#Smart Heating Control Systems | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marvelstoriesepic · 2 months ago

Text

Your Ghost Knows Me

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: On a mission to dismantle a Hydra base, Bucky’s activation codes are triggered. And what does he do without a kill order?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: mind control; non-consensual behavior (not sexual but bodily autonomy themes); possessive behavior; gun violence (implied, not graphic); threats of violence; emotional manipulation (unintentional); PTSD; trauma responses; forced proximity; mentions of Bucky’s past; Hydra

Author’s Note: I'll never get tired of a possessive Winter Soldier!! Honestly, I should write about him more often. Anyway, this absolutely iconic request is from my sweet dear!! Thank you so much, and I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

There is always something quiet about Bucky when he looks at you before the mission begins. Quiet in the way thunder is quiet just before the crack. As if he is holding something inside himself too loud for the world.

You always say his name and he would look at you like he’s afraid to blink.

You don’t think you’re supposed to notice the way he hovers at your side. You’re not supposed to feel his shadow, stitched to your steps. But you do. You always do. Because Bucky Barnes does not know how to stay subtle. Not with you. Not when he thinks you might not make it out of this alive.

Your mission is to break into an old Hydra base with heat still humming through the walls and ghosts still hanging from the rafters.

The team drops in like rain. Controlled chaos. Clint on the left flank. Sam from above. Steve on the right flank. Nat somewhere in the dark.

You are light-footed and fast and smart and alive. Bucky stays behind you. Always behind you. Watching your six. He never lets you fall.

And you get the proof of this for the thousandth time when he throws his arm out and grabs your vest to yank you back hard enough to make you gasp. Your heart stutters in your throat. You stumble, twist, spin - and crash into him.

There was a tripwire. You almost walked into it. And Bucky saw. He sees everything.

“You okay?” He breathes, voice low, not quite touching worry but brushing the edges of it.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Thanks.”

He nods. Says nothing. Keeps moving.

You press forward into the maze of concrete and metal that is the Hydra base, gun raised, heart playing the drum in your ribs.

Bucky slows.

You glance over at him. “What is it?”

He stares at a rusted door, barely ajar. A soft static pulses from within, like an old radio dying in slow motion. The sound crawls down your spine. Your skin prickles.

“Bucky,” you start, reaching for him. “Let’s move.”

But he’s already walking toward that door with narrowed eyes.

The room is dark. Cold. Frost is on the walls like a memory that won’t let go. A machine in the corner makes low noises. Wires twitch on the floor like veins ripped from a corpse. The air stinks of metal and mildew and something old. Something wrong.

And then it speaks. A voice, thick with static, seeps out of the machine. A voice you don’t understand. Not really. You can’t make out the words, but you know them. You know what they mean.

“Желание. Ржавый.”

You spin around, heart rushing up to your ears, calling his name, but it’s too late.

“Семнадцать. Рассвет.”

Bucky stands frozen.

Stone. Steel. Silence.

His face is slack. That haunted stillness takes over.

He isn’t gone. But he isn’t Bucky anymore.

“Печь.”

His eyes go distant. Flat. His face cracks into something you’ve only seen in nightmares. No fury. No fear. Just absence.

“Доброкачественный.”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart forgets how to beat. “Bucky,” you basically yell at him. Nobody even knew there were still functioning systems here. But they’d been waiting. Planning.

“Девять.”

“Bucky please snap out of this.” You know it’s useless. You don’t know why you say it.

“Возвращение на родину.“

Your hand trembles around the grip of your weapon as you force yourself to jump out of the shock your limbs are locked in. You raise your arm and aim. You pull the trigger. One.

“Один.”

Two.

“Грузовой вагон.”

Three.

Four times.

The machine sparks. Cracks. Screams. A dozen red lights blink and die like stars going out. The voice cuts out, perhaps wanting to give a command, a final breath of Russian strangled by silence. And it slams into the room like a body.

For a heartbeat, for a breath, you think it’s over.

You hope it’s over.

But his name dies on your tongue when you turn back to him.

Bucky doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe like a man. He doesn’t look at you - he tracks you, the way a sniper does. As if you’re a piece of intel.

Sam’s voice crackles over the comms. “Hey. We heard something. Everything good over there?”

You can’t answer right away.

Your voice is lost.

Because Bucky Barnes is gone.

And the Winter Soldier is standing in his place.

It takes you a minute to explain your situation and you hear the tremor in Steve’s voice when he tells you they’re on their way.

You try to breathe around the panic growing like thorns in your chest.

You whisper his name, again and again, as if it’s a spell that might pull him back. But the Winter Soldier does not know your voice.

Does not know you.

And when Steve finally rounds the corner, face pale, shield up, Bucky growls.

Low. Subhuman. A warning without words.

“Woah, woah- easy,” Steve says, holding up a hand. He looks at you. “He’s- He’s not gone. We’ll fix this. We can bring him back.”

You don’t know how promising he tries to make this sound.

But Bucky shifts his body, in front of you.

He plants himself between you and everyone else, like a wall, like a weapon.

Like a threat.

No orders. No hesitation. Just instinct.

He scans Steve’s hands. Sam’s gun. Natasha’s eyes.

Every time someone even twitches in your direction, he angles his body tighter around you, metal hand flexing. His breathing is shallow. Sharp.

He has no words. No explanations. He doesn’t seem to need them.

You try to take a step forward, away from his back. He moves with you. You stop. So does he.

“Please,” you whisper. “Bucky. Come back.”

But he doesn’t flinch.

Not for the begging in your voice. Not for the heartbreak in your eyes.

But you know he doesn’t hear you. He only hears the ghosts in his blood. The machine in his brain. The purpose Hydra seared into his bones.

“Alright, this can’t-“ The moment Sam takes a step forward, Bucky moves.

He grabs you. Not roughly, not violently, but fully. As if the air between your bodies has never existed. As if he’s made of magnets and you’re the only thing that ever pulled him north.

His metal arm anchors around your waist, his other hand at your shoulder, your spine, your hip - everywhere, all at once. He places himself between you and the others again and makes sure to keep you there as if you are a holy thing. His breath is ragged. Feral.

“Bucky,” Steve tries. There is something pained in his tone. Also something warning. “Let her go.”

But he doesn’t listen.

Because there is nothing left to listen to.

No more commands. No more codes. No more voice in his ear.

So he seems to have written a new directive into his mind and that is you.

You are the mission now. You are the purpose, the protection, the last thing left when everything else burns.

His hand is wrapped around your wrist so tightly, it makes your breath hitch. But you don’t pull away. You can’t. There is something in his eyes. Something not Bucky but not nothing either.

Not the soldier.

Not the man.

Just this animal of loyalty. Of violence. Of need.

You try.

God, you try.

You speak to him in pieces. In whispers. In words coming from trembling lips and bruised hope.

“Bucky,” you plead.

Soft. Like maybe softness will do it. Like maybe he’ll come back to the sound of your voice wrapped in love instead of command.

But he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t let anyone near you.

Not Steve, who takes one careful step and ends up with a knife lodged in the floor in front of his foot.

Not Sam, who reaches out and gets a warning growl that raises the hairs on your arms.

Not Natasha, who tries to circle behind, quiet as a whisper - and is met with the barrel of Bucky’s gun aimed clean between her eyes.

You frantically call Bucky’s name.

“Hey- easy,” she says, voice low. “Nobody wants to harm your girl, Barnes.”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care.

He tightens his grip on you, fingers locking around your arm like a shackle. You try to find a piece of Bucky still breathing in there.

But all you see is possession.

He steps back into the shadows, pulling you with him, shielding you with his body as if the world is trying to take you and he’s the last wall still standing.

No one sees you now.

Because he won’t let them.

He moves you behind crates. Walls. Corners. Shadows. Always putting something between you and them. Always hiding you. Not out of shame. Not out of fear.

Out of possession.

Out of protection.

Out of a command he gave himself.

You are a mission. A precious object. A singular order sculpted into the ruins of his memory.

You hear Steve’s heavy sigh. His quiet and deep voice. The pain in it. “We need to sedate him.”

The next thing you pick up is the click of a safety releasing.

Bucky’s gun is pointed and ready.

He would kill for you right now.

He would kill them.

All of them.

Within the blink of an eye.

For you.

“No,” you croak out, voice breaking. It feels wrong to call him Bucky. It feels wrong to call him Soldat. “Please don’t! Don’t do this!”

You don’t know if it’s something in your voice or something in your tense stance against his back, but he slowly lowers his gun, slowly turns his head to stare at you.

Empty.

Unreachable.

But somehow not cold.

And then his hand rises. Flesh fingers trace your jaw. So gently it nearly breaks you.

It’s not affection. It’s assessment.

He’s checking. For wounds. For weakness. For threats, you might be hiding beneath your skin.

You breathe as if forgetting how to.

You try to shift. Just a little. Just to look behind him. Just to meet Steve’s eyes, Sam’s, Natasha’s, Clint’s - who finally got his ass here as well.

But Bucky moves. Fast.

A hand around your chin. Tilting your face back toward him.

Eyes narrow. Jaw locks.

You know what it means.

He doesn’t want you to look at them.

He doesn’t want you to speak with them.

He doesn’t want you to think of them.

You are his now.

Because something in his mind burned the world down and left you standing in the wreckage, and he needs something to hold onto. Not just anything. Not just anyone. You.

You try again.

Whispers, again.

“I have to talk to them-”

He shakes his head. Once. Sharp. Final.

“No,” he growls. Not language. Not word. Just a sound scraped from somewhere too deep and too far gone.

You flinch and he feels it.

His grip grows stiff.

Your body goes still.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. But he doesn’t let you go.

You catch the glint of Steve’s shield out of the corner of your eye.

They haven’t moved in minutes.

They’re waiting.

They’re watching.

They don’t want to hurt him either. But they will if they have to.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Don’t come closer. Don’t- don’t try to talk to me, he- he doesn’t want that.”

You hear Sam lower his weapon, just a hair. “We can’t leave you like this.”

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to pull Bucky into your arms and shake him until something clicks and he remembers you. Remembers himself.

But the Winter Soldier only seems to be remembering his duty. Violence shaped into protection.

And right now, that protection looks like isolation.

You. Alone. Tucked behind crates and corners and silence and his broad shoulders.

You speak anyway. Because you have to. Because he’s in there somewhere. Because he might not hear the others, but maybe he can still hear you.

“Bucky,” you speak. Swallow. “They’re not the enemy.”

His hand twitches on your arm.

“They’re your friends.”

He tightens his grip.

“They’re my friends.”

He releases another deep and gravelly sound.

His body is tense, electric, fury held in the cage of his bones.

“Please,” you say. You hate the sound of your own voice now. You sound like you are shattering in slow motion. “You don’t have to protect me from them. You don’t- I’m not-”

You breathe out shakily.

Your lip trembles. Your eyes sting.

Because he’s looking at you as if he would kill the whole world to keep you safe. And he doesn’t even remember who you are.

You press your forehead to his chest. His body doesn’t move.

He’s breathing faster now. His pulse thrums under your cheek.

But he lets you stay there.

That has to be something.

Behind Bucky, someone whispers your name. Carefully. Cautiously. As though if they say it wrong you’ll be ripped out of this moment and Bucky will hunt them all down.

You lift your head.

Bucky sees it.

Sees the way your eyes pull toward Sam’s voice.

Sees the way you’re still trying to hold onto them. Still reaching.

He doesn’t like that.

He hates that.

His hand finds the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, hides your face in his chest. Your shoulders lock. His body shields you like a fortress of flesh and metal and confusion. As if your gaze is a window, and he is closing the shutters.

You are not theirs anymore.

And he will not let you be.

4K notes · View notes

chanifesto · 2 months ago

Text

ᯓᡣ𐭩 smart girl | go hyuntak

pairing: hyuntak x afab!reader (weak hero class 2)

synopsis: a university au in which hyuntak, determined and mighty and ready for anything, turns to mush in your presence. that is, until he has you turning into mush under him.

genre: somewhat of a smutty slowburn

word count: 8.1k

warnings: [MDNI!] explicit sexual content, softdom!hyuntak, making out, grinding, pet names (baby, pretty girl, smart girl) nipple play, oral (f rec.), fingering, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it! please!), mentions of STI testing and birth control, just enough consent checks, absolute devotion, your insides are soft, his outsides are hard, gosh he’s such a simp for you, i have never written smut before proceed with caution

reader notes: written with afab!reader in mind. reader has breasts, a vagina, and hair long enough to fall over their shoulder. all characters are consenting and over 18 yo.

۶ৎ 𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒 ࿐ i am feverishly starved for this man. it’s only right i dedicate my first post to him. enjoy (at least, i hope you do).

Hyuntak thought his heart was about to ram out of his chest.

He was perfectly serene ten minutes ago, when it was just him, Hu-min, Jun-tae, and Si-eun at a booth in the university cafeteria. Perfectly serene basking in hoarse laughter at Hu-min’s flimsy puns. Perfectly serene, before you padded towards their table alongside Hu-min’s girlfriend, a textbook caged against your chest, the slightest quirk of a smile clutching at the corners of your pretty lips in response to something Hu-min’s girlfriend had whispered to you.

You slid into the bench opposite of him at the other end of the table, quietly greeting the other boys as you slipped your tote off your shoulder. If Hyuntak hadn’t been ambushed by his own nervous system, he would have seen the kind eyes you offered him instead of finding a sudden interest in the nutrition facts of his energy drink.

He was perfectly serene ten minutes ago, before you got there.

And now you sat there, gently scribbling in your agenda, your plush bottom lip softly caught between your teeth, unaware of the fevered anguish you had inflicted upon him.

Hyuntak, who was previously doubled over in laughter, was now pressed against the back of his chair, sweaty palms rubbing ever-so-slightly against the soft fabric of his sweatpants. Heat had begun to ghost down the sides of his face to his neck. The last time he was this strung out was for his first basketball tournament, and that was seven years ago. Gosh, the things your presence did to him.

Hyuntak curtly flips over his wrist to check the time on his watch, just as he did thirty seconds ago, and thirty seconds before that.

His chest expands in a quiet huff. He had fifteen minutes before he had to leave for his class, more like twenty since the first ten minutes of the hour are allotted for students to relocate between possible back-to-back classes. Hyuntak always believed he could get to his classes in five—a belief he always proved wrong.

It was the start of a new semester, so it only made sense to depart earlier than he usually would to locate his lecture hall in time for class. This logic was foreign to him, he was never concerned about getting to class on time, just as long as he showed up.

But he had to get away from you.

Had to get away from this feeling you were giving him, the feeling you gave him whenever you came around.

Hyuntak only ever saw you with Hu-min’s girlfriend—your best friend—and that, too, was usually just on campus. You would show up to their group together, and then you would flip open a textbook or write in your agenda or type notes onto your laptop. It seemed like it didn’t matter where you were, you were always studying, always ready to put that pretty brain of yours to work.

And that’s how it typically was. Hyuntak had never exchanged more than a few words with you because you were always studying, but he was slowly charmed by you.

He adored the scrunch of your eyebrows when you were stuck on a practice question, adored the tip of your tongue sticking through your pouting lips whenever you were writing something, adored the way your hair would fall over your shoulder whenever you leaned into your textbooks.

He adored you, but he loathed the feeling you gave him.

The tight chest, the heartbeat on a rampage, it was all so foreign to him. Hyuntak, who was usually so poised, so vigorous, and sometimes a little arrogant, was absolute mush in the palm of your hand.

And you didn’t even know it.

Hyuntak slid his chair back with a crisp screech, pushing himself up into a stiff stance while catching the looks of the acquaintances around him.

“What’s wrong, Gotak? Where are you going?” Hu-min questioned, a reminiscent grin charming his features from what must be the aftermath of a joke Hyuntak was too zoned out to hear, his arm slung over the shoulders of his girlfriend and head hung back to look at Hyuntak’s face.

“I have class.”

It’s an abrupt response accompanied by Hyuntak’s darting eyes at Hu-min before he swiftly leans down and collects the strap of his backpack in a tight grasp.

Hu-min reaches for his phone on the table, tapping the screen. “But you don’t have class for another…”

“Fourteen minutes, I know,” Hyuntak brisky replies, straightening up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. His eyes remain downcast as he shuffles with rapid feet to the side of the table, his hand rushing to grab the back of his chair to push it in.

“So why-”

“I need to find the lecture hall,” Hyuntak spurts out, his eyes bulging at Hu-min against his own will. Hu-min’s eyebrow quirks into a raise, his eyes holding Hyuntak’s in a quiet stare.

“Where is it?”

This is not a voice Hyuntak was expecting to hear. This was the last voice Hyuntak needed to hear.

Hyuntak’s billowing eyes find themselves striking at your figure standing at the other end of the table, your tote hung over your shoulder and textbook gripped within the embrace of your arms once again. When did you even get up? Did you always move so quietly?

“Huh?” The dumb-witted sound clambers out of his throat. Did Hyuntak imagine that? He doesn’t think so, but he hopes so.

“Uh, where is it?” Your voice is quieter when you repeat yourself, almost hesitant, “I was going to look for my lecture hall now, too. I thought, if yours is in the same building, we could walk there together.”

Hyuntak stares at you blankly, eyes still bulging.

Did Hyuntak imagine that?

He had to have. There’s no way you’d pay him any mind, no way you’d want a guy like him around you, walking you to class, beside you and breathing the same air as he walked you to said class. What if your hands brushed on accident? You probably wouldn’t want that, you probably think he has sweaty hands, all calloused from the rough rubber of basketballs and the many years of taekwondo. You probably think his fingers are grimy and his hair is greasy and his teeth are yellow and his breath smells bad and his–

“Or– we don’t have to.”

Your voice is nimble, but it’s enough to stir Hyuntak out of his head. His eyes blink at the sudden impact of mental whiplash.

“We’re probably in different buildings anyway–”

“North building.”

Hyuntak’s breath had entered his lungs but had not returned back out of him. He stood still watching you, waiting for your response, and if you weren’t fast enough, Hyuntak thought he might faint from lack of oxygen.

You gaze at him, and then your plump lips tug into a small smile.

“Me too.”

Hyuntak’s fists were moistened with perspiration, and the cool winter air made no difference to the toasting skin of his face. It definitely didn’t help that you were trotting beside him, your textbook cuddled in your cute arms, your soft hair wisping with each breath of wind.

Hyuntak was determined to stare at anything but you. The trees lining the brick path, the students walking in all sorts of directions, the static dead leaves caught in the corner of a building. What a coincidence that all these things happened to be on the opposite side of him, the side that had no indication of your being.

Your acknowledgement of this was unfortunate for Hyuntak, whether you realized it or not, so when he heard the sound of your mellow voice prick his ears, he couldn’t help the way his shoulders jumped and head snapped.

“Do you not like me?”

You said it with a chuckle, eyes kind but curious, squinting at him, assessing what his body was subconsciously trying to tell you.

His shoulders had dropped but remained strained closer to his midline. His lips had pursed into a clueless pout, eyebrows drawn and stiff, conjuring a faint patch of creases between them. His wide eyes, however, glinted, in awe or fear you did not know. But, they glinted.

And then, Hyuntak eased. Like water, his body flowed into his more natural posture. His fingers flexed in his sweatpant pockets and his eyebrows anchored down. His eyes, faintly glossed, blinked into a squint.

He was an idiot.

“No, I do like you– I mean, I don’t not like you, you’re cool. I just, yeah, I think you’re cool,” he blurts, “Why do you ask?”

His face is blank as he eyes you. Your lips spread out marginally in amusement.

“You’re always laughing around with Hu-min and the others before I show up. Then you get all quiet and distant,” you explained, “It gives me the feeling that you don’t want me around. I thought you just didn’t like me.”

Oh, he was such an idiot.

“I don’t like you?– No, what, why would you think that? That’s absurd.” Hyuntak almost doesn’t feel himself scowling. You watch him, amusement still soaking through your face. “You’re always studying, I’ve barely spoken to you. I barely even know you.”

You gaze with a giggle.

His scowl tightens. “Just– can you– gosh,” he huffs, “What room is your lecture in?”

“One fifty.”

Hyuntak’s scowl simmers. His eyebrows knit together.

“That’s where my lecture is.”

“Linear algebra?” You question.

His features question you in return. “Yeah.”

“Oh, we must be in the same class then.”

Hyuntak feels sweat begin to coat the insides of his fists again. He never expected to see you in any of his classes. He had never seen you in any of them before. And linear algebra? What could you possibly need linear algebra for? You obviously weren’t in his program, so what’s with this?

“Do you need to take it for your program?”

You shake your head. “It’s my elective.”

Of course, you, with your angel face and luscious hair and pretty, big brain, were taking linear algebra as your elective.

“Right, okay,” Hyuntak huffs.

Of course you were.

It had become routine for you and Hyuntak to walk to your shared class together. Hyuntak, who was always five minutes late rather than early, found himself showing up to the lecture hall and waiting for the previous class to finish. And you? You were always right there, right by his side.

As the semester progressed, so did your friendship with Hyuntak. It started with faint encounters—he would ask you simple questions about lecture material during lecture breaks. Soon, the two of you had started doing the assigned practice problems together in the campus library. At first, it was just after class. Then, Hyuntak decided he needed more of your help.

Or perhaps, he just needed more of your time.

Hyuntak was quite competent in mathematics. As quick as you were with solving problems, Hyuntak offered himself as fair competition. He definitely benefited from the wisdom you could bestow upon him, but he most definitely did not leech off of it. No, Hyuntak was quite competent. He just needed more you.

Hyuntak’s nervous system gradually surrendered to him. He found, the more time he spent with you going over questions, he no longer felt a winding in his chest, no longer felt his breath retreat from its post. His hands remained as dry as the Sahara, and he wouldn’t want them any other way.

Eventually, Hyuntak found himself asking you to cafes—wouldn’t it be nice to study with a warm drink?

You had obliged with no hesitation, leaving Hyuntak with a pleasant feeling fogging through his chest and vessels and bones.

He took you to cafes littered across the city, all around the campus exterior. A French cafe, an Italian cafe, he’d even taken you to a cat cafe, one where you were both guaranteed to get the least amount of work done, falling victim to tufts of fur and fluff.

When he learned of your love for reading, Hyuntak took you to a book cafe and watched, no, admired as you browsed through the shelves, grazing the spines of different books with your pretty fingers, eyes wide and marveling.

The only mistake Hyuntak had made was taking you to a cafe that specialized in your favourite drink. He almost didn’t fathom the anguish that smacked him when you moaned in pleasure from your first sip.

“Mmm.”

He couldn’t move a nanometer. He couldn’t swallow the sip he had taken from his own drink. He could only listen to you, hear your ethereal sound reverberate within the walls of his head.

“God, this is so good. Where did you find this place?”

Hyuntak gapes at your plush lips, the gate to all the pretty sounds that could be elicited from the deepest parts of you. He can’t help but let his own lips tingle at the ghost of what yours might feel like against them, what they’d look like wrapped around his tip–

“Hyuntak?”

He thinks he can feel the hot blood that was rushing to his cock freeze in his vessels.

He swallows. “Huh?”

“I said, it tastes so good, where do you keep finding these places?”

Your eyes look so innocent peering at him, so oblivious to the dirty picture Hyuntak had painted of you, of your lips, your sound…

“Oh. I just, I guess I know my way around the city,” he muses, “I like to try new things, new places out.”

“Well, keep trying out new places,” you say. Then, you take another sip, “Mmm, it’s so good, Hyuntak.”

Yeah, taking you here was definitely a mistake.

The semester was nearing an end, and so came the final round of assignments.

A wave of tension had ambushed the entire collegiate crowd. The library was full to the brim with students cramping over assignment materials and lecture content, the hallways of each building were full of chatter either discussing chapter solutions or champagne problems. No one had missed being swallowed by this sea of stress.

You and Hyuntak had succumbed to it fully.

“This question makes no sense,” Hyuntak muttered, slowly swaying himself in a chair in the empty classroom you’d both colonized, staring at the assignment question that lit up his laptop screen, chewing down on his lip and winding a pencil through his long fingers.

You stood before him facing the black board, chalk painting your fingers as you scrutinized the scribbles you had flowered the board with, trying to make sense of the question at hand.

“There was something similar to this in chapter thirteen, but it’s not quite the same...” you murmured.

Hyuntak forces out a heavy huff. You shuffle to face him.

“We can stop now, we’ve put in a good amount of work, and we’re making progress,” you suggested, watching his form swaying, basking atop the chair like he owned the entirety of the university.

He was clad in a tight black t-shirt. You couldn’t help but wonder at his biceps, swoll from crossing his arms. His legs were spread, concealed in black sweats to match. His hair, tousled over his eyes from his veiny hand raking through his strands each time he felt a slap of tension gifted from the assignment question. And his eyes, god his devil eyes, they drank your figure in like red wine.

He sighed, still eying you. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s stop here.”

You nodded and turned to collect your things.

There was a pause, and then, “Would you…”

Your head swiveled to face Hyuntak again, your hand reaching into your tote with your pencil case. “Mhm?”

Hyuntak had stopped swaying, his feet planted against the floor. His biceps, still crossed against his chest, swelled at you. His bottom lip rolled between his teeth.

“Would you wanna come over to mine on Saturday?” His voice is timid, but it doesn’t waver, “We can finish working on the assignment. And, I can make us ramen.”

Hyuntak blurted the last comment in hopes of further persuading you into his humble abode. Luckily for him, it seemed to have worked, and he almost clutched his chest as his heart fluttered to the ring of your giggle.

“Sure, I’ll see you Saturday,” you smile, “Promise you’ll make it good?”

Hyuntak grins and sticks out his pinky.

Saturday had circled around, and Hyuntak was circling around his coffee table, kneeling to, once again, fix the vanilla-scented candle—the one he had bought and lit just for you—before moving it back to its original place, when you knocked at his door.

Hyuntak heaved himself up off his carpeted floor. His heart was steady, his lungs didn’t betray him, and his nose was happily lazing in the scent of warm ramen and vanilla, but he still found himself wiping his hands across the front of his sweatpants as he walked over to the door, his hands scrunching at the soft material before reaching for the knob.

He pulled it open, revealing you on the other side, and he swears he feels his heart stop for a millisecond.

You looked the way you always did, if anything, you were just a little more undone. Bare faced, your delicate hair combed back in a clip. You had worn a flimsy black t-shirt—gosh, no bra?—that fit snug along your torso, and a pair of sweatpants that hung low on your hips. Your tote was slung over your shoulder, and your linear algebra textbook was pressed between your forearms and trunk.

You hoisted your textbook snug against your chest once you took in Hyuntak, his welcoming frame swallowed in one of his favourite blue hoodies.

It takes a second for Hyuntak to find his words before he’s welcoming you into his apartment.

“Hey, come in,” he started, “did you find the place okay?”

You scrambled through the door, giving him a smile. “Yeah, it wasn’t too bad.”

He’s closing the door behind you when you shimmy your feet out of your shoes. “That’s good–”

“I think I figured it out!” You declared, traipsing over to his coffee table in a hurried skip.

He watched you take out your supplies, organizing them across the surface of his coffee table, adoring your grace and need for order.

He feels warm, his lips spread in a closed smile, and he thinks the ramen will just have to wait until you’ve had a chance to giddily fill him in on all your ideas.

He carries himself over to the couch and plops down. You sat with your back turned to him, kneeling in front of the coffee table, laying out the notes you had written up since your last study session.

You’re too far for him to hear all the solutions your incredible brain had come up with, so Hyuntak pats the spot next to him. You turn your head.

“Get up here, let me hear your theories.”

Your eyes gaze into his before traveling down to his hand on the couch. You nod.

Collecting your things and joining him on the couch, you start handing him your notes, reciting the details of the solution you had been working towards. He nods along, listening to you ramble about how chapter thirteen had been conjoined to some topics in chapter fifteen, or at least that’s what he’s able to make out of it.

Hyuntak can’t concentrate with your thigh brushing against his every time you move around to grab another sheet or book or pencil. He’s holding your notebook, reading your writing and little scribbles, but nothing's getting through to him. He can hear your voice—your angel voice—but he’s not comprehending the jumble of letters you're spitting out.

He can hear your voice, and god he wants to comprehend you so bad, but his mind is racing, running away from his conscious morality, and taking him to a tavern that offers nothing but hot, liquid lust.

Hyuntak feels searing blood surging through his body, feels it pool into the rod between his legs. His face is starting to heat up, and he’s afraid of leaving moist fingerprints on your pretty notes. His breath is starting to gallop, his chest raising just a bit higher and falling just a tad deeper. Hyuntak, who had grown to be so cool and calm around you, was now hot and desperate, and instead needed you around him.

Your thigh feels so supple against his, feels so grippable. Hyuntak can’t help but wonder what both of them would feel like pressing into the sides of his face–

“Hyuntak, are you listening?”

You’re looking at him, your eyes kind, pitifully unaware of how Hyuntak had you spread out in his head.

“Huh?” Hyuntak doesn’t think he can conjure any other sound, let alone move any muscle in his body. Your notebook rests in his lap, balancing against the wrath of a hardening cock you were faultlessly oblivious to.

Your lips tug into a mellow frown. “I was telling you how we approached the matrix incorrectly in the beginning. Hold on, maybe I should just show you the textbook chapter I’m referring to.”

You turn towards the coffee table and reach over for the textbook, bending just enough for the dainty lace of your white panties to peak over the band of your sweatpants.

Hyuntak thinks he might cry.

“Y/N…” It comes out as a soft mumble, just audible enough to get your attention, wisping out of his mouth and traveling through the now viscous, honey-like air.

You swivel towards him, the textbook sitting in your lap. The lace of your panties shy back into hiding.

“Mhm?”

You’re gazing at him with those godforsaken prudent angel eyes. His feel so heavy, so full of heat and desire, and he’s staring at you with them, begging you to unravel the things you were doing to his body.

He thinks you need a little help, so he lifts the notebook from his lap, unveiling his aching cock stretching into the tightening fabric of his sweats.

He watches your eyes shift to the subtle action, watches the skin around them spread back, and—fuck, your pupils are dilating?

His breathing has deepened, and his dark eyes droop into begging slits. He needs you so bad, has been needing you all these months, but he doesn’t just need your body.

“These weren’t my intentions,” his voice is so low, so gentle, bordering on a whisper, “please believe me. I’ve liked you for– fuck, I don’t know, a millenia I think.”

His eyes wash all over your face, searching for any indication of a reaction, perhaps even reciprocity. He follows your eyes traveling back up to meet his.

Your gaze is velvety, eyes heavy-lidded and chasmic. You’re staring at his lips, parting with each deep breath he takes.

“Do you like me too?” Hyuntak’s heartbeat hurts. His heart rhythmically hammers against its thoracic confines.

You nod. His heart cramps.

He needs to hear you, has to savour his name rolling off your tongue in a sweet confession.

One of his hands slowly reaches up to the clip imprisoning your hair, unclipping it and letting your hair brush down your neck.

The clip falls from his hand and onto the space on the couch behind you. He snakes his hand past your hair, lets his fingers graze into a delicate hold on the back of your neck. He gently rubs.

“Words, baby.”

You think you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“I like you, too, Hyuntak,” you murmur.

Hyuntak exhales.

“Please, can I kiss you?” It’s a muted whimper.

You pry the textbook and sheets of notes off your lap, pushing them onto the couch beside you, before you lean into Hyuntak, answering him more viscerally than he had calculated.

The hand on your neck is hooking you in, responding to your movement.

The heavy lids of your eyes give up, closing to a shut.

You definitely can’t breathe now, and there’s no point in trying because your lips are molding into the plush pinkness of Hyuntak’s.

It’s such a desperate kiss, you're both moving into the plushness of the other. You think you can taste his hunger on his lips, and you think you might wail because he tastes starved.

Hyuntak swats your notebook onto the couch beside him, fingers gripping into the supple flesh of your neck and slowly grazing down your back. His hand falls to your hip, squeezing it, his other hand clutching your opposite thigh to work you onto his lap.

Your body yields to him. Lips still moving into one another, you let him guide your hips onto his.

You break away, noses grazing, breaths deep. And then, you’re latching back onto each other.

The seconds melt, stretching like honey between your mouths. It’s slow, then urgent, and everything in between. It’s you and Hyuntak pouring months of anticipation and desperation into each other. Your lips are swelling against the other, saliva mixed into a drowsy potion that you both keep lapping at.

Hyuntak’s hands are gripping onto your hips, and you find yourself grinding your heat down into his hardness. He groans, his sound reverberating into you, and grips harder, pushing himself up into you. His body responds to you unconsciously.

Your lips are melting into one another, your hips are joined right where you both needed each other, separated by what you both thought was too much fabric. The leisurely friction heats the slit between your legs. You feel the hard curve of his cock rubbing the moistening patch on your panties into your hole.

Hyuntak’s hands are silking their way into your shirt, rubbing and gripping your bare waist, when he breaks away.

He’s panting, his voice hoarse, nose chafing yours. “Bedroom?”

“Please.”

And then your lips drive back into each other.

You’re wrapping your arms around his neck, his around your waist, when he pushes the two of you into a stand, staggering across his apartment to his bedroom with your body pressed against his. Your hands are feeding into his hair, tugging, luxuriating in the softness of his strands. You feel him moan against your lips.

When you break away, it’s almost painful. You didn’t need to breathe anymore, you just needed his mouth on yours, lips working into yours, sucking your tongue against his.

He lowers you onto his bed, and you finally get to see what had become of him.

His lips are swollen, red and covered in a blend of your spit, parted to let the string of quick, deep breaths flow out of him. His hair is fluffed, strands sticking out to where your hands had been, almost aching, reaching out for your touch again. Dark strands loll over his eyes, his heavy, heavy eyes that crawl over your body, licking, biting, sucking at your supple skin with his leaden gaze.

You’re no different. Your pout has swelled, pink and wet. Your nipples pebble against the material of your shirt, breasts raising with each hallowing breath that flutters past your lips, weeping out for his hands to touch them. You’re leaning back on your hands, your legs spread into brackets fit just for Hyuntak’s frame.

His hands reach back and grab onto his hoodie, pulling it over his head, letting it fall from his pulsing forearm and to the ground.

His golden skin looks so warm to touch, and you think you might reach out to graze your fingers down the ridges of his tight torso, but Hyuntak is already moving.

He’s leaning down into you, his arms caging your waist, warm hand brushing along your lower back. He’s catching your lips in an embrace, softly sucking onto your bottom lip, licking it and letting it swell in his mouth, then pulls away to look at you.

His fingers rub the fabric of your t-shirt between their tips. “Can I take this off?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

There’s a warm glint in his eyes, and then he nods. His hands slide under your shirt, savouring the heat of your waist, before lifting it up and over your head.

There’s an inviting coolness in Hyuntak’s room, and it hits your fiery skin, dousing over the upper half of your body, hardening your nipples even more.

You peek up at Hyuntak.

He’s already gazing at you, eyes soft, smooth like melted milk chocolate, slowly breathing through his nose. Your shirt falls from his hand, onto the blue pool of his hoodie.

Hyuntak is taken by the sight of your half-naked body. He thinks he nearly salivates when his eyes fall over your pretty tits, the most beautiful pair he thinks he’ll ever see. Perfect, simply because they were yours. He can’t help but let his tongue scrape against the roof of his mouth, trying to mimic the way he wants to lave over your hardened nipples.

There’s a genial quirk to his swollen lips. Your cheeks start to flush, heating from the warmth of his gaze, and you feel a wistful smile takeover your features.

Hyuntak leans back down into you. A strong arm curves against your back, the pads of his fingers whisper with the soft hairs prickling across the back of your neck.

He delicately pulls you down against his mattress, and you let him. His forearm rests near your head, keeping him above you as he kisses you again, slow and wet.

His bare torso is so warm against yours. He’s bent over the edge of his bed, grinding down into you again. Your thighs are grazing his flanks, heels pressing into the edge of his bed, hips grinding up to answer his, scavenging for more traction.

Hyuntak’s arm is pressing your body into his, desperately trying to dissolve your beings together. The feeling of your tits rubbing against his chest makes him shiver with anticipation.

His big hand skims down your back, circling lazily over your waist. It climbs higher up, inching closer to your breast, until his palm smoothes over your peak.

You sigh into his mouth, and Hyuntak is urged to give you more, whatever you need, so he can hear more of your ethereal sounds.

He gathers as much of you as he can into the cup of his hand, pressing into your pretty tit, and gives it a soft squeeze. You moan into him, and he bucks his hips harder into you.

His thumb murmurs slowly over your nipple, rubbing a languid circle around it, rousing a whine from the back of your throat.

Hyuntak groans, pulling away from your lips with a pop, and plants an urgent kiss to the corner of your mouth. He kisses down your jaw, mouth open and hot, onto your neck, gently sucking at your skin.

You’re too swept in the feeling of his hot lips loitering down your complexion to realize Hyuntak has a destination in mind.

His tongue flattens over your pebbled nipple, sucking it into his mouth.

“Mmmm.”

Hyuntak sucks harder, swirling his tongue over the tip of your peak. His hand is pushing more of your breast into his mouth.

Your lips vibrate with moans. Your slick is pooling into your panties, splurging within your pussy lips with each grind Hyuntak offers. Your toes curl into the comforter because of how desperately you're pushing your hips into his. One of your hands is clutching at his hard shoulder, the other basking through his hair.

You needed more, god you needed so much more.

You're pulling Hyuntak’s head off your chest, your fingers gripping into his hair. His lips suck off your nipple, leaving it with a sheen of his saliva, a thin sliver of spit being the only thing connecting him to your breast.

He pops off with a moan, eyes shut tight at the feeling of your tugging at him. He opens them, lids shadowing his sight with desire.

Your eyes are pleading, soaking him in. “Need more, Hyune.”

Hyuntak feels your order shoot straight to his throbbing dick, then nods.

And his lips are back on your skin, soft as sin.

“I’ll give it to you, baby, gonna give it to you so good,” he murmurs against you, moving down your body.

His fingers hook into the band of your sweats. “M’gonna make you feel so good.”

You’re up, leaning back against your forearms. You lift your hips to let him tug your sweats off your legs.

He draws them off, kneeling in between your legs on the edge of the bed. His hands skim over your legs, fingers trailing absentmindedly over the expanse of your skin.

You’re an angel beneath him, almost bare on his sheets if not for your white panties, the cute little bow that decorates the waistband inviting Hyuntak to unwrap you. His eyes dance over you, over the wet patch that renders the fabric just under your hole translucent.

Fuck, you were a wet dream, the most beautiful, cinematic wet dream rejuvenated into reality, spread out just for him, soaking just for him. Hyuntak takes in your angel form, and he is wreaked.

You were lying there all pretty, on his bed, and Hyuntak can’t help but think the months of prowling with the torturous feeling your presence gave him was irrefutably worth it.

Hyuntak clasps a hand over one of your ankles, lifting it up to rest on his shoulder, fingers lightly grazing up and down. He grapples with the whimper that threatens to spill out of him.

“Look so pretty, so perfect for me.” He licks his lips. “Been such a smart girl, hm? Need to reward you.”

Hyuntak wants to stand there, idolizing you with parted lips, watching your tits expand with each of your breaths, eyes droop with need, hips twitch with hopelessness. But he has to give you what you need, has to make you feel good.

He itches to make you feel good. He has to, after all, you’d been working so hard this semester.

So, he slowly drops to his knees in front of you and pulls your thighs onto his shoulders.

He can smell your heady wetness through your panties, now lucid from your deprivation. He breathes out against you.

His air cools the patch of slick. It’s a potent sensation that has your back curving off the sheets.

“Take them off, please,” it leaves your lips concealed in a whine.

Hyuntak brushes the tip of his nose against your aching bud, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the soaked patch.

You’re cunt flutters, trying to clamp down on emptiness. You whimper.

Hyuntak slings his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, dragging them through your legs before they finally clear your feet.

He’s gripping your thighs down into his shoulders, drinking in the sight of you, bare and spread for him.

“Such a pretty cunt… my smart, beautiful girl,” he mumbles, eyes drowning in the sight of your glistening pussy, watching your stickiness pool out of you. He wants to savour you, wants to drag his tongue through you with selfishness and greed until he knows his taste buds will be coated with you for days. He wants to take his time, but you had been so good, so smart, working so hard, and you needed him so badly. The last thing Hyuntak wanted to do was deny you for his own pleasure.

He decides he’ll hold you down and savour you another time, before he crashes into you.

Hyuntak licks a thick strip from your hole to your clit. It’s such a delicious feeling, there’s a moan breaking through your voice box, and your hips are delinquently rolling themselves into his tongue.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, licking once across its surface, and letting it go. His tongue squishes through your folds, driving back to dig the tip into your hole, and doing it all over again like a broken record.

The sounds are filthy, wet with lust. You can hear Hyuntak sucking on your clit, hear his tongue squelch and squish through your slick. Moans and whimpers are clambering out of you, whether you want them to or not.

He’s sucking your bud when you feel the tip of his middle finger flit around the outskirts of your cunt. He can feel your walls clench, trying to suck him in, and he smirks against you at your need.

But he can’t hold back on you, so he lets it sink in, lets you coat his finger with your wetness, lets you squeeze around him, before he pulls it back out and glides it back in with his ring finger.

The stimulation is just right. It feels so good with his fingers slowly pumping into you, his mouth sucking and licking your aching nub. You fall back against the sheets, shutting your eyes and dragging the tips of your toes over Hyuntak’s back. Your hand trails down your front, finding his tousled locks, and you twine your fingers into them.

Hyuntak groans against you, stimulating your clit further. He curls his fingers, digging them deeper into your cunt. He slightly flexes them out when you clench around him, resisting your confines and giving you a larger stretch.

You’re breathing faster, deeper, just as Hyuntak’s fingers are working into you. You feel heat spread through your face, down into your chest and through your limbs. Your hips roll with the wave of Hyuntak’s hands. There’s a coiling at your core that has you moaning for more.

Hyuntak feels you rolling your hips harder against him, feels your thighs starting to squeeze the sides of his face, feels you tugging harder at his hair, and he knows he’s drawing you closer to a release. So he plants his fingers in deep and curls them against the spot that has you gushing, whimpering his name over and over, until finally, you twitch, your cunt clenches, fluttering open and shut, and you're a whining mess above him.

Hyuntak lets his fingers rest in your contracting cunt when he pulls away from your clit. He brings his thumb to gently rub against it, helping you come down from your release.

Hyuntak is wrecked. His lips are parted, coated with your slick that dribbles down his chin. His hair is messed from your hold, spiking out and flatted against his forehead. His eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, draining in how undone you are.

Your sweet, swollen lips are parted, deep pants escaping through them and making your breasts heave with each breath. You let go of his hair, dragging your hand up to grip onto the sheets near your head.

He watches you, and soon becomes aware of his hips bucking against the side of his bed, trying to catch a release of his own.

He’s so hard it hurts, so wet he’s soaked a small patch of his own through his boxers and into the material of his sweats.

Hyuntak doesn’t think his body has ever been so desperate for someone. He’s desperate for you, the girl who’s been unintentionally tampering with his breathing, setting his heart ablaze with white fire, making his palms sweat up a sixth ocean for the past few months.

And now, Hyuntak thinks he finally has you desperate for him, right where he wants you, leaking onto his sheets and moaning his name.

Hyuntak was the most fortunate idiot in the world.

“Did so good, baby, you look so pretty right now,” he sighs, licking at the taste of you on his lips. You peek open your eyes and take him in.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you with a squelch, leaving you empty and squeezing onto nothing.

“Wanna taste?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

He brings his fingers to your lips, coats them with your wetness. They part just enough for him to slide them in. You drag your tongue around them, sucking them further into your mouth, and Hyuntak strains to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. He thinks he might cum from watching you, feeling you, so he pulls his fingers back, enduring your suction.

They latch off with a pop.

“Want you inside, Hyune. Fuck me, please,” you’re mumbling.

Hyuntak was going to combust. Your words grip onto his paining dick, and he’s bounding onto his feet.

His thumbs slide under the waistband of his boxers, and he pushes them down with his sweats. His cock is springing out, bobbing against his lower stomach, veins pulsing out of his skin. His tip is sticky, glossed over with his precum.

“I have some condoms, Hu-min gave them to me,” he clarifies with a mutter, hoping you don’t get the idea that he's been anticipating sexual encounters, “I’ll grab one–”

“No,” you murmur, “Want you bare.”

Gosh, were you trying to kill him?

He gapes at you. “Are you– are you sure?”

You lazily nod, heaving, back still arched. “I cleared my test, and I’m on birth control.”

He takes a second to process what you said, process the fact that you wanted him bare inside you, then slowly nods, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. “Okay… okay, I tested negative, too.”

He mounts himself onto the bed, kneeling before you, fingers rubbing over your knees. You’re slowly breathing, looking up at him with your fucked out eyes.

“You’re sure, baby?”

“Yes.”

And then Hyuntak is caging himself over you, sliding his hand up your thigh and hooking it over his hip.

“Wrap your legs around me, pretty girl.” You obey him.

He hoists you closer to his abdomen and shifts you up until your head digs into his pillows. He lowers himself onto his forearms, his fingers looping into your hair, the soft strands that stray over the pillows.

Your gaze is drowsy, reaching out into his eyes and drawing him in. Hyuntak is reeling his head lower, giving into your spell. His lips feather over your own until he’s pressing them down into a kiss far too innocent for your current arrangement.

Your legs, wrapped snug over Hyuntak’s hips, drag him down until the length of his cock rubs into your wettening folds and he’s whining into your mouth.

He pulls back his head. God, he needs to be in you so bad.

He snakes a hand down to line himself against your hole, rubbing his tip against you, making you writhe your hips for more.

“Please, Hyuntak,” you whimper, and that’s enough to do him over.

Hyuntak sinks into you, and you moan in tandem.

Your walls are so hot, so inviting, hugging around him like you never want him to leave. He’s pushing himself in, feeling each of his inches get sucked in by your confines.

He looks into your half-open eyes. “Okay?”

“Mmm, Hyune, feels so good, so full.”

He breathes out a moan, dropping his head into your shoulder. Your reassurance drives all the scorching blood in his body to the only part of him that’s buried in you.

Hyuntak slowly pulls himself back out, dragging his veiny rod against your pulsing walls, before he’s sinking himself back into you, filling you full.

He flattens his hand against your back, curving you into his chest, feeling your tits press into him. Then, he’s grabbing onto your hip so he can really start pounding into you.

The squelch of your pussy around his pumping cock fills the room, your little gasps and broken whimpers serenade the fibres in his ears. His open mouth rests against the base of your neck, wreaked moans sinking into your warm skin. Your hands are in his already unkempt hair, nails digging into his neck and scraping over his upper back.

He’s fucking into you slow, deliberate, letting you feel all his passion, trying to get you to acknowledge the hard times you had given him, or rather, all the times you had gotten him hard. He wasn’t greedy before, but now? Hyuntak believes he has all the right to take you exactly how he wants.

Make you feel the stretch of his cock in your gushing cunt.

Make you whimper and whine over the loving manner with which he pumps himself into you.

He snaps his hips, squeezes onto yours, and grinds his dick deeper into you. His tip grazes your g-spot, and you clench around him, trying to keep him in, trying to make him stay there and rutt into your spot over and over until you’re coming for him all over again. You squeeze your legs around him, attempting to bury him further into you.

But Hyuntak pulls himself out with a groan, pushing against the hold of your cunt and legs. He bucks himself deep inside you again and pulls out with a fastened pace.

He’s so hard, so deep, but he’s still so gentle, so raw. His fingers are wreathing through your hair, the pad of his thumb is circling over your hip bone, and he’s mumbling against the supple skin of your neck.

“Taking me so well, baby, fuck.”

“Feel that? Feel how hard you made me? It’s all for you, just for you.”

“Been getting me so hot and hard for months. Gonna fuck it all into you now, m’gonna make you take it.”

You’re whining at his words, rolling your hips to match his pace.

The hand on your hip is smoothing over your lower stomach, his palm pressing into it when he pounds into your g-spot again. You’re whimpering at the friction of his tip against your sweet spot, gripping whatever part of him you can get your hands on. Then, he’s sliding his hand down, his fingers pushing your swollen clit out from under its hood, and rubbing down into it.

The pressure is enough to make you twitch, chasing your second release. Hyuntak is still rutting himself into you when you feel the coil burst in the depths of your abdomen, you cunt finally giving in and clenching down on his cock again and again and again.

“God, Hyune– nngh.”

Hyuntak’s hot, heavy eyes are pouring into yours when you come undone for him again. He basks in the moans trailing out of your parted mouth, and when he hears you repeating his name, masked in lewd whines, he feels a coiling of his own brewing deep within him.

His abs tighten, arms bulge, hands gripping into your hair. His mouth falls open with groans, and he whimpers your name when the tense string finally tightens and snaps. His hips are worn, bucking into you hopelessly, wretchedly, and his deviled cock is draining your spent pussy walls with his hot seed.

He’s spurting into you, and you're clenching onto him, wrapping your tight walls around him and sucking up each drop he has to offer you.

He fucks his cum deep into you with one more thrust before his hips slow to a stop inside you. He’s still lazily rubbing over your clit, halting with a chuckle when he feels you squirm from overstimulation.

You're both panting, noses rubbing softly, and Hyuntak wants to stay like this forever, with his cock stuffing you and your cunt full of his searing cum. But he knows he can’t, and he can feel himself softening, so he delicately starts to pull himself out of you.

You let out a low mewl in protest, and Hyuntak answers you with a mellow whine of his own.

He twists himself to lay on his side next to you. His eyes wash over you, over your hair sprawled in a sea around your head on his pillows, your plush, still swelling pink lips, your eyes, now soft and kind, squinting at him when you smile up at him.

Hyuntak melts, and knows he’s never seen anything more beautiful. He wants to wrap you up in blankets and kiss you all over your glowing face, but he thinks you’d benefit more from something edible.

So, he smiles back at you and says, “I made ramen, I promised you, didn’t I?”

You giggle, your hands reaching for his neck and pulling him down to your lips.

“Maybe after one more round?” you suggest, mumbling against him, eying him with a playful twinkle.

Hyuntak thinks he feels his blood mockingly rush back into his cock, and he��s a goner.

The ramen will just have to wait. Again.

1K notes · View notes

orphicsun · 3 months ago

Note

hi hi

we all know ellie’s a loser but can we pls get some subtop ellie pretty please with a cherry on top :3

warnings: subtop!ellie, use of strap-ons(e!), accidental orgasms

Sex is a timeline, if you think about it in such a way.

The chase: it's either with a lover or a stranger who looks just right underneath party lights and with enough liquid courage in your system. Sometimes, it may be a simple 'are you in the mood?' from your spouse. The build-up: the one thing plenty of men can't seem to understand. You need to take a needle and thread to sex, gently weave in and out before you finish the entire thing. The urgency that pairs with the rise as you try to hold back your orgasm because the way your partner leaves those sloppy kisses on your neck isn't helping. The orgasm being the infamous matter and the usual goal, and then the fall. That steep fall back down to the green Earth.

With Ellie, though? Sex isn't a chronological timeline. It is defined with many pit stops that may affectionately annoy you and altogether frustrate you past your body's needy limits.

Your girlfriend is already on top of you, lounging casually between your legs. Your eyes are glued to the tv. It's something you take interest in, but Ellie is restless.

"Babe.." She pries her hands from underneath your waist from which they were wrapped around and playfully squeezes the fat of your boobs.

"Hm?" You give her half your attention, but it isn't enough. She is now seeking more.

"Closet trip?" Ellie suggests. It's code for "Can I the strap-on from the closet and fuck your brains out?"

You don't bite, though. It's the chase that you prolong. You know it's worth it to savor her, reel her in as she gives this her all. Because the second she is inside your silken heat, you know what happens.

Sex with Ellie isn't chronological.

"Right now?" You play dumb.

Ellie scoffs lightly; you're cute, though. "Yeah, right now. But..you can say no if you don't want to."

But even as she speaks, Ellie deflates and desperates all the same. She removes her hands from your tits to squeeze your sides, and then she simply frees you from her grasp. She is a smart cookie, you'll give her that.

“Sure. Lemme turn this show off.” Ellie is already rushing. to your closet. The chase was a victory.

Ellie's build-up is sliding through your fold and nudging at your clit until she can't stand it anymore, needing to be inside of you. Like I said, the sex Ellie gives you isn't the usual. The foreplay last night was nearly two hours worth, and now you get this.

"Can I put it in, babe?" Ellie offers the question with a neediness to her tone, offering you an out before..well, before the unique process of sex with Ellie.

"You wanna fuck me, Ellie? Are you gonna make me cum?"

She huffs a needy breath, panting like a dog into your ear. "Mmmhmm..wanna feel your pussy, pleasepleaseplease."

"C'mon, sweetie. I wanna feel you inside me already."

Ellie doesn't hesitate to spread your lips with the smooth tip of the toy until your slick coats it. Then she eagerly pushes into your hole, soft whimpers leaving her throat as if she can really feel you around her.

She has to freeze mid-stroke just to collect herself, not even bottomed-out in your tightness. She is losing all train of thought just being inside you, and is honestly a little terrified she may just start pounding into your cunt with reckless abandon. She has to control herself, though.

"Your pussy's so sweet, baby. It feels so good being in you..i love being in you.." she blabbers, half-incoherent.

You stifle a whimper. "Yeah? Can you start moving, Ellie?"

Ellie gives you a quick, enthusiastic nod and immediately begins to fuck you. You can't contain your moans at the feeling of her skin against yours, her own arousal noticeably dripping down the harness and her freckled, pale thighs.

And she fully loses her ability to do anything but move her hips as you leave scratch marks far down her broad back. It's own of your favorite features on her—despite her lean, janky build that you fantasize about when you're alone, her back is a contrast to it, and that is why it's always covered in pink scratch lines.

You're quite close after enough movements. Ellie is eager and fast, but it's that which turns you on. It's the way she mewls while she's deep in your pussy, the fact that she wants to be deep enough to make your cervix feel her the next day. You'll be sore from the sweet little, frankly sloppy thrusts she gives you. It's worth it, though.

But you know Ellie, you've done this many times before. You can't be surprised when she thrusts sputter until she ultimately stops on top of your body. She lets out a soft noise.

"S-Sorry, babe..I got really tired. Mind taking over for me?" She sounds almost like a puppy who got into the trash. It makes you clench around her despite the lack of friction.

"No problem." You find yourself soon situated on her lap, sinking back down onto her. The sight is something Ellie has to take a mental snap of and shamelessly finger herself when thinking of later—your hands supporting yourself so closely together that your tits are pressed in a delicious sight. Your hair is messy from previously just laying back against the pillow and taking her until now, and your lips.. they're moving towards her.

While you and Ellie share a wet, filthy kiss, the back of your thighs meet the edges of her waist. Your hips move slightly back and forth, raising and sinking back down. Your eyes flutter, half-lidded and struggling to stay open. Moments like these are the ones Ellie wants to open her sketchbook for and scratch away, wanting to capture each and every sensation and visual. It's impossible to replicate this moment, however.

Sex with Ellie isn't chronological at all. Before you're even feeling a sign of an impending orgasm from your body, she is shuddering beneath you, her body suddenly squirming before she goes still under you, slumped against the bed. The way you were moving must've rubbed her clit raw underneath her adornment.

You cease your movements. "Did you..?"

She nods and catches her breath. "Sorry. I can finish you off if you need?" She sweetly offers, grabbing your hips with those bony fingertips of hers, ready to flip you back over.

And the cycle begins.

taglist: @abbysbutch, @littlefallenangel111, @prwttiestbunny, @eriiwaiii2, @starrycherie, @evoscancelled, @human-cacti, @tphmnv, @fruitit00tie, @x0x0xkimara, @hotpinkskitties, @mars4hellokitty, @jhyoos, @elliesngirl, @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @starryeyedlovergirll, @l0veylace, @abbysmeatrider, @aviixol, @ferxanda, @vahnilla, @frillynpinkprincess, @plasticl0v3r, @meow4510, @g4ys0n, @mitskimisfit, @ruelezz, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs want to be added to the taglist? click here

717 notes · View notes

miyasmagnolias · 1 month ago

Text

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 ⋆˙⟡

miya atsumu x f!reader

you go on a date with a guy in your major. meanwhile, atsumu finds himself increasingly upset about it.

part six of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

"Y/N, have ya seen my knee pads?" Atsumu shouted thirty minutes before he was expected to be at volleyball practice.

"What?" you shouted back from across the apartment. Atsumu scrubbed his hair out in frustration.

"My knee pads!" he repeated, a little louder this time. "Have ya seen 'em?"

After an excruciatingly long second, you responded, "No, I haven't seen your note pad! What does it look like?"

"For god's sake," he murmured, storming across the apartment and barging through your open bedroom door. "I said — "

The words died on his lips when he caught sight of you.

You glanced up at him from your small desktop mirror, a tube of lipstick in one hand and a facial tissue in the other. You were dressed in a burgundy baby doll dress with ruffled sleeves, and your hair fell around your shoulders in gentle waves.

"Sorry, what did you say?" you asked innocently, clicking the tube shut and turning to face him. Upon seeing his frazzled expression, you asked, "What? Do I have lipstick on my teeth?"

Atsumu blinked once. Twice. It was as if the tiny person at the control panel in his brain had died.

"M-My knee pads. I can't find 'em anywhere," he managed after a while. Then, because he was flustered and incredibly stupid, "Ya goin' to church or somethin'?"

"On a Tuesday?" you retorted, fixing your lipstick in the mirror. "No, but I am going to dinner with this guy from my world lit class."

"I'm sorry — what?"

"I thought I told you."

"Uh, no ya didn't."

"I definitely did," you argued, plunking your lipstick into the nicest purse you owned. "We were sitting on the couch yesterday watching The Bachelor — "

"Well, see, that was yer first mistake. Ya know I lock in on Bachelor Mondays." He perched his hands on his hips. "What's this guy's name?"

"Jun."

"Like the month?"

"Phonetically speaking, yes," you said amusedly. "We got into this heated debate about The Paper Menagerie and its take on familial relationships, and he pulled me aside after class and asked if I'd like to do it again sometime."

"So he asked ya out?"

You nodded. "We're going to grab drunken noodles and ice cream, which will probably fuck up my digestive system for the next two days, but I don't care."

Atsumu didn't know what bothered him more — the fact that you got all dolled up for this guy, or the fact that he had no fucking clue what The Paper Menagerie was.

Either way, he shouldn't have been so surprised. You were pretty. Smart. Way too smart. Someone was bound to notice.

He just didn't know you'd be equally as interested.

"Besides, now that you're back at volleyball practice twice a week, I no longer have anyone to hang out with," you pointed out. "How are you feeling about your first day back?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Fine. I'ma treat it like any other day. Go to practice, run my drills. Grab my green smoothie from Sip Happens."

"Love Sip Happens," you reassured him. A soft smile blossomed across your features. "I'm really proud of you, by the way."

He scoffed. "Why?"

"Because," you said, as if it should have been obvious. "Because you went through the shittiest break-up imaginable. So much so that you had to take a volleyball sabbatical and hang out with me for a whole month. But you dealt with it."

"Right," Atsumu breathed, shaking his head. That's what he should have been bothered by. His break-up with Akemi. His back-stabbing best friend. His month-long hiatus from the sport he loved.

Though, if he were being completely honest, he was getting better at recognizing the past for what it was. In fact, the more time he spent here with you — watching The Bachelor, eating dinner together, distracting you while you wrote — the less he ached for the life he once had. The more prepared he felt to step back on the court and prove himself worthy of being there.

He wouldn't admit that to you, though. Instead, he opted for the safer truth.

"I couldn't have done it without ya."

You frowned at the sudden sincerity in his voice, the emotion it stirred within you.

"Alright, get outta here," Atsumu said, jerking his chin towards your bedroom door. "Go talk about paper menageries or foreign films or whatever the hell y'all English majors like to yap about." Without thinking, he added, "But if he tries anything, I will break his face."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," you chuckled, slinging your purse over a shoulder and following him out. "By the way, you knee pads are in your gym bag already. I found them in the laundry room."

"Thanks, Y/N. Yer a lifesaver."

"I know," you said sweetly before closing the front door.

Sure enough, when Atsumu unzipped his gym bag, his knee pads were there, tucked safely inside. And beside them? A pack of blue raspberry sour straws. His favorite.

He peeled off the yellow sticky note you'd left on the packaging.

Good luck on your first day back! ♡

Sucking in a sharp breath, Atsumu tilted his head towards the ceiling, massaged the inner corners of his eyes, and tried not to tear up.

It had been a long time since you'd gone on a date.

It was strange — being wanted like that. Putting so much effort into your appearance for someone you barely knew. In fact, as you'd pulled the dress from the back of your closet and applied a little more makeup than usual, you couldn't distinguish the feeling in your stomach as butterflies or plain, old-fashioned anxiety.

Not to mention the look on Atsumu's face when he'd seen you — it was as if you'd grown a second head. Did he find your dress too frilly? Your blush too over-the-top? Did he think you completely pathetic for trying so hard?

"Earth to Y/N," Jun droned, waving his chopsticks in an attempt to get your attention.

"Yes!" you piped up, the clamoring sounds of the Thai restaurant flooding back into your senses. Across the table, Jun looked at you expectantly.

"Sorry," you apologized, dabbing the corners of your mouth with a napkin. "What did you ask me again?"

Your date sat back in his chair and took a swig of his sake. "I asked you what you've been writing recently."

"Right," you nodded. "Well, I just started outlining my creative writing honors thesis, and I think I'm going with my tell-tale genre."

"Which is?"

You poked your half-eaten drunken noodles with your chopsticks and debated your response.

"...smutty romantic comedy?"

"Wow," Jun chuckled into his ochoko cup. "I did not take you for a smutty romantic comedy kind of girl."

You shot him a bemused smile. "What does that mean?"

"Well, based off our heated discussion in Professor Connelly's class, I pegged you as someone with more sophisticated taste."

Ouch. You folded your arms across your chest. "Just because I write about sex and relationships doesn't mean I have unsophisticated taste."

"Of course not," he followed-up quickly. "But, come on. You aren't exactly winning a Pulitzer Prize with a genre like that."

"Well, maybe I don't want to," you clipped, your voice sharper than usual. Had he always been this condescending? This rude? You folded your hands in your lap and asked, "Why, what have you been writing recently?"

Jun put his chopsticks down and began gesturing in the air like a tenured professor. "Think Ernest Hemingway meets Flannery O'Connor..."

For the next fifteen minutes, Jun droned on about his 'disruptive' novel idea — something about an unbathed farm child, a long, winding road, and several metaphors about the journey within.

Meanwhile, you wondered what it would be like if Atsumu were here instead. The jokes he'd make, the questions he'd ask. If Atsumu were here, he'd press you for details about your thesis outline. Tease you for being a closeted freak before taking your story ideas seriously.

He wouldn't insult you. Or undermine you.

He would accept you. Just as you were.

You pictured him. Sitting across from you with his bleach blonde hair and lopsided grin and dimples you wished you could pinch off his cheeks. Asking for the check with an easy lift of his hand. Using that same hand to reach for your knee underneath the table —

"Ready for dessert?" your waiter asked. You nearly jumped out of your seat.

"Just the check. Thanks," Jun replied, plopping his napkin atop his empty plate. Once the waiter was out of earshot, he asked, "You still down for ice cream?"

You pursed your lips to one side before saying, "Actually, I think I'm going to call it."

"What? What happened?" he drawled, reaching underneath the table for your knee. You writhed away from his touch.

"Dunno," you shrugged, eyes empty. Tone flat. "I guess I just don't have very good taste."

You paid for your half of the meal and left.

"You were on fire today, man," Aran told Atsumu after practice, clapping him on the back in the men's locker room. "Welcome back. We missed you."

"Yeah, you nearly took my arms off," Sakusa muttered under his breath, massaging his forearms with soapy water in the sink.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Atsumu said sheepishly, wiping his face with a worn towel. "It's good to be back, though. I missed y'all."

Atsumu had definitely played better today than all of his previous off-season practices, but he couldn't say he was 100% focused, either. The entire time, he couldn't stop thinking about you and your stupid date. Were you having a good time? Had you exchanged Goodreads accounts? Were Jun's jokes funnier, more intellectual than his?

Turns out spiking the volleyball like it was English major's face made for some pretty incredible service aces.

"That from your girlfriend?" Sakusa asked, jutting his chin towards the sticky note you'd written for Atsumu earlier that day. He'd since stuck it on the inside of his locker door.

"Nah. She's just a friend," Atsumu told him, slamming the locker door shut and slinging his gym bag over a shoulder. At Sakusa's raised eyebrow, he said, "She is! She's literally on a date right now."

As they exited the men's locker room and pushed through the double doors of the student athletics center, Atsumu stopped in his tracks. Because there, across the courtyard, you sat. Phone in one hand. A green smoothie in the other. Sitting all pretty in that burgundy dress that made Atsumu want to disintegrate.

"Sure she is," Sakusa drawled, yanking his mask over his nose and mouth before stalking off in the other direction.

"Y/N, what are ya doin' here?" Atsumu asked as he approached you.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm picking you up," you said matter-of-factly. You handed him his green smoothie from Sip Happens for good measure.

"I thought ya had yer date with English major. What happened to drunken noodles? Ice cream? Two days of uncontrollable IBS?"

"Yeah, well, turns out English majors aren't really my type," you admitted. Upon seeing Atsumu's perplexed expression, you added, "The guy was an asshole."

"Oh," he said, shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry."

You rolled your eyes. "No, you're not."

"I'm not," he confessed almost immediately. You barked out a laugh. "I'm sorry! But ice cream after spicy food? On a first date?"

"You're right. He's a psychopath."

"A complete psychopath," he agreed. "Ya deserve someone better. Someone who understands yer digestive issues. Someone who — "

He stopped abruptly, unsure of how to finish that sentence.

You peered up at him expectantly. "Someone who...?"

"Someone who really knows you," he finished after a moment. His throat bobbed. "And who can put up with all yer freaky obsessions."

"Ugh," you groaned. "I am never telling a man I write smut on the first date ever again."

Atsumu's lips tugged into a soft smile. "Thanks for the smoothie."

"No problem," you replied, stretching your arms out towards the orange sky. "Wanna join me for second dinner? I'm starving."

"Why?" Atsumu asked. "Ya didn't eat on yer date?"

"Barely. I have leftovers in the fridge, but I need something that doesn't remind me of Jun's pretentious face."

Atsumu snorted, already heading in the direction of your go-to diner spot. "Weird way to ask me out, but alright."

"Yeah, right," you scoffed, right on his heels. "You wish."

He knew you were only joking, but his heart twinged anyways.

Because, deep down, he knew you were right.

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

323 notes · View notes

ambiguous-avery · 2 months ago

Note

Hii! Im not sure if you write for Sam Winchester, but thought I'd ask anyway.

Could you do a sam winchester x fem reader smut, preferably with a size kink and soft dom or just dom Sam? Other than that I don't really care other than its smut<3

In His Hands

bf!Sam Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 2687

Summary: There were so many reasons to love Sam Winchester. His ability to find the good in bad situations. The way he always held out hope for even the worst situations. His puppy eyes that would make you cave to just about anything. His wonderfully smart brain. But you can’t deny that his height may have played a part in your attraction to him. Just means there’s a lot more of him to love.

Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, reader is described as being smaller than Sam, reader is AFAB, femme nicknames (pretty girl, good girl, baby girl), size kink, soft dom!Sam, consent checks via traffic light system, oral sex (F receiving), unprotected PIV sex, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Ahh thanks for the request, anon! I apologize for the delay in getting this to you! Hope this is what you were looking for! 💜 Not that anyone asked or cares, but I am a whopping 5 feet tall, and I dated someone who was 6’8” for several years. I may have a bit of a size kink myself... All that to say that I really enjoyed writing this! This is also doubling as a work for @sammybirthdaybonanza!

You should’ve known that you were done for from the second you had playfully compared your hand against Sam’s, his long fingers dwarfing yours with ease. Now, those same long fingers held both of your wrists above your head, pinning them firmly against the mattress. His weight was a delicious pressure over you, his knee nudging your thighs apart as his lips hovered just above yours. Close enough that you could feel his warm breath against your skin. Far enough away that you couldn’t kiss him.

“Still think that size doesn’t matter?” Sam’s voice was a low rumble that vibrated through your chest, his hazel eyes dark with desire. There was a playful challenge in his expression. The corner of mouth quirked up in a crooked half-grin that always made your heart stutter. You didn’t get to see this side of him nearly enough. The playful, carefree side of him that didn’t see the light of day often enough.

You tried to buck upwards, testing his grip, but unsurprisingly, he held you in place effortlessly. His free hand went to your hip and he pressed you into the mattress, his long fingers splaying across your skin. The thought that he could hold you down and take whatever he damn well pleased from you was plenty to send a spike of arousal through your system. A shiver ran down your spine as heat pooled between your legs.

“I didn’t say that,” you replied, breathless. “I’m pretty sure my exact words were, ‘I’m not intimidated by it.’”

“Well that much is clear,” he said, eyes sweeping down your naked form with undisguised desire. “But maybe you should be.” His lips crashed down against yours, swallowing your gasp as his thumb rubbed against the jut of your hip. The kiss was hungry. Demanding. Domineering in all the ways Sam rarely let himself indulge in.

His tongue slid against yours, and he gently sucked your lip between his teeth, nipping softly. And when he pulled back, you chased his mouth instinctively, earning one of his devastating chuckles you knew you’d never get tired of hearing.

“Sam,” you whined softly, struggling against his hold but barely fighting.

“Eager, aren’t you?” he murmured, his free hand trailing up your side and fingertips tracing along one of your ribs. “I love when you get like this.” You bit your lip, trying – and likely failing – to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to beg.”

“I don’t beg,” you protested weakly, even as your body arched towards his touch.

“No?” His voice dropped dangerously low as his lips ghosted along your jawline, trailing to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “Then what would you call it when you’re writhing beneath me? Saying my name over and over again?” Your breath caught in your throat as his teeth grazed against your earlobe, sending sparks of desire cascading through you. He knew exactly what he was doing. Exactly how to dismantle every single defense you had until all that was left was raw need.

“That’s different,” you managed, but your voice lacked conviction. Sam laughed softly against your skin.

“We’ll see.” His hand continued its torturous path upward, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast but deliberately avoiding the places you wanted him most. Each touch was light enough to make you shiver but deliberate enough to set you ablaze. He smiled against your neck when you squirmed.

“You’re teasing,” you accused.

“I’m savoring,” he corrected, his hand finally cupping your breast. His thumb circled your nipple, and you bit back a moan. “Every. Inch.” He punctuated each word with a squeeze that set every nerve in you alight. And when his mouth replaced his hand, hot and wet around your nipple, there was no stopping the sound that escaped you.

Your wrists strained against his grip, desperate to touch him. To thread your fingers through his hair. To pull him closer. Anything to get more of him.

“Sam, please,” you whimpered. And there it was. The beginning of what he was looking for.

“Tell me what you want,” he commanded, his eyes locked on yours.

“You,” you breathed. “I want you.”

“Hmm… that’s not very specific.” His grip on your wrists tightened as he shifted, positioning himself between your legs. The hard length of him pressed against your inner thigh. So close to where you ached for him. “Try again, pretty girl.”

You nearly groaned in frustration, your pride and desire warring within you. On one hand, it would be so easy to just give in. Beg so prettily that Sam would have no choice but to give you what you wanted. But on the other… you knew the things Sam could do to you if you pushed.

“I want your mouth on me,” you finally said, cheeks warming with your words. “Everywhere. Please.” His eyes darkened, pupils dilated until there was next to no hazel remaining in them.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

He released your wrists, but before you could reach for him, he slid down your body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses across your stomach. His large hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them.

“Sam,” you gasped, moving to tangle your fingers in his hair.

“Ah-ah. Keep your hands above your head.” You hesitated, the reflexive urge to disobey flickering through your system. But something in Sam’s expression – the intensity or maybe the hunger – made you slowly raise your arms back to where they were. He hummed contentedly. “Mm, good girl.”

The praise sent a thrill through you, and you preened at his approval. His breath was hot against your inner thigh as he pressed his lips there, working his way higher at an agonizingly slow pace. He nipped at your thigh before sucking a bruise there, leaving a mark that would remain a shared secret between the two of you. He soothed it with his tongue, glancing up at you through half-lidded eyes.

“What’s your color, baby?”

“Green,” you replied just a little too quickly. “Please, Sam, I need–ah!”

He pressed his tongue flat against you, licking a broad stripe up your center as he held you spread open for him. Pleasure ricocheted through you, and your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more pressure. More of Sam. His fingers dug into you, grounding you, holding you in place. At his mercy. You fought to keep your hands above your head, fingers twisting in the pillowcase as his tongue circled your clit before flicking against it with expert precision.

“Fuck… Sam…” you moaned, pressing your head against the pillow.

“God, you’re so wet,” he groaned against you, the vibration of his voice adding to the fire in you. “This all for me, pretty girl?”

“Yes,” you gasped, one hand holding your other wrist solely to have something to hold onto. “Only you.”

“Only me,” he echoed, his voice rough with desire. His tongue delved deeper, exploring you with deliberate, measured strokes while his fingers pressed crescents into your thighs. And when he slid one of those long, talented fingers inside you and curled it in just the way that made your toes curl, you nearly came undone right then and there.

“Sam, I–” Words failed you as he pressed a second finger in, gently stretching you open while his mouth drove you towards the edge.

“Say it again,” he demanded, pausing just long enough to make you whimper at the loss of his mouth on you. “Tell me who makes you feel this way.”

“You do, Sam,” you panted, your need far outweighing your pride. “Just you. Only you. Please– please– I need–”

He pressed his mouth against you again, and his responding groan vibrated against you as his fingers pulsed against that sensitive spot in you. Your jaw went slack as you lost yourself in the mounting pressure, the coil winding tighter and tighter. Right there– right there–

He pulled away.

Before you could protest, he moved back up your body, capturing your mouth in a kiss that tasted of you. He ground the heel of his hand against your clit.

“Look at me,” he ordered, and you weren’t sure when your eyes had closed. They fluttered open to meet his, and the raw hunger in his gaze made you feel like a lamb in a lion’s den. “Beg for it.”

Gone was your pride and ego.

“Please,” you whispered, the word catching in your throat. “Please, Sam. I need it. I need you.” His responding grin was predatory, and all you wanted was for him to devour you.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he murmured. His fingers curled more insistently inside you as his thumb drew tight circles around your clit with just the right amount of pressure. “Eyes on me, pretty girl.”

The tension that had been building steadily in you snapped, and pleasure crashed through you in waves. Your body clenched around his fingers as his name spilled from your lips, your back arching off the bed and up into him. True to his demand, though, you kept your eyes locked on his, letting him witness every precious moment of your undoing.

He worked you through it, fingers slowing but not quite stopping entirely so he drew out your pleasure until you were trembling and oversensitive. Only when your body sagged against the mattress did he withdraw his fingers and press a soft kiss to your lips as you struggled to catch your breath.

“You’re beautiful when you let go like that,” he mumbled against your mouth. “When you stop fighting me.”

Your arms finally dropped from above your head, and you wrapped them around his shoulders and pulled him closer. His cock slid against your still-sensitive center, making you gasp at the friction. He was hot and hard against you, the evidence of his desire impossible to ignore.

“Maybe I like fighting you,” you teased, trailing your fingertips along his spine. “Maybe I like making you work for it.”

“Oh, I know you do,” he replied, nipping at your lip. “But we both know who wins in the end.”

“Do we, though?” you asked, a smirk playing on your lips as you looked up at him.

Sam arched an eyebrow at you, the challenge accepted in the subtle shift of his expression. His hand closed around your jaw, not painful but firm enough to tilt your head back and expose your throat to him.

“I think I just proved it, didn’t I?” his voice dropped low again as he pressed a kiss to your pulse point.

“Mmm, I might need a bit more convincing.”

He chuckled, low and dark, as his hands slide under your thighs, adjusting you beneath him. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance.

“Well, if it’s convincing you want…” he pressed into you slowly, making sure you felt every inch of him as he filled you. Stretched you. Claimed you inch by delicious inch. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he seated himself fully in you. Size might not have mattered, but fuck if it wasn’t a goddamn bonus.

“Fuck,” he breathed, stealing the word straight from your thoughts. His forehead dropped to rest against yours. “You feel so good around me. So perfect.” You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. He groaned, and you loved the way his eyes squeezed shut. You could see the way he fought with himself – the battle written in the tension of his jaw and the trembling of his arms on either side of you. The fight between restraint and desire.

“Move,” you whispered, rolling your hips against his, and you watched as his eyes fluttered, pupils blown wide. “Sam, please.”

“Patience,” he grunted, but his voice cracked on the word. His hips withdrew slowly – torturously slow – before driving back into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders as he settled into a deliberate and commanding rhythm.

One hand gripped your hip, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh there. His other pressed into the pillow beside your head, caging you between him and the mattress. You could feel every inch of him, every ridge as his cock dragged against your walls.

“This what you need, pretty girl?” he asked, voice strained with the effort of his control.

“Harder,” you demanded, digging your heels into his lower back. “You won’t break me.”

Sam’s fingers at your hip dug in hard enough that you were sure they were going to leave marks in their wake. When your eyes found his, something primal and possessive flashed in them, and you inadvertently clenched around him.

“You sure about that?” he asked.

“Green,” you managed before he could prompt, but the word fractured as he shifted and angled his hips so he could drive deeper into you on the next thrust. You whimpered. “God, yes, please, Sam.”

His mouth found yours, swallowing your moans as he fucked into you, his previously controlled rhythm giving way to something more desperate. Your fingers threaded through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it and yanking hard. His rhythm faltered, and something between a groan and a growl rumbled in his throat.

“That’s it,” he panted against you, his breath hot and damp. “You can take me. Such a good girl.”

Your body responded to his praise like it was physical touch, pleasure building in you again impossibly fast. His words. The pace of his hips. The way he filled you so completely, so perfectly. You couldn’t have imagined anything more perfect than this exact moment.

“Sam,” you gasped, your voice sounded wrecked in your own ears. “I’m close–”

“I know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your cheek. “I can feel you.” His hand slid from your hip to between your bodies, thumb finding your clit. “Come for me, pretty girl. Let me feel you.”

The pressure of his thumb combined with the drag of his cock was too much, and your body arched as your second orgasm crashed over you. You cried out his name as you clenched around him. Sam groaned against your neck, his hips faltering in their rhythm as he buried himself deep inside you one final time. You could feel him pulse within you as he came, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both of you caught in the aftershocks of pleasure. You ran your fingers along his back, nails gently tracing lazy patterns across his sweat-slick back. He was heavy on top of you, but the weight of him was grounding and comforting in a way that made you feel safe. Protected. Cherished. He practically purred above you as your fingers carded through his hair and scratched at his scalp.

“You okay?” he asked, finally pushing himself up onto his forearms to look down at you. Gone was the demanding hunger. It had been replaced with something soft and reverent. The usual side of Sam you fell in love with more and more with each passing day. He carefully pulled out of you and rolled to your side, pulling you close and refusing to give up that physical touch just yet. You turned and let your head settle against his chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat lull you into contentedness.

“More than okay. That was… wow.”

“Wow, huh?” His lips quirked upwards. “So is that you admitting that I was right about the size thing?” You playfully smacked his arm.

“Absolutely not. Your ego is big enough already.”

“Among other things,” he quipped. You rolled your eyes, though it was in a fond way rather than annoyed.

“You’re insufferable,” you sighed dramatically, but you smiled regardless. Your hand slid down his torso, fingertips tracing along his abs. “Though… I suppose I can’t argue with the evidence.”

Sam caught your wandering hand just as it dipped below his navel.

“Careful, pretty girl,” he warned. “Unless you’re looking for another round.” You lifted your head to meet his gaze, mischief twinkling in your eyes.

“Maybe I am.”

---

Also, I owe a shout out to @losers-clvb for helping me get out of my head with some of the dialogue. All my love to you 💜

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Sam taglist: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @theamuz @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

#sammybb2025 #spn #supernatural #sam winchester smut #sam smut #sam winchester x reader #supernatural smut #No use of Y/N #no beta we die like men #supernatural x reader #reader insert #X reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic series #pwp #pwp fics #one shot #jared padalecki

190 notes · View notes

hivemuthur · 4 months ago

Text

Tightrope - Ch.2.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!, frenemies/academic rivals to lovers, modern university AU. This is part of a request for @pxszels

Ch.1. | Ch.3.

word count: 5,4K

tag: #tightrope

summary: You and Viktor are tethering the line between friendship and rivalry, Jayce being one amongst the few common factors you both acknowledge (of course more is there but for the smart people you are, you tend to be very stupid about things). Oh, and you have to do a project together.

author's note: okay, things escalate, all I'm gonna say :v Very dubious science warning and thank you @rennethen for beta reading!

also the artist behind art is here!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

A lot of intrusive thoughts clatter through your mind as you glare pure death at Viktor, sitting two chairs away from you. Jayce—a buffer that protects the both of you from yourselves.

Strangulation is the first, most obvious one, but it dangerously quickly turns into something borderline erotic when you watch Viktor’s neck. And you really stare at it—the sharp angle of his jaw turning into the smooth column, porcelain skin interrupted with freckles, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he speaks out his infuriating truths. Ugh, since when is this happening?

The second, also obvious, is electrocuting him—just successfully this time. But then again, an unbidden image breaks into your mind’s eye: Viktor’s startled expression, his hand clutched to his heaving chest, hair tousled from the electric current, cheeks a bit flushed under your palms cradling them.

The heat on your own face almost betrays you, but fortunately, the picture of Viktor’s mouth saying I could make you gag gives you a comfortable explanation for the roses blooming across your cheeks—you are just really, really pissed.

You’ve been at each other’s throats for over a week now, and each encounter has been a small battle to win. So far, as expected, it’s a tie, but you are determined to stomp his head into the ground, his ear in your teeth.

You’ve just sat through Viktor’s answer to Heimerdinger’s conundrum:

"Given the choice between a platinum-based catalyst and an experimental cobalt-nickel alloy for an industrial hydrogenation reaction, which would be the superior option in terms of efficiency and long-term viability?"

"If the goal is efficiency, the answer is already clear," Viktor says in a flat tone, and you almost break your pencil. You parrot his voice in your head, your face doing a tiny, mocking expression—one that Jayce immediately counters with puppy eyes.

"Platinum’s catalytic activity remains stable across multiple reaction cycles, and its surface energy allows for consistent molecular interactions," Viktor continues, his posture so unbothered it’s as if he’s already won. "Even if alternative materials show potential, they introduce variables that compromise long-term reliability."

"You're focusing on controlled lab conditions, but industrial applications aren’t perfect systems," you mutter, leaning over your desk and addressing the entire thing to Heimerdinger. "In real-world settings, we need materials that are adaptable, not just reliable in a vacuum."

Your tone becomes more passionate, encouraged by Heimerdinger’s eager nodding. "The alloy has a wider range of operating conditions and costs significantly less—why cling to a metal that’s prohibitively expensive when there’s a viable alternative?"

"You're assuming ‘viable’ just because it works in some conditions," Viktor counters, his voice clipped, clearly irritated. "There’s a difference between potential and actual applicability. Platinum has proven efficiency—your alloy is a gamble."

You huff, leaning forward and turning to face Viktor this time, as Jayce slowly sinks into his chair. "And you're assuming ‘superior’ just because something is well-documented? Science doesn’t advance by relying on what’s already been done. You can’t just dismiss an emerging material because it makes you uncomfortable."

Viktor’s lips curl slightly in that way that always makes you want to throw something at him. "Uncomfortable? No, I simply prefer optimised methods over—what was it—guesswork?"

Your jaw tenses. "Right, because clinging to the safe choice is the height of scientific innovation."

"Optimisation and recklessness are not the same thing," Viktor snaps.

"No, but stagnation and cowardice are pretty damn close."

That’s probably what prompts Heimerdinger to finally step in.

"As fascinating as it is to observe your ongoing academic duel, might I remind you that this is a classroom, not a battleground?"

The words should sting, should make you shrink into your seat, but the bemused glint in his eyes softens the blow. Viktor, ever the picture of self-restraint, merely tips his head, as if the interruption is a minor inconvenience. You, on the other hand, can’t quite suppress the triumphant curve of your lips as you lower yourself back to your seat.

Heimerdinger sighs. "If either of you would like to continue this discussion, I suggest you do so after my lecture."

You don’t quip a single sound throughout the rest of the class, and Viktor doesn’t either. You can feel his eyes on you periodically—or rather, you can see them in the corner of your eye when you try to make it look like all your focus is directed at Heimerdinger’s blackboard.

By the time you get to worrying about how your afternoon project session with Viktor is going to go this time, the class ends, and Joe picks you up for breakfast. A brief reprieve is interrupted by Viktor’s dry, “Don’t be late this time.” But before you can poke his eye out with a pencil, he passes right by you without even sparing a glance.

All that tension dissolves into laughter when Joe makes fun of your miserable crossword choices.

“Aren’t you supposed to be ridiculously smart?” he teases, tapping his finger against the newspaper. “Why the hell did you put 'Beethoven' for ‘Famous deaf baseball player’?”

You groan, snatching the booklet back. “I was in a rush!”

Joe smirks. “The answer is Dummy Hoy, by the way. Actual deaf baseball legend. Try to keep up.”

“Well, excuse me, smartass!” you say, flashing a ludicrous grin as you hurriedly scribble over the letters. “Huh, okay, it does fit. Words are not my strength, what can I say.”

Joe hums, watching you with an easy smirk as he takes a ridiculously large bite of his apple. “What are your strengths, then?” he asks, chewing thoughtfully.

You tap the end of your pencil against your chin. “Huh. Engineering, I suppose. And I’m a pretty okay friend, I’d like to think.”

Joe raises a brow, amused. “A pretty okay friend? I’m not sure I can resist such attractive advertising.”

“Oh, shut up,” you scoff, nudging his arm. “I’ve had some bumps in my record recently.”

Joe’s smirk softens into something more genuine. “As I said—I probably won’t resist.” He leans back, tossing his apple core into a nearby bin with practiced ease. “And speaking of being good friends, since I do aim to become one, I should probably drop you off at the lab?”

Your stomach drops. “Oh, shit, yes. If we want me to live, definitely yes.”

You shove a chocolate bun and all your other things back into your bag and urge Joe to move faster, which prompts him to pry whether the skinny guy glaring daggers at you in front of the classroom can really do any significant damage. He demonstrates a few rugby pacifying moves, which you try to take with a straight face—but you burst out laughing when, just as you reach the lab’s door, he tells you, “Remember the dump tackle.”

And you have no idea where the urge to hold your breath as you enter comes from but releasing it upon seeing that your two favourite buffers—Jayce and Sky—are there to ease any blow coming your way makes you feel somewhat lighter. They sit hunched over their notes, so you only wave hello and approach Viktor, who is leaning over the intricate layout of books and papers splayed across the workbench.

"Glad to see you on time for once," he mutters, not even bothering to spare you a look.

"I tried very hard," you sigh, dropping your heavy bag onto the floor. "For you."

He smiles. Odd. The smile vanishes as quickly as it appears, and Viktor is back to his stuck-up self when he turns and says, in a tone seeping with boredom, "Alright. I rewired the band properly while you were gone. It's time to discuss the possible power supplies."

Properly, huh. "What do you have in mind?"

Viktor straightens, gesturing vaguely to the mess of notes sprawled across the workbench. "A micro thermoelectric generator would be the most efficient choice. Converts body heat into electrical energy—self-sustaining, minimal maintenance, and no reliance on external charging."

You arch a brow. "Efficient, sure. If you ignore the fact that it's highly dependent on temperature gradients. The output fluctuates, and if the user isn't generating enough heat, the power supply suffers. You'd be relying on biological inconsistency."

He hums, noncommittal. "There are ways to stabilise it. A supplementary capacitor—"

"Which introduces another point of failure," you cut in smoothly. "Supercapacitors have high charge cycles, but they degrade. If we're adding redundancy, why not go with something that guarantees a steady output?"

Viktor glances at you, unimpressed. "And what would you propose?"

"A miniaturised kinetic energy harvester." You lean forward, tapping a finger on the notes in front of him. "Energy is gathered through natural movement—walking, gesturing, any kind of physical motion. The output is consistent and doesn’t rely on external conditions."

"Consistent, yes, but also inefficient in comparison." He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. "Kinetic harvesters require constant motion for optimal performance. What happens when the user is sedentary? The energy reservoir drains, and there is no backup supply."

You purse your lips. "Then integrate both. A hybrid system—kinetic as primary, thermoelectric as auxiliary. Movement generates most of the power, and any residual body heat supplements it. Redundancy without overcomplication."

For a moment, Viktor is quiet, his fingers idly tapping against the workbench. Then, almost reluctantly, he gives a small nod. "A reasonable compromise."

You blink. "Did you just agree with me?" Unthinkable. But you do have witnesses.

He exhales sharply, picking up a pencil. "Do not make me regret it."

Before you can fire back, Jayce, having had enough, loudly shuts his notebook and stretches. "Alright, I am starving," he announces, shooting a meaningful glance at Sky. "Lunch?"

Sky, who has been keeping her head down and very obviously pretending not to listen, perks up immediately. "Oh, yeah. Definitely."

Neither of them waits for an answer before standing. Jayce claps you on the shoulder as he passes, his voice overly casual. "Try not to kill each other before we get back."

"Can’t promise anything," you mutter.

Sky just snorts as she follows Jayce out, leaving you alone with Viktor, making the forced civility even a bigger challenge. He writes down your ideas on the board, when a loud growl of your stomach makes him pause.

“Haven’t your himbo—erm, sorry, Joe—fed you properly?”

“Get lost,” you counter stupidly, rummaging through your bag for your safety bun. You tear off a piece with exaggerated nonchalance, throwing Viktor a shit-eating smirk. “He fed my soul.”

Viktor rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “Good for you,” he grumbles, turning back toward the board, but you catch the briefest flicker of something—mild annoyance, maybe—as he refocuses on his work.

Viktor taps his fingers against the edge of the workbench, gaze fixed on the equations scrawled across the board. “The issue with the stability of the connection isn’t the materials themselves,” he says, his tone clipped with focus. “It’s the uneven current distribution. If we integrate a secondary regulator—” He gestures to a hastily drawn diagram, circling a particular point with the chalk. “—we can stabilise the output without overhauling the entire circuit.”

You exhale sharply, arms crossed. “That’s just putting a bandage on it.”

“It’s refining, not patching,” Viktor corrects, finally glancing at you. “A full redesign would be unnecessary, and we don’t have the time for it,” he mumbles, less sure of himself and you take a note of his brows furrowing.

You linger on the rebuttal, but ultimately, you step forward, coming to stand beside him. Your eyes scan the board, taking in the schematics, the modifications—annoyingly, frustratingly sound. You rub at your temple and sigh.

“Okay. Okay,” you state firmly, staring at the board. “I will admit the superiority of your idea over mine, because I am decent.”

You turn to Viktor, for once glad to admit defeat with such grace—only to catch him outright staring at you, his eyes almost absent. It usually doesn’t take him that long to formulate a comeback that is supposed to land like a slap but of course bounces off and figuratively flares up on his cheek instead.

No slapping this time, though.

“What are you looking at?”

“You have a—” he says quietly, pointing at the corner of your lip.

Your hand flies to your mouth, wondering how long you’ve been walking around with a chocolate moustache before he noticed. You nag at the spot with your fingers, but Viktor scrunches his eyebrows, looking almost pained when he whines, “God, not here.”

“Well, you showed me there!” It’s ridiculous, but you actually laugh, still trying to blindly locate whatever food dirt clings to your mouth after eating that cursed bun.

“Ah, damn, not here—here!” Obviously, you’re doing a poor job because Viktor huffs, half-annoyed, his lips turning into a pitying smile. “Ah, just—” He sighs, exasperated, then finally—oh.

He licks his thumb, stills you with a hand on your shoulder, and leans in. “Let me,” he murmurs, swiping his wet thumb over your skin.

“Oh.”

Viktor does such a great job of not looking at you while performing his little mercy that this gesture—almost sweet, if you two weren’t dangling from that tightrope right now—might have had a chance of passing as friendly. Maybe—if his touch resembled that of a mother cleaning dirt off a child’s face. Maybe—if his thumb weren’t caressing your lip with lingering tenderness, as if trying to memorise the order in which your mouth would wrinkle were it to come to kiss his.

He’s possibly, most likely done at some point, and you should be all cleaned up. But he doesn’t stop. He takes in your face—chin tilted up, leaning into his touch. Eyes hooded, defenceless. Such a gentle, fragile picture before him, so different to the way your mouth twists into a groan when you see him or the way you smirk when your insult lands on a fertile ground.

A calloused, trembling thing keeps swiping over your lips, and you inhale sharply. His hand shifts from your shoulder to your neck, and your eyes fall closed.

And then, oh, he still doesn’t stop.

His hand is shaking, breath held tight in his chest. Quivering fingers��index and middle—ghost over your upper lip, and for the love of everything sacred, you have no idea what overcomes you. When you part your mouth.

Viktor has a faint idea of what possesses him when he accepts the invitation and slides his fingers inside. It’s that nagging, ever-present thought—or wonder, rather—of what this mouth feels like from the inside. He’s thought about shutting your yapping mouth many times before. He just didn’t know his fingers would do as good a job as his tongue.

For a moment, it’s so insanely erotic that your brows scrunch. He pushes in and out, glides over your teeth and tongue. It’s all quiet, just the soft clicks of your make, until—

“Oh, fuck,” Viktor exhales, his thumb swiping beneath your jaw.

You hold him firmly between your lips and, at one point, even hum softly as his fingers part and graze the inside of your cheek. With a sharp exhale, he retreats, dragging your spit over your skin before cupping your face.

Your eyes open, and he’s so close you can taste his breath. An impossible moment.

You don’t think. You just do.

You let your face be pulled closer and closer until you think his mouth almost brushes yours—when your eyes meet. And then Viktor looks to the door.

His expression changes. A spatter of darkened gold flicks between the entrance to the lab and you, back and forth, before suddenly—he withdraws. His hands leave you in an instant. He rushes away, drops onto a stool, grabs a notebook, and starts scribbling as though nothing happened.

And you barely manage to take a ragged breath before the door swings open, laughter spilling inside—Jayce’s, loud as ever, followed by Sky’s.

Jayce looks around, eyebrows raised. “Huh. Nothing’s on fire for once.”

He passes you, and you can only bulge your eyes out to yourself, the only silent embodiment of the shock coursing through your veins. And goddamn it—Sky fucking catches it.

“Are you okay?” she asks, stopping in her tracks, eyeing you from head to toe.

First, you nod. Many times. Smiling like an idiot, completely fake. “Yes.”

“What was that then?” She mimics your expression, and it looks so fucking stupid you almost snort—but unfortunately for you, Jayce sees what Sky is trying to express, and now his attention is on you.

Quickly, you turn back to your previous position, lean on one leg, drill your eyes into the board, and a half-smile onto your face.

“I’m just… thinking. With my face. About this,” you gesture vaguely to whatever Viktor managed to cross out and write over in your split second of focus.

“Just some internal monologuing. In fact,” you say, slapping your thighs. “I need to… excuse me for a second—” is the only thing you manage before turning on your heel and rushing out.

Jayce immediately turns to Viktor. “What did you do?”

But you don’t hear the answer. You let your face twist and turn as you walk fast through the corridors, bumping from door to door, praying that one of them will be unlocked—some classroom or a janitor’s closet good enough for you to hide and slam your fists against a wall.

Finally, you find one—a small storage room stocked with backup sanitary items for disinfection. You barge in, leave the door ajar, and begin your dance.

You fall into a crouch and contemplate whether you could scream. You probably can’t, so you just hide your face between your knees, bury your hands in your hair, and mouth, What the fuck?

You take a couple of breaths. Stand up, take a few steps. A thousand expressions fly across your face as your mouth falls open and closed between cut whispers, crumbs of your thoughts. No and what and oh, God fall out, barely audible, as you gesture wildly with your hands and walk around in a tiny circle.

You try to jump it out, kick something that’s not there, before muttering, fuck. What the fuck. Then, a long exhale, and your hands just fall to your sides.

Fuck, again.

You press your lips into a thin line and breathe heavily through your nose, eyebrows all scrunched.

“Are you alright?” Viktor’s voice startles you.

He is standing in the doorway—for God knows how long—and you just clutch a fist to your chest, still unable to speak.

He stares at you, half-smiling at this display of internal conflict. He looks like he wants to say something. Or like he wants you to say something. You have no idea.

The longer you don’t speak, the more worried his face becomes. You take two steps toward him—then turn again, leaning over a small table. Then straighten back up, mouth something at him, but it’s impossible to say what. Chew on your cheek to the point of drawing blood.

As you get closer and closer, something breaks within you. Your hands reach for him—then retreat again. One more step, and one more.

And Viktor is stuck in place in the doorframe, having not even the faintest idea what to do.

Finally, you’re so close you could touch him. And you nod, as if to yourself, as if admitting some kind of defeat—when your hands cup his face, and you close the distance between his mouth and yours.

Just one kiss. Deep but fleeting, no tongue.

When you break away, you lick your lips and look at his nose. You make a tired, strangled sound, but Viktor doesn’t let you back away further.

He hooks his cane over his forearm, hands come to grab your waist and your neck, and he kisses you back—this time with tongue. Walks you inside, breathes through his mouth into this kiss that is neither fierce nor gentle. It’s just… so wanting, his moans are almost cries.

And you, too, want him to the point of crying out, when your hands don’t calm down with his touch—simultaneously mussing his hair and tugging at the collar of his shirt, signalling you want it off, you want to feel more of him. You slide your fingers underneath, nails scratching his collarbone, and he releases a low growl into your mouth.

It must look absolutely idiotic, when you bend backwards and pull him with you, making him hunch to not lose your lips, and Viktor stumbles, almost knocks you over before using your body for balance. You wrap your arms around his neck so tight his head almost snaps off and he responds with an equal strength of his palms crushing your ribs.

Hoarse breathing and little needy cries fill the tiny space, and you almost rip the shirt off his back, until—

The sound of your name echoing down the corridor startles you.

And then—

“Viktor!” Jayce calls. Behind him, Sky calls yours.

You detach from each other, panting, pure peril oozing between you.

“I’ve messed you up,” Viktor says quickly, adjusting your shirt back into your skirt. You could smile at the sweetness of the gesture, but—

The voices—closer, and closer, and closer.

“God, your hair,” you whisper, hands flying up to smooth down the strands you’ve mussed with panicked fingers.

Viktor’s hands drop from you. He lets you fuss over him but the more you touch him the more distant his expression grows. You almost deem your work decent, when he leans back in and shoveshis tongue into your throat again, as if he can’t stay away.

“Viktor, no, they will—”

You get cut off by a firm push to the table. He steps between your legs, yanks the door closed with his cane, and clasps a hand over your mouth.

“Quiet,” he pants. “They won’t.” And then he licks your neck, and your legs kick around him, thudding against the table leg.

“Shh, quiet,” he whispers between breaths. Bastard drags his tongue up your neck again, his free hand coming to pin your wrists together on your stomach. A kiss under your ear, a gentle suck of his lips gets your thighs clenching, trapping him between your legs and he has the audacity to smirk against your skin.

The sweet torture continues, when, feeling your fidgety hands grow pliant he releases you, only to use the newly gained freedom of his arm to slide a flat palm up your back, between your shoulder blades, all the way up so his fingers brush under your hairline before grabbing a fistful at the base of your skull. Have you known any better, you would bite the silencing hand, but you moan into it instead.

The moan dies into a whine, when Viktor’s tongue abandons your neck, and he comes back to look you in the eye all serious, then kisses the knuckles of his own palm as if they were your lips. “I meant it when I said I could gag you,” he hums and either he is not ready to see your eyes rolling to admire the insides of your eyeballs or the mere thought gets him to turned on his lids shut involuntarily.

And when Jayce and Sky clearly trot right next to the door that is now holding a secret dearest to your heart, you both freeze and keep your eyes shut, following the moronic rule of if you can’t see them they can’t see you either.

“All right, I’m ready to give up,” Jayce says, and Sky responds with nothing, but you can see her nodding in your mind’s eye. “Let’s just hope there aren’t any bodies lying around come morning.” That, Sky dignifies with a chuckle.

You both listen to the sound of their chatter and steps descending down the corridor in complete stillness, and when he is absolutely certain you are now truly alone, Viktor releases your mouth, its tender flesh pulled with his retreating hand, a quiet sticky sound follows.

He bites on his lower lip and stares at the glistening inner side of his palm for a moment and you wonder if he contemplates whether to lick it or wipe it into his pants. Then, he looks back at you, unsure and searching and you take one more step toward utter insanity, wrapping your legs around his and fisting his crumpled shirt.

“Is that a yes?” he asks against your mouth, cane comes to rest by the table and needy hands accept the invitation before his brain does as they cup your ass, pressing you against him. The feeling of his cock, hard between your legs and straining in his pants sends a cramp all the way to your core.

“A yes to what?” you bounce the question off as your tongue darts to lick his upper lip.

“To gagging,” Viktor still tries, but the chuckle gives him away.

“You’re disgusting,” you snort, nearly into his mouth. He swallows it in another kiss, prettier than the last one, gentler. Deeper as well, when he cups your face and licks into you through pleased hums, his eyelashes brush underneath yours and you can smell chalk and paper on him.

Of all people, Viktor giving you kiss so full of emotion, is not a thing you would bet on. But you accept it, messing his hair back into the state from before you licked it down with your palms, soft strands fill the gaps between your fingers as you flex them to tug, pull, and scratch your nails on his scalp and as you crack your eyes open, goosebumps rises and falls in waves down the taunt skin of his cheeks.

“For fucks sake touch me,” he rasps, showing you his underbelly. “Please.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say this word to me,” you tease him, licking into his mouth and shifting your hips so that your clothed cunt would press on his crotch. He groans your name out in a warning and doesn’t let you win this one, biting your neck, almost unhinging his jaw in the process.

You don’t retaliate either. Shaky fingers come to undo the first few buttons of his shirt, and you caress his collar bones before placing a soft kiss in the pool where they meet. Viktor’s head lulls back on his shoulders, hips roll into yours and mouth moans out the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

“Ah, fuck,” you hiss against his skin despite yourself. Very reluctant to let him know how hot you find him right now, you drag your tongue up his neck to shut yourself up. Viktor, obviously at the edge of his patience, grabs the back of your neck and collides your mouths back into another greedy kiss, making you almost, well, gag, on his tongue.

“Yes to gagging, then,” he says triumphantly. Tired with waiting for your hands to touch him where he wants it the most, he slides one palm under your skirt, pressing on a thin, wet barrier of your knickers and hums, pleased that he is not alone in his overwhelming want.

“Ah!” A gasp escapes you when you feel how desperate his touch is. “So, there is, fuck—” you stutter at the feeling his fingers sliding the material to the side and finding your clit. “Kindness in your touch after all.” Your hands already fumble at his belt and Viktor smirks at the stark contrast between the overall cockiness of your message and a very poor delivery not backing it up.

“Only kindness,” he whispers and there is honesty within him you’ve never seen before. He sinks two fingers inside you, thumb fixed where you throb and pulse, and you almost lose his cock from your hand at the stumbling realisation of how good he is with his hands. You brace yourself with a firm grip on his shoulder, your free hand spreads the beads of precum over his head and Viktor exhales a shuddery breath. You give him a couple of experimental pumps and decide to push him further, retreating your touch only to present him with your palm open, waiting below his chin when you say, “Spit.”

“Who’s disgusting now,” he chuckles but obeys. Soon a warm wet splash lands on your hand, and you cannot take your eyes off his lips when his cheeks hollow out and tongue rolls to gather his spit for you. You’ve never seen him doing it either. The movement of his fingers doesn’t waver for a moment, and you have to use all of your massive brain power to not get distracted between your own pleasure and his cock.

You grasp him at the base and spread the slick all the way to the top, rolling your fingers on the sensitive spot under his head, to which Viktor replies with a firmer rub against your clit. The more you edge him, the more he coms forth, curling his fingers inside you, making you scowl and lose your rhythm on his cock and he’s willing to make this little sacrifice only so see how lovely your face contorts the closer you are to falling apart.

He defeats you almost entirely when a third finger gets introduced to your hole and all you can do is just hold him in your palm, your other hand slides back up his hair and you tug him close to taste his lips again and send your groan into his throat. Finally, you come in a couple of clenched out spasms, losing control of your mouth as you press yourself into him and Viktor gulps down your moans, humming and smiling with something clean and genuine.

Your legs go limp on his sides, forehead comes to rest on his shoulder, and you allow yourself a couple of shuddery breaths before moving your hand again. You lift your head to look at him, face all pink and covered with a sheen of sweat and his lips part sweetly when you resume languid rolls of your wrist.

Viktor braces himself on the edge of the table, hands come to grip on each side of your hips, his knuckles pale, and he leans in, holding your gaze. Utters a quiet fuck when you smile at him, all blissfully complete and you suddenly find yourself wanting to make him feel just as good. So you pump his cock faster, taking cues from the way his cheeks flare up, eyes flutter and breath hitches. He grunts and moans and pants and you record each and every one of those sounds in the grooves of your brain.

When’s he’s becoming unbearably hot and twitching in your palm, his hands crawl back to cup your face, and he kisses you deeply, soft tongue invading your mouth again and you know he is almost there, so you pull your skirt up and make him paint your inner thighs with cum. Heat spreads across your skin when Viktor shakes out the last spasms of his orgasm, your lips still glued together.

“Who knew you are such a sweet creature,” he mumbles hotly between kisses, his softening cock rolling in his own cum on your thigh.

“It’s a secret, don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, reaching blindly to the shelf above your head to grab a roll of paper towels. You hand it to Viktor, and he tears off a piece and sets the roll outside of your reach. With a protest already dangling off your tongue, you let it crawl back into your throat when Viktor wipes himself off your thigh with tenderness and care that gets you borderline embarrassed.

Then, he cleans himself up and you watch him with wide eyes as he tucks everything back into his pants, throws the cum-stained paper into the bin and leans back to kiss you, as if something just got established.

“A compromise agrees with you,” he says, resting his forehead against yours. “You too,” you reply stupidly, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones. And you wonder—how long is the fall off this tightrope going to be? When will you crash into the ground and break your neck?

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #requests #tightrope

208 notes · View notes

rahulsinha · 1 month ago

Text

This 2025 guide to HVAC automation explores the latest technologies, trends, and benefits. Discover how smart sensors, AI, and real-time monitoring boost comfort, energy efficiency, and system control. Perfect for homeowners and facility managers, it offers insights into modern, automated climate solutions that simplify building management and support a more sustainable, comfortable indoor environment.

#HVAC Automation 2025 #Smart HVAC Systems #Building Automation #Energy Efficiency #Climate Control #air conditioning #hvac automation system #heating #hvac services

0 notes

energysavers2013 · 2 months ago

Text

0 notes

saddleups · 7 months ago

Note

ok hear me out but surprising wesker with one of those "naughty nurse" costumes...

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 4.7k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . request , complete. ALBERT WESKER X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . implied boss x employee dynamic ( could be read in tandem w/ office diaries ngl ) . nurse/doctor roleplay . switch!wesker . oral ( m! & f! receive ) . overstim p_rn w/o a plot !

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . to be completely honest i'm not sure if he'd gaf. HOWEVER, he would appreciate the effort and tease you for your desperation. i'm editing office diaries so he's been on my mind ( *crowd boos* ) i wrote this embarrassingly fast !!!

The mansion was quiet, the kind of oppressive silence that settled in your bones. You could hear the fait hum of the heating system, the distant ticking of a clock, but nothing else. Even the air seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something—anything—to break the monotony.

Doctor Albert Wesker worked often, far too often, leaving you alone to roam the mansion. At first, you found ways to entertain yourself—ordering luxuries with his credit card, drifting through empty rooms in search of anything that might entertain you—but even that had grown stale. You’d known what being his girl entailed; Wesker had been clear about the terms. He’d wanted someone obedient, someone who would accept the lonely hours and unspoken rules.

And, for the most part, you did.

But you had needs, desires that sometimes grew louder than his rules. And tonight felt especially cruel. He was home, tucked away in his office locked in his endless work. The sound of his voice, low and gravelly, filtered through the heavy door. It was a welcome intrusion, a reminder that he was home, but it also served as a harsh reminder of just how unreachable he was. Doctor Albert Wesker. Your boss, your lover, was locked away in his work, buried under a mountain of papers and calls, and you were left to fend for yourself once more.

You sighed, the sound barely audible, and turned your gaze to the robe draped over your bed. It was soft, luxurious, the kind of thing you’d never have bought for yourself, but Wesker had insisted on it.

“To keep you warm,” he’d said, though the gesture had been more about control than comfort. Still, it had its uses.

With a determined set of your jaw, you slipped the robe on, feeling the fabric brush against your skin. Beneath it, you wore the costume you’d ordered on a whim—a playful nod to the “naughty nurse” stereotype, complete with a little cap and the faintest hint of lace. It had been a gamble, but one you were willing to take. Tonight, you needed him to notice you, even if it meant forfeiting your pride.

Gathering your courage, you padded toward his office, the heels of your shoes tapping softly against the polished wood floor. The closer you got, the louder his voice became, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You paused outside the door, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

This was it. There was no turning back now.

Taking a few quiet steps forward, your heart pounds in your chest. Wesker's head snapped up at the sound, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you. For a brief moment, there was confusion in his gaze, as if he couldn't quite place why you were here interrupting his work.

But it'd been so long, the look on your face hinted at your frustrations. He was a smart man, the recognition dawned, and his lips curled into a faint, imperceptible smile.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his tone cool and detached, as if you were nothing more than an interruption.

“I think so,” you replied, your voice low and sultry. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been working so hard lately. I wanted to check in.”

Wesker’s eyes flicked to the sash of your robe, which you’d begun to toy with absentmindedly. The material had already started to slip open, revealing a glimpse of the risqué outfit beneath. His gaze lingered there for a moment before returning to your face, a calculating gleam in his eye.

“Is that so?”

You nodded, letting the robe fall open just a bit more, enough for him to see the high hemline of the skirt, the curve of your leg. With each step closer, you felt more confident, more in control. This was what you wanted—no, it's what you needed. To be seen, to be noticed, to be desired.

“Poor thing,” you murmured, your voice dripping with sympathy as you placed one hand on the back of his chair. “You look so tense, Doctor. I think you need someone to take care of you.”

Wesker’s hand paused mid-note, the pen hovering above the paper. He studied you for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he laid the pen down and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Alright,” he said, his voice smooth and sardonic.

“Show me what you can do.”

A thrill shot through you at his words, at the way he’d accepted your game so easily. Without another word, you slipped fully into character, fingers grazing his shoulders as you began your “treatment.”

“First, let’s get you relaxed,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. You began to knead his shoulders, pressing into the muscles with just the right amount of pressure. Wesker sighed, the sound almost content, and closed his eyes, surrendering himself to your ministrations.

You worked your way down his back, your hands moving with purpose, squeezing and releasing the tension in his muscles. What a difficult man he was, keeping his composure. But the way his brows furrowed, his breath hitched. It fueled your determination, making you want to push him further. To see how far you could go before he cried out a moan.

“How does that feel, Doctor?” you asked, your voice sweet and innocent, a stark contrast to the heat building between you.

“Fine,” he rumbled, his voice thick. “I think you can do better.”

You grinned, a spark lighting up your eyes. “Oh, I intend to,” you replied, leaning in closer until your lips brushed against his ear. “But first, I need you to do something for me.”

Wesker’s eyes snapped open, his gaze locking onto yours. “What’s that?”

“Unbutton your shirt,” you commanded, your voice firm but gentle.

“I need to get to the source of the problem.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge your intentions. But then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached for the buttons of his shirt and began to undo the first three of them.

You watched in rapt fascination as the fabric parted, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, the ridges of muscle flexing with each movement.

When he was done he leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. “Happy?” he asked, his tone mocking.

“Very,” you purred, your hands moving underneath the fabric to rest on his bare shoulders. “Now, let’s see what we can do about those knots.”

You began to massage his chest, your fingers digging into the hard planes of muscle, seeking out the tension that lurked beneath the surface. Wesker groaned, the sound deep and guttural, and pressed himself into your touch, offering himself up to your service.

He muttered your name, voice strained. “You know just how to…”

His words trailed off as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. “How to what, Doctor?” you whispered, your breath fanning out against his skin.

Wesker shuddered, his hands gripping the arms of the chair as if trying to ground himself. “Distract me,” he growled, his voice rough.

“Good,” you murmured, nipping at his earlobe before pulling back to meet his gaze. “I think that's just what you need.”

Finally, you removed your robe revealing the naughty nurse costume in all its glory.

Wesker’s gaze lingered on your outfit, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes flicked over the lace details and playful cap. Though he didn’t break his cool exterior, you caught a glint of amusement in his eyes—a hint that he found your little act amusing, though he’d never admit it outright.

“Quite the unique uniform,” he drawled, his tone laced with that familiar edge of sarcasm. “Did you really think a costume like this would work on me?”

His eyebrow arched, and though his words were teasing, his eyes betrayed a flicker of interest, lingering just a bit too long on the curves revealed by the costume. He was giving you just enough of his attention to keep you guessing, that subtle taunt characteristic of the ever-cool Albert Wesker.

You met his gaze, undeterred. "Considering you’re still sitting there letting me 'work,' Doctor, I’d say it’s working," you shot back with a sly smile.

His smirk widened, the faintest hint of warmth entering his steely demeanor. “Is that so?” His hand moved from the chair to rest lightly at your hip, pulling you slightly closer as he leaned back, maintaining his air of authority even as he allowed himself to indulge.

“I suppose I’ll let you finish… but be warned,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “I don’t often tolerate interruptions.”

A subtle thrill coursed through you, a mix of anticipation and defiance at being so close to him after all this time. You held your ground, leaning closer still.

“Then I’ll make it worth the risk.”

Wesker’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of challenge and fascination. He didn’t speak further, simply allowing his gaze to travel over you in silent approval, that slight smirk never leaving his lips as he let you continue, fully aware of the effect he had on you, and savoring it.

With a confident stride, you led Wesker to the plush leather couch that sat against one wall of his large office. It was a stark contrast to the rigid orderliness of the rest of the room, a place where he could unwind if he ever allowed himself to. Tonight, however, it would serve a far more pleasurable purpose.

Wesker followed you with measured steps, his eyes refusing to leave your form as you walked ahead of him. The playful sway of your hips in the tight nurse outfit seemed to draw his gaze like a magnet. When you reached the couch, you turned to face him, a impish glint in your eyes.

"Sit," you commanded softly, pointing at the couch with your index finger.

He complied without hesitation, sinking into the cushions with an almost regal grace. His shirt, though slightly unbuttoned, clung to his broad shoulders. The fabric taut over muscles that spoke of relentless physical discipline. Kneeling before him, your hands gently brush against the sides of his thighs as you positioned yourself comfortable on your knees.

Your fingers traced lazy circles around the hem of his shirt, teasing him with anticipation. Wesker stared at you, completely transfixed. His hand resting casually on the armrests, you could see the tension coiling beneath his calm exterior.

"You seem wound up, Doctor," you purred, a hint of amusement coloring your voice. "Let's see if I can help you relax."

With deliberate slowness, you began to unbutton his shirt, peeling back the layers of fabric to reveal the chiseled expanse of his chest. Each button undone excited you, the sight of his bare skin sending a jolt of desire through you. His chest rose and fell steadily under your scrutiny, a testament to his self-control.

Once his shirt was open, you let your hands roam freely over his torso. Your fingertips danced across his pecs, tracing the ridges of muscle with reverent precision. The warmth of his skin was a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, and you reveled in the sensation of touching him so intimately.

A low growl rumbled in Wesker’s throat as your hands continued their exploration. His eyes were half-lidded, locked onto yours with a mixture of anticipation and challenge.

"Is this all you've got?" he murmured, his voice husky with restrained need.

You chuckled softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his sternum. "There's plenty more where that came from," you assured him, punctuating your words with another kiss just below his collarbone.

His breathing grew heavier as you shifted your attention lower, your hands slipping beneath his belt to find the growing bulge in his pants. Wesker’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head tilting back slightly as he surrendered to the sensations you were provoking.

You undid his belt with practiced ease, popping the button on his pants and pulling down the zipper. The sound echoed in the quiet room, a sharp contrast to the slow, deliberate pace of your movements. With gentle pressure, you coaxed his erection free from the confines of his boxers, releasing it into the cool air.

The sight of his hardened length made your pulse quicken, a flush of heat spreading through your body. You wrapped one hand around his shaft, feeling the smooth skin and the subtle veins pulsing beneath your touch. Wesker inhaled sharply, his eyes snapping open to meet yours once more.

"Naughty nurse, huh?" he teased, his tone dripping with dark amusement. "I didn't realize they provided this kind of treatment."

You grinned up at him, feeling a surge of confidence. "Only the best for my favorite patient," you replied, giving his cock a slow, deliberate stroke.

His breath hitched at your touch, the tension in his body ratcheting up even further. You took your time, exploring every inch of him with your hands, your mouth hovering just inches away from the tip as you breathed hot air over his sensitive skin. The contrast between the warmth of your breath and the coolness of the room heightened the sensations, driving him wild with anticipation.

Wesker narrowed his eyes, he tilts his head slightly, as if challenging you. "Is this really what you think I need?" he queries, his voice low and laced with playful authority.

"Trust me," you reply, meeting his gaze with confidence. "This is exactly what you need."

When you judged him sufficiently aroused, you leaned in and enveloped the head of his cock with your lips. The taste of him—salty, masculine—filled your mouth, igniting a fire in your core. You swirled your tongue around the crown, relishing the way his muscles tensed beneath you as you took him deeper.

Wesker groaned, his hands gripping the edge of the couch tightly. His cock pulsed in your mouth, the rhythmic throb matching the beat of your own heart. You teased him mercilessly, sucking and licking with a teasing rhythm that kept him perpetually on the edge.

As you pleasured him, you couldn't help but marvel at how utterly captivating this man was. Even in this vulnerable position, he radiated an undeniable aura of command, as if he were simply indulging in a momentary lapse of control. It only fueled your desire to push him further, to watch him unravel completely under your ministrations.

Your lips leave his cock with a loud pop, and you greedily stick your tongue out to slap against the thick girth before you. “Good boy,” you praise, watching as Wesker's eyes darken with need. You can almost hear him whimper as you unbutton your costume just enough to reveal your heaving breasts.

With a devilish grin, you guide his throbbing length between the soft mounds of flesh, feeling his pre-cum leave a slick trail in its wake. As he thrusts into the warm embrace of your breasts, you squeeze them tightly around him, a thin strand of saliva escaping your pursed lips to lubricate his pulsing shaft. Unable to resist any longer, Wesker drives his hips forward, plunging deeper into your cleavage. “That's it,” you encourage, reveling in his submission. “Such a good boy for me.”

Tongue flicking against the sensitive tip of his throbbing cock, you can feel him losing control. His body tenses with every thrust into your cleavage and his breathing becomes ragged. You can sense the desire burning inside him, even as he tries to maintain his cool facade.

But you know better. You know that Wesker needs this just as much as you do. As you release your grip on your breasts, his thrusts come to a sudden end. A desperate groan escapes his lips as he realizes that his release has been denied.

"Do you want to fuck me, Doctor?" Your voice is dripping with seduction, taunting him until he can't take it anymore.

He looks at you with defeated hunger in his eyes before swallowing hard and answering, "Yes." The hunger in his voice matches the fire in his eyes as he moves closer, ready to claim what he desires most.

With that one word, the air thickened with an intoxicating mixture of dominance and longing. Wesker’s hand gripped your chin, his thumb wipes the salvia staining it, before he tilts your gaze up. You meet his smoldering gaze as he pulls you closer, the tension crackling between your bodies like electricity. You invite him into your space with an enticing arch, “Then take what you want,” you coax softly, your voice a sultry whisper.

Wesker's composure breaks like glass under pressure; he surges forward, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you closer. The heat radiates off him, intensifying the unusual power dynamic in the air. His lips crash against yours—demanding, possessive—as if attempting to stake his claim not just on your body but your very essence.

"Let me show you how it's done," he rasped, the command laced with urgency.

You felt a thrill shoot through you at his words—his danger, his power, amplifying every pulse of desire within you. With a swift motion, he guided you onto the couch, his body hovering over yours like a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury. The gleam in his eyes promised something far more than indulgence; it was a challenge. Wesker’s composure breaks like glass under pressure; he surges forward, his hands gripping your waist to pin you in place. The heat radiates off him, his lips crash against yours—demanding, possessive—as if attempting to stake his claim not just on your body but your very essence.

As the kiss deepens, you can taste the faintest hint of desperation mingling with his usual resolve. Your fingers dig into his hair, urging him on as his hands explore your form with fervent determination. Wesker’s grip is unyielding as he holds you close, an unsatiated hunger driving him to devour every inch of your mouth, the taste of passion strong enough to drown in.

Wesker's hands slid down your sides, rough yet gentle, as he pushed your costume up and out of the way. Your skin tingled where he touched you, the heat radiating from him almost overwhelming. He leaned closer, letting his lips brush against your ear as he whispered darkly,

“You’re going to scream my name tonight.”

This is what you wanted—his surrender wrapped in a shroud of lust—and there’s a wild thrill at having brought a man of such power to this moment of bare vulnerability. Breaking the kiss, you look into his eyes—intense pools swirling with desire and something deeper.

“I thought you were too busy,” you taunted, low and teasing. You could feel him hard against your thigh—imposing yet utterly captivating—and it fueled your own mounting arousal.

“I never said I was above a little distraction,” he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk.

Wesker’s fingers deftly pulled your costume further up your thighs, exposing your bare skin to the cool air in the stark contrast to the fire burning within you. The slight chill felt rousing against your heated flesh. Wesker’s eyes darkened as they traveled over every inch of you, and suddenly you were no longer just teasing him; he was drinking in the sight like a man starved.

“Dearheart, you've made quite the mess, haven’t you?" He asked, his voice low and sultry as his hands gently parted your legs further apart. You could feel your pulse quicken as his breath tickled against your skin, anticipation winding tighter within you like a coiling spring.

“Only for you,” you breathed back, taunting him further. It was exhilarating to see him so unraveled—yet still so dangerously in control. The power shift ignited something primal deep inside both of you.

With that, he dove forward, catching you off guard as his mouth latched onto your most sensitive spot. You gasped, back arching as he dove deeper into your cunt, his tongue swirling expertly around you, igniting sparks that raced through your entire being. Each flick and thrust of his tongue sent waves of pleasure cascading over you, pushing you toward the edge in an spellbinding spiral of pining.

You dug your nails into the leather of the couch, desperate to ground yourself as Wesker's mouth worked with remorseless precision. The heat pooled low in your belly, a dark fire igniting with every moment he lavished on you. He consumed you entirely, his slow torture blissfully relentless—an exquisite torment that made your breath hitch and your body writhe beneath his skilled service.

“Is this what you wanted?” he murmured between kisses along your inner thigh, his voice dripping with wickedness. You could only nod fervently, unable to form coherent words, the mere act of breathing becoming a challenge in the wake of such pleasure.

“Speak pet,” he commanded softly yet firmly, his eyes locking onto yours as he paused to hover just above you—a predacious gleam dancing within those depths.

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, struggling to maintain control even as desire threatened to engulf you whole. “I want more… I need more.”

With a wicked grin spreading across his face, Wesker surged back into action, fingers working in tandem with his mouth, thrusting deep into you as he continued. The sensation punctuated the air with an urgent tempo, a rhythm that echoed every thundering heartbeat in your chest. Each movement felt like an electric jolt, sparking fire through your veins.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this," he growled, the determination in his voice vibrating through you like a deep bass note. His fingers curled inside you, drawing gasps from your lips as he found the perfect spot. With each thrust, he pushed you closer to that precipice where you could finally let go of everything else.

“Doctor…” His title was a prayer and a plea, spilling from your lips like raindrops in a summer storm. You gripped his hair tighter, urging him on as pleasure surged hotter and brighter. It was dizzying—both intoxicating and grounding at the same time.

But Wesker wasn’t done yet; instead of succumbing to your mounting desire, he withdrew just slightly, teasing you as he stared deeply into your eyes. “You wanted me to claim you,” he murmured darkly, “then I will do it right.”

Wesker roughly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a feral hunger in his eyes as he gazes down at you. Your head hangs over the armrest of the couch, your body manipulated into position by Wesker's strong hands. Your legs are bent and spread, one foot planted on the polished floor while the other is lifted high over his shoulder.

He positions himself between your thighs, slowly sliding his glistening shaft up your slick entrance, coating it in your sweet essence. The mere sensation of him inside you makes you whimper and squirm, but Wesker relishes in your arousal and helplessness. With agonizing slowness, he eases himself deeper, watching with dark satisfaction as his length disappears completely into your trembling form.

“Sing my name, dearheart.” He growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your core. “I want to hear it on your lips as you come undone.”

His hips begin to move in a slow, steady rhythm- deep, lingering thrusts that push you higher and higher. With each stroke, Wesker seems to burrow deeper into your depths, possessing and claiming you on a primal level. His grip on your hips tightens as he picks up the pace, driving you both closer to the edge of sanity.

“Al-Albert!” The name escapes your lips in a ragged moan, a plea for more and release. His only response is a low growl of approval as he ramps up his relentless thrusts, pounding into you with single-minded focus. The room is now filled with a symphony of wet flesh slapping against flesh, punctuated by your moans and his growled commands.

"Good nurse," he pants, glistening sweat forming on his brow as he leans over you, pressing his hot breath against your ear. “Let the world know who owns this delectable pussy.”

"Oh, God, yes," you moaned, arching your back. "Dr. Wesker! It's yours! I'm yours!"

Wesker's eyes glimmered with a feral intensity as he absorbed your words, each syllable wrapping around him like silken chains, binding you more thoroughly to him than any promise ever could. He leaned into you, the heat of his body suffusing the air between you; it was almost overwhelming, and you felt your senses heighten. The scent of sweat mingled with the rich, earthy smell of leather that clung to him like an aura, enveloping you in a cocoon of passion.

“Yours,” he repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue slowly, savoring it like a fine vintage wine. With every thrust, he established his claim anew—each powerful stroke resonating through your core and melding with your very essence. You felt as though he were drawing out something innate within you, awakening instincts you hadn't known you possessed. Your body responded eagerly to his demands; every gasp and moan that escaped your lips was a testament to his power over you.

Wesker’s fingers dug into your flesh, leaving heated trails behind as he relentlessly thrust deeper and deeper. Each time he pressed against that delectable spot within you, stars burst behind your eyelids like fireworks. You felt dizzy from the overwhelming pleasure that washed over you in waves, each more fierce than the last.

Your voice is trapped in your constricted throat, unable to escape as guttural moans turn into high-pitched whines and desperate shrieks. He's forcefully extracting something that lay dormant within you for far too long, igniting a need that almost feels violent.

Your body writhes under his rough touch, craving the release that only he can provide. In a frenzy, you beg for him to paint his seed inside you, your back arching so far that you feel weightless on the couch, your chest pressed against his in a heated embrace.

The sensation of your hardened nipples rubbing against his tender flesh causes Wesker to surrender a boyish moan, lost in the intense pleasure of your bodies colliding. Your roles in this game fade away as both of you reach the edge of sanity, desperate to break free and unleash the carnal desires that have been building between you.

Wesker grabs your face, locking eyes with you as he punctuates each thrust with a deep grunt. He slips his thumb into your mouth, and you eagerly welcome the intrusion, sucking on it with reckless abandon. A dark chuckle escapes him as he revels in your unbridled passion. "You're clenching," he taunts, causing furrows to form on your brows as you try to grasp onto any sense of control amidst the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

“Just come already!” You demand, nails digging into his flesh as you pull him closer. “I can feel it, Doctor. Your cock is twitching inside me.” Between breathless pants, you beg for more.

His cool facade crumbles as he gives in to his instincts. His once immaculate appearance is now disheveled, his hair tousled and sweat glistening on his skin. As your bodies move together in a frenzy, his moans fill the room.

“Don’t stop,” you plead, your voice desperate and raw.

He obeys, pushing deeper inside you as his release washes over both of you. Your walls clench around him, never wanting to let go.

“Please don't pull out,” you plead with him, desperate to keep him connected to you for just a little longer.

He obeys your command, his warmth mingling with yours as the two of you reach an explosive climax together. Sweat drips down both of your bodies as you revel in the intense pleasure that courses through you both.

In unison, you tumble onto the leather couch, your bodies entwined. Lying atop Wesker’s steady, rhythmic breaths, you press soft, lingering kisses against his chest and collarbone, savoring each touch. His hand, once so firm and rough, now rests gently against your hair, stroking softly, a quiet acknowledgment of your hard work.

“You passed your check-up.” You say, breathless.

#albert wesker x reader #albert wesker smut #albert wesker x reader smut #wesker x reader #albert wesker x y/n #wesker smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #resident evil x y/n #resident evil smut #WOOFS #filed: checking in

307 notes · View notes

voxofthevoid · 2 months ago

Text

Onto Fem GoYuu Infidelity Wednesday #4 with a healthy dose of *checks notes* tits and cunt 💦

Last week has been somewhat hectic, so I haven't written much, but the fic as a whole is now 37k, and I'm midway through Chapter 6. The chapter count has grown to 13 though—a mixture of the outline gaining more meat and existing chapters being split further to control the flow and breaks better.

Anyway, it's now 100% certain this will cross 50k—it's just a matter of how close it'll get to 100k. Whee. I never learn.

“You were louder,” Yuuji says, her lips still brushing the nipple.

“What.”

“On Friday,” Yuuji says helpfully. “You were a lot louder. Or…easier, I guess?”

“You’re calling me easy?” Satoru asks, more confused than offended.

“Yeah,” Yuuji says, “but that’s not what I meant.”

“Hey—”

“It’s like…” Yuuji straightens up, bringing her eyes level with Satoru’s jaw. Her arms ease up, sliding back around to Satoru’s front to hold her tits, as if Yuuji can’t bear to leave them unattended while they have this baffling conversation. “I think it was because you were drunk, sensei. You weren’t thinking so much, so you reacted more. You should keep doing that. I like the noises you make.”

Satoru’s body betrays her, burning all over, and she knows it shows in her cheeks, the skin there hot with blood, but she still wrangles her mouth into a mean smirk—wasted on Yuuji, who eyes it like she wants to kiss Satoru badly anyway.

Satoru scrambles to speak before Yuuji does just that, saying, “Or maybe you’re just lazier tonight.”

Yuuji’s eyes snap up to Satoru’s. “Huh?”

“Don’t be so surprised. All this time and you’ve barely done anything.” Satoru looks down at her chest, knowing that Yuuji will follow suit. There are already marks forming there, streaks of vivid pink that’ll darken the same way they did last week. And they’ll smart a little if Satoru presses down real hard, but the only points on her tits that are really hurting are the nipples and that one violently red patch of skin Yuuji really set her teeth to. “You were a lot wilder that day. Maybe I’m not the only one who could use a little drink in her system.”

“That’s not true at all,” Yuuji says, her voice dipping into something Satoru can’t place, even as it makes her blood sing.

“Yeah?” she asks, tilting Yuuji’s head back with a single knuckle. “Prove it then.”

Yuuji surges into her, knocking Satoru off balance just to lay her out on the mattress, and it’s a mess of flailing limbs, but Satoru doesn’t put up much of a fight—just enough that she can feel the strength in Yuuji’s body as she knocks away stray arms and pins writhing legs, and she laughs there at the end, when she’s panting above Satoru like a triumphant god, and the sound is so infectious that Satoru finds herself grinning widely, her heated cheeks bunching up with it.

“You’re such a tease, sensei,” Yuuji says, her voice far too fond. “And I know you let me pin you.”

Satoru bats her eyelashes. “But you’re such a big, strong girl, Yuuji-chan.”

Yuuji rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t stop smiling. “And you’re a bigger, stronger girl, Gojou-sensei.”

“Woman,” Satoru corrects softly, her own grin easing into a smile that burns on her mouth. “I’m a woman, Yuuji. Surely you’ve noticed.”

Yuuji’s eyes rake down Satoru’s body, rich with knowledge.

“Yes,” she rasps, leaning in.

Satoru groans when teeth sink into the curve of her left breast, right where the resulting mark would show front and center on any cleavage she chooses to show, and Yuuji doesn’t break skin, as asked, but it’s like she stops just short of that, biting harder and harder until tears spring to Satoru’s eyes. There’s a soothing swipe of her tongue before she zeroes in on her next target, but then it’s more of the same—teeth, sharp and vicious and exactly what Satoru needs.

She clutches at Yuuji, needing something to claw at that’s not the impersonal folds of her bedsheets, and the tug on her hair and the nails on her bare shoulders all just make Yuuji bite Satoru more and harder, till both of her breasts feel hot and raw, and as if that’s not enough, Yuuji catches a throbbing nipple between two calloused fingers, pinching.

Satoru keens low in her throat, her feet kicking furiously, uselessly at the mattress.

Yuuji pulls on the nipple as she bites deep into the underside of the other breast, and Satoru’s entire body burns red.

“Yuuji,” she gasps, scrabbling at her shoulders. “Fuck, Yuuji, that hurts—”

“You want it, right?” It’s a soft murmur, not really a question. “You like it.”

Satoru whines as teeth find more flesh—her belly this time, a sliver of hard-earned muscle blooming hot under that bruising pressure. Yuuji moans like she’s tasting more than sweat-slick skin, and when her tongue darts out, she licks the indents of her teeth and the reddened skin around it like it’s a prime cut of meat.

She turns her tender mercies to another patch of skin, and Satoru curses under her breath, a nonsense stream of biting, bitten words, but she doesn’t stop Yuuji and Yuuji certainly doesn’t stop herself, not until Satoru’s entire stomach is littered with marks that don’t bruise as bright as the ones on her tits but hurt worse—deep, skewering hurts that throb in time to the beat of her heart.

It’s pure relief that first floods her when Yuuji abandons the exposed skin to shove her face into Satoru’s mercifully clothed cunt, and then that pressure really registers.

Satoru’s body responds with a helpful gush of slick, and with Yuuji fucking mouthing at it, Satoru can’t ignore how her sweatpants are noticeably damp at the crotch.

“Take it off,” Satoru grits out, lifting her hips—it just makes her pussy grind against Yuuji’s overeager face. “Fuck, kid, you can eat it all you want after, just take it off.”

“Yeah,” Yuuji gasps, lifting her head and sucking in air like she was drowning. In a way, she was—on the smell and taste of Satoru’s slick-drenched pants, which just makes her pussy gush all over again. “Yeah, lemme just—”

At least she makes quick work of the sweatpants, tugging them off Satoru and tossing them to the floor and landing back between her legs in a matter of seconds, and if Satoru were the kind to get self-conscious, the way Yuuji’s staring at her cunt like a woman both bewitched and ravenous would do the trick, but she shed shame before she was even halfway through her teens, so all she does is reach down and spread herself open, a finger each slotted along the lips of her pussy.

They’re wet.

“Sensei,” Yuuji chokes out, gratifyingly breathless, “it’s so wet—and pink and—”

“If you’re going to drool, do it on me,” Satoru cuts in drily. It’s not that she’s not pleased—Yuuji’s blatant admiration is sinking warmly into her blood and doing significantly dirtier things to her aching, clenching cunt.

But she can’t be too nice to Yuuji. Can’t have her developing any illusions. Or ideas.

Yuuji just dives for her cunt, eager and easy. It’s not new, how Satoru’s mean streak is wasted on this girl. She never seems to mind. Not in class and apparently not in bed either.

Then there’s a greedy tongue licking Satoru from taint to clit, and her mind goes blank, all of her narrowing to the suckling mouth attached to her clit.

It’s going to be a quick one. All the need that’s been pooling in her cunt since Yuuji first touched her is on the verge of bursting, and now it’s at the mercy of a girl who made Satoru come thrice even when her senses were dulled by drink.

Sure enough, a few seconds of clever suction is all it takes for Satoru to feel that hot, pinching sensation deep in her gut, echoed by a hotter, broader ache all between her legs, and she grabs Yuuji’s head, just to keep her there in case she decides to move at just the wrong time, but she doesn’t, only pushing her face more firmly into Satoru’s cunt with a groan that trembles against the flesh housed in Yuuji’s mouth.

Satoru’s spine arches up, her heels digging into the mattress and her hips pushing up into Yuuji’s face, and more hot suction lashes at her clit, ripping the pleasure out of her.

Satoru comes with a shout, grinding her cunt against Yuuji’s mouth with helpless twists of her hips, and Yuuji takes it well, her lips and her tongue faithful and relentless, and it’s good, it’s great—until it isn’t, until the strokes and the suction start to feel like an exposed wire digging into her clit.

She shoves Yuuji’s head back, shuddering and crying out when that mouth tears free with a vicious sucking motion.

“S-shit,” she pants, blinking away streaks of shimmering white. Her thighs are trembling, twitching like they have a hope in hell of closing when there’s a broad-shouldered beast between her legs, and her cunt isn’t any better between them, throbbing hot with the aftershocks, and it’s still fucking needy, the insides a hollow ache that’s only grown more gaping and urgent with the orgasm. “Yuuji.”

Darkened eyes continue to stare hungrily at Satoru’s cunt for a long few seconds before they drag themselves up to Satoru’s face.

“Sensei,” Yuuji says, her voice low and gravelly.

Satoru twists her hand in her hair, and Yuuji’s eyes flutter half shut, but they still bore into Satoru.

“Fuck me,” Satoru orders. “Your fingers—put them in me.”

#goyuu #jjk #itadori yuuji #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #wip wednesday #jjk snippets #my fic #fic: a hollow point #divider credit: sweetmelodygraphics

54 notes · View notes

certifiedposeidonhater · 5 months ago

Text

PERCY JACKSON HEADCANONS PART 7 💙💙

1. He is EXTREMELY triggered by the sound of a woman or a child crying (like REALLY triggered)

2. He can’t not finish his food. If there is any food left on his or anybody else’s plate he HAS to eat it. Even if he is already full and feels like one more bite is gonna make him throw up, he has to finish his food. He got that from not having a lot of food growing up that now he feels like he’s wasting food if he doesn’t eat all of it.

3. He HATES doors slamming. It makes him feel like g*be is gonna come from the other room throwing beer bottles at him.

4. He will automatically start crying if any female figure of authority acts like they’re disappointed in him

5. HE IS SUCH A BIG INTROVERT

6. He has a terrible rbf so everybody in his classes and at camp always think he’s super mean until they talk to him and realize he is literally one of the nicest people ever (friendly reminder that he’s not exactly perceived as sassy. To everyone else he’s just the quiet kid who side eyes everyone.)

7. Sometimes his brain goes too fast for his mouth and he starts to stutter. It happened more when he was younger, but sometimes when he’s super nervous or excited it comes out and he hates it. (g*be used to make fun of it. Thalia started joking about it once and Percy got up and left the room (He was about to start crying.))

8. He’s extremely photogenic but hates people taking photos of him

9. He’s told Annabeth before “what if i’m actually a really terrible person and i’ve just manipulated everyone into liking me?”

10. He has a CRAZY high spice tolerance

11. He has fainting spells sometime

12. He can get really insecure about everything about himself. Anything from his body, his looks, his personality, his voice, anything. Annabeth always notices it and always makes sure to reassure him and give him extra love.

13. He is the WORST at taking compliments. e.g. “percy, you looks so pretty!” “yeah, pretty depressed.” or “percy! your eyes are so pretty!” “uh, sure. thanks?” or “percy, you’re actually really smart sometimes!” “i’m not but okay?”

14. He HATES ricotta but loves mozzarella

15. He has a really bad but really good immune system at the same time (he constantly feels sick, but he never rlly gets SICK sick.)

16. He wanted to be a firefighter as a kid

17. He agrees with Luke a LOT MORE than he wants to admit (he brought it up to Nico once (kind of as a joke) but Nico freaked out a bit. Percy knew better than to even mention a little bit of that feeling to Annabeth.)

18. ice cream = safety food (especially butter pecan (he eats it in a mug)) He also LOVES waffles.

19. He CANNOT explain his feelings for the life of him. Annabeth once convinced him to be honest with her about his feeling and he got halfway through a sentence then gave up, shut down, and drowned his sorrows in coffee and ice cream.

20. He experiences major revenge bedtime procrastination

21. He hates night times and mornings.

22. He’ll go on rants sometimes and a lot of the time the people he’s talking to just stop listening. He’ll notice and stop talking. (If Grover or Annabeth are there, they’ll listen.)

23. When he’s giving someone a high five, his hand actually never goes high. He always puts his hand at like waist level with his palm up and stuff.

24. He secretly hopes that sooner or later (hopefully sooner) he will go on a quest and never come back

25. He says sorry A LOT (for things that usually aren’t his fault and he can’t control)

26. Hes really superstitious

27. He gets annoyed super easily when it’s hot (heat rage is REAL yall)

28. HATES the quiet because it gives him too much time to think so he constantly has some sort of show or music playing in the background so it drowns out his thoughts

29. He was alone so much as a kid that he NEEDS alone time to energize himself

30. He has gotten flirted with by 65 yo women (read pedophiles) a LOT

31. He quotes vines CONSTANTLY

32. He walks silently because trauma

33. He’s left handed but writes with his right hand because that’s how he was taught in school

34. He has a great sense of direction but sucks with giving or taking directions

35. He has rejection sensitive dysphoria (even though he automatically assumes that everyone is going to reject him)

36. People will sometimes make jokes about how he must have orthorexia (an eating disorder) because he’s so in shape. It makes him really uncomfortable but he’ll never say anything about it.

37. He won’t eat until everyone else has grabbed what they want because he was so used to growing up with such little food and he always made sure his mom ate before him because he wanted to make sure she got enough

38. He cannot eat in front of someone unless someone is also eating

39. He cannot STAND the sound of his own footsteps because it makes him anxious and triggers his fight or flight response. He feels like someone’s gonna yell at him js for walking (and that’s on trauma 😘)

40. He either responds in 0.5 seconds, or will respond within 3-5 business days (depends on his mood.)

41. He lowkey has mild narcolepsy

42. He hates having to make decisions. big or small.

#heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackson fandom #percy jackson defense squad #justice for percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson deserves better #pjo #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson headcanon #percy jackson headcanons

95 notes · View notes

thefusioncelestial · 6 months ago

Text

Mix 19: The Knightly Sea Prince

polo-drone-065 asked:

Would you do like a chav meets a posh boy

Ah, the UK, one of the longest running democracies still in existence, and yet still has a Royal Family. And it is an old one. Many treat the birth year of the British royals as 1066 when William I took control, but they go deeper being able to trace themselves back to Cerdic of Wessex. That meant that this land has been influenced by the progeny of one man for over 1500 years.

As such, England & Scotland would develop a quite rigid society on the social side of things. Your station was not determined by wealth or any actual contribution to society, but what family you are born into & who you marry with. This leads to the creation of the Nobility: scions of Kings & Queens who never took the throne, next the Aristocrats: people who got in the good graces of a monarch to receive a rank & title.

And then there was everyone else.

Unless one got into a royal government, moving up socially or economically was hard. And while the functions of everyday government was eventually handed over to the people, the previous system persisted. A stark reminder that no matter how high you climb, there is always a ceiling.

Despite the wide strides made within recent times, there are those who have yet to catch their lucky break. And within those groups is a section of of young men with poor prospects who have banded together for protection. They aren't gang members, but they are stereotyped as being socially uncouth & wearing sportswear.

Being treated as the rough unwanted members of British society has made them the perfect target. They spend a lot of time outdoors in the streets trying to find something to do between job interview or promotion failures, and with all of that untapped & unused testosterone concentrated in an given area with the masculine aspects of British culture: you get a lot physical violence. When compared to their much more pampered & curated preppy counter parts, these men tend to be more physically dominate, and without centuries of rigid structure imposed on their fighting ability like you would in say fencing, they are able to adjust better to changing conditions.

The aristocrats love this. Their society rules makes it hard to for them to have much in the way of street smarts, and the pampered lifestyle can induce other bad habits. And so untold numbers of these poor men have been captured & assimilated into the young heirs of these landed peoples.

Here is Peter Montague-Pandall:

Slated to be the 22nd Earl of Salcombe.

One wouldn't think that a small coastal resort town like Salcombe would have anyone struggling. But every place has someone who is struggling. With resort towns, most people not business owners are forced to either go into fishing, farming, or into a service role. And while there is a lot of money that flows through, the pay for onsite workers can be bad & the rich clientele are notorious bad tippers.

Most with no prospects outside of cleaning the poop deck, move out via university or the military, and this has kept the local population low. But there are some who don't even have the option.

For Peter he grew up here, his family has been here for centuries. Granted monopolies long ago for saving some medieval king in the heat of battle, their solider founder ancestor set them up for life through bravery.

But like many such families, they all, aside from those who kept a strong military service tradition, lose their edge.

The inbreeding & a couple generations of gambling addictions should have layed the Montague-Pandall's low like the Fulfords, but they were able to course correct early enough.

The Pandalls were connected enough to learn about how the nobility would occasionally assimilate the strongest palace servants or guards to strengthen the family while still keeping up the bad practices that they do. But, they did not have enough power to get one of these necklaces that facilitate this. The fountain that birthed the method in Greece was not infinite in its waters.

A new method was found among those families, and they made a plan. They would make sure that some in their respective towns & cities were kept poor & working class, and unable to move up the ladder. The strongest born of this would be used to strengthen their heirs when the time was needed.

The Pandalls had a tradition that each heir & one spare would be merged with one of these people. The end result of constantly bringing in new DNA, new ideas & perspectives, and new skills would create a long chain of Earls stronger than the last. One result of this is that the Pandalls gained an reputation for being rather hot among their peers. And on top of this, they were more liberal with who they married.

Peter was not only the top of his school's social circle due to his family, but due to his good looks. What the average person didn't know is that untold numbers of people were absorbed into his male ancestors to create this town's Adonis. And if the traditions held, his sons would be born with similar physical gifts.

The Pandells were careful on who they selected, but they eventually paired Peter up with someone.

Here is Jaxon:

He has dreams of leaving his hometown for something different. He likes to go to the beach and stare out west towards America. A land said to be of much better opportunity. But it is a land where you can also fall harder.

But Jaxon is a bit more upright about his future. He is best friends with Peter, son of the Mayor, scion of the richest family within the area.

While they don't help his family with things like bills or food, they have always made sure he was clothed. And so for among his sports clothing wearing brethren, he always had the highest quality. This of course caused conflict. His peers were jealous of this, and so he got into a lot of fights growing up. And that constant fighting forged him into a warrior.

It was the summer after graduation. Jaxon was going to join the Royal Navy. Peter was bound for Cambridge University.

Jaxon & Peter were inside Peter's bedroom. From what Jaxon understood, Peter had a graduation & parting gift for him.

Peter was at the entrance facing the door staring at the door knob. He knew what he had to do. His father did this at his age, so did his grandfather and so forth. But he liked Jaxon. Did he really have to assimilate him. He tried to persuade his father to chose someone else. Someone with no personal history.

He locked the door & turned to Jaxon who was sitting in a desk chair.

"I love you," Jaxon said. Jaxon was always straight to the point. Trying to weasel yourself out of a situation in the streets would get your teeth knocked out too often.

Peter, who was walking towards Jaxon, paused. Did he just confess to Peter.

"I do too, like a brother of course," Peter responded.

Jaxon stood up & gave Peter a hard expression that softened a little.

"I like you a bit more than that," Jaxon said.

Peter took out a small rounded cylindrical vial that contained a yellow fluid.

The fluid was how the aristocratic families without a necklace merged with others. It took some research, firstly by going to the source, and doing decades if not a century more of alchemical, and then chemistry related research. As it turned out, human to human fusion was one of the secret goals of alchemy.

Peter quickly opened the vial and swallowed the liquid.

"What is that," Jaxon asked.

"Liquid luck after what I just walked myself into," Peter said.

"Why are you confessing to me now," he asked.

"You saw how every girl in our school wanted to climb me, and yet I never responded," Jaxon replied.

"I thought being near me was enough to not get you to end up in paternity court," Peter said.

"I would gladly go to court if you were the other parent. I wanted you climb and explore me so badly, but I know someone in your position would never be able to act if you felt the same way," Jaxon said.

"You could have as-"

"Shut up my Sea Prince, I am not done. I am telling you now, because I am leaving this place. Your dad gave me the funds to travel to go to basic training. I am going to see the world, meet new people, and maybe fall in love again. Next time, with someone who isn't so blind. But I wanted to let you know that I no matter what happens after I leave town, that you will always be my first love," Jaxon said.

A silence fell the room.

"That's a lot of words coming from you," Peter said.

Peter started walking towards Jaxon. He soon face to face with Jaxon. Or he would be. Peter was 6'1. Jaxon was 6'5.

"I guess you are influencing me a little bit," Jaxon said.

This was it, maybe he could answer Jaxon's feelings through what he was about to do.

Jaxon closed his eyes & moved to kiss Peter. He was forceful about it, pressed too hard. Peter backed up a little bit, but stayed connected. Jaxon then moved to hold and caress Peter's forearms. This eventually moved into a full embrace. For Jaxon this was the first & last time he would embrace his first true love.

He let go, or tried to. His mouth wouldn't come unstuck and his hands started to sink into Peter's back. He opened his eyes quickly. He knew what Peter was trying to do. But rather than fight back, he gave in.

Peter was scared, he couldn't get a full look at Jaxon's face given his physical position relative to Jaxon's, but the eyes told all. A fierce anger like a Tiger fully committed to killing its prey after said prey tried to fight back in vain was shone through his eyes. Peter fully expected Jaxon to pull back violently and physically rip their faces, but the opposite happened.

Jaxon pushed in. It felt good too. As Jaxon moved into Peter's body, a wave of ecstasy filled his body, but that was mixed with fear. It was only a few minutes, but 60% of Jaxon was mixed into Peter. Jaxon sank more and Peter felt bloated. Their skulls had merged, and Peter lost his facial features. He was a blank skin colored canvas.

All that was left of Jaxon on the outside was his shoulders, chest, abs, & back. Peter tried moving, but it was hard. Each step pulled Jaxon in more & more. The shoulders were gone. More steps. The abs and lower back. He was now in front of his bed and as he reached it, all of Jaxon was consumed.

Peter felt weird. He didn't just feel bloated, he felt Jaxon's mass move inside him. Constantly swirling & flowing, like a river without end.

And then it happened.

Peter's body mass quickly shrunk away. Ribs sticking out, skin hanging off the bones of his arms & legs. Abs gave way to the general shape of his spine. He was like a skeleton draped in skin, but no facial features.

Peter woke up in a completely white space. He was laying on a nice sofa and he was in his fully healthy body again. He quickly undid his shirt, and his muscles were all there.

Was what just happened a dream? A nightmare? But no, he doesn't know of rooms where the area was an featureless white void. He thought about it again. Based on what he was taught by his family both directly & in his records, he was in his mind space. It dawned on him.

He really tried to assimilate his best friend & would be lover Jaxon.

Peter got out of his thoughts when he remembered Jaxon. He knew what was going on; the mental merge. Where was Jaxon?

"I AM RIGHT HERE YOU PAMPERED DONKEY OF A MAN," Jaxon yelled:

Jaxon was now visible to him. Why was he in his boxer briefs? Peter wondered.

"I had an idea of what you money grubbing, self important monsters were doing. I know of a couple of mates who disappeared, all who had help from you lot like...like," he said in an angry & then confused tone.

He couldn't remember exactly who got assimilated. As he thought harder, his memories of them faded away, moving further out of reach. This was by design. The one assimilated would face some form of historical erasure. Some completely, others had aspects of their history smashed into the intended beneficiary.

"Wait, I didn't want to do this-"

"Why didn't you just choose someone else. Pick someone else with nothing to look forward to. I had an option, your family gave it to me," Jaxon roared.

"You know how set in their ways my family can be," Peter said.

"All the help, the great treatment when I came around, and putting ideas into my head. I was just a pig for the slaughter. Tell me, my fate was sealed the moment we met wasn't it," Jaxon asked.

Peter darted his eyes away from Jaxon.

"Yes," he said sadly.

"DONT LOOK AWAY FROM ME, THAT IS NOT THE MAN I LOVE, NOT THE PERSON WORTHY OF BEING ONE WITH ME," Jaxon screamed.

Peter looked back at Jaxon. He noticed that his mental space had changed. It was now a luxury hotel. He realized what had happened.

His father set him up.

He started to become aware of his body in the real world. The emaciated look was due to Jaxon fighting back so strongly on a mental level. The process didn't know which way to go. Not until they resolved who would dominate.

Peter pulled himself together.

"Listen, I know you want to beat me to a pulp, but let me explain. We are giving you a chance," Peter said.

"If that was the case, we would be taking each other's cherries on your bed right now, but instead you tried to use me like meal supplement," Jaxon said. He was much calmer. He wanted to know of this "chance".

"Normally, people who are chosen to be assimilated are knocked out cold, chemically or physically, and then given further drugs to weaken their mental fortitude," Peter said.

"Why," Jaxon asked.

"You had a glimpse of my world, do any of the stuck up pricks I am forced to hang out with seem to have the mental strength or personality to take you guys over fairly," Peter said.

"Absolutely not, you over patted sheep break down at the simplest of inconveniences. Why wasn't this done to me? As you can see, you are doing a bad job of dominating me," Jaxon asked.

"My father probably set this up. My guess is that he wants me to earn this new me. Perhaps due to the subtle influence of whoever he absorbed. Their own way of giving you a fighting chance when they didn't," Peter said.

Peter was fully committed to letting Jaxon take over. His form of apology.

Peter got up, ready to get pummeled and be an aspect of Jaxon.

Jaxon was soon right up to Peter's face.

Those eyes were full of anger, but they soon softened into Jaxon's normal stoic face, but they were a little tinged with worry.

"You knucklehead," Jaxon said. Before Peter could respond, Jaxon kissed him again in their mental space. Unlike the last time, there was no mixing of bodies. They were soon in an embrace. They slowly fell back into the couch and made love. In each thrust from Jaxon, Peter could feel Jaxon's emotions flow into him. His love, his worry, his anger, his confusion, and his acceptance. Mentally, this lasted for hours. In the real world a few seconds.

"Did we just..., bang mentally," Peter asked.

"Another round? Want to try being the top this time," Jaxon said confidently.

Surprisingly, they did it again, but in the way Jaxon suggested.

The couch that hosted this activity twice was in shambles. Peter looked back at the mess and was blushing. He didn't know he had that DAWG in him.

"What do we do now," Jaxon asked.

"Go through that door and live your life. Don't worry about me, I will gladly sacrifice myself so that you can see the world," Peter said.

Jaxon took Peter's hand & made the rest of him follow. Before Peter could protest, they both were a few feet from the door.

"What are you doing," Peter asked.

"I am not going to do to you what you just tried to do to me my Sea Prince. Since we can't come unstuck, let's walk this new us together as equals," Jaxon said.

Peter teared up and then wiped his eyes.

"You would agree to something like that after everything," Peter asked.

"Yes, outside from trying to eat me, everything you did for me made my life more bearable. Even if I had to fight more because it made me stick out more in streets," Jaxon said.

"Your father was right in picking me, you would be useless out there without me guiding you. But once we step through this together, we will be guiding each other, or guiding the new us," Jaxon said.

Peter let out a deep breath.

They both walked through the door.

Peter didn't dominate Jaxon, and Jaxon didn't dominate Peter. This meant that they would be reborn a new person.

The mass that was Peter began to show signs of life again.

It was no longer Peter though. Peter & Jaxon decided to walk the earth as equals. It was still deciding on its name though.

A liquid flowed through it's heavily constricted veins. It was DNA. Peter & Jaxon's DNA had broke down & mixed into a new structure. This new structure was being distributed throughout its soon to be new body.

Though it had no mouth yet, it moaned.

Starting with his feet, then his legs, chest, shoulders, arms, hands, and neck loud pops could be heard in that order. Immediately following the large pops in each body part, muscle exploded in those areas.

As the buttocks grew, you could hear the noise of stretched rubber, and its jewels were big like Jaxon's, but long & girthy like Peter's. Hair grew around the base.

Its stomach expanded in waves, doubling in mass each time. Soon it stopped growing after the third wave and began to restrict. An eight pack was forming with boulders for abdominal stones.

As the skin in the stomach restricted, the rest of the body followed, the result was a more vascular body than what Jaxon had.

Jaxon & Peter were quite compatible and this resulted in a new wave of muscle growth all over that made him more massive than Jaxon as well.

The formless face began to have features again. He had Jaxon's eyes, but softer. Jaxon's skull shape, but rounder. Peter's mouth, but more flush with pink. He had a combination of their noses & eyebrows. Jaxon's chin, Peter's ears. His hair texture & color were from Peter. but the volume was from Jaxon.

He let out a loud yell like a roar.

He was breathing heavily. Then he opened his eyes. It was time to meet his father.

He busted into his father's study unannounced.

"Hello son. Which one are you. Jaxon or Peter," he asked in a monotone manner. He also took a quick glance at the hinges of the door that guard his private study. They were bent at different angles. He was belated; he had strength beyond reasoning.

"I am both. I am Owen Montague-Pandall," Owen responded.

".... Good," the father said.

"You knew, you knew they wouldn't dominate each other," Owen said.

"It was obvious that Jaxon was in love with Peter when they turned 13. The boy was stealing too many glances at Peter once puberty kicked in. I figured they would mutually...mix. A reward for both. Jaxon can live his life with Peter as one, and hopefully you will do your duty and engender the next generation in the future. Tell me, do you like girls or boys," the father asked.

Owen mused for a bit.

"Both," Owen answered. Owen turned to leave.

Good enough the father thought.

"A reward for what though," Owen asked.

"I am aware that Jaxon would defend & protect Peter when he couldn't. Peter was good with a fencing blade, but everyday street fights were not his foray. Jaxon was his knight,' the father said.

Owen continued his walk out of the room.

"Are you not going to knock me out? You sure did a number on my door. I hated that door," the father said.

Owen turned his head.

"Like you said, they found a way to make this crap sandwich into one hiding gold. I can tell you, they are humming happily deep in my subconscious," Owen said.

"Your plans for the future," the father asked.

Owen smiled and walked away. He didn't utter a word.

Owen went to Cambridge like Peter was planning to:

He would spend enough time there & then go join the navy like Jaxon wanted. He would finish school through the methods that the military allowed him to. He would be both scholar & warrior. And like Jaxon, he would get to travel the world.

He would need to. Jaxon & Peter found the easy way out by merging, but now Owen would have to find his first true love, and not try to devour them this time.

Plenty of fish, in the Navy.

He also made sure that Jaxon's original family was taken care of. No more getting eaten by some elitist idiot.

#male merge #thefusioncelestial #musclegrowth #muscle #muscular #male body merge #absorption #male fusion #male pred #male body transformation #Fusion #merge #merging #body merging #merging tf #male transformation #transformation

106 notes · View notes