days touching you, he could never have enough.

You huffed, body trembling with overstimulation, tears prickling your eyes again. He looked at your essence-soaked bottom, still dripping pussy with release, along with your small, tight ring that clenched under his gaze.

His gaze was so intense, and you felt perverted as he saw all your intimate places, innocence gone just from his stare.

“I’ll fuck you when you beg for it.” he rasped, hands suddenly pushed you off him and onto the bed, you gasped.

You landed onto the bed with a thud, body bouncing as your tears fell. You looked up at him, bottom lip quivering. He stood over you, his erection very much visible against his jeans. He never minded that, always wanting to feast on you and please you, that was better than him getting pleased himself.

“Until then you’ll feel this.”

He said, hand gesturing to your trembling body, achy pussy, and thighs soaked with release.

“You’ll ache for me, and you’ll hate yourself for it.”

He turned, walking away with long strides as the door slammed loudly behind him, the sound making you flinch in the silence.

You lay there naked, body still thrumming with need, heart shattered at his words and how he left you.

You sobbed and hiccupped onto the sheets, gripping onto the it like you were gripping his shirt moments before.

You hated him so much.

The room smelled of him, of you, along with the agony he’d left behind.

You knew deep down that you were his prisoner as much as he was yours and there was no escaping it.

────

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[kakashisacademia]

pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x you | warnings: dry humping, oral (female receiving), fingering, rough sex, Shigaraki turning absolutely deranged

summary; you’re a new member of the league of villains and can’t just stop flirting with Shigaraki until he snaps one day

ೃ⁀➷ Under Your Skin

It’s supposed to be a routine meeting, League business, boring talk, plans she only half understands. She’s new. Unproven. Not exactly trusted yet. But that doesn’t stop her from watching him.

Shigaraki sits slouched in the chair across from her, hoodie up, hand twitching like it’s itching for a throat to grab. His red eyes glow behind blue strands, locked on a cracked screen instead of the people in the room.

And that’s when she does it. Soft. Playful. Out of nowhere.

“You know,” she purrs, leaning her chin on her hand, “you’d be kinda cute if you smiled.”

Silence.

Toga gasps. Compress freezes mid-gesture. Dabi’s cigarette hangs in stunned limbo between his lips.

Shigaraki goes rigid. His head turns. Slowly. His neck cracks.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

She smiles sweetly. “I said you’re cute, boss.”

A twitch. His pinky lifts. Someone in the room moves like they might tackle her. Like she’s one word away from being dust.

But Shigaraki doesn’t disintegrate her. Instead, he stares. Narrow-eyed. Confused. Disarmed.

Because people fear him. Avoid him. Stare at the hand on his face like it might crawl off and strangle them. No one has ever flirted with him.

He doesn’t know if he wants to kill her. Or kiss her until she stops smiling. So he says nothing. Just stands, cracks his neck again, and stalks out of the room.

Everyone turns to look at her.

Toga grins. “You’re so dead.”

She shrugs, still smiling. “I think I made an impression.”

Day 17:

She leans over the table during a strategy meeting, licking a bit of sauce from her thumb. Her tongue’s slow. Innocent. Totally unaware of the way Shigaraki’s eye twitches.

“You’re staring again, boss,” she murmurs with a grin. “You want a taste?”

He jerks. Nearly drops his controller. Dabi actually snorts.

Shigaraki doesn’t answer. He never does. Just glares, mutters something about her being a pest, and stalks off to pace with his hands shoved in his pockets.

But what no one sees and what he doesn’t even realize is that later, when he’s alone in his room, his fingers hover over his lips like maybe he should’ve said something back.

Day 29:

She sits next to him on the old couch. Close enough that her thigh brushes his. She doesn’t pull away.

“God,” she sighs, stretching her arms above her head, breasts rising under that tight little shirt. “These meetings would be so boring without something pretty to look at.”

“Stop,” he snaps.

She grins. “Stop what?”

“That.” His hand twitches. “That… thing you do.”

“Flirting?”

“It’s fucking annoying.”

“Then why don’t you leave?”

He doesn’t answer. Because he can’t.

Day 35:

He thinks about her voice when she’s not around. Hears her teasing in the shower. On missions. In his sleep.

He can’t figure it out why it bothers him so much. Why he keeps staring. Why he hasn’t decayed her into dust.

And when she walks into the room in a too-short skirt and winks right at him? He flinches like she’s stabbed him. But still… he doesn’t move.

Just sits there, glaring with his cheeks pink, the hand on his neck twitching like it wants to do something, but doesn’t know what.

It’s past midnight and the bar is quiet. Empty except for the low hum of neon and the sound of ice clinking in a glass. She’s behind the counter, casually wiping it down in one of her little tops, bare legs stretched out on the stool.

She thinks she’s alone. Until she hears boots. Her head lifts. Shigaraki stands in the doorway with his hood up, red eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

She smiles. “Couldn’t sleep, boss?”

He says nothing. Just walks in slow, like a lion stalking prey. Like his body’s tight with something he doesn’t know how to name.

She turns her back to him, reaching for another glass to clean. “Drink?”

“You think I don’t notice,” he rasps.

She pauses. “…Notice what?”

“That thing you do.”

She turns, one brow raised. “Flirting?”

His jaw clenches. “You’re not subtle. You say shit to me like I’m not the guy who could turn you to dust in a second.”

“But you don’t.”

He’s in front of her now. Close. Too close. Backlit by the bar lights, hoodie shadowing his face, eyes locked on her like a weapon.

“Why?” he growls.

She blinks up at him, heart stuttering. “Why what?”

“Why do you do it?” His voice is rough, uneven. “Why do you keep saying that shit to me like I’m worth it? Like I’m someone you’d want to-”

“To kiss?” she offers sweetly, stepping forward. “To touch?”

His breath hitches.

“I just like watching you squirm, Tomura.” Her voice is soft. Almost innocent. But it burns something in him.

“I hate it,” he whispers. But his hands stay at his sides. “I fucking hate how it makes me feel.”

“And how does it make you feel?”

He doesn’t answer. Because the answer is dangerous. It’s foreign. It’s a slow, sick obsession that’s crawling beneath his skin like a curse.

He stares at her, glaring, twitching, fuming, but not moving. And then she does it. She reaches out, fingers barely brushing the front of his hoodie. Not touching skin. Not breaking rules. Just enough to feel the heat.

“Maybe,” she says, soft, “you don’t hate it as much as you pretend.”

He grabs her wrist. Not with all five fingers. Not with the intent to hurt. Just holds her there, trembling slightly, eyes dark and wide like he doesn’t know what to do next.

“…You’re insane,” he rasps.

She smiles. “Takes one to know one, boss.”

The next day she doesn’t flirt. She says good morning to Dabi. Ruffles Toga’s hair. Takes her place at the meeting without so much as a wink or tease.

And Shigaraki notices immediately. His eye twitches. No little comments. No biting lip. No licking fingers while she looks at him.

It shouldn’t bother him. It shouldn’t. But it does.

By lunch, he’s pacing the halls like a fucking animal and later that night he finds her in the storage room. Alone. Restocking drinks.

She doesn’t react when he opens the door, just glances at him, bored, then turns back to stacking.

“Don’t ignore me,” he says sharply.

She hums. “I’m not.”

“You are. You haven’t said a word to me all day.”

She shrugs. “You said you hated it. I’m just respecting your boundaries, Tomura.”

His name on her lips sounds like silk over a knife. His hands twitch at his sides.

“You did it on purpose,” he grits out.

“Did what?”

“Pulled away. Just to mess with me.”

She finally turns, a teasing smile on her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “And if I did?” she says quietly. “What are you gonna do about it, boss?”

He’s on her in an instant. Not touching her, not breaking skin, but crowding her. Cornering her between the shelves, breathing heavy, trembling with rage and something hotter.

“You don’t get to crawl into my fucking head and vanish,” he growls.

“Oh,” she whispers, tilting her head. “So I got in there?”

His mouth opens. Closes. He doesn’t know what to say. Because yes. She’s there. Always there. On his mind, in his dreams, in every heated breath he takes alone at night. And all she had to do was smile.

“You’re a virus,” he says. “You’re fucking toxic.”

Her breath catches and she looks at him like she wants to be. “Then maybe you should destroy me, Tomura.”

He flinches. Looks at his hand. Four fingers curl. But the fifth never lifts.

A few days later he finds her laughing. Not with him, of course. With Dabi. Some offhand joke, something stupid. Her head tilts back, lips curled, eyes sparkling.

And Shigaraki watches from the shadows, jaw clenched so tight it cracks. He doesn’t even like talking to people. Barely tolerates existing near them, but her laugh? Her attention? He wants it. He wants all of it.

And now she’s giving it to someone else. He snaps.

She barely makes it to her room before he’s behind her. She opens the door, steps inside and then there he is, slamming it shut behind him, hand flat on the wood, body buzzing.

“Tomura?” she says, breathless, surprised. “What are you-?”

“Don’t say my name like that,” he snaps. “Like it’s yours to play with.”

She blinks. “Are you okay?”

“No. No, I’m not okay,” he growls, stalking forward. “You… you did something to me.”

“I haven’t touched you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

And then he has her. Pinned to the wall, his hands not touching her skin, hovering and trembling, but his body crowding hers, breath hot and ragged.

“You made me want,” he rasps. “You made me fucking need.”

She swallows hard. “Then take it.”

He stares. And leans in close enough to kiss her, to taste her, to feel her heart pounding through the heat between them. But he doesn’t.

He stops with his lips barely brushing hers and snarls, “You don’t want me.”

She exhales. “Tomura-”

“I’m ruin. I destroy everything I touch. And you,” his voice cracks. “You’re not supposed to want that.”

Silence. Then her fingers rise softly and careful, settling against his jaw.

“I do,” she whispers. “I want you.”

He shudders. And then he kisses her. It’s not soft. It’s not practiced. It’s clumsy and brutal and raw. But it’s real.

And when he pulls back, panting, hands still hovering like he’s terrified to ruin her, she just smiles and says, “Took you long enough.”

She pulls him back in. After that first kiss, which was messy, breathless, dangerous, her hands curl in his hoodie, dragging him forward like she owns him.

Shigaraki doesn’t think. He doesn’t speak. He crashes into her with hismouth on hers, bodies pressed together, grinding, grinding, grinding. His hoodie hangs open. Her tank top is slipping. The air between them is wet and hot and full of desperation.

She whimpers against his mouth when he ruts against her thigh, and his entire body twitches.

“Fuck,” he pants, head falling to her shoulder. “I can’t… I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

“You’re doing perfect,” she breathes, dragging her fingers down his back, pulling him in tighter. “You’re so good, Tomura.”

His name sounds holy on her tongue. He ruts again. Harsher this time. Needier. His cock is rock-hard, trapped in his pants, and he’s grinding into her like he has to.

“Say it again,” he pants. “Say I’m good… say I’m yours.”

She kisses him again, deeper, and rolls her hips, her own clothed heat dragging over his thigh. And when she moans? He nearly dies.

They’ve stumbled there in a frenzy, shedding only enough to make it worse. She’s on his lap now, straddling him. His hoodie’s open, her panties soaked through, and he’s grinding up into her like a feral thing.

His head drops back, hair a mess, lips parted, panting her name between curses.

“I should stop,” he rasps. “You… you should be scared of me.”

She kisses under his jaw. “I’m not.”

“You should be.” His fingers dig into the mattress, twitching. “I could break you.”

“You already are,” she whispers. “I want you to.”

And that’s it. He snaps his hips up so hard they both moan, and now they’re dry humping like they’re going to die from it. Filthy, desperate, clothed, but it’s not enough.

His teeth graze her neck. His voice is ragged. “Let me fuck you. Say it. Beg me.”

She whimpers, but she’s too far gone to tease. She nods. Breathless. “Yes. Yes, please, I need it.”

But he doesn’t give it to her. Not yet. He grabs her hips and holds her there, grinding so slow and hard she screams.

“Not yet,” he rasps. “Not until you’re crying for it.”

She’s whimpering, grinding against him, soaked through her panties. And Shigaraki, once twitching and unsure, is now smirking. Barely. But it’s there.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice gravel and smoke. “You started all this. And now you can’t even breathe without me.”

Her fingers claw at his shoulders. “Tomura, please.”

He shifts his hips just right, grinding the thick line of his cock against her swollen clit. She gasps.

“You want me?” he huffs against her mouth. “Want me to fuck you like a villain?”

She nods fast, frantic, but he grabs her jaw and makes her say it. “Use your words.”

She stutters, “I… I want you to fuck me like a villain. I want it so bad.”

And fuck, he should be unraveling at this. Because he’s never touched anyone. Never kissed anyone. This? It’s his first.

But watching her fall apart under him, watching her lose to her own teasing, it’s lighting something mean in him. Something dangerous.

His hand slips between her legs, over soaked lace, two fingers pressing right there. She cries out. He just smirks again.

“Shouldn’t have flirted with me if you didn’t want to be ruined.”

She can barely speak. Her head falls back, mouth open. And Shigaraki who’s panting, desperate, hard as fuck, leans in and whispers, “Next time, maybe I’ll actually take these off.”

He drags his fingers, slow, up the crotch of her panties and pulls them aside to expose her sweet cunt. He still doesn’t fuck her. He slides two fingers along her folds, just enough to coat them in slick, and then shoves them in his mouth.

His tongue licks them clean. His eyes don’t leave hers. She shatters. She’s trembling. Naked now.

Shigaraki’s peeled her clothes away with the slow, brutal care of someone unwrapping something precious. Like he’s afraid she’ll disappear, but also wants to devour her.

She’s spread out for him. Every inch bared. Skin flushed, thighs trembling, her core soaked and aching.

And him? He’s still fully clothed. Kneeling between her legs, eyes wild with something twisted. Something sharp. Something so not human.

He leans in. His voice low, teeth gritted, barely holding on, “You think this is love, girl?”

She gasps as his breath ghosts over her inner thigh.

“This isn’t love,” he growls. “This is so much darker.”

He kisses her there and then grabs her thighs and spreads her wide.

“I’m going to drag you into the deepest pits of hell,” he snarls. “And you’re going to thank me for it.”

Her breath stutters. “Tomura…”

“No,” he bites. “Not anymore. You don’t get to say my name like that.”

His fingers curl under her knees, lifting her hips off the bed, tilting her open like a feast laid bare.

“You flirted with a monster,” he rasps. “Now you’re gonna be eaten by one.”

And then he descends. It’s not soft.

His mouth is ravenous. Tongue everywhere, messy and slick and feral. Growling into her folds like he wants to mark her from the inside out. Her fingers claw the sheets. Her cries are shattered.

And Shigaraki? He’s fucking gone. Drunk on her taste. Addicted to the way she writhes. Deranged with the fact that she let him in, let him have her.

He pulls back for a breath with his lips wet, eyes wild and snarls, “Beg for it again.”

She’s barely coherent. “Please, Tomura, I- I need you.”

His fingers replace his mouth, fucking into her slow and mean. His voice is pure gravel.

“No, girl. Not need. Say you belong to me.”

Her breath catches. Her thighs try to close. He spreads them wider.

“Say it.”

“I…” She gasps. “I belong to you!”

And that’s when he breaks. He rips his clothes off, cock slapping heavy against his stomach, and climbs over her, panting, pupils blown wide. His tip presses to her entrance.

“You wanted obsessed?” he growls. “You wanted me?” He thrusts deeply and to the hilt. “Then you’re never leaving. Never.”

He fucks her like she’s oxygen. Hard, fast, mean with the desperation of someone who’s sure she’ll disappear if he doesn’t burn her into his skin.

Her cries bounce off the walls, gasping and wet with need, and Shigaraki’s right there above her, panting into her mouth, his teeth grazing her jaw.

But what really breaks her? It isn’t his cock driving into her, or the brutal snap of his hips.

It’s his hands. Because he starts touching her like he’s forgotten the world burns under his fingers.

All five. Not just four.

Not for decay. Not enough for it. Just the lightest brushes of his fifth finger. Just enough to scratch. To break her skin a bit. Her ribs. Her collarbone. The underside of her breast.

Thin red lines bloom under his touch, faint and stinging, but intentional. Marked. His.

She arches up in shock, gasping.

But he grabs her throat with four fingers, lips brushing hers, and says low, “Don’t move. Take it.”

And she does. Because every place he traces, just a flick of that cursed fifth finger feels like lightning in her veins. Like she’s not just being claimed, no, she’s being ruined.

“Pretty little body,” he growls, dragging his nails down her side. “All mine now. You started this. You flirted with a fucking monster.”

He slams back in, and her scream chokes off.

“And now you’re gonna live with me inside you. Forever.”

He bites. Neck, shoulder, breast. He marks her in every way he can.

And when she’s shaking, tears in her eyes, whispering, “Please, I can’t…I’m gonna come.”

He laughs, low and cruel. “You’re not coming till I say. You belong to me now. You come when I let you.”

She’s a mess. Tears in her eyes. Slick running down her thighs. Her voice is wrecked from crying out his name, again and again. But he still hasn’t let her come.

He’s everywhere. Inside her, on her, whispering filth in her ear and scratching her skin with the softest, cruelest touch of his pinky finger, leaving angry little red trails behind.

“Look at you,” he snarls, one hand wrapped tight around her throat as he fucks her deeper into the mattress. “You’re falling apart for me.”

His pace is brutal now, punishing even, but he doesn’t break rhythm. Doesn’t let up. Just keeps pounding into her like he wants to imprint himself on the shape of her body.

Her hands claw at his back. Her hips stutter. She sobs, “Please Tomura… please, I need to- I need to come.”

And that’s when he pins her down. Both wrists over her head, one hand holding her throat. His hips grind hard, slow now, cock buried so deep it feels like he’s never going to leave.

And his voice? It’s low. Shaky. Possessed.

“You don’t come until I say.” He dips his head to her ear. His breath is hot and ragged. “You wanna come? You wanna fall apart?”

She nods frantically, tears slipping from her lashes.

“Then say it,” he growls. “Say you belong to me.”

“I- I do,” she gasps. “I belong to you, I do.”

He licks a slow stripe along her throat. Then fucks her so deep she screams.

“Come,” he orders, voice deadly quiet. “Now.”

And she does. Violent. Shaking. Moaning so loud she chokes on it. Her body spasms under him, clenches so hard around his cock he nearly collapses on top of her.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let her breathe. Just keeps thrusting, grinding against her clit until she’s sobbing from the overstimulation, and still taking it.

“You’re mine now,” he pants, eyes deranged. “Fucking mine. You feel that? That’s what you get for flirting with a villain.”

She’s limp beneath him. Tears drying on her cheeks. Chest rising and falling in little stutters. Her whole body’s twitching from overstimulation, but she took it all.

She let him destroy her. And now?

He’s trembling above her, growling through clenched teeth as he thrusts in one final time and spills himself deep.

His hips stutter. His breath catches. And he breaks.

“Fucking- fuck,” he chokes, face buried in her neck.

Not a sound he meant to make. Not a weakness he ever meant to show.

He pulls out slowly, eyes locked on the slick mess between her thighs.

And instead of cleaning up… He spreads her. Fingers her open. And with a filthy little groan, he pushes it back in.

Two fingers, curling deep, eyes glazed with obsession as he watches his cum drip from her, then disappear again beneath his knuckles.

“You’re gonna keep it,” he mutters, voice low and dangerous. “Every drop. You’re mine now.”

She gasps and shivers, but she doesn’t stop him. Because she likes how ruined she is. She chose this.

He doesn’t cuddle after. Doesn’t coo. That’s not who he is. But he lays beside her. Close enough their legs touch. One arm tucked behind his head. And with the hand not covered in his own mess, he reaches over.

Soft fingers in her hair. Tangles and all. Threading slow, lazy strokes through the strands like she’s something precious he can’t admit he wants.

She shifts, barely able to keep her eyes open. “You’re still here?”

He grunts. “Don’t be annoying.”

But his fingers keep moving. Gentle. Careless. Addicted.

He doesn’t say he likes her. Doesn’t say she’s special. But the way he touches her quietly and trembling, like he’s afraid she’ll vanish?

That says everything.

[norrisradio]

REDLINE

⚡︎ PAIRING: lando norris x drag racer! reader ⚡︎ WC: 5K ⚡︎ RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  sports car, tate mcrae • fast lane, bad meets evil • earned it, the weeknd • the hills, the weeknd • partition, beyonce • swim, chase atlantic • into you, ariana grande • all mine, brent faiyaz • come thru, summer walker & usher • kiss it better, rihanna ⚡︎ INCOMING RADIO: mannnn this was supposed to be a 1K drabble | also max fewtrell makes an appearance | thank you thank you @haologram for crossing fandom lines to beta this for me lol

⚡︎ SUMMARY: "You drive like you’ve got something to prove.” // "And you look like you’ve got something to lose."

Lando already knows he’s going to hate this.

The underground racing scene isn’t his thing. He’s spent his whole career perfecting precision, shaving milliseconds off his lap times, pushing his car to the absolute limit within the rules. 

This? This is chaos. The air smells like burnt rubber and cheap gasoline, headlights casting sharp shadows across the cracked pavement. Too much noise, too many people trying way too hard to look cool, and Max is grinning like an idiot because he loves this shit.

“Tell me this isn’t sick,” Max says, practically bouncing on his feet as he takes in the scene.

Lando scoffs, shifting his weight against some random car, arms crossed. “This is something, alright.”

Max elbows him. “C’mon, mate. Live a little.”

“I do live. I just prefer my races with less cigarette smoke and, y’know, rules.” Lando gestures vaguely to the chaos around them. Some guy in a hoodie is revving his engine like it’ll make his car faster. Someone else is already getting into a screaming match over a bet. It’s all so—

Then he hears it.

Not the shouting, not the music blasting from someone’s half-broken speaker—this cuts through all of it. A low, aggressive growl of an engine, shifting into a sharp screech as tires fight for grip against the pavement. 

The kind of entrance that makes everyone turn their heads.

Lando feels it in his chest before he sees it.

The car whips into the lot like it owns the place, sliding to a stop in one perfect, controlled motion. The scent of burned rubber lingers in the air as the headlights cut through the crowd, casting sharp, fleeting silhouettes before they shut off.

And then the driver steps out.

You move like you belong here, like the entire night revolves around you. Fireproof gloves tugged off finger by finger, jacket unzipped just enough to reveal the glint of a chain at your throat. There’s a confidence in the way you walk—calculated, effortless, like you already know you’re the fastest person here.

Lando straightens up before he even realizes he’s doing it.

Max catches it immediately. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, mate.”

Lando swallows. No—he’s seen something much more dangerous.

The night feels different now. The air still hums with conversation, music thumping in the background, but Lando barely hears any of it. His world narrows to the sound of your boots against the pavement, the faint scent of fuel and heat trailing behind you as you pass.

Max is saying something, probably chirping at him for looking interested for once, but Lando ignores him.

You toss your gloves through the open window of your car, barely sparing the gawking crowd a glance. Someone claps you on the back in greeting, another shoves a wad of cash into your hands—winnings, no doubt. You take it all in stride, movements smooth, practiced.

Lando has seen confidence before. It’s in the way Lewis carries himself in a press conference, in the set of Max Verstappen’s jaw before a race. But this—this is different. It’s not posturing, not bravado for the sake of a camera.

It’s knowing, certainty.

Then, just as easily as you arrived, your attention shifts. Your eyes flick across the lot, landing on him like you had already known he was there.

Lando doesn’t look away.

Your mouth curls, amusement flickering across your face. You don’t say anything—don’t need to. There’s a challenge in your gaze, a silent, well?

Max nudges him. “You’re staring.”

Lando exhales through his nose. He pushes off the car, tilting his head slightly, meeting your challenge head-on. “Yeah?” he mutters, just loud enough for Max to hear.

“Yeah,” Max confirms, grinning. “And I think she just clocked you as a rich boy who doesn’t belong here.”

Lando rolls his eyes but keeps his gaze locked on you.

You smirk, like you heard every word. Then, without a second glance, you turn away, walking toward a cluster of racers by the starting line. Someone hands you a drink, another shouts something about a rematch, and just like that, you’re gone.

Lando feels something settle low in his stomach. Not quite annoyance, not quite intrigue—something in between.

Max claps him on the back. “Told you this was sick.”

Lando doesn’t answer. He’s already moving, drawn in before he can stop himself.

The crowd swallows you up, but Lando doesn’t lose sight of you. You move with purpose, cutting through clusters of people with ease, exchanging nods and half-smirks like you own the place. Someone tries to throw an arm around your shoulders—some guy in a too-tight jacket, riding the high of a recent win—but you sidestep him smoothly, barely sparing him a glance.

Max is still talking beside Lando, but it’s just noise now.

The engine of your car still ticks with heat, the scent of burned rubber sharp in the cool night air. Up close, the machine is a beast—low-slung, built for speed, every inch of it tuned for performance. Lando recognizes the modifications immediately. Whoever built this knew what they were doing.

Another race is forming, drivers lining up, engines roaring to life. Someone leans into your space, gesturing toward the starting line, voice eager—challenging. You tilt your head, considering, and Lando catches the quick flick of your fingers against the side of your car—absent, instinctive, like checking the pulse of a living thing.

Then, just as you look up, your eyes catch his again.

This time, you don’t just smirk. You look at him.

Lando lifts his chin slightly, closing the space between you with a few easy steps. He’s aware of the weight of eyes on him, the way a few people glance between you like they’re already anticipating something. He’s the outsider here—money, privilege, rules.

But speed is speed. And if there’s one thing Lando Norris knows, it’s how to race.

"You drive like you’ve got something to prove," he says, voice just loud enough to carry over the rumble of engines.

Your smirk deepens, slow and sharp. "And you look like you’ve got something to lose."

A flicker of something hot sparks in his chest. "Wanna find out?"

It’s reckless. Stupid. He doesn’t even have a car here—his McLaren is miles away from this cracked asphalt, from these makeshift start lines. But none of that seems to matter when you step in closer, tilting your head just enough for the streetlights to catch in your eyes.

"You any good?" you ask, low, almost teasing.

Lando huffs a quiet laugh. "I guess you’ll have to find out."

Max’s car is a piece of shit.

Lando realizes this the second he slides behind the wheel, adjusting to the low-slung seat, the stiff clutch, the god-awful steering. It’s not that it’s bad—Max has clearly thrown a stupid amount of money into tuning it—but it’s nothing like what Lando is used to. The weight distribution is off, the gearbox isn’t nearly as tight as it should be, and the brakes? Terrible.

He flexes his fingers against the wheel, rolling his shoulders. It’ll have to do.

Across the lot, you lean against your car, arms crossed, watching him with an expression that says you’re already picturing his loss.

Lando sets his jaw.

Someone shouts, "Bets in! You know the drill!"

Money changes hands fast. There’s no doubt where the majority of the bets are going—you, the undefeated, the local legend. Max, the bastard, doesn’t even hesitate before handing over a few bills against Lando.

"You’re actually the worst, you dick," Lando mutters.

Max grins, slapping the roof of the car. "Love you, mate. Don’t die."

Lando exhales hard, focusing on the street ahead. The makeshift track is barely marked—just a stretch of cracked pavement, a sharp corner past the old warehouse, and a long straight where the finish line is drawn in neon chalk. Simple.

Someone stands between the two cars, arms raised.

Lando grips the wheel tighter.

You rev your engine once. A sharp, cocky sound.

Lando’s pulse kicks up. He should win this. He’s an F1 driver. Speed is in his blood, his muscles, his bones. He can read a car better than anyone here—feel the road, sense the grip, anticipate every slide before it happens.

The starter’s arms drop.

Lando slams the gas.

The tires screech, struggling for grip. For half a second, the car stutters before it launches forward, and Lando immediately feels the difference. It’s not the precise, weightless acceleration of a single-seater. It’s rougher, heavier—less forgiving.

But he adjusts fast.

First gear. Second. He watches the revs, the way the car shudders slightly at the shift. Max’s tuning is decent, but Lando has to fight it, keeping the car straight as he pushes through the first stretch.

Then he glances to his left—and you’re gone.

No, not gone. Ahead.

His stomach twists.

You’re already taking the first turn, and fuck, you’re fast. Not just in speed, but in reaction—the way you throw the car into the curve without hesitation, without a hint of fear. Lando should be gaining, but your car barely loses momentum as you swing around the corner, back tires skimming the edge of the line.

Lando grits his teeth and follows.

The back end of Max’s car wobbles slightly as he pushes it harder, forcing the tires to grip through the turn. It’s recoverable, but it costs him time. Precious milliseconds.

You don’t make mistakes.

Halfway through the lap, Lando knows he’s losing.

He’s not slow—he’s never slow—but he’s playing catch-up, watching the way you control the car like it’s a living thing. Every movement is effortless, a perfect balance between aggression and calculation. You brake just enough, accelerate at the exact right moment. There’s no wasted motion, no second-guessing.

Lando has never lost a race like this before.

On the final straight, he pushes harder, shifts faster, coaxes every ounce of speed out of the car. The finish line rushes closer, and for a brief, wild second, he thinks maybe—

But you’re already there.

You cross first, smooth and decisive, engine growling in victory as you ease off the throttle.

Lando slams the brakes harder than necessary. The car skids slightly before stopping. His pulse is roaring.

The crowd erupts. Cheers, laughter, money exchanging hands. Someone claps him on the back, but he barely feels it, still gripping the wheel too tightly.

Then you step out of your car, pulling your gloves off finger by finger. You don’t even look winded.

Lando exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before climbing out. The night air is cool against his skin, but he still feels overheated, heart hammering against his ribs.

You approach slowly, amusement flickering in your eyes.

"Not bad, rich boy," you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear. "Maybe next time you’ll actually keep up."

Lando scoffs, shaking his head. He should be annoyed, frustrated, pissed, but instead—

He grins. "Next time," he echoes. "You better watch your back."

You tilt your head, considering. Then, with a smirk, you toss something toward him.

He catches it without thinking.

Your gloves.

His fingers tighten around the worn leather as you turn away, disappearing back into the crowd.

Max appears beside him, whistling low. "Well, that was humbling."

Lando lets out a breath, still staring at the spot where you stood.

Yeah.

And he’s definitely coming back.

The following month, Max barely gets a word out before Lando’s already moving.

"—the race," Max starts, grinning like he already knows the answer.

Lando doesn’t hesitate - grabbing his keys, shrugging into a jacket, barely listening to whatever chirpy remark Max throws his way.

"This time," he says, twisting the McLaren fob between his fingers, "we’re taking my car."

Max hoots, half-laughing as they step out into the night. "That’s what I like to hear! Rich boy’s got a grudge."

Lando doesn’t respond. He just flicks open the door, slides into the driver’s seat, and starts the engine.

This time, he’s coming to win.

Max barely has time to park before Lando’s door swings open. The hum of the engine hasn’t even settled when he steps out, shoulders loose, expression unreadable—but there’s an edge to him tonight. Something sharper.

The underground lot is exactly the same. Same flashing lights, same heavy bass thumping through cheap speakers, same mix of cigarette smoke and burnt rubber lingering in the air. But Lando feels different.

Last time, he was just an outsider, an F1 driver slumming it for a night. This time, he’s here for you.

The moment he steps out of the McLaren, people notice. Conversations dip, eyes flick his way, nudging and murmuring. They remember. The rich boy who lost. The one who had no business stepping into your world and thought he could keep up.

Lando doesn’t care. He doesn’t belong here, not really, but he walks like he does, like he’s already claimed his place. 

He scans the crowd, searching—

He spots you before you see him.

You’re leaning against your car, arms draped over the open window, deep in conversation with someone. The streetlights cast a glow over your skin, catching on the curve of your jaw, the glint in your eyes as you laugh at something said just under the roar of an engine revving in the distance.

Your gaze slides over, meeting his like you expected him. And there it is again—that flicker of recognition, the slow curl of your mouth as your gaze drags over him, lingering just a second too long.

Lando smirks.

Your attention shifts downward, toward the car he brought this time.

It’s sleek. Aggressive. Built for this.

When your eyes flick back to his, he catches something new in your expression. Intrigue.

He takes a step closer, watching as you push off the car, unfolding yourself from your stance with the kind of ease that says you already know how this is going to end.

"Didn’t think you’d come back," you say, voice lilting, teasing.

"Didn’t think you’d lose," he counters smoothly.

Your brow lifts, amused. "Lose?"

Lando tilts his head slightly, nodding toward your car. "We both know I wasn’t racing at full capacity last time."

You hum, considering. "So this time," you say, voice lower now, "you’re actually planning on giving me a challenge?"

Lando exhales a quiet laugh. He takes another step forward, close enough to catch the faint scent of fuel and adrenaline clinging to your clothes. "This time," he murmurs, "you’re gonna have to work for it."

A slow smirk tugs at your lips, something almost dangerous flickering in your gaze.

"You in?" he asks.

You lean in, just slightly. "Always."

The way you circle his car is almost predatory.

Lando watches, arms crossed over his chest, as you trail a slow, deliberate path around the McLaren, fingertips grazing the hood, barely-there touches that send something electric down his spine. You’re not just looking—you’re assessing.

"720S," you murmur, half to yourself. "4.0L twin-turbo V8. 710 horsepower. 0 to 60 in 2.8 seconds. Top speed of… what, 212?"

Lando huffs a quiet laugh. "Done your homework, have you?"

You glance up, and that’s when he feels it. The shift.

The streetlights catch the glint in your eyes, something unreadable, something sharp enough to cut.

"No," you say simply.

His breath catches for half a second.

It’s not arrogance. It’s not bluffing. It’s something worse.

You don’t need research. You don’t need specs. You don’t even need to think about it. You just know.

And fuck, if that isn’t the most terrifying and arousing thing he’s ever seen.

"That’s cute, though," you add, stepping back to admire the car from another angle. "Bringing something that might actually stand a chance this time."

Lando exhales, rolling his shoulders back, forcing himself to shake off whatever the hell that was. "I’d be worried about you keeping up, but we both know that won’t be a problem."

Your smirk deepens. "Guess we’ll see, won’t we?"

The crowd thickens as people catch on to what’s happening. The air shifts, charged with something electric, something inevitable.

The last time, Lando didn’t stand a chance.

This time, though—

He flexes his fingers once before sliding into the driver’s seat, pulse steady, jaw set.

This time, it’s different.

Lando's fingers tighten around the wheel, his eyes narrowing as the starter counts down. The engine purrs beneath him, responsive, eager. The McLaren hums with potential—his car. His edge.

He’s done his homework this time. He knows every curve of the track, every bump in the road, how the tires will react. This is his race to win.

Max’s voice still echoes in his head, teasing. "Don’t embarrass me, mate. Seriously."

Lando doesn’t need the reminder. He’s already way past that.

The second the starter’s arms drop, Lando slams the gas.

The engine roars to life, and for a fleeting moment, he feels invincible. This time, he’s ready. The 720S surges forward, an animal on the prowl, the weight of the car shifting smoothly under his control. He’s quicker, tighter around the turns, feeding it power where he’s sure the road will grip. The crowd’s energy pulses like a drumbeat, the sharp hum of your engine just behind him.

But then—

You’re there.

Lando doesn’t hear you. He feels you.

The growl of your car is like a whisper in the wind at first, and then—then, it’s a presence. It’s too close, too precise. You slip through the corners like water—no hesitation, no doubt. You’re there when he shifts too late, when he lets a tire drift too wide. There’s no room for error with you.

He feels it, that knot in his gut, that constant pressure at the edge of his focus. You’re pushing him, making him work. He’s sweating, feeling the limits of his car, pushing it to the edge, just like he knows you are. The finish line looms.

A fraction of a second.

His pulse thunders in his ears. He punches the gas. The McLaren leaps forward, tire squealing as he tries to find the last of its power, but it’s too little, too late.

The line.

You’ve crossed it.

Lando watches as your car passes, just a breath ahead of his. The roar of the crowd crashes over him, the cheers fading into a dull buzz as his eyes snap to the space where you’ve already slid into a slow roll. You’re casually pulling off the track like you’ve just taken a stroll through the park.

He doesn’t even get the chance to stop fully before you’re there.

You lean down, leaning in close, close enough that Lando can feel the heat of your breath brushing his skin, warm and steady. You meet his gaze, eyes glimmering with a quiet triumph, and the edge of your mouth curves up.

"Nice try, pretty boy," you whisper, voice low and playful, but there’s something in the way you say it that makes his heart skip a beat.

Then, just as fast as you appeared, you’re gone. Turning on your heel, slipping through the crowd like a shadow, the sound of your laughter hanging in the air like smoke.

Lando stays in his car for a long second, fingers tight around the wheel, pulse racing. Pretty boy.

Fuck.

The air smells like burning rubber and gasoline, thick with heat. Lando should leave—he knows that. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lingers.

Leaning against the hood of his car, he watches you go again. Three more races. Three more wins. Each one more effortless than the last. It’s surgical, the way you move, how the car bends to your will, how you make even the most aggressive drivers look like amateurs. There’s no mercy in the way you drive—just raw, controlled chaos.

He swallows. Fuck, that’s attractive.

Lando’s eyes track every move you make, and Max is none the fool. He notices the way Lando doesn’t even blink when you leave your latest challenger choking on the tailpipe of your car. He notices how, with every second that ticks by, Lando’s grip on reality slips a little further, watching you move.

"You know," Max says, voice laced with teasing, "if you stare at her like that any longer, you might actually catch flies."

Lando doesn’t respond, just shifts his weight, a half-hearted attempt to hide the fact he’s still watching you as you walk toward the starting line again. Max grins, unbothered, leaning on the hood of the car.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, mate,” Max drawls beside him, nudging him with an elbow. “You look like you’re about to start drooling.”

Lando shoves him off the hood, ignoring the sharp bark of laughter that follows. His attention is already back on you.  The race starts, but it’s like the world slows, distorting as he watches you go, your movements fluid and effortless, the hum of the engine a symphony beneath you. His fingers itch to feel the wheel, to push something that will give him the same kind of power, the same kind of presence you carry so effortlessly.

Then, as if on cue, you finish, once again besting your opponent with ease. The cheers of the crowd are distant, drowned out by the beat of his pulse.  But when he glances back, you’re already looking at him.

And then you’re walking toward him.

It’s deliberate—the sway of your hips, the way the dim glow of streetlights glints off the sweat at your collarbone. You reach out, the condensation on the glass cold against his fingers as you press a bottle of beer into his hand.

“Enjoying the show, rich boy?” you ask, smirking as you crack your own bottle open.

Lando lifts a brow, fighting the way his stomach tightens at the sight of your lips wrapped around the mouth of the bottle as you take a slow sip. He swears you do it on purpose.

You lean in, close enough that the heat from your skin warms his. The air between you crackles with tension.

"You know," you murmur, teasing, "you really do look out of place here. Rich, pretty boy F1 driver, surrounded by all these… real drivers."

Lando’s lips twitch, amusement flickering in his chest. "Careful now," he says, his voice dropping, "that’s the second time you’ve called me pretty. I’ll think you’re flirting with me."

You cock an eyebrow, the hint of a challenge in your gaze. Slowly, you lean in, fingers brushing his chain, the cool metal cold against your warm skin as you trace it with an almost deliberate slowness.

"And if I am?" you ask, the question soft, but the implication sharp.

Lando swallows, his pulse quickening despite himself. He should have an answer to that. Something cocky, something that will let him walk away from this with at least some semblance of control. But he’s coming up empty.

So he doesn’t say anything at all.

Instead, you settle next to him, the beer bottle cold between your palms as the two of you watch the next set of races. This time, Lando isn’t just watching from the sidelines. He’s with you, standing close enough that the heat of your body feels like a magnet, pulling him in without effort. You’re right there beside him, close enough that every time someone messes up—a late brake, a slip on the curve—your eyes flick to him, and the unspoken agreement hangs in the air.

At some point, Max disappears—not that Lando notices. Not when you’re murmuring under your breath about a driver’s lazy cornering, not when you hum in agreement at his observations, a quiet acknowledgment that shouldn’t make his chest feel as tight as it does.

For a second, Lando feels like he’s on the same level as you, and the rush of that—of being in sync with you—is more thrilling than anything else in the night. His breath catches as he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "Watch the way he enters the final turn—if he doesn’t fix that, he’s gonna lose that spot."

You don’t even glance at him, but he sees the small twitch in your fingers as you tap your bottle lightly against your lips, clearly holding back a smile. That hum again. It’s a low sound, the kind that stirs something restless in his chest. 

The game continues.

Your eyes never leave his when you take a sip from the bottle you share, your fingers brushing his as you pass it back. A drop of beer spills onto the back of your hand, and before he can even register it, you’re licking it clean, slow and deliberate.

Lando swears under his breath.

The bass from a nearby car suddenly pounds heavier, reverberating through the asphalt. You push off the hood, stretching your arms above your head, body moving like liquid as you cock a finger at him in invitation.

He should hesitate.

But he doesn’t.

His feet move before his brain catches up, like you’ve got some invisible tether wrapped around his ribs.

You dance like you drive—effortlessly. Like you know exactly where to be, how to shift, how to move. Lando tries to keep up, tries to match your rhythm, but you make it impossible. The way your body brushes against his is teasing, the heat of you just out of reach, and it’s fucking maddening.

Then, he gets too close.

His fingers graze the stripe of bare skin at your waist, a feather-light touch, but he feels the way your breath catches, the slight arch of your body pressing into him before pulling away just as quick.

You laugh, low and intoxicating.

“You wanna kiss me, pretty boy?”

Lando nods before he can think better of it.

He doesn’t trust his mouth not to say something stupid. So instead, he leans in, closing the space between you, heartbeat hammering—

Only for you to pull away.

His breath stutters.

Your lips brush the shell of his ear, voice all sugar and sin.

“Then earn it.”

Lando has always been the good guy. The golden boy. The one who follows the rules, the one who does what he’s told—strict diets, early nights, training regimens that dictate every inch of his life.

But you?

You’re the kind of chaos that should come with a warning label.

Every glance, every smirk, every casual drag of your fingers along his chain only coils that tension inside him tighter, until common sense isn’t just slipping away—it’s fucking disintegrating.

His hands find your hips, grip just shy of bruising as you move together, bodies pressing and pulling like a tide he can’t escape. The bass thumps in his chest, or maybe it’s his own heartbeat, the sound of it nearly deafening.

"I think I've earned it already," he murmurs, voice rough, head tipping down until his lips nearly brush yours.

You grin, teeth flashing, eyes dark and dangerous. "Is that so, pretty boy?"

His breath hitches, pulse spiking at the way you tug his chain just enough to make him stumble forward, make him feel the heat rolling off your skin.

"Flirting again, are we?"

You hum, tilting your head, considering. And then—

The sharp nip of teeth against his earlobe sends a full-body shudder through him.

"Did you earn it?"

Lando's never understood the phrase weak in the knees before, but suddenly, it's painfully clear. His legs feel like jelly, his stomach like free-falling through Eau Rouge in the rain. Your breath, warm against his skin, sends heat lashing through his veins, makes his fingers tighten their hold on you, makes the last thread of his restraint snap clean in half.

"Fuck earning it," he groans, hands sliding up your back, tilting your chin up as he crashes his mouth to yours.

It’s reckless. It’s unhinged. It’s like taking Eau Rouge at full throttle without knowing if the car will stick to the track—but fuck, it’s heaven.

You taste like beer and danger, and when you press even closer, molding yourself against him like you were meant to be there, he swears he could die like this, and it would be worth it.

Your laugh—low, indulgent—vibrates against his lips, and it damn near ruins him. You kiss like you drive, all confidence and sharp edges, fingers tangled in his curls like you already own him. And maybe you do.

Lando’s hands trace the dip of your spine, pulling you closer, needing you closer. The crowd, the pounding bass, the scent of burning rubber in the air—it all fades. There’s only you, the press of your body against his, the way your lips part just enough to let him taste you, to let him sink deeper into whatever madness this is.

Then, just as quickly as you gave it, you take it away.

You break the kiss, but you don’t go far. Your lips hover, teasing, a breath away. Lando’s chest heaves, fingers flexing at your waist, fighting the urge to pull you back in. You grin against his skin, breath ghosting over the corner of his mouth as you murmur, “Not bad, pretty boy.”

Lando swears under his breath. His pulse is a wild thing in his throat, his grip tightening. “Not bad?” His voice comes out rougher than he expects, something raw under the teasing edge.

You tip your head, eyes flicking over his face, searching for something—maybe an opening, maybe just amusement. Whatever it is, you must find it, because your grin turns lazy, all feline satisfaction as you drag a single finger down his chest.

“Could use some work,” you say. “But I suppose you’ve got potential.”

Lando exhales sharply, half a laugh, half something that aches. “Unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You smirk, stepping back just enough to give him air but not enough to let him breathe easy. “Come find me when you think you can do better.”

And just like that, you’re gone, disappearing into the crowd, hips swaying, leaving him standing there, heart hammering, tasting the ghost of you on his lips.

Max reappears at his side, looking far too smug for Lando’s liking. “So,” he drawls, “we’re coming back again next time, huh?”

Lando runs a hand through his curls, still reeling, still burning.

“…Yeah.”

[jellofish-plant]

Just… Don’t Leave Me, Okay?

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Summary: In a rare moment of vulnerability, Jason admits he’s terrified of losing you, like he’s lost so many others before. You refuse to let him face his fears alone, promising you’ll be there.

[Masterlist]

It was late, and Gotham’s cold night wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. You stood by the window, staring out into the city, feeling the quiet hum of tension that always seemed to settle over the streets after dark. You heard him before you saw him—footsteps approaching from behind, the sound of his boots heavy against the floor.

Jason’s presence was always so distinct, but tonight, there was something different about him. He seemed... off.

You turned, meeting his gaze, and your heart dropped when you saw the look in his eyes. The familiar bravado, the walls he always put up, were gone. All that remained was raw, unfiltered fear.

"Hey," you said softly, stepping closer. "What’s going on? You’ve been… distant tonight."

Jason shifted uncomfortably, his arms crossed, but his body language screamed unease. "Nothing," he muttered. "I’m fine."

You raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because you don’t look fine."

He didn't meet your eyes, staring down at the floor, almost as if he was ashamed. "I just… I don’t want to lose you."

The words struck you like a punch to the gut. You blinked, unsure if you heard him right.

"What?" You whispered, taking another step toward him.

Jason looked up then, his expression softer but no less conflicted. "I said I don’t want to lose you, okay?" He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you knew meant he was uncomfortable, but this time, it felt different. "I’ve lost too many people, and I… I can’t lose you, too. Not like that."

His voice cracked slightly, and you could see how vulnerable he really was, like he was standing on the edge of something too big to control. His gaze flickered to the floor again, and he swallowed hard. "You shouldn’t even be with someone like me. I’m a mess, and I’ve got a lot of baggage. But I need you here. I need you to stay."

Your heart ached as you walked toward him, lifting his chin gently with your hand so he had no choice but to meet your eyes.

"Jason," you said softly, "I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to push me away. You don’t have to go through this alone."

He shook his head, almost pleading. "But I always end up losing everyone. I can’t… I can’t handle losing you too."

You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to really look at you. "I’m not going to leave you," you promised, your voice firm with conviction. "Not now, not ever. I’m right here."

Jason’s eyes searched yours, doubt and fear lingering, but there was a flicker of hope in them too. Slowly, he closed his eyes, letting out a long, shaky breath as if he was finally allowing himself to believe you.

"Just… don’t leave me, okay?" he whispered, his voice barely audible but full of everything he was too afraid to admit.

You leaned forward, your forehead resting gently against his. "I won’t," you whispered back. "I’ll never leave you, Jason. Not for anything."

And for the first time in a long while, he let himself believe it.

Tag list:

@dreamzaremyrealityy

@not-herexo 

@a-brilliante-mariposa

[nobodysnowhere]

The Prefect can kick some NPC ass

A How-Too Guide to threatening people you don’t like

Summary: You see some idiot pick on Grim and you put him back in his place.

Cast: Riddle, Grim, gn reader

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“I didn’t expect that you need to keep so much in mind while taking care of a hedgehog. Those little guys are quite demanding aren’t they?”

“Well of course. Every animal has their own needs that need to be met so that they can live comfortably. Of course, it would take some effort to replicate the way they would live outside of captivity.” Riddle explains as he continues walking down the filled hallway towards the cafeteria.

During the breaks, the halls of the building are always lined with rude students who don’t care if they run you over, but since you’re with a Housewarden right now, the same students avoid you like the plague.

The conversation between the two of you flows easily until you hear a commotion from the courtyard.

You look outside of a window and find Grim angrily stomping and pointing at some student who has his magic pen ready for combat.

“Could you hold this for a second?” You ask Riddle hurriedly, before -without really thinking about it- shoving your bag into his hands, opening the second-floor window, and jumping out of it.

You only hear Riddle yell with worried confusion before you land on a tree branch and swing yourself onto the ground floor.

After safely landing on the floor you skillfully ignore Riddle’s frantic yells and the weird looks the surrounding students give you, to casually -or as casually as you can be- jogging up to where Grim and the student are.

“Have I missed anything?” You ask as you arrive at the scene of the fight.

“Henchman! That guy attacked me for no good reason! Tell him off!” Grim commands as he hops over to your side.

“Has he now?” you ask, giving the guy a chance to explain himself.

“So what if I did? That rat stood in my way so of course I would make the thing move.” he scoffs at you, giving you a once over and rolling his eyes as he recognizes you.

“You’re that Ramshackle Prefect, aren’t you? The one without any magic? What are you going to do? I’m practically quacking in my boots.”

You smile at him. Cautiously taking a step towards him before putting a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly, letting the fabric of his uniform bunch up from the force.

“I don’t need to do anything. All we need to do is wait for the very enraged Housewarden of Heartslabyul to show up.” you smile innocently at him.

“W-what?” he asks, uncertainty slipping into his tone. He tries to take a step back, but you don’t let him.

“Oh, have I forgotten to mention? Silly me, Riddle saw you casting a spell from right over there, and you and I both know that’s against the rules.” you gesture towards the window you just jumped out of, while talking down on him as if he were a small child.

“But I’m no Riddle. You’re free to go as long as you apologize to Grim.” you say as you point toward where Grim is standing, still gripping the guy's shoulder in a vice grip.

“Shit alright, just let me go already. I’m sorry for attacking your stupid rat!” he says as he continues to try and free himself.

You sigh knowing that this is probably the best you will get out of him. “Fine. You’re free to leave. But do remember. Next time I won’t be this lenient.” you let him go, even shoving him a little just because you can.

As he scampers away, figurative tail tucked between his legs, you make him trip over his own feet.

“Myah hah hah hah! And stay away from us next time. Great job Hench Human, I totally had everything under control, but I knew you could handle that swiftly as well.” Grim boastfully claims, as he jumps up onto your shoulder, giving it a praising pat.

���I’m impressed with how quickly you came up with that lie, you tricked him well.”

“Oh, I didn’t lie. Riddle probably is on his way down here after the stunt I pulled. Don’t worry though, I have everything under control.”

Grim looks at you appalled, he seems about to ask what kind of stunt you pulled, before said Housewarden shows up.

He angrily stomps up to you, still carrying your book bag, before stopping right in front of you.

“Prefect! What were you thinking?!? Jumping out of the second floor like that. You could have seriously injured yourself!” he huffs, scanning you for any injuries you might have given yourself with that stunt.

You realize that he seems more worried than mad, how sweet.

“Alright. First of all, we both know that isn’t the worst thing that, one has happened to me and two this wasn’t the weirdest thing that’s happened in this school, that probably belongs to either Rook or Jade.” you state in a matter of fact way, while taking you bag back with an appreciative nod.

“And also I saw Grim down here so it was only logical for me to do that.”

Riddle shakes his head in exasperation, he sighs once before deciding to let this topic rest, knowing full well this conversation would lead nowhere if he tried pursuing more answers.

“Just don’t get reckless with it. I don’t want to visit you in the nurses' office because of some broken bones and a concussion.”

“Will do Housewarden Riddle.” you smile and nod in agreement, knowing full well that nothing is going to change.

“Now… where did we stop? Oh right, so hedgehogs actually need to exercise daily to not go overweight? I know a certain someone that could learn a thing or two from them.”

“Hey!” you at Grim who’s still sitting on your shoulder. “I wasn’t talking about you? I meant the ghosts. They really need to watch their diets, but if you think I was talking about you then there might be something true about that statement.”

Grim grumbles on top of your shoulder as you continue to chat with Riddle, walking to the cafeteria uninterrupted.

[retrosabers]

𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬.

*relationship hcs written with fem!reader in mind*

contains: a little bit of everything. some relationship fluff, a bit of angst (mentions of death and past trauma), very flirty and filthy logan, 18+ CONTENT AT THE BOTTOM. MINORS DNI (body worship, praise kink, pain kink, dirty talk to the nines.)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: not me posting something for the first time in a) over a month and b) in 2025 😍😍

it’s been ROUGH in the brain and writing department for me, and this is the best i could come up with right now. i hope i can get back in my real groove soon, i miss writing real bad.

in the mean time, please enjoy my wolvie brain dump. feel free to share any of your own personal hcs in the comments or reblogs!!

GENERAL/PERSONALITY:

he’s secret tea drinker. always drinks coffee (no cream no sugar; nasty ass) in the morning but also drinks tea at night. though nothing can fully calm him down in the evening, the tea does relax him in some capacity, and logan takes whatever reprieve he can get. plus it was one of the first things you started doing together, so it’s become a part of his routine he can’t be without.

typically the first person up, and the last person in bed. you’d think logan wouldn’t be a morning person, but he’s surprisingly at ease in the early hours. as relaxed as someone like him could get, anyways.

likes to read a lot. he was in complete awe of the mansion’s library the first time he saw it. will often sneak in when no one’s around and read for an hour or two by the window if he’s got the time. when you discover he’s a secret bookworm, you start to leave a book on his desk that you think he’ll enjoy every once in a while. it’s a small gesture logan holds very near and dear to his heart.

can’t remember people’s birthdays or important dates to save his life BUT can recall something minor in a fleeting conversation from a long time ago. also remembers very random useless facts that have actually come in handy on more than one occasion.

if and when logan sleeps, he snores. so. fucking. LOUD, to the point where it can wake people up depending on how close quarters are. he denies it constantly.

likes to make sure his deodorant and cologne have the same general scent (i just know he smells like a sexy ass manly man URGH).

a lot of people hc him as a history professor but i have a hot take: gym teacher logan. not in the typical “let’s run laps and play dodgeball” way, but in the sense that he teaches the kids how to control and utilize their mutations to their advantage (with help from the rest of the xmen of course), and maybe even some light sparring to practice self defense. i personally just don’t see the history teacher thing working out because i fear he would subconsciously be reliving a LOT of trauma.

gets really anxious whenever someone is sick or injured. he’s been gravely reminded before that not everyone is indestructible like he is, and it scares him to see others get hurt in any capacity, because he’s terrified of losing them. the first time you get seriously wounded on a mission? logan damn near wears his boots down to the sole from pacing back and forth outside the medbay so much. he can’t eat, he can’t sleep, he can’t focus on anything other than you. time stops for him; and won’t resume until he’s certain you’re going to be okay.

legitimately purrs like a cat if you scratch his head just the right way. he will once again deny this until the end of time, but with less resistance and a much more flushed complexion.

“whatever,” he mumbles into your stomach, while guiding your nails back to his scalp.

hates ANY music made after the year 2000, but anything before that he’s pretty keen on. he’s got his preferences for sure (a little country, some rock, and maybe a bit of bluegrass), but isn’t above admitting that a pop tune is a little catchy from time to time.

IN A RELATIONSHIP:

you better not even THINK about ever opening a door for yourself ever again because if you do he’s taking personal offense to it.

he may be a slut in the sheets but he’s a near perfect gentlemen in the streets. i’m talking walking on the outside of the sidewalk at all times, always helping you out of the car even if you don’t need it, carrying your jacket or shoes after a night out, making sure you’re obscured from view if you need to adjust a revealing top; any chivalrous boyfriend thing you can think of, and he’s done it. with suaveness, might i add.

“here honey, gimme that, i got it.”

“hold on a second sweetheart, your strap’s all twisted.”

the definition of “you fell first but he fell harder.”

makes it a point to take you on a “real date” outside the mansion once or twice a month because he knows how much you enjoy getting dressed up for different occasions. whether that be dinner, dancing (yes, if you beg hard enough he’ll go dancing with you), and maybe even a trip to the museum or planetarium.

both the big and little spoon, it depends on the day, but he’s an insane cuddler either way. a human teddy bear for you and only you. this? he won’t deny, not for a second. and he’ll tell anyone who cares to tease him about it to fuck off.

always touching you in some capacity. a gentle caress on the back of your neck, or cold palms sliding underneath your sweater, logan has no qualms about being a bit handsy.

“if your girl looked like this, you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off her either.”

his favorite (and yours too secretly) is a hand in the back pocket of your jeans. there’s something equally sweet and sultry about it that makes your stomach flutter every time. a slightly possessive gesture, that when coupled with a cocky smirk and a shameless squeeze, never fails to drive you wild.

you thought he was a worry wart about your safety before you were dating? it amplifies by a million when you’re together, almost to the point of annoyance because he’s adamant on not letting you out of his sight. eventually after a few arguments and a scolding from charles, you remind him that you’re perfectly capable of handling things on your own, and yes, sometimes he does need to look out for you, just in case.

SMUT:

handsy logan = body worship logan. this man will make it his life mission to appreciate every single inch of your body. he doesn’t care if you’re tangled in between sheets for hours on end. you’re not leaving the bed until you know just how much he’s smitten with every part of you.

pain kink king who will cum significantly faster if you break skin with your nails raking down arms or back. gets an immediate hard on when you slap him in the middle of a dangerously intense argument, and implores you to do it again in a dark, lust driven tone.

to make up for the fact that you can’t mark your territory, with logan’s regenerative capabilities and all, he goes above and beyond to mark his. this man leaves hickies everywhere, and i mean everywhere. your hip bones, your navel, damn near the entirety of your sternum, your neck essentially a human canvas that he gladly paints in brilliant hues of lavender.

he may be a man of few words with most, but with you? logan can never shut the fuck up about how good you make him feel.

“look at you. doin’ so good for me honey.” “y’feel like fuckin’ heaven, you know that?” “my perfect girl. made just for me.”

cannot handle when you return the favor. immediately shoves his flushed face into whatever part of your body he can find and picks up the pace. praise is another surefire way to get logan to blow his load in record time. he thinks it’s a little embarrassing but you think it’s SO HOT.

loves a good tummy bulge OOP who said that

really enjoys sex in the shower or bath. there’s an additional layer of intimacy with it that makes logan particularly warm in the chest. will often suggest round two in the bathroom so he not only has the pleasure of ruining you again, but helping gently put you back together with a tenderness reserved only for you.

the ceo of teasing. loves to watch you get all flustered and squirmy so you best believe he’s teasing the fuck out of you any chance he gets. logan’s got wandering hands and a filthy mouth and that he uses to his advantage both in and out of the bedroom.

“what if i bent you over this desk, right here right now, hm? would you like that?”

“your skirt’s real pretty baby. think it would look a lot better on the floor of my room.”

“been thinkin’ about you all day. gonna let me fuck you real good later?”

aftercare is a learning curve. he’s not completely careless the first time you have sex, but he’s not as caring and attentive as he knows he probably should be. logan was used to quick one night stands, not getting intimate with someone he had romantic feelings for. once he realizes how in-deep he is with you, he takes the time to learn the ins and outs of true aftercare.

* for more smut headcanons, check out my logan nsfw alphabet here*

thanks for reading! <3

[wendichester]

⋆.˚ ★ the pizza man conundrum,

summary. castiel is confused about dean's most recent attempt to humanize the angel. you're the target of his questions.

pairing. castiel x reader genre. complete crack

wordcount. 489

notes / warnings. this is gonna leave you feeling a little bit confused. or amused. pick one.

Dean is dead to the world.

Sprawled out on the motel bed, one arm flung over his face, boots half-on, snoring like an idling truck. You may have accidentally worn him out after convincing him to do literally anything other than sit at a bar all night. A bet, a few rounds of pool, and one very competitive foot race later (he swears you cheated), and now he’s out.

You’re enjoying the rare moment of peace when—

“I need your assistance.”

You jump about a foot in the air. “Jesus, Cas! A little warning next time?”

Castiel stares at you, head slightly tilted, blue eyes full of celestial intensity. “I do not require a warning.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Okay, what do you need?”

“I have questions.”

Of course he does.

You pat the empty motel bed beside you, and Castiel takes it as an invitation to sit—though he does so like a man who has never properly understood chairs, his posture stiff and uncomfortably formal.

He turns to you, face unreadable. “Dean has… introduced me to something.”

You blink. “Should I be concerned?”

“I do not know,” he says seriously. “But I seek clarification.”

There’s a long pause. Then, in a tone way too solemn for the words about to leave his mouth, he asks—

“…Who is the pizza man?”

You stare at him. Hard.

He stares back.

It’s too much. You break. A snort escapes before you can stop it, and suddenly, you’re wheezing, barely able to breathe through your laughter.

Cas just waits, looking more confused by the second.

When you finally regain some control, wiping at your eyes, you manage, “Cas… why do you want to know about the pizza man?”

He frowns. “Because I do not understand his significance.”

You take a deep breath, shaking your head. “Okay, start from the beginning.”

Castiel nods, thoughtful. “Dean was watching something on his laptop.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh God.”

“I saw two humans engaging in a ritual of physical intimacy,” Cas continues, completely unfazed. “The woman seemed very eager for the pizza man’s presence. I am unsure why he was necessary for the proceedings.”

You’re biting your lip so hard you might draw blood. “Cas…”

“I attempted to ask Dean about it, but he only laughed,” Castiel says, looking genuinely offended. “And then he fell asleep.” He gestures vaguely at the still-passed-out Dean. “So I have come to you.”

You could explain it. But where’s the fun in that?

“Cas,” you say, leaning in conspiratorially. “It’s a sacred human tradition. The pizza man is a… symbol. A bringer of joy, nourishment, and—uh—other things.”

Cas nods, very serious. “I see. Like an angel, but with food.”

Your lips twitch. “Exactly.”

There’s a long pause before Cas looks at Dean, then back at you.

“Would you like me to order a pizza?”

That’s it. You’re done. You collapse onto the bed, laughing so hard you can’t breathe.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[digitaldaydreamm]

baby

babydaddy!rafe x reader

| summary | you try packing your things but rafe has other plans...

warnings: manipulation, cursing

a/n: part 2 is here!! don't worry, rafe and reader won't always be fighting, i don't plan on making another part to this lol, i promise to show the good sides of their relationship in the future (maybe some spicy content too *wink wink)so stay tuned... also my requests are open, send me your ideas for this pairing!! anything goes :)

masterlist

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, casting soft patterns across the unmade bed and the open suitcase on the floor. You sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, clutching a shirt you’d been folding and unfolding for the past twenty minutes. Your thoughts were louder than the quiet hum of the fan overhead.

Rafe’s words from the night before echoed in your mind, harsh and unrelenting.

“You’re not taking Ellie.”

“You think you’re just gonna pack your shit and leave, like that’s a fucking option?”

“I’m not asking. You’re staying.”

Your fingers trembled as you tried to focus on folding another shirt, but you couldn’t drown out his voice. His anger. His control. Even now, hours later, the weight of it all sat heavy on your chest.

You didn’t know why you’d even started packing. You weren’t sure if it was defiance or desperation, but every time you tried to imagine walking out that door, you froze. You weren’t just leaving him; you were leaving behind the life you knew, the life you’d built around him.

Ellie stirred softly in her crib, and your eyes darted to her, heart aching. She didn’t understand any of this. She didn’t know why her mom was hesitating, why her dad’s voice had been sharp and unyielding the night before.

The sound of the front door opening made your stomach drop.

Your body went still, every muscle tensing as Rafe’s heavy boots thudded against the floor.

When the bedroom door opened, you didn’t look up, even as his presence filled the space.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice was sharp, each word cutting through the air like a knife.

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed on the pile of clothes in front of you. “I’m—”

“Packing?” he finished for you, his tone mocking. “Yeah, I can fucking see that. You think this is some kind of joke?”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

He strode further into the room, his hand brushing over the open suitcase before grabbing it and tossing it onto the floor. The sound made you flinch.

“You don’t get to leave, kid,” he said, his voice low and biting. “You don’t fucking pack up and walk out like it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you said softly, daring to meet his gaze.

“Oh, so you’ve thought this through? That it?” He folded his arms, his broad frame blocking out the light from the hallway. “You thought about what happens when you’re out there on your own? You thought about what you’re gonna do when shit gets hard and I’m not there to clean up your mess?”

“Rafe—”

“No,” he interrupted, his jaw tightening. “Don’t fucking ‘Rafe’ me right now. You think you can take Ellie and just… what? Run? Start over?”

“I wasn’t trying to sneak away,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Then what the fuck is this?” He gestured toward the clothes you’d been folding. “You just packing for fun?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back. “I’m trying to do what’s best for Ellie,” you said quietly.

“Bullshit.” His voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing. “You’re doing what’s easiest for you. Don’t pretend this is about her. Don’t fucking stand there and act like you’ve got some moral high ground, because you don’t.”

You stayed silent, your fingers clutching the fabric in your lap like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I’ve done everything for you,” he said, his tone rough but steady. “Everything. And this is how you pay me back? By trying to fucking leave?”

“I told you, you don’t own me, Rafe,” you said softly, though your voice shook.

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “No, you’re right. I don’t. But you’re mine. And you’ve always known that. So don’t pull this shit and act like you’re some fucking martyr.”

Your breath hitched as he crouched in front of you, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said firmly, his voice low but unyielding. “You’re staying. You and Ellie. End of story.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look on his face stopped you.

He reached out, his hand gripping your chin gently but firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re not walking out on me,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “I don’t care what kind of shit you’ve convinced yourself of. You’re not leaving. You think anyone else is gonna take care of you like I do? You think anyone else is gonna love you the way I do?”

Your chest felt tight, his words wrapping around you like a noose. You hated how easily he could make you doubt yourself, make you question everything you thought you knew.

“Say it,” he demanded.

You blinked, confused. “Say what?”

“That you’re staying.” His grip on your chin tightened just slightly, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “Say you’re not leaving.”

The tears spilled over now, and you felt yourself nodding despite the voice in your head screaming at you to stop. “I’m not leaving,” you whispered.

His expression softened just a fraction, and he released your chin, brushing your tears away with his thumb. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now put this shit away. You’re not going anywhere.”

You nodded again, your movements mechanical as you reached for the clothes scattered across the bed.

Rafe stood, watching you for a moment before stepping closer and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re done talking about this,” he said firmly. “Understand?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” he said again, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment before he walked out, leaving you alone with the mess you’d made and the pieces of yourself you didn’t know how to put back together.