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gyuuberryy · 3 days ago

Text

don't look back!

pairing: yandere!jungwon x reader

genre: backrooms au, thriller, psycho!jungwon

synopsis: while working late at the waterpark, you slip through reality and fall into the nightmare realm known as the backrooms. you think you’re alone—until you meet jungwon, a charming boy who offers comfort, survival tips, and the promise of an escape together. but something about him doesn’t feel right. the more time you spend together, the more his affection turns eerie... and the deeper you fall into his trap.

warnings (MDNI 18+ only!!) : smut(corruption kink, oral f receiving, fingering, mild marking/biting, unprotected sex), yandere themes, obsession, slight horror themes, manipulation, slight dub con, choking, some degradation, dom!jungwon, swearing, not proofread

note: this is probably my darkest work, and also my first time writing smut!! i hope you like it >///<

word count: 10.3k

if you liked this please comment or reblog to give me your feedback! <3

you had been working late at the waterpark again, the last employee left on closing duty.

the usual nighttime sounds surrounded you—the steady drip of water from the slides, the faint hum of the filtration system powering down, the occasional creak of the structure settling. it was peaceful in a way, being alone in the empty park after hours, though tonight the silence felt heavier than usual.

you pulled your hoodie tighter around yourself as you walked past the wave pool, the water still and dark now that the pumps were off. your sneakers squeaked against the wet tiles, the sound echoing strangely in the vast, empty space.

as you moved toward the tower of spiral slides to complete your final check, you couldn't shake the feeling that the air had grown colder, thicker somehow.

that was when you heard the first laugh—a high-pitched, playful sound that seemed to come from the top of the blue slide.

you froze, your grip tightening on the flashlight. that couldn't be right. you'd checked every area twice already, made certain no guests remained. the park was supposed to be empty.

"hello?" you called out, your voice steady despite the sudden chill running down your spine. "the park is closed."

there was no response at first, just the continued dripping of water and that odd, heavy silence.

you were about to dismiss it as your imagination when the laughter came again, closer this time, seeming to bounce off the fibreglass walls of the slides.

your pulse quickened as you approached the staircase leading up to the slide platform. the metal steps were slick with condensation under your hands as you climbed, your flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.

"if someone's up here, you need to leave now," you said, forcing authority into your voice even as your palms grew damp.

when you reached the top, the mouth of the slide gaped before you, a circle of darkness that seemed deeper than it should be. you crouched to shine your light down its length, expecting to see nothing but empty plastic. instead, there was movement—something pale flickering at the edge of your vision.

before you could react, the world twisted around you. it wasn't wind that pulled at you, but something far more unnatural. the slide's opening seemed to stretch, the darkness within it suddenly alive and hungry. you tried to scramble back, but your feet slipped on the wet platform.

as you fell forward, you realised this wasn't just a slide anymore. the walls pressed in around you, warm and yielding like flesh, the air thick with the cloying scent of chlorine and something decaying. you flailed, trying to find purchase, but there was nothing to grab onto as you tumbled through that impossible space.

then there was only nothingness.

the impact knocked the air from your lungs before you even realised you'd stopped falling. your elbows stung where they'd slammed against the tile, your ribs aching like you'd been folded in half.

for several terrifying seconds you just lay there, gasping, your vision swimming as you tried to remember how to breathe. when you finally managed to push yourself up, your hands slipped on the damp floor—not the smooth fibreglass of the slide, but something older and cracked that felt wrong.

the slide was gone.

you whirled around, panic rising like floodwater in your chest, but there was only a wall behind you—water-stained wallpaper peeling away to reveal moldering drywall beneath. the cheerful cartoon dolphins printed on it were faded, their smiles stretched and warped where the paper bubbled.

your breath came in short, sharp bursts as you staggered to your feet, the room tilting dangerously around you. this wasn't possible. you'd just been at work. you'd just been checking the slides.

the space around you stretched endlessly in every direction, a nightmare parody of the waterpark you knew. the same blue-and-yellow colour scheme, but bleached and sickly under flickering fluorescents. the wave pools were empty except for stagnant puddles that reflected the ceiling back at you in distorted fragments. the air clung to your skin, thick with the scent of mildew and that same overpowering chlorine sting—but underneath it, something sweet. cloying. like fruit left to rot in standing water.

"hello?" your voice cracked on the word, barely louder than a whisper.

when no answer came, you tried again, louder: "is anyone here?" the sound died almost instantly, as if the humid air had swallowed it whole.

you moved forward without meaning to, your sneakers sticking slightly to the tacky floor with each step. the lights buzzed overhead, their flickering intensifying as you passed beneath them. down one hallway lined with lockers rusted shut, past another shallow pool that had no visible edge—just tile that stretched on until it blurred into the distance. your fingers trailed along the wall for balance, coming away damp.

a sound from above made you freeze. not the creak of old pipes, but something... wetter. like flesh dragging across metal. you didn't look up. couldn't look up. your pulse roared in your ears as you forced yourself to keep moving, your breath coming too fast.

in the reflection of a murky puddle, you saw something move behind you—a pale shape where nothing should be. when you spun around, there was only an empty hallway. but the puddle rippled, as if whatever had been there had just stepped out of view.

you broke into a run.

the corridors twisted in ways that made no sense, leading you past the same cracked mirror three times, past a snack stand with its menu board melted like wax. your lungs burned, your thighs aching, but you didn't stop until you reached a small kiddie pool tucked between two crumbling walls. its cheerful mosaic tiles were chipped and faded, the painted sea creatures now just vague smudges of colour. you collapsed beside it, pressing your back against the wall as you struggled to catch your breath.

that was when you heard the whistling.

low. off-key. a tune you almost recognised but couldn't place. your blood turned to ice in your veins.

the sound was getting closer.

you scrambled behind a rusted lifeguard chair, its paint flaking away under your desperate grip.

the whistling continued, unhurried, accompanied now by the steady tap of footsteps against tile. a shadow stretched long across the floor before its owner appeared—a boy, maybe your age, dressed in a staff polo that looked freshly laundered. his black hair was neatly styled, his sneakers pristine where yours were soaked. the name tag on his chest caught the light when he moved, but the letters swam when you tried to focus on them.

he saw you immediately. of course he did.

"there you are," he said, as if you'd been keeping him waiting. his voice was pleasant, almost friendly, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. they stayed dark and unreadable as he took a step closer.

"it's not safe to be out alone."

you pressed yourself harder against the wall, your mouth dry. he looked human. normal. but nothing here was normal.

when he extended his hand, his fingers were clean. no dirt under his nails. no dampness on his skin.

"come on," he urged, tilting his head slightly. "before they find you."

above you, the lights flickered again. somewhere in the distance, something heavy dragged itself through water.

his smile never wavered.

your fingers twitched before you even realised you were reaching for him—some primal part of your brain screaming that warmth meant safety, that another human voice in this suffocating silence was worth clinging to, no matter how wrong this all felt.

his hand closed around yours without hesitation, his skin almost feverishly hot compared to the clammy chill clinging to your own.

"i'm jungwon," he said, pulling you to your feet with unsettling ease, like your weight meant nothing.

his fingers lingered a second too long when he let go, leaving behind a tingling imprint that made you want to rub your palm against your jeans.

"you're lucky i found you first."

the words slithered under your skin. first before who? before what?

he was already moving, his steps light and certain against the warped tiles as he led you down another decaying hallway. you followed because there was no other choice, your sneakers squeaking against the damp floor while his made no sound at all.

when you opened your mouth to speak, your voice came out cracked and thin: "where—"

"this place doesn't have a name," he interrupted, glancing back with a smile that didn’t crinkle the corners of his eyes. "not one you'd understand."

his gaze flickered over your face, lingering on the way you bit your lip, the rapid flutter of your pulse in your throat.

"i call it the aquatic sector."

your breath hitched. the backrooms. those creepy internet stories you'd skimmed late at night, half-believing, half-mocking.

"like... the backrooms?" you whispered, the word tasting absurd even as it left your tongue.

jungwon's smile didn’t waver, "something like that." he said it so casually, like he was discussing the weather, and the sheer normality of his tone made your stomach twist.

he turned a corner without checking if you followed—of course you did, where else would you go?—and you realised with a jolt that he knew this place. the way his shoulders never tensed at the distant, wet sounds echoing through the pipes. the way he stepped over a particular cracked tile without looking down, avoiding the dark stain spreading beneath it like he’d done it a hundred times before.

when he finally pushed open a door marked staff only, the room beyond was so jarringly intact it made your eyes water. clean towels stacked neatly on a shelf. unopened cans of fruit lined up in a tiny pantry. a battery-powered lantern cast warm light over a faded couch, its cushions dented from use. it looked like a lifeguard break room plucked straight from your own world and dropped here, untouched by the decay choking everything outside.

"this zone's safe," jungwon said, watching your face as you took it in. he grabbed a water bottle from the cabinet and held it out to you, the plastic crinkling in his grip. "but only for now."

your fingers trembled as you took it, the condensation cool against your palm. you wanted to drink so badly your throat ached with it, but the way he watched you—head slightly tilted, dark eyes tracking the bob of your throat as you swallowed nervously—made your grip tighten without opening it.

something about the way his smile didn't reach his eyes, about how his uniform was still perfectly dry when your clothes clung damp and clammy to your skin, about how he'd known exactly where to find you in this endless maze.

"you should drink," he said, softer now.

he took a step closer and you could smell the faint citrus of his shampoo, so out of place here it made your pulse skip.

"you'll get dehydrated fast in this sector."

his fingers brushed yours as he reached to twist the cap off for you, and for a dizzying second you considered letting him. his touch was the only warm thing in this entire place. but then the pipes above you groaned, a wet, meaty sound that had you jerking back, the water bottle slipping from your grip to roll across the floor.

jungwon's expression darkened for just a second—a flicker of something sharp behind his pleasant mask—before he sighed and crouched to retrieve it.

"you'll learn," he said, more to himself than to you as he placed the bottle carefully on the table.

outside, something heavy splashed into one of the pools, the sound echoing through the thin walls. when you tensed, jungwon's hand settled between your shoulder blades, warm even through your damp hoodie.

"don't worry," he murmured, his breath stirring your hair. "i won't let anything hurt you."

the promise should have been comforting. so why did it feel like a threat?

time bent around you like wet paper, the hours stretching and warping until you couldn’t tell if minutes or days had passed.

jungwon became your only constant, your lifeline in this rotting, endless maze. he told you where to sleep (the staff break room, always with the door locked), when to hide (when the lights flickered in a pattern that wasn’t random), which corridors to avoid (the ones with the faint smell of overripe bananas). but he never explained why.

"don’t follow the laughter," he said one evening, or what you thought was evening, as you both sat cross-legged on the floor of the break room, sharing a can of peaches.

the syrup was too sweet, clinging to your teeth, but you ate it anyway because hunger gnawed at your stomach like a living thing.

you frowned. "what laughter?"

jungwon’s fingers paused where they’d been tracing patterns on the tile floor. he didn’t look up.

"you’ll know it when you hear it. it sounds almost human. almost." his voice dropped on the last word, and something in his tone made you set the can down, your appetite gone.

"that’s not an answer," you muttered.

he finally lifted his gaze, his dark eyes unreadable. "it’s the only one i can give you."

you wanted to push, to demand more, but then the walls breathed—a slow, wet expansion of the water-damaged drywall that made you recoil. jungwon didn’t even flinch.

"also," he continued, as if nothing had happened, "don’t trust water that moves on its own. and never, never go into a glowing slide."

"why not?"

he leaned forward suddenly, close enough that you could see the faint scar on his lower lip, the way his pupils swallowed the dim light.

"because some doors only open one way," he whispered. then he pulled back, his smile returning like a curtain falling.

"eat your peaches."

you noticed things, over time. the way the walls never dripped when jungwon was near, how the flickering fluorescents steadied when he walked beneath them, as if they were afraid to sputter out in his presence. you noticed how he watched you—constantly—his gaze lingering on the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, how your fingers trembled when you were tired.

and then you found the notebook.

it was tucked under his pillow, the leather cover worn soft. you hadn’t meant to snoop, but he’d been gone longer than usual (to "check the perimeter," whatever that meant), and the silence had pressed in on you until you needed something to focus on besides the sound of your own heartbeat.

the first page was a sketch of your face, rendered in startling detail. your lips slightly parted in sleep, your eyelashes casting shadows on your cheeks. you turned the page.

another. another. dozens of drawings, all of you—your hands clutching a blanket, your back arched in alarm when something had banged on the door the night before, your tear-streaked cheeks from when you’d broken down sobbing your third day here.

your breath caught.

"you’re beautiful when you’re afraid."

you hadn’t heard him come in. jungwon stood in the doorway, his head tilted, his expression unreadable. your fingers clenched around the notebook, the paper crinkling under your grip.

he stepped closer, his movements smooth and predatory.

"just kidding," he murmured, but his eyes—dark and endless—never left yours.

he pried the notebook from your hands with terrifying gentleness, his thumb brushing over a sketch of your crying face. "you’re beautiful all the time."

the air between you thickened, the silence broken only by the distant sound of something heavy dragging itself through water. jungwon didn’t seem to hear it. his gaze burned into you, possessive and hungry, and for the first time, you realised the most dangerous thing in this place wasn’t the shifting halls or the things that lurked in the water.

it was the boy standing in front of you, smiling like he already knew every way you’d break.

the air in the filtration room had been particularly thick that day, clinging to your skin like a second layer of sweat as you followed jungwon through yet another routine patrol.

you'd memorised the path by now—past the cracked wave pool tiles, left at the concession stand with its permanently stuck "hot dogs $3.99" sign, right at the third set of rusted lockers.

his flashlight beam cut through the perpetual twilight, illuminating dust motes that swirled like tiny galaxies in the stale air.

"wait here," jungwon said suddenly, his hand squeezing your wrist just a bit too tight before releasing.

the filtration tunnel gaped before you both, its mouth dark and damp.

"i need to check something. don't move." his smile didn't reach his eyes as he said it, the way it never did anymore.

you nodded, forcing your breathing to stay even as you watched him disappear into the tunnel. the moment his light vanished around the first bend, your body thrummed with nervous energy. this was it. you'd been watching for weeks, noting which corridors made him tense, which doors he always locked extra carefully. the copper-scented hallway to your right had been his most consistent avoidance.

the first step away from the tunnel entrance sent a jolt of electricity up your spine. your sneakers made barely a sound against the slick tiles, your movements practised after so many days of following his lead through these endless halls. the chlorine-copper smell grew stronger with each step, so potent it made your eyes water and your tongue feel coated in pennies.

halfway down the corridor, your foot caught on something soft. you barely stifled a scream as you looked down to see what appeared to be a waterlogged park uniform, the fabric bloated and discoloured. something about the way it lay—too flat, too empty—made your stomach turn. you stepped over it carefully, your pulse pounding in your ears.

the maintenance ladder appeared like a mirage, its rusted rungs nearly blending into the water-stained wall. you tested the first step with your weight, wincing as the metal groaned in protest. every creak seemed deafening in the silent hallway. as you climbed, the air grew noticeably colder, each breath forming visible clouds that dissipated into the gloom above you.

at the top, the platform was smaller than you expected, barely three feet across. the glowing slide pulsed before you, its eerie green light casting strange shadows across your trembling hands. up close, the hum you'd noticed from below vibrated through your teeth, setting your nerves on edge.

you hesitated, one hand hovering over the slide's entrance. jungwon's warning echoed in your mind, but so did the memory of his sketches, the way his fingers lingered just a beat too long when he touched you. the way he'd started saying "we" instead of "you" when talking about the future.

the decision crystallised in an instant. you launched yourself forward, the slide's surface shockingly cold even through your clothes. for one glorious moment, you felt weightless, the current carrying you forward with exhilarating speed.

then the world twisted.

the temperature plummeted so fast your muscles locked in protest. the smooth tunnel contorted violently, the walls rippling like disturbed water before going rigid at impossible angles. your scream caught in your throat as you were flung sideways, then upside down, the laws of physics abandoning you completely.

when you finally crashed into a brackish pool, the impact drove what little air remained from your lungs. the water tasted foul—salt and something organic, something living. you thrashed toward the surface, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and terror.

breaking through into the air brought no relief. the cavernous room stretched endlessly in every direction, the ceiling lost in shadow. the pool's edges weren't tile but something porous and veined, pulsing faintly in time with your racing heartbeat.

then you saw him.

jungwon stood perfectly still at the water's edge, his clothes soaked through as if he'd swum through miles of tunnels to reach you. water dripped from his hair into his eyes, but he didn't blink. the quiet rage radiating from him was more terrifying than any monster this place could have conjured.

"didn't i say," he began, his voice deceptively soft as he stepped into the pool, "not to trust glowing slides?" each word carried the weight of betrayal, his hands flexing at his sides.

the water resisted as you tried to back away, its viscosity suddenly wrong - too thick, too clinging. jungwon closed the distance effortlessly, his fingers wrapping around your biceps with bruising force as he hauled you onto the slick ground.

your body hit the floor with a wet slap, the impact reverberating through your bones. jungwon loomed over you, his knees caging your hips, his breath coming in sharp bursts that fogged in the frigid air. up close, you could see the way his pupils had swallowed nearly all the brown in his eyes, leaving only thin rings of colour around bottomless black.

"you could have died," he hissed, his voice cracking on the last word.

one hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing roughly over your cheekbone.

"do you have any idea what's out there? what would have happened if i hadn't found you?"

tears spilled hot down your cheeks, the salt taste mixing with the brackish water still dripping from your hair.

"i just wanted to go home," you choked out, your voice barely audible over the distant, watery echoes of the cavern.

jungwon's expression fractured. he pressed his forehead to yours, his nose brushing against your tear-streaked skin.

"this is your home," he whispered, the words vibrating through your skull. "i'm your home."

his grip gentled as he pulled you upright, his arms wrapping around your shivering form in a mockery of comfort. one hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back until you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"don't ever do that again," he murmured, his lips grazing your temple. the kiss felt like a brand.

"next time..." his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly in your hair. "next time i might not be able to save you."

the unspoken threat hung between you, heavier than the humid air, darker than the endless corridors stretching in every direction. as he helped you to your feet, his arm slung possessively around your waist, you realised with dawning horror that you'd just proven his worst fear.

and in doing so, you'd given him the perfect excuse to never let you out of his sight again.

that night, something inside you finally cracked open—not with the sharp snap of defiance, but with the slow, inevitable splintering of resistance worn down by exhaustion and something dangerously close to surrender.

you sat shivering on the edge of his mattress, the damp fabric of your clothes clinging to your goosebumped skin like a second layer of shame. the scent of chlorine still clung to your hair, undercut by something darker—something organic and vaguely sweet, like fruit left to rot in standing water, which seemed like a recirring scent in this place.

jungwon knelt before you, a threadbare towel in his hands, his movements methodical as he dragged the rough fabric up your calf. the friction should have warmed you, but you only felt colder with each pass, your skin pebbling under his touch.

"you never listen," he whispered, his voice almost affectionate, the way one might scold a beloved but wayward pet.

his fingers tightened slightly around your ankle—not enough to hurt, just enough to make the bones shift under his grip.

"do you know how many rules you broke today?" his thumb pressed into the hollow beneath your ankle bone, a silent demand for your attention.

you swallowed hard, your throat clicking with the motion. "i just—"

"shh," he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips. his skin tasted like salt and metal. "i know what you were trying to do. but we don't lie to each other, do we?"

his hand slid higher up your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there, just shy of bruising. "say it."

your breath hitched. "no. we don't lie."

"good girl." the praise curled warm in your stomach despite everything.

his thumb hooked into the waistband of your soaked shorts, tugging them down your legs with agonising slowness.

"i should punish you," he mused, his breath hot against your inner thigh as he pressed a kiss there, "but you look so pathetic like this."

his teeth grazed your skin—not biting, just testing. "all shivering and wide-eyed. like a drowned kitten."

you should have stopped him. should have pushed him away. but your hands stayed limp at your sides, fingers twitching against the mattress as he pulled you closer to the edge, his grip firm on your hips.

"jungwon—"

"tell me you're sorry," he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing the crease of your thigh.

your pulse pounded in your ears. "i'm sorry."

"for what, exactly?" his tongue darted out to taste you, just once, making your stomach clench.

"for—for trying to leave." the admission tasted bitter on your tongue.

he hummed, the vibration travelling straight to your core. "and?"

"for not listening." your voice broke on the last word.

his mouth found you then, soft at first—just the barest flick of his tongue that made your toes curl. then deeper, firmer, until you couldn't stifle the gasp that tore from your throat. your thighs trembled around his head, your fingers twisting into the sheets as he worked you open with his tongue, each lick sending sparks up your spine.

"that's better," he murmured against you, the vibrations making your hips jerk.

"this is what you need, isn't it? to be reminded?" his fingers dug into your hips, holding you still as his tongue circled your clit with devastating precision. "to be taken care of?"

you couldn't answer. your thoughts had dissolved into static, your body no longer your own. when you whimpered his name, he hummed in approval, the sound curling low in your belly.

"use your words, sweetheart." his breath was hot against your soaked skin. "tell me what you want."

"please—"

"please what?" he nipped at your inner thigh, just hard enough to sting. "you have to say it."

your vision blurred at the edges. "please don't stop."

he rewarded you immediately, his tongue laving over you in broad strokes before he pressed two fingers inside, curling them expertly until your walls fluttered around him.

"like that?" he asked, his voice rough. "you want me to make you cum? to remind you who you belong to?"

you nodded frantically, your hips rocking against his hand.

"say it." his fingers stilled inside you, denying you the friction you craved. "say you're mine."

the words stuck in your throat for only a second before you choked them out: "i'm yours."

he crooked his fingers just right, the heel of his palm grinding against you in time with each thrust, and you shattered—your back arching off the mattress, your walls fluttering around him as pleasure ripped through you like a riptide.

he kissed you after, his lips tasting of you, his grip bruising on your jaw as he held you in place.

"you're mine," he said again, his voice rough, his pupils blown so wide they swallowed the brown of his eyes.

"no one else gets to have you. not even reality."

his words settled into your bones like a curse. you wanted to protest. wanted to tell him you belonged to yourself, that this place wasn't your home, that you would find a way out. but when he pulled you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you didn't resist. and when his fingers traced idle patterns over your hip—claiming and possessive—you let him.

because the worst part wasn't the way he touched you.

it was the way your body arched into his hand when he reached for you again.

the way your breath caught when he whispered, "again."

the way you obeyed.

after that night, the invisible leash around your throat pulled taut like a noose gradually tightening. jungwon became your shadow, your keeper, your only tether to anything resembling safety in this rotting labyrinth.

when he did leave—always with that same murmured excuse about "checking the perimeter"—the backrooms seemed to come alive with malicious intent. the first time it happened, you sat perfectly still for exactly three minutes after he left, counting each second by the erratic drip of water from a ceiling pipe.

then the lights began stuttering like a dying man's pulse.

"jungwon?" you called out, immediately hating how small your voice sounded.

the hallway ahead warped suddenly, the tiles rippling like water disturbed by some unseen force. when you turned to run back to the break room, the door you'd just come through was gone—replaced by a staircase that definitely hadn't been there before, its steps slick with something dark and viscous.

"no, no, no," you chanted under your breath, pressing your back against the wall as the staircase shifted again, the top step now leading to a ceiling vent far too small for any human to crawl through.

that was when you heard it—a wet, clicking sound from the darkness beneath the stairs, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of overripe bananas and something metallic. your stomach turned as the clicking grew louder, more rhythmic, like dozens of tiny bones knocking together.

jungwon found you exactly seven minutes later curled behind a stack of mouldy pool noodles, your nails digging bloody crescents into your palms.

"i told you not to wander," he sighed, crouching before you.

his fingers were warm when they pried yours open, his thumbs rubbing circles into your clenched fists.

"what did you see?"

"the stairs—they moved," you gasped, still trembling. "and there was something under—"

"shhh," he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips.

his eyes darted to the hallway behind you, suddenly sharp. "don't say it out loud. this place listens."

he helped you stand, his arm slipping around your waist in a way that might have been comforting if not for how easily his fingers spanned nearly the entire width of your torso. "let's get you cleaned up."

you tried to assert yourself exactly once, three days later.

it started as a simple request—"i need space"—but the words came out cracked and brittle, like you were begging rather than demanding.

jungwon paused in the middle of rewrapping your blistered foot (when had you gotten blisters?), his head tilting in that unnervingly precise way of his.

"space?" he repeated, the word curling oddly in his mouth.

his smile bloomed slow and sweet, like blood spreading through water. "oh, sweetheart. there's nothing but space here."

his fingers brushed your ankle, trailing upward with deliberate slowness.

"endless, hungry space." when his hand reached your knee, he squeezed just enough to make your breath hitch. "i'm just protecting you."

you swallowed hard. "from what?"

jungwon leaned in so close his lips brushed your ear, his next words a warm puff of air that made you shiver.

"from what happens to pretty things that get lost in the dark."

he pulled back slightly, his dark eyes searching yours.

"this place listens to me. you don't want to hear what it says about you when i'm gone." his thumb traced your lower lip. "the way it licks its chops every time you stumble. the way the walls whisper about how sweet you'd taste."

that night, you woke abruptly to the feeling of something cool and padded encircling your wrists. your eyes flew open to find yourself in jungwon's lap, your arms secured to the bench with what looked like salvaged lifeguard rescue tubes—the orange foam frayed but still sturdy.

"w-what—" you stammered, panic surging as you tugged against the restraints.

"shhh, just for your safety," jungwon soothed, his fingers already carding through your hair. the casual ease with which he held you down sent ice through your veins.

"you were thrashing in your sleep again. nearly rolled right off the bench." he held up a can of peaches, the syrup glistening in the low light. "let's get some food in you, yeah?"

when you turned your head away, his grip tightened fractionally in your hair.

"now, now," he chided, popping the lid with a metallic snick. "none of that."

the first syrupy slice pressed against your lips was cold and cloying. "open."

the fight drained out of you with terrifying speed. by the third bite, you were chewing mechanically, the sweetness coating your tongue like medicine. jungwon's approving hum vibrated through you as he wiped a stray drop of syrup from your chin with his thumb—then sucked it clean with a soft, satisfied sound.

"good girl," he murmured, kissing each of your knuckles in turn. the shackles stayed on all night.

as the days bled together, resistance became a distant memory, as foreign as sunlight or fresh air.

his touches became your only constants—the steadying hand at your elbow when the floor suddenly slanted, the broad palm spanning your back when a corridor narrowed unexpectedly, the strong arms that lifted you effortlessly over patches of suspicious-looking water. in the hot pool (the one oasis in this rotting place, its waters always perfectly clear and heated), he would wrap around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as the steam curled around you both.

"feel good?" he'd murmur, his hands drifting along your arms beneath the water.

you'd nod silently, too tired to lie or protest. his heartbeat against your back was the only rhythm left in this place, the only thing that still made sense.

the backrooms themselves seemed to worship him. puddles stilled when he approached, their surfaces going eerily smooth. hallways straightened obediently at his approach.

once, when you caught your reflection in the pool's surface, it grinned at you—wide and knowing—even as your own face remained carefully blank. when you jerked back with a gasp, jungwon just tightened his arms around you.

"just a trick of the light," he murmured, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

the question burned in your chest for days before you finally found the courage to whisper it one night: "what are you?"

jungwon went very still, his fingers pausing where they'd been tracing nonsense patterns on your bare shoulder. for a long moment, the only sound was the distant drip of water and your own too-quick breathing.

"i used to be like you," he said at last, his voice soft with something almost like regret. "scared. lost. convinced there was a way out."

his hand returned to your shoulder, his thumb brushing the knob of your collarbone. "then i stopped pretending to be afraid. stopped fighting what this place wanted from me."

his lips grazed your temple, lingering just a second too long. "you'll understand soon."

the promise should have terrified you. should have sent you scrambling for escape. instead, a warm heaviness settled in your chest, spreading through your limbs like syrup. when he pulled you closer, you went without resistance, your head finding its familiar place against his shoulder.

outside your fragile bubble of warmth, the backrooms groaned and shifted—but here, cradled in jungwon's arms, the world held its breath. you closed your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you into something like peace.

somewhere along the way, you'd forgotten how to fight.

somewhere deeper still, you'd stopped wanting to.

it had been weeks—or maybe months, you had no idea how the warped time her worked—since jungwon had let you out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time.

you'd practised the request of wanting to sleep alone in your head for days, carefully framing it as concern for his own rest rather than your desperate need for space.

"you look tired," you ventured one evening as he rubbed your sore feet (when had you started letting him do that?).

your fingers played with the frayed edge of his sleeve, the fabric soft from countless washes in the pool's filtration runoff.

"maybe... maybe you should take a night for yourself. i'll be fine here."

jungwon's hands stilled on your instep. the silence stretched so long you could hear the drip-drip-drip of water from the ceiling vent counting out your racing heartbeat.

when he finally looked up, his smile didn't reach his eyes—those dark, fathomless eyes that always seemed to see straight through you.

"one night," he conceded, his thumb brushing the delicate bones of your ankle. the casual possession in that simple touch made your stomach clench.

"but scream if you need me." his fingers trailed up your calf, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "the walls carry sound beautifully here."

he left you in a small bunkroom near the filtration systems, the space eerily pristine compared to the decay everywhere else. thick blankets covered the narrow bed, their faded nautical patterns almost cheerful under the glow of luminous pool tiles embedded beneath the frame.

you waited until his footsteps faded completely before letting out the breath you'd been holding.

the second the door clicked shut, the air grew heavier, pressing against your skin like wet hands. you told yourself you wouldn't sleep—just rest your eyes until morning came, whatever that meant in this endless place. curling up on the bed, you pulled your knees to your chest and stared at the door, straining to hear anything beyond the ever-present hum of machinery.

every sound became magnified in his absence. the walls creaked like old ship hulls, the pipes groaned with more than just water pressure, and every distant droplet echoed like approaching footsteps. at one point, you swore you heard whispering—not words exactly, but something like the hiss of water through cracks, forming almost-syllables that prickled the hairs on your neck.

"it's just the pipes," you muttered to yourself, your voice thin and unconvincing in the heavy air.

pulling the blankets over your head, you tried to focus on your breathing, but the fabric stuck to your lips with each panicked exhale.

when the bed suddenly shifted beneath you—just a slight dip, like someone had sat at the foot—you nearly screamed. your muscles locked, every nerve ending alight with primal terror as you waited for the inevitable touch, the breath against your neck.

but nothing came. the silence that followed was worse than any sound, thick with anticipation and something else—something watching.

by the time jungwon returned, you were curled into a tight ball, your face pressed against your knees to muffle the quiet sobs wracking your body. the door opened without a sound, but you knew it was him from the way the room immediately stilled, the oppressive weight in the air lifting as if by command.

"oh, sweet thing," he murmured, his voice dripping with false sympathy as the mattress dipped behind you.

his hands were warm where they slid under your shaking form, gathering you against his chest like a child. you hated how easily you folded into him, your body betraying your mind with its immediate relaxation.

"see?" he whispered into your hair, his lips brushing your temple. "you're safest when i'm touching you."

you wanted to protest, to push him away, but your limbs felt leaden, your resistance worn to nothing by the terror of the empty hours. when your fingers twitched weakly against his chest, jungwon made a soft, approving sound and kissed your forehead.

"shhh, i know," he murmured, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck.

his thumb stroked the sensitive skin behind your ear in slow circles. "you just needed to learn, didn't you? needed to see what happens when i'm not here to keep you safe."

his kiss started soft, just the barest brush of lips. but when you didn't resist, it deepened, his mouth hot and insistent as his tongue slid against yours. the taste of him flooded your senses, metallic and sweet like the canned fruit he always fed you, and some broken part of you responded without thought, your hands fisting in his shirt.

when you didn’t pull away, he pressed deeper, tongue slipping past your lips with practised ease. he kissed you like he had the right to. maybe that’s what terrified you most.

“see?” he whispered against your mouth, tasting you in slow drags. “you’re already calmer.”

you weren’t. not really. but your breathing had steadied, your muscles unknotted just enough to stop trembling, and your arms were curled weakly around his shoulders. it felt… safer. wrong, but safer.

he coaxed your top over your head with ease, discarding it like it meant nothing. his hands were warm and slow as they skimmed over your skin, trailing reverent touches across your ribs and stomach.

“let me take care of you,” he murmured, more command than offer, but spoken like a promise. “you were scared without me. i know. i felt it.”

his mouth moved to your chest, kissing your collarbone, then lower. when he sucked your nipple into his mouth, you flinched, but didn’t stop him. the heat of his tongue, the way he hummed low in his throat when you arched into him—it made your stomach twist, shame and need tangled too tight to separate.

“you don’t have to think,” he murmured, his palm sliding down your side. “just let yourself feel.”

you should’ve said no. you didn't want his presence right? but you didn’t push him away, instead clung closer to him whispering a breathy okay. because your limbs still felt heavy, your brain still foggy with the memory of isolation and the cold silence of the bunk.

and his hands were so warm.

he kissed his way down your stomach, pausing to bite gently at your hip before nudging your thighs apart with his palms. his eyes flicked up, reading your expression in the low light. your breath hitched.

“tell me to stop,” he said. his voice was calm, but something coiled underneath it. “i’ll stop if you ask.”

you didn’t. you couldn’t.

and that was enough.

his mouth met your folds with agonising slowness, tongue sliding through you like he already knew exactly where to touch. he teased you with slow flicks, warm and wet, circling your clit until your hips twitched, then pulling away just to hear you whine. you hated how quickly your body betrayed you.

“you’re already dripping,” he murmured into your skin. “sweet thing… you missed this too, didn’t you?”

his fingers slipped into you without resistance, two of them stretching you gently. the stretch made you gasp, your walls clenching around him instinctively. he crooked them slightly—finding a spot that made you buck, unbidden—and smiled against your thigh.

“so sensitive,” he cooed, kissing the inside of your knee. “so good for me, even now.”

he kept going until your legs were trembling, slick pooling where his wrist met your body. you were panting, eyes hazy, brain empty of anything but the rhythm of his fingers and the hot drag of his mouth against your clit.

when he finally pulled back, you almost whimpered at the loss.

he stripped without a word, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound between you. when he hovered over you again, cock in hand, he paused at your entrance.

“i’ll go slow,” he said. “i want you to feel everything.”

he pushed in with a groan, hips moving with infuriating control, stretching you inch by inch. the burn was real. but so was the way you clenched around him, the way your legs wrapped around his waist out of instinct.

“fuck,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. “you feel like you were made for me.”

his rhythm started slow—careful, deep thrusts that filled you completely, his fingers locked with yours on the sheets. his other hand hovered at your throat again, resting lightly as if to say remember who’s in control.

and still, you didn’t push him away.

you didn’t want to.

you’d tried to sleep alone, and it had nearly broken you. here, at least, you could pretend his touch was warmth and not some strange obsession.

he moaned when you clenched around him, and his thrusts picked up pace, harder now, deeper. the bed creaked beneath you, his hips slapping into yours with a rhythm that turned everything else to static.

“you’re mine,” he growled, breath hot against your ear. “you know you’re mine.”

your orgasm hit with sudden force, tearing through you like a cracked dam. you cried out, shaking, your nails digging into his back.

jungwon swore, driving into you once—twice—before he spilled inside you with a shudder, pressing in so deep it felt like he was trying to disappear inside your body.

neither of you moved for a long time. he stayed buried in you, breath shallow, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

“you won’t ask to be alone again,” he whispered against your hair. “will you?”

you didn’t answer. your eyes were already drifting closed.

he pulled the blanket up and curled around you, possessive and still, his fingers tracing lazy shapes across your stomach, like he didn't want to stop touching you.

“good girl,” he said softly. “sleep now.”

and you did, not because you felt safe.

but because you were too tired to be afraid.

the next night, jungwon’s fingers interlaced with yours in the dark, his grip just shy of painful.

"i want to show you something," he murmured, his breath warm against your temple. you hadn’t even heard him approach—he moved through these rotting halls like a shadow given form.

"it’s late," you whispered back, your voice hoarse from disuse. the words tasted like a lie because you both knew time didn’t exist here.

jungwon’s thumb stroked your knuckles, a mockery of comfort. "it’s always late here," he said, pulling you to your feet with effortless strength. "come on."

he led you to the broken diving board—the one with cracks spiderwebbing through its surface like veins. you’d passed it a hundred times, maybe more. but tonight, under the flickering glow of the emergency lights, something was different.

"watch," jungwon breathed, pressing your palm flat against what looked like solid wall.

beneath your fingers, the surface pulsed like a heartbeat before peeling away with a wet, tearing sound. your stomach lurched as a hidden alcove revealed itself, the air inside stale and thick with the scent of mildew and something sweet.

"what is this?" you choked out, trying to recoil, but jungwon’s arm banded around your waist, holding you in place.

"ours," he said simply, stepping inside and dragging you with him.

the shelves were lined with artifacts—your waterpark nametag, the plastic slightly warped as if melted. your favourite silver bracelet, the clasp broken, the chain tangled in on itself like a strangled snake. the hoodie you’d been wearing that first night, the fabric stiff with dried pool water and something darker.

"the place gave me these," jungwon murmured, running his fingers over each item with reverence.

his nails scraped against the nametag, the sound making your teeth ache. "it knew you belonged here." he turned to face you then, his eyes glowing an unnatural blue in the dim light. "just like i do."

your breath came in short, sharp bursts. "that’s not—that’s not possible."

jungwon stepped closer, the wall sealing shut behind him with a wet, sucking sound.

"you feel it, don’t you?" his hand rose to cup your cheek, his skin fever-hot against yours. "the way the water stills when you touch it? the way the lights flicker when you’re scared?"

his thumb brushed your lower lip, his grip tightening when you tried to turn away.

"you were always meant to be mine."

you wanted to scream. wanted to claw at his face until that smug certainty bled out of him. but your throat closed up, your voice abandoning you just as it had so many times before.

jungwon’s lips crashed into yours, wet and cold like the slide that had brought you here. his teeth caught your bottom lip, sharp enough to draw blood. the taste of him flooded your mouth—chlorine and copper and something alive, something wrong. behind you, the pool water began to ripple without any disturbance, parting in perfect symmetry as if making way for something unseen.

"see?" he panted against your mouth, his fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close. "even it knows."

the days bled together after that. you watched, numb, as the backrooms bent to jungwon’s will.

you sat cross-legged by the pool’s edge, trailing your fingers through water that had gone suspiciously still. jungwon watched you from a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest.

"make it move," he said suddenly, nodding toward the water.

you blinked. "what?"

"the water." he stepped closer, his shadow swallowing yours whole. "try."

you shook your head. "i can’t—"

"try," he repeated, his voice hardening.

you swirled your hand through the water, creating weak ripples that died almost immediately.

jungwon sighed, crouching beside you. "you’re thinking too small."

he placed his palm flat against the surface, and the water recoiled as if burned, forming a perfect circle around his skin.

"it’s not about force. it’s about knowing." his eyes locked onto yours. "knowing this place is yours."

you swallowed hard. "i don’t want it."

jungwon’s smile was all teeth. "liar."

the punishments grew subtler but no less cruel. when you tested him—when you asked one too many questions or pulled away from his touch—the backrooms themselves turned against you.

"why won’t you let me leave?" you demanded one night, your voice cracking.

jungwon, who had been humming under his breath while braiding a strand of your hair around his finger, went very still.

"leave?" he repeated, the word dripping with amusement. "oh, sweet thing. there’s nowhere to go."

the lights chose that moment to flicker violently before plunging you into darkness. something wet dripped onto your shoulder from above. jungwon’s fingers found yours in the dark, his grip vise-like.

"shh," he murmured, though you hadn’t made a sound. "it’s just angry you’d even ask."

when the lights returned, his knuckles were smeared with something dark and glistening. you didn’t ask.

sleep became your only respite, though even that was tainted. jungwon insisted you rest curled against him, his arms banded around your waist like living restraints.

"sing to me," he’d whisper into the nape of your neck on the bad nights, when the walls groaned a little too loudly.

his voice would curl around words you didn’t recognise, the language guttural and wrong.

"it’s an old lullaby," he explained once when you stiffened. "the first thing this place taught me."

sometimes he’d disappear for what felt like hours, returning with his hands stained rust-red under the nails and a smile that made your stomach drop.

"someone else got lost," he’d say, wiping his fingers clean on a towel that was somehow always pristine afterwards.

his eyes would roam your face hungrily, as if comparing.

"but they weren’t you."

the unspoken always hung heavy between you—they weren’t special. they weren’t his.

eventually, he began allowing you to explore—always with him, always with his hand clamped firmly around yours. the invisible leash between you grew shorter each day, tightening whenever you strayed too far.

"why do you hold my hand so tight?" you asked once, your voice barely above a whisper.

jungwon stopped walking, turning to face you. the hallway seemed to hold its breath around you. "because i can’t trust you yet," he said simply, his free hand brushing your cheek. "but you’re learning."

you held his hand not just out of fear, but because his skin was the only warmth left in this rotting place. because the hollow in your chest ached when he wasn’t near. because you couldn’t remember what your reflection had looked like before it started smiling at you with too many teeth.

the pool became your twisted mirror. no matter how still you stood, how blank you kept your face, your reflection always grinned back—wider each time, its eyes darker, its features sharpening into something that wasn’t quite yours anymore.

"she likes you," jungwon said one day as you stared at your warped reflection, his chin hooked over your shoulder. his lips brushed the shell of your ear. "she knows you’re staying."

and now it felt like you did too.

the tallest slide loomed before you—the same one that had first swallowed you whole months (or was it years?) ago. only now, it twisted upward into the flickering fluorescent void, its plastic edges blackened and glistening like the inside of a living throat. you could feel it breathing, each pulse of the structure sending warm, damp air washing over your face. jungwon stood behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist in a mockery of tenderness, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both stared into the abyss.

"it's beautiful, isn't it?" he murmured, his lips brushing your ear.

his fingers traced idle patterns on your stomach through your thin shirt.

"i've been waiting so long to show you this."

your throat tightened as the slide emitted a low, wet hum that vibrated through your shoes and up your spine.

"what... what is it?"

jungwon chuckled, the sound dripping with amusement.

"it's our way forward, sweet thing."

one hand rose to cup your chin, tilting your face toward the spiralling darkness.

"this one leads deeper. to where the water is warm and the lights never flicker," his thumb brushed your lower lip, "where nothing can ever separate us."

you swallowed hard, your pulse rabbiting in your throat. "i don't understand."

"you will."

his arms tightened around you, pulling you back flush against his chest. you could feel his heartbeat against your shoulder blades.

"it's where we belong. where you've always belonged."

when you turned in his arms to face him, your hands came up instinctively to brace against his chest. jungwon was already smiling, his dark eyes gleaming with something ancient and hungry. up close, you could see the way his pupils dilated—not round anymore, but slit like a cat's. when had that happened?

"we'll be happy there," he promised, his voice dropping to a whisper.

his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp. "no more running. no more fear. just you and me. forever."

the word hung between you, heavy and final.

you searched his face—the boy who had fed you when you were starving, who had shackled you when you tried to leave, who had kissed you with teeth that were just a little too sharp. the only constant in this endless, rotting nightmare.

"what happens to me if i say no?" you whispered.

jungwon's smile didn't waver, but something dark flickered in his eyes. behind him, the walls groaned, the sound wet and pained. a single drop of black liquid oozed from the ceiling, landing with a splat between your feet.

"oh, my love," he sighed, brushing your hair back from your face with terrifying gentleness. "that's not an option."

the slide pulsed again, the hum rising to a fever pitch that made your teeth ache. your reflection in the pool behind you grinned, wider than any human mouth should allow.

jungwon's hands slid down to grip your waist, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh there.

"trust me," he murmured, his lips grazing yours. "you want this."

and the terrible thing was—

you did.

you took a shuddering breath, your fingers curling into his shirt. jungwon's smile widened, triumphant and tender all at once. his forehead pressed against yours as the slide's opening stretched wider, the darkness inside beckoning.

"together?" you whispered, the word tasting like surrender.

jungwon's laugh was warm against your lips. "always."

you closed your eyes—

and let yourself fall.

ALTERNATE ENDING

you found it again.

the tallest water slide in the entire park—the one that had pulled you into the nightmare when this all began. even after everything, it was still here, standing exactly where you remembered it, though now it shimmered faintly with a green glow that pulsed gently from within the tunnel’s mouth.

jungwon stood beside you, just slightly behind your shoulder. he didn’t say a word. his silence was heavier than any threat he’d ever spoken aloud.

when you turned to glance at him, the absence of expression on his face was more unsettling than any of his smiles. he wasn’t smiling now. there was no softness, no cold affection, not even the hint of disappointment.

“it leads out, doesn’t it?” you asked, your voice quiet and unsteady, though you already knew the answer.

it had to lead out. you felt it. everything in your chest ached with the possibility.

jungwon didn’t answer. instead, he reached for your wrist. his fingers curled around it tightly—not enough to hurt, but firm in a way that told you he was prepared to hold on if you ran.

“it doesn’t matter,” he said eventually.

his voice was calm, too calm, as though your desperation was something he didn’t need to take seriously.

“you don’t want to leave.”

but he was wrong.

you did.

you wanted to leave more than you had ever wanted anything in your life. your body was already bracing to run, every instinct firing all at once. your heart pounded in your chest, loud and fast, and your mouth had gone dry with the weight of the decision forming behind your teeth.

the tunnel wouldn’t stay open forever. the backrooms would shift again. the slide could vanish. and jungwon—he wouldn’t give you another chance. if you hesitated now, if you gave him even one second longer to read your fear, he would never let you get close to this kind of freedom again.

you looked at him—really looked. at the boy who had trapped you with soft hands and quieter lies. who fed you, touched you, claimed to protect you from the things out there when he had become the worst thing in here. the fear in your chest rose like bile.

“jungwon,” you breathed, but the rest never came out.

instead, you ripped your arm free.

his fingers slipped from your skin, and before he could react, you turned and sprinted toward the tunnel, your bare feet slapping loudly against the damp tile. you didn’t look back. you couldn’t.

he called your name, but it came out ragged—loud and broken in a way that didn’t sound human. his voice echoed across the walls of the abandoned park like something that belonged underground.

but you kept running.

you threw yourself into the slideheadfirst, and it swallowed you without hesitation.

the slide gripped you instantly, and the light blurred as you careened downward. the curves of the tunnel twisted your body in every direction, and each sharp turn sent jolts of pain up your spine. the green glow surrounded you, too bright and too close, pressing in like it wanted to consume you. your lungs burned with the pressure, and your arms flailed for anything to hold onto, but the walls were smooth and slick.

you were falling, spiralling, unmoored in a tunnel that didn’t feel like it was ever meant to end.

and then, just as suddenly, it did.

you hit the ground hard, the concrete beneath you unforgiving and wet. the impact knocked the wind out of your lungs, and you lay there for a moment, stunned and breathless. the world spun behind your eyelids as you coughed, your body shaking violently.

but then you realised something was different.

the air you were breathing—it was real. it wasn’t thick with that damp, humming rot of the backrooms. it was cool and dry, laced with the familiar scent of chlorine, dust, and cheap coffee. the silence around you had edges again. and above you, warm sunlight filtered through cracked skylights, casting real shadows onto the floor.

this was the waterpark.

the real one. the one that didn't stretch endlessly into pools of nightmare

you were back.

you pushed yourself upright, palms scraping against rough tile, and looked around with wide, disbelieving eyes.

everything was where it should be. the vending machines stood in their proper place. the lazy river looped around peacefully in the distance. the walls were solid. your own breathing echoed back to you. you had made it.

you had escaped.

your chest clenched as a sob rose up from your throat, and before you could stop it, you were crying. laughing and crying at the same time.

you curled your arms around yourself and let it all out, letting your body shake with the unbearable mix of relief and exhaustion.

you were safe.

you had finally done it!

but then, just as you began to steady your breathing, a sound broke through the quiet.

it came from above, from deep within the vents lining the ceiling—soft at first, almost unnoticeable. but as it grew louder, the shape of it became clear. it was a whistle.

your breath caught in your throat. the sound was too familiar, it was the same off-key melody jungwon always hummed when he thought you were sleeping.

the first footprint appeared in the puddle you'd left behind—larger than yours, the edges too perfectly defined against the concrete. then another, materialising closer as if someone invisible was walking toward you. the water in the lazy river began to ripple against its current, forming patterns that looked disturbingly like grasping fingers.

your hands shook as the lights above you flickered once, twice, before plunging the park into darkness.

the temperature dropped so fast your breath fogged in the air, the hairs on your arms standing on end as the silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

then suddenly, cold fingers brushed against your ankle, their grip tightening like a vice.

"did you really think," jungwon's voice whispered from right behind you, his breath chilling the nape of your neck, "that i'd let you go that easily?”

“i will make you mine no matter what”

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ari-ana-bel-la · 20 hours ago

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Can I just say your write amazingly. One of my top favourite writers. I was wondering if I can request a dad lando fic where reader is like 4 or 5 and when lando dose his drive to survive interview thing he takes his baby girl and the whole crew just love her. And she gets to snap the 🎬

Lights, Camera, Action!

The Netflix crew was already buzzing around the sleek, sunlit studio set when the door creaked open, and in walked Lando—hair a bit tousled, hoodie slightly rumpled, and one hand holding onto the tiny fingers of a girl no taller than his thigh.

She peeked in first, big eyes blinking at the brightness of the room, her other hand clutching a squishy pink bunny that had clearly seen better days.

“This her?” asked the producer, grinning as he pulled off his headset and came forward.

Lando nodded proudly, crouching down to her level. “Go on, love. Say hello.”

Yn blinked at the man, then mumbled, “Hullo…” in a shy but unmistakably British accent that made three crew members audibly coo.

The producer beamed. “And what's your name, sweetheart?”

“Yn,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“Yn, that’s beautiful,” he said, genuinely charmed. “How old are you?”

She held up five tiny fingers. Lando chuckled, brushing a curl from her cheek.

“She just turned five last month,” he said. “And she’s very excited to help Daddy today. Aren’t you, bug?”

Yn nodded shyly but clung tighter to his hoodie.

“She’s a little shy at first,” Lando told them, smoothing down the back of her hair. “But she warms up fast. Just give her a few minutes and maybe a biscuit.”

The whole crew laughed at that, already softening under the spell of the little girl with the bunny and the shy smile.

The Drive to Survive crew had seen drivers in every emotional state: victorious, furious, hungover, nervous, indifferent. But this—this was something else entirely.

One of the assistants knelt beside Yn and held out a small tray of juice boxes and individually wrapped cookies.

“Would you like a snack while Daddy does his interview?” she asked gently.

Yn looked up at Lando, and he smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright, poppet. You can sit just over there and watch me if you want. Or hang with the nice lady.”

“Can I watch you?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Lando melted. He really did.

“‘Course you can. You’ve got the best seat in the house.”

He helped her into a small canvas director’s chair just off camera, close enough to him that he could sneak her smiles between questions. One of the sound guys handed her a set of child-sized headphones—not plugged into anything, just for fun—and Yn lit up like it was Christmas.

“All ready?” the producer called out, watching Lando settle into his seat with an amused look.

Lando looked to Yn, gave her a wink, then turned to the camera.

“Ready when you are.”

The interview started normally.

“How does it feel being one of the more experienced drivers now, after all these seasons?”

“Old,” Lando deadpanned, and the crew laughed. “I mean, I still get carded when I try to buy wine, but I’ve been here a while now. It’s weird.”

“And now you’re not just a driver—you’re a dad.”

Lando’s whole face changed. His shoulders relaxed, his eyes softened, and the smile that crept across his lips was involuntary and impossible to miss.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing to the side where Yn was swinging her legs, watching quietly. “I’m a dad. And it’s the best job I’ve ever had.”

“What’s it like, being a single parent and a full-time F1 driver?”

“Hard,” he admitted. “Like, really hard. I won’t pretend it’s easy. The schedule’s mental, the travel’s constant, and trying to make sure she has stability in all of that—it’s a lot.”

“But?”

“But I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” Lando said. “Not a second of it. That little girl is my heart walking around outside my body.”

Someone behind the camera whispered a soft “awww” and a few heads nodded.

“I try to take her with me as much as I can,” Lando continued. “Because I don’t want her to feel like I’m always gone. And she actually loves the paddock. She’s got uncles everywhere.”

The interviewer laughed. “Who’s her favorite uncle?”

Lando smirked. “Now that’s dangerous territory.”

“Come on, give us something.”

“She calls Carlos ‘Uncle Giggles,’ because he always makes her laugh. And Max taught her to say ‘chicane’ properly, which is weirdly adorable coming out of a five-year-old. But I think Charles is her favorite.”

He leaned in conspiratorially.

“He sneaks her gummy bears and lets her press buttons on the simulator when no one’s watching.”

During a short break in filming, Yn walked up to her dad and tugged on the hem of his hoodie.

“Can I sit with you now?”

Lando lifted her up effortlessly and sat her on his lap.

“She’s very well-behaved,” one of the crew members commented, watching her tuck herself comfortably into his arms.

“Yeah, I’m lucky,” Lando said. “She’s a bit shy, but she’s got a kind soul.”

“Do you like being on set, Yn?” someone asked her gently.

She looked up and nodded. “I like the big camera. And Daddy talks nice.”

Another wave of chuckles rippled through the crew.

“Think you could help us with something, Yn?” the producer asked.

Her eyes widened, curious. Lando looked intrigued too.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Well,” the producer said, holding up the old-school film clapper. “We usually let the talent snap the board before we roll. Think she’d like to do it?”

Lando looked down at his daughter. “What do you think, bug? Wanna help Daddy start the show?”

She considered it for a second, then nodded with an eager smile.

“Alright then!” Lando grinned and helped her down from his lap. “Go on, big moment now.”

The assistant handed Yn the clapper, and she held it in her small hands like it was a sacred treasure.

“Can you say ‘Scene One, Take Two’?” someone prompted.

She took a deep breath and in her clearest little voice said, “Scene One, Take Two!” Then she clapped the board shut with both hands.

Everyone applauded. Lando’s smile could’ve lit up the whole building.

“That was amazing,” the producer said, genuinely delighted. “You’ve got a future in film, miss.”

Yn giggled and ran back to Lando, who scooped her up with ease.

“She’s gonna be insufferable after this,” he joked, kissing the top of her head. “Hollywood’s gone straight to her head.”

Lando let Yn stay in his lap for the second half of the interview.

Her bunny rested on his thigh. She leaned against his chest, occasionally whispering questions into his hoodie like, “Why does the man ask so many questions?” and “Can we get ice cream after?”

“Yes,” Lando replied both times, the second one earning her a quick kiss on the temple.

The crew was utterly smitten. One of the camera operators whispered to the sound guy, “I’d watch an entire show just about him being a dad.”

The questions turned more personal toward the end.

“What do you hope she remembers when she’s older?”

Lando went quiet for a beat.

“I hope she remembers that I tried,” he said softly. “That I tried to give her everything. That even if I wasn’t always home, I was always hers. I hope she remembers feeling loved. Safe. Seen.”

There was a lump in the interviewer’s throat. He glanced at Yn, who was now playing with the strings of Lando’s hoodie, humming quietly to herself.

“You’ve made a beautiful little human.”

Lando smiled down at her. “Yeah. She’s everything.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-♡○♡

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kenntoria · 2 days ago

Text

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ nanami accidentally finds your small, anxious-but-sincere vlogs and quietly falls for you through the screen. and when you meet, he becomes a gentle, faceless presence behind the camera—helping you grow, and loving you all the while.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ this was so fun to write

nanami doesn’t really use youtube. it’s too loud, too cluttered, too full of people trying too hard. he’s more of a quiet reader or podcast listener—he likes his content slow and thoughtful. but sometimes, during quiet lunch breaks or sleepless nights, he finds himself scrolling, searching for something simple to fill the silence.

the first time he sees your face, he skips the video. it’s nothing personal. the thumbnail just seems… ordinary. a soft smile, a blurry background of what looks like a street food stall, and a simple title: “trying something new today (๑•́‿•̀๑)”. he doesn’t think much of it.

but youtube, in all its persistence, keeps putting you in his recommendations.

every few days, your face reappears. new title. new blurry background. another small smile. there’s something oddly comforting about it, even if he hasn’t clicked yet. eventually, curiosity wins. one night, half-asleep and curled up on his couch, he taps on a thumbnail without thinking.

the video is quiet. not silent, but there’s no obnoxious background music or jump cuts. just you. talking a little nervously to the camera, explaining how you’ve never tried this kind of food before, how it makes you anxious to eat alone in public but you’re doing it anyway, for yourself. you pause a lot. laugh at yourself. your editing is minimal—sometimes you just leave long clips in where you sit there silently, debating the next bite.

and nanami… stays.

he doesn’t mean to. he thinks he’ll just let the video play in the background while he dozes off. but he finds himself watching. then clicking on another one. and another. you talk to the camera like it’s a friend. you say things like “i know no one’s really watching this, but…” and “this was scary for me, but i’m proud of myself anyway.”

there’s no performance. no show. just you, trying. trying to live a little braver. trying to make the world a little softer for yourself. and even though your videos have only a few thousand views at most, and a comment section with maybe ten or twenty kind words, nanami can tell you read every single one. you reply with gratitude and sincerity. you sign your replies with hearts and “thank you for watching!!” even when someone just says “nice vid :)”.

he doesn’t comment for a long time. he watches quietly, always late at night, a silent companion to your small adventures. his favorite video becomes one where you try to bike through a park trail you’ve never been on before. the camera shakes the entire time, the sky is gray, and you end up getting rained on halfway through. soaked and breathless, you laugh and say, “this was a disaster. but i don’t regret it.” and something about that sticks in his chest.

he comments on a video one day. it’s short, awkwardly formal:

“i admire your courage to keep stepping outside your comfort zone. thank you for sharing.”

a few hours later, you reply.

“thank you so much!!! i get really nervous about posting sometimes so this means a lot ;; i’m trying my best!! ♡”

nanami reads that reply more times than he’d like to admit.

—

he doesn’t think he’ll ever meet you. you feel like a little glowing orb in his private world. something precious that lives on his phone, just a click away, not real, not tangible.

but then, he’s at a weekend market. the kind of place you’d probably vlog, actually. he’s just there to buy fresh bread, enjoy the quiet, maybe grab a coffee. he’s walking past a stand selling handmade keychains when he hears a familiar voice.

soft. a little unsure. asking for the price of something.

he turns.

and you’re there.

you look just like your videos—maybe a little shorter, bundled in a cardigan despite the warmth, your bag too big for your frame, holding a small camera that’s not even recording. your hair’s a little messy. your eyes bright, darting around nervously. you’re alone.

and suddenly, nanami is nervous in a way he hasn’t been in years.

he debates not saying anything. he could let this pass. keep you as a digital secret. but then you glance in his direction, and smile—just polite, a brief flicker of recognition for another passerby—and nanami finds himself stepping forward before his brain catches up.

“…excuse me,” he says, and your eyes widen a little.

“yes?” you ask, voice soft.

“i’ve… watched your videos,” he says, and you freeze for a second. “they mean a lot to me.”

you blink. your mouth opens a little in surprise, then closes. and then you smile.

“really?” you say, a little breathless. “you… you actually watch them?”

“yes,” he says simply. “i think you’re brave.”

your hand flies up to your mouth, eyes darting away. “oh my god,” you mumble. “that’s—thank you. that’s so nice. i didn’t think anyone recognized me. my channel’s tiny.”

“doesn’t change the impact,” he says, and it’s honest. the way he always is.

you talk for a while after that. awkwardly at first—your nerves, his reserved nature—but slowly, something soft and lovely builds in the air between you. you laugh a lot, mostly just nervous. he listens a lot, mostly because that’s just the way he is. he tells you his name is kento. you tell him you were scared to even leave the house today, but you’re glad you did. he smiles.

before you part ways, you ask, very shyly, if he’d be okay with you filming just a little. not his face, of course—just his voice, his presence. he agrees.

that night, a new video goes up.

“a tiny adventure at the weekend market ✿ i made a new friend today…”

nanami watches it from his bed, and when his offscreen voice appears—gentle, amused, offering to carry your bag for you—his heart does something strange in his chest.

—

the first time nanami appears in a vlog, it’s his hand passing you a coffee.

you call him “a friend i made recently,” and giggle when he corrects your pronunciation of a pastry. he’s never shown — not fully. a shoulder here. the back of his head. your viewers are very curious. you just smile, almost bashful, and say, “he’s camera-shy, but he’s very sweet.”

you start mentioning him more in your vlogs. he’s still off-screen, but you’ll glance his way and smile. say something like “he helped me set this up,” or “he picked this place,” or just “he’s here with me.”

you don’t have to say his name. he stays a faceless figure in your videos. your viewers start to notice something more.

you never confirm anything. you just smile, cheeks pink, and say, “he’s really sweet. i’m lucky.”

nanami doesn’t need the spotlight. he’s happy to carry your bag, offer a steady hand when you’re nervous, and hold the camera when you want to capture something new. he’s happy to be the one encouraging you behind the scenes, whispering that you’re doing great when you doubt yourself.

you film together more and more. he goes with you to bookstores, little food stalls, quiet museums. he carries your tripod. holds your coat. gives you gentle encouragement when you freeze up in public and smile too hard when it’s over.

he falls in love with you quietly. over time. he doesn’t say it at first. he lets it bloom through little gestures — buying the tea you liked, learning how to edit videos just to help you with cuts, leaving voice notes when you’re too anxious to leave the house. he listens. he supports. he stays.

and he’s happiest when, in a quiet clip near the end of a video, you look off-camera and say, “i think i’m a little less scared of the world lately.”

he squeezes your hand off-screen. you smile at the touch.

and your viewers never hear the softest part—how, when the camera stops recording, you lean into his side and whisper, “thank you for finding me.”

nanami, who never believed in fate or chance or algorithms, just kisses your cheek and replies, “thank you for being found.”

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verstappenverse · 2 days ago

Note

Can you do one where max is teaching reader how to sim race and is really bad but when max is gone to races reader is secretly using his sim setup to get better and one day reader surprises max showing they got better? I feel like this made no sense 😭 I really love your writing thought you could make this idea come to mind 🫶🏻❤️

Ghost Laps

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: What starts as Max teasing you over your terrible sim racing attempts turns into a secret mission to impress him. (Requested)

1.8k words / Alternate Scene / Masterlist

You’re awful at this. Comically bad. You spin out in the first corner, crash into a wall in the second, and somehow end up driving in the wrong direction before Max can even stop laughing.

“I just don’t get it,” you groan, half-laughing, half-threatening to throw the wheel across the room. “How am I already off track? I haven’t even hit the first corner yet!”

From the couch behind you, Max chuckles. He’s draped lazily across the cushions, an arm slung over the backrest and one leg bouncing with idle amusement. “You missed your braking point again,” he says, far too calmly for someone witnessing you virtually crash for the third time in five minutes.

“Maybe if you gave better instructions—”

“You’re the one who missed the turn,” he deadpans.

You spin around in the seat to glare at him, cheeks warm. “Because you said left while pointing right!.”

Max bites back a grin, eyes crinkling. “Come on, you can figure it out. You’ve watched me race a million times.”

“You don’t watch Gordon Ramsay and magically become a chef,” you shoot back, gesturing wildly to the sim setup. “This thing is terrifying. Why is it so sensitive?.”

Max gets up and saunters over with that usual quiet confidence that borders on cocky. He rests his hand on your shoulder and leans down, his voice lower now. “I think you’d rather argue with me than try again.”

You tilt your head up, lips quirking. “Oh because you’re so patient and humble when I spin off into a wall.”

Max laughs, soft and warm. “Alright, fair. But you’re doing better than you think.”

“Really?”

He hesitates. Then lies. “Sure.”

You shove his hand off your shoulder, laughing. “You’re the worst.”

“Okay, maybe this is not my calling,” you mutter, yanking off the headset.

Max kisses your temple, still smirking. “Told you. But hey, it was cute watching you try.”

You should be annoyed, but you know he’s not actually trying to mock you and it’s impossible to stay mad when he looks at you like that, so instead you lean into his side and grin.

“I’ll find a different hobby,” you say.

But later, when he leaves for the next Grand Prix weekend something tugs at you. You find yourself staring at the sim rig after he goes. You are bad at it. Really bad. But maybe not hopeless. And Max, for all his teasing, had been annoyingly kind about it.

The screens glow in standby mode, waiting. Your fingers hover over the power switch.

Just one lap.

That’s how it starts.

You drive.

You crash.

You swear.

You adjust the pedals, crack your knuckles, and whisper to yourself: don’t spin it this time.

And you try again.

Max's sim rig is intimidating, and you know it’s expensive, plus it’s precise and utterly punishing. You don't dare touch his settings, so you make do. One YouTube tutorial turns into five that tuns into ten. Then you’re watching old onboards, listening to the pitch of engine sounds like you actually know what you’re doing. You’re scouring the web late into the night researching for any tips or tricks you can find.

You stop crashing by Day 4. By the end of the week, you can finish a lap. A clean one. You start setting decent lap times by Day 9. By Day 12, you’re doing consistent laps

Two weeks in, you're chasing ghosts. Literally, you race against Max’s stored ghost laps on Spa, watching the glowing blue car pull away in Sector 2 and vowing to close the gap. Every night after work it's a routine, tie your hair up, grab a water bottle, and boot up iRacing like you're training for something. You even start logging your lap times in your notes app like a serious amateur.

It becomes your own secret ritual. A way of being close to him when he’s away that doesn’t hurt so much.

Max texts you in bursts during the two week. Voice notes between debriefs, a quick facetime from the paddock, a few rants about tyre degradation and setup frustrations. He always asks how you’re doing, what you’re up to, and every time you somehow manage not to mention the hours you’re now secretly spending in his sim.

Can’t believe it’s been two weeks since you traumatised the virtual car. time flies. would 100% pay to watch it again.

You’re grinning when you read that one, but you keep the secret anyway.

You don’t know why you’re keeping it a secret. Maybe it’s because it started as a bit of fun, or maybe it’s because you want to surprise him. But part of you also just wants to do something for yourself. Just to prove you can.

He comes home on a Monday.

His flight arrives at midnight, and you meet him at the door, hair a mess from waiting up and eyes barely open. He’s still in his team hoodie, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and when he sees you, he drops everything just to pull you into a hug.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your hair.

He looks exhausted, eyes rimmed with fatigue, but he’s smiling like he’s never been happier to be home. You help him carry his stuff inside, and once he’s showered and curled up beside you in bed, he finally asks:

“So… do I get another performance on the sim this week?” Max grins, nudging your side. “Could use a good laugh.”

You shrug casually. “Might’ve had a little go while you were away.”

That gets his attention. He sits up slightly. “Wait, seriously?”

You toss him a look, still deliberately casual. “You were gone, I was bored. Figured I’d mess around a bit without the peanut gallery laughing this time.” You narrow your eyes at him, just for emphasis.

“I never laughed at you,” he insists, way too fast.

You raise a brow. “Max, you wheezed. I thought you were going to pass out.”

He winces, then grins. “Okay… maybe a little.”

Your heart stutters, but you smother it with a smirk. “Wanna see or not?”

His brows draw together, curious now. “Right now?”

You’re already sliding out of bed. “Come on champ.”

You lead him to the sim, flick on the lights, and sit down in the chair. The screens flicker to life, the whirring of the pedals and wheel now familiar.

Max watches from behind you, arms crossed, leaning against the chair but sweatpants and a sleepy smile.

“Alright Verstappen,” you say. “Watch and learn.”

You load into Austria. Red Bull Ring. Home turf.

The loading screen fades, and you place your hands on the wheel. Your shoulders relax. You take a breath.

And then you start.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just watches.

You hit turn one with precision, clipping the apex just right. Brake late into turn three, hold your nerve through the uphill. You’re smooth on throttle. Confident in your braking points. Sector by sector, you thread the lap with a rhythm that feels second nature, because it is now.

By the time you cross the line, Max is no longer smiling. He’s blinking at you like you’ve just grown a second head. He’s still now, standing upright. Eyes fixed on the screen. His smile has slipped into something else entirely, something bordering on disbelief.

You spin around in your seat, heart pounding, breath a little tight in your chest. “Surprised?”

“What the fuck?” he breathes.

You laugh, unable to hold it back. “That bad?”

“That good,” he mutters, eyes flicking from you to the sim, then back again. “That was… really good.”

You beam. “No crashing this time.”

“That was more than just not crashing. That was… I mean you nailed every corner.” He cuts himself off, watching the replay. “You practiced this much?”

You nod, a little shy now. “Every day whilr you were gone.”

His brows shoot up. “Every day?”

“Morning. Night. Whenever I had time.” You shrug, trying not to sound self-conscious. “Just wanted to see if I could do it.”

Max stares at you. Then at the sim. Then back at you.

“You practiced,” he says again, but this time it’s not disbelief. It’s something closer to delight.

“While you were away, yeah.” you repeat, gentler.

He glances at the sim again, then back to you, voice almost reverent. “You used my rig.”

“Every day.”

He narrows his eyes. “Did you change the settings?”

“I never touched your settings,” you say quickly, hands raised in mock surrender. “I'm not suicidal.”

Max laughs, breathless. “Holy shit.”

You grin, smug. “Wanna see how good I am?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches out and cups your face in his hands, his touch suddenly soft, steady.

“You’re insane,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours.

“Thank you,”

“I love it.” He pauses, then adds, quieter now, “And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel bad. I was just messing around, but if I made you feel silly—”

“You didn’t,” you say, but he presses on, voice rougher now.

“I love you and I love that you care about something I care about. That you even tried. That means more than you think.”

Your cheeks flush, but you lean into his touch, heart thudding.

“Maybe I wanted to impress you,” you admit.

He grins. “Well consider me impressed. And slightly terrified.”

You laugh. “Terrified?”

Max kisses your forehead. “Yeah. If you’re this good already, you’re gonna start beating my lap times soon.”

He pauses after that, smile softening, something quieter flickering behind his eyes. Pride. Admiration. Maybe even awe.

Then, without a word, he takes your hand and pulls you gently up. He slides into the rig like it’s second nature then reaches for you again, tugging you back down into his lap. His arms wrap securely around your waist, chin settling on your shoulder.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice low and lazy against your neck, “we should do a proper race. Side by side. Full setup. Winner picks dinner for a week.”

You raise a brow, fighting your smile. “You sure? I am pretty good now.”

“I’ll just punt you into turn one,” he says, without an ounce of shame.

You gasp, dramatic. “Cheater.”

“Champion,” he corrects with a wink, far too pleased with himself.

You laugh, loud and honest, your head tipping back against his shoulder. The sound vibrates between you, soft and full of affection. You don’t move right away content to just sit there, cocooned in the moment. The hum of the rig beneath you, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back, the smell of his shampoo and the way he still hasn’t stopped touching you.

Maybe it started as a joke. A way to prove something to yourself.

But now?

Now it’s just another thing you love doing together. Another reason to love him. Another way he loves you.

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @brokenvines-wiltingflowers @leto-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @treatallwithkindness @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @valevv30 @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa @wordskeeper @freyathehuntress @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @lenamds @blueskies4everxo

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buckysleftbicep · 14 hours ago

Text

in too deep 𐙚 b.b

pairing: dom!new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, fingering, orgasm denial, publi(ish) teasing, dirty talk do not operate heavy machinery after reading

summary: you told bucky it was your ovulation week and he took that as a challenge. you really, really, should’ve kept your mouth shut. based on this request | requests are open!

word count: 3k

author's note: hi my loves! i had too much fun writing this and i love it so much! i'm so excited to start working on the other requests that i have received 💓. have a great time reading, love ya and stay safe out there!

You should’ve kept your damn mouth shut.

It was just a whisper, a breathy, heat-laced confession, murmured with your face buried against Bucky’s throat last night while straddling his lap.

The compound was quiet, the television playing some netflix movie neither of you were watching. His hand had been sliding slow, comforting circles across your lower back, and your thighs were clenched tight around his hips, slick with want.

You hadn’t meant to say it, but your hormones clearly had other plans.

“It’s my ovulation week,” you breathed, nuzzling against his stubble. Your voice trembled with need, barely a sound. “Everything… feels extra.”

His hand had stopped, just for a second.

Then, danger. Pure danger. The way his fingers tightened possessively at your waist, the low hum he gave in response, and that glint in his eyes, it was not just mischief, his gaze was hungry almost as if he couldn’t wait to claim you.

That’s when you knew you were in trouble.

Now, the next morning, you’re standing in the mirrored gym on trembling legs with a kettlebell in your hand, sweat sliding down your spine, and your boyfriend is watching you like he’s about to drag you into the nearest closet and fuck you into the drywall. Not that you minded though.

He’s leaning against the wall across the mat. Casual on the surface. But the tension in his jaw and the weight in his stare?

It was anything but casual.

His sweatpants hang low on his hips, framing the sharp cut of his v-line and doing absolutely nothing to hide the thick, heavy outline of his cock beneath the cotton. His black tank is soaked through from sparring, clinging to the hard planes of his chest and abs like a second skin.

Bucky's got that calculated look in his eye almost like he’s pretending to assess your form, but really, he’s picturing bending you over the nearest bench and wrecking you six ways from Sunday.

You shift on your feet, stretch your arms overhead, arch just enough to let your back curve and your chest push forward.

If he’s going to tease you, you’ll tease back.

That’s your first mistake.

The second is letting out a moan, quiet, soft, instinctual as you bend down to touch your toes. It was barely audible, but he hears it.

The moment it escapes your lips, his eyes flash. And then, he moves.

Not a walk. A stalk.

He pushes off the wall and prowls toward you across the mat, slow and deliberate, like a wolf scenting its prey.

You straighten up too quickly, nearly dropping the kettlebell.

“Need a spotter?” he drawls, his voice pitched low and lazy, but his eyes rake over you like he’s already got you on your knees. “Or are you just making those noises for fun?”

You swallow, trying to look as unimpressed as possible. “Just warming up.”

He hums, circling behind you.

You feel the heat of him before he touches you, his presence like the sun, warm and overwhelming. You can smell him, too, sweat and cedar and something feral. And then, he kneels behind you, dragging his palms slowly up the backs of your thighs like he’s not in the compound's gym right now.

“Mm,” he murmurs. “We should stretch you out more.”

Your breath catches.

He parts your legs wider, his metal hand sliding between your inner thighs to nudge them open. You gasp as the fabric of your shorts pulls taut across your aching core, the pressure sweet and cruel.

“Bucky—” you whisper, heart racing.

“Shhh.” His breath ghosts over the curve of your ass. “You’re being so good. Standing still like this. Letting me see just how fuckin’ desperate you are.”

His fingers dance under the hem of your shorts, barely grazing your skin. Teasing your soaked, sensitive flesh without mercy, but he doesn’t touch you where you need though. Just close enough to ruin you.

“You’ve been wet since last night, haven’t you?” he murmurs. “Could feel you clenching around nothing when you were grinding on my lap. Bet you soaked through your panties when you slept.”

You tremble, the heat between your legs now unbearable. You want to scream, maybe even cry, perhaps drag him into the supply closet and beg him to fuck you until you can’t walk.

And he knows it.

“You told me it’s your ovulation week dollface” he whispers, voice dark and sinful. “That means this little pussy’s hungry, huh? Just aching to get filled.”

“God, you’re evil,” you whisper through your teeth, trying not to fall apart in front of the squat rack.

He chuckles. Presses a kiss to the side of your thigh. And then—he stands. Just like that.

Leaves you there, shaking, soaked and empty.

You spin around, panting, barely restraining the urge to launch your kettlebell at his head.

Bucky smirks, that infuriating, self-satisfied look that says he’s enjoying your torment a little too much.

“I think Yelena’s done with the sparring mat,” he says, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “Why don’t you grab it, sweetheart?”

Your face burns and your clit throbs. And Bucky walks off like he didn’t just edge you in the damn compound gym.

You turn and meet Yelena’s smug grin.

She’s still jogging on the treadmill but slows to a bounce-walk as she tosses you a towel. “You look like you need a different kind of workout, sweetheart.”

“Don't.”

Yelena leans on the handrails. “No, no, I’m just saying—” she lifts an eyebrow— “the mat isn’t the only thing that’s going to get stretched out today.”

You throw the towel at her face.

She catches it mid-air, laughing.

“Tell Bucky to let you finish next time,” she calls as you storm off to the locker room, “Or at least let us know so we can film it!”

Somewhere near the dumbbells, Bob chokes on his protein shake.

You don’t even know what this briefing is about.

There’s a map stretched across the table, John is mid-rant about “optimal insertion points,” Alexei’s chewing sunflower seeds with the enthusiasm of a man watching spring training, Ava is checking her knives for the third time, Yelena’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone, occasionally snorting at whatever she’s watching.

And Bob, well Bob is asleep.

But none of it matters.

Because Bucky is sitting next to you. And his fingers are buried between your thighs.

From the outside, everything looks innocent. His flesh hand rests gently in your lap, your own placed demurely over his like the two of you are just quietly close, sweet, even.

But beneath the table, where no one can see, his metal hand is sliding past the waistband of your shorts with deliberate, devastating precision.

He doesn’t even pretend to rush. Two thick fingers move in slow, torturous circles over your clit, skimming with maddening pressure, barely enough to satisfy, but just enough to make your legs tremble.

Your breath catches, body frozen in place, every muscle tight with restraint. He knows exactly what he’s doing, how to touch you just right, how to coax those tiny, helpless reactions from you while you try to sit still and pretend you’re paying attention to a goddamn map.

His fingers stroke like he has all the time in the world, like there isn't a room full of operatives around you and a mission briefing happening overhead. A soft whimper curls in your throat and dies behind your teeth.

You squeeze your thighs together, trying to catch more friction, but that only makes him chuckle under his breath, barely audible and smug as sin.

And still, he doesn’t go deeper. Doesn't give you what you're aching for. Just keeps circling, teasing, controlling. Like this is a game, and you’re already losing, pathetically.

You sit stiffly, back ramrod straight, every muscle locked as you try not to make a sound. Your tablet is open in front of you, gripped so tight your knuckles ache and it's the only thing grounding you in this room while your body burns.

He leans in, voice low, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You’re fuckin’ soaked,” he murmurs, and you can hear the smirk in it. “You really gonna cum in front of the team, princess?”

Your breath hitches. “Bucky,” you whisper, voice sharp like a warning, like a prayer.

He doesn’t stop. If anything, his touch gets lazier. Crueler. His cold vibranium fingers part your folds like he owns every inch of you, and he dips just barely inside, only to pull away, dragging the wetness back up to swirl gently over your clit again.

“You said you needed me,” he continues, brushing his nose against your temple. “Said your body’s beggin’ for it. I’m just helping”

“Are you two doing this again?” Yelena asks flatly, without even looking up. Her tone is dry as dust. “She’s vibrating like she’s possessed, someone get her a snack before she faints.”

You glare daggers at her, but it’s weak, your body is already betraying you.

Alexei squints at you across the table. “I thought she had blood sugar issue”

“She’s ovulating,” Bucky announces casually, not even bothering to lower his voice.

Ava groans. “Jesus, Barnes, you can’t just say that.”

“She told me,” he shrugs, like he’s reading weather reports. “I’m being supportive.”

You make a choked sound as he presses down harder in tight, purposeful circles now, inescapable. Your hips twitch without your permission, Bucky's not even fucking you yet, but you can already feel the orgasm winding tight in your belly like a wire stretched too thin.

“I hate you,” you grind out under your breath, nails digging crescents into your palm.

He turns just enough to meet your eyes, that wicked glint in his blue gaze that makes your lungs seize. “Say that again when you’re cumming on my fingers, pretty girl.”

But he doesn’t let you get there.

Each time your body trembles on the cusp, he pulls back, slows, teasing you with strokes so feather-light they feel like punishment.

You’re soaked, shaking, every inch of your skin flushed with heat. He’s wrecking you in silence, in full view of your teammates, and no one’s the wiser, save for the few who clearly suspect exactly what’s happening under the table.

“Bucky,” you beg, barely audible, lips barely moving. “Please.”

He tilts his head, brushing his mouth over the corner of yours. “Not here, sweetheart.” His voice is velvet, low and dark and dripping with promise. “You wanna be bred, honey? Stuffed full like you’re meant to be?” You whimper, and he smirks. “Then you’ll wait.”

“Okay,” Walker claps his hands like a kindergarten teacher trying to salvage control, clearly frustrated. “Unless Bucky would like to finish fucking his girlfriend under the table, can we maybe circle back to the infiltration routes?”

“Bold of you to assume he hasn’t started,” Yelena mutters, not even glancing up from her screen.

You want the ground to swallow you whole. Or set the whole damn briefing room on fire. Maybe both.

Bucky withdraws his hand with excruciating slowness, fingers slick with your arousal. He doesn’t bother hiding it. Instead, he drags them along the inside of your thigh, leaving a glistening trail before wiping them off on your skin like he’s branding you. A silent, possessive mark that has your breath catching in your throat.

He leans back in his chair like nothing happened, legs spread in that display of dominance, expression unreadable but infuriatingly smug.

Completely relaxed. Completely in control.

And you? You’re ruined. Wrung out and twitching. Every nerve ending crackling with frustration, your body screaming for the release he just denied you.

Then he turns again, tilting his head so his lips hover at the shell of your ear, voice so low it shivers through your bones.

“Kitchen. Twenty minutes. Don’t wear panties.”

You almost beat him there.

Almost.

You're already perched on the edge of the kitchen island, legs swinging slightly, thighs pressed tight together in a poor attempt to dull the ache pulsing through your core. Your shorts are somewhere back in your room, discarded in your frenzy to get here fast enough, and you’re bare underneath his black t-shirt, no panties, no shame.

Just soaked thighs and need.

The cotton of his tee clings to your skin, damp with sweat and arousal. Your nipples are pebbled against the fabric, the cool air in the kitchen brushing over them each time you shift. You’re a mess of frustration and anticipation—hot, dripping, ruined—and all because he didn’t let you finish at that stupid meeting.

Then the sound of footsteps.

He strides in like he owns the whole fucking building—sweatpants hanging low on his hips, dark tank sticking to his chest, muscles flexed, jaw tight. But it’s his eyes that stop your breath. Cerulean blue, blazing and feral.

He takes one look at you—legs spread, thighs gleaming, lips parted in silent plea and something in him snaps.

He crosses the space in two steps and his hands are already on you.

“You waited like a good girl, huh?” he rasps, voice wrecked and raw, lifting the shirt up and over your chest. “Sittin’ here all wet and desperate, no fuckin’ panties like I told you. Fuck.”

You don’t get the chance to answer—he’s already kissing you. Hard and possessive. Open-mouthed and filthy, all tongue and teeth and the sharp edge of punishment. You moan against his mouth, clawing at his waistband, nails scraping the hard lines of his hips.

His vibranium hand slides between your legs and you nearly sob. He groans into your mouth as he feels how wet you are, how ready.

“Been leaking for me all fuckin’ day,” he growls, dragging slick fingers through your folds. “You know what I want, don’t you, baby? Want that sweet little cunt full. Stuffed so deep you feel me for days.”

“Please,” you pant, grinding shamelessly against his hand, desperate. “Need it—need you to fill me up, Bucky, please—”

That’s all he needs.

He spins you around and bends you over the island, chest pressed to cool marble, ass bared and ready. There’s no teasing this time. No patience. You feel the thick, blunt heat of him at your entrance and brace yourself—

Then he slams into you with a brutal thrust.

You cry out, loud and unrestrained, one hand slapping the counter, the other gripping the edge like a lifeline. Bucky bottoms out instantly, stretching you open, splitting you around the thick length of him.

“Fuck,” he groans, snapping his hips. “Tight fuckin’ pussy. You were made to be filled by me.”

He sets a relentless pace, hips slamming into your ass, the sound obscene and echoing off the tiled walls. Each thrust drives your body forward, forces breath from your lungs, drags you closer to the edge with reckless, punishing efficiency.

“You want it in you, huh?” he pants, gripping your hips like he’ll never let go. “Gonna fuck you full, baby. Gonna fill that greedy pussy ‘til it’s dripping down your thighs. Want my cum deep, want me to breed this needy little cunt?”

“Yes!” you scream. “Fuck, yes, yes, please, Bucky, fill me,"

He snarls, pace turning savage. “Gonna take it. Gonna fuck a baby into you right here on the goddamn counter. My needy little slut, my good girl.”

You unravel, shaking, twitching, walls spasming around him as your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure burning through your bloodstream, exploding behind your eyes. You sob his name, voice wrecked.

Bucky’s right behind you.

He grits out a curse and drives in deep, cock twitching as he spills inside you, hot, thick and endless. He keeps grinding forward as if he could somehow fuck his cum deeper, claim every inch of you from the inside out.

And then you heard voices and footsteps from the hall.

Yelena’s voice rang out, “You know we eat food on that counter, right? Like with our mouths?

Alexei exclaims, “Walker owe me twenty bucks!”

John retorts, dry as ever “at least she's not complaining now.” Ava laughed, “Told you they wouldn’t make it to sunset”

And you could vaguely hear Bob asking if they were supposed to see this.

You bury your face in your arms, groaning. “Kill me. Kill me now.”

Bucky chuckles, actual laughter, low and warm, chest shaking against your back, he presses a kiss to the base of your neck, then another to your spine. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

He pulls out slowly, a filthy squelch of sound following, then hums when your thighs glisten with his release. “Look at that,” he says softly. “Already leaking. Just how I like it.”

You melt when he wraps his arms around you from behind, chest to your back, still warm and panting.

“You did so good for me,” he whispers, brushing your hair off your cheek. “So perfect. Gonna clean you up, put you in bed, and hold you all night. You earned it, needy girl.”

You sigh, body boneless.

And when he lifts you off the counter like you weigh nothing, bridal style, you don’t even resist. You just curl into his chest, letting yourself be carried away, dripping and satisfied.

“I love you,” he says softly into your hair as he walks past the rest of the team like you two didn’t just fuck in a common area.

Despite everything, despite the chaos, the teasing, the way he just wrecked you in the kitchen, you smile.

“I love you too.”

Even if you’re banned from the kitchen forever.

a/n: thank you so much for reading my sweethearts! ❤️ please leave a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! it keeps me motivated 🥰

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akeaaan · 1 day ago

Text

Changed

Jinu X fem. reader

a/n: I'm obsessed with writing for this man, I swear to god it's not funny anymore, also just a small idea that popped into my mind.

Synopsis:

╰┈➤You were once a feared demon of the underworld—until you turned your back on that life. Branded a traitor, you escaped to the human world and lived quietly in the shadows, blending in among mortals for years. Peace became your new normal. Routine. Safe.

That is, until fate stepped in.

A single encounter with Jinu—the sharp-eyed, silver-tongued leader of the rising idol group Saja Boys—shattered your calm existence.

〃✦ ┆You had everything others could only dream of—fame, wealth, influence. On stage, you were untouchable. Off stage, you were a legend wrapped in mystery. But even with everything, there was one thing you could never truly claim:

Humanity.

Because you weren’t human. Not even close. You were a demon—and not just any demon.

You were Gwi Ma’s daughter, the feared and merciless Demon King who ruled the underworld with blood and shadow.

Since your childhood, you served as his spy—sent through the cracks of the Honmoon, infiltrating the human world to gather intelligence and prepare for invasion. It was meant to be temporary, just another mission. But the longer you stayed, the more you saw.

Humanity was nothing like the wastelands of the demon realm. Where your world thrived on pain, theirs held warmth. Where demons tore each other apart, humans sang, cried, danced, and dreamed.

For the first time, you felt something—curiosity, wonder… guilt.

So you turned your back on the underworld.

You became a traitor.

Quietly, carefully, you aided the hunters from the shadows—feeding them information, sabotaging your father's forces. And when the day came, you were there among them, cloaked and unseen, helping to seal the Honmoon and trap your kind behind it.

No one knew.

No one ever could.

You fled. You ran from your father’s wrath, scouring every shady shaman’s store in the country, collecting protection charms, sealing talismans—anything that could shield you. And somehow, through luck or fate, you survived.

Five lives. Five hundred years. Each life, quieter than the last—until this one.

Now, you were Y/N—a rising soloist, known for her fierce performances and a haunting stage presence that no one could explain. People whispered that you were descended from a 90s screen legend—not knowing that legend was just one of your old lives.

And for once, you were at peace.

You watched from a distance as the Huntrix, the newest generation of demon hunters, proudly took up the mantle. They didn’t need your help. The Honmoon stayed sealed. The world was safe. You were safe.

Or so you thought…

Until he showed up.

Until that damned boy walked into your life with a smirk, a wink, and smile that somehow defied the laws of shame.

Jinu.

Of all the people… it had to be Jinu of the Saja Boys.

You knew something was off from the beginning. The moment their debut track “Soda Pop” exploded online, your gut screamed that it wasn’t just another rookie group rising through the ranks.

That stupid, sugar-coated song had the internet wrapped around its finger in hours. Every scroll through social media was torture—fan edits, dance challenges, streaming parties. Their bubblegum anthem was everywhere.

“Motherfuckers had it easy,” you muttered under your breath, eye twitching as you sat in your penthouse suite, high above the city. Your jaw clenched tighter with every swipe of your phone. That cursed chorus echoed over and over like a broken record.

With a sharp snap, the screen cracked beneath your grip—your superhuman strength getting the best of you again. You let out a heavy sigh and pressed your fingers against the bridge of your nose, trying to calm your fraying nerves.

It only got worse.

You had the misfortune of crossing paths with them at the “Play Games With Us” variety show. You were just backstage, minding your business, your manager trailing behind you and raving about the episode’s record-breaking views.

“Your segment went viral, again! The fans are loving it—especially that part when you snapped the controller in half!” your manager beamed, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you.

And then—you saw them.

The Saja Boys. Walking straight in your direction, faces glowing under the stage lights, laughter echoing like they didn’t have a care in the world. You stood taller, lifting your chin with unshakable pride, refusing to let them rattle you.

But just as you passed their leader, Jinu, something happened.

Your fingers brushed for a split second—barely a touch.

And your blood turned to ice.

A sharp sting burned up your arm as your demon mark responded instantly, crawling from your skin like it had been awoken. You froze mid-step.

So did Jinu.

His body stiffened. His eyes widened. There was no mistaking it. He felt it too.

Your mark flared beneath your sleeve before dulling to a low pulse, as if unsure whether to attack or retreat. Panic surged in your chest, but you kept your face blank, eyes forward, breaths shallow.

“No…” you whispered, so quiet it was almost soundless.

You didn’t dare turn around.

You knew—without question—Jinu was staring at your back with the same haunted look you wore now.

Your manager kept walking, still rambling. But your heartbeat was loud enough to drown everything else out. The mark faded… but the damage was done.

Something ancient had just awakened.

And you knew, deep down— This wasn’t over.

You let out a weary sigh as you sat perched on the edge of a quiet rooftop in the outskirts of the city, where the old hanok-style houses still stood. The moon hung high, casting a cold silver light over the curved roofs and narrow alleys. It was deep into the night—no footsteps, no noise. Just silence. Peace.

Peace… at least for now.

Far from the crowded districts, away from the suffocating presence of human souls—the very essence your demon self constantly hungered for—you could finally breathe without temptation gnawing at your will.

“A demon playing idol in the human world… how poetic,” a voice murmured behind you, smooth and laced with dry amusement. You heard the soft thud of footsteps land gently on the tiled roof behind you.

You didn’t bother to turn around. “Says the one doing the same thing,” you replied, your tone flat.

The voice chuckled lowly. “True. But unlike you, I haven’t stayed this long.”

You stiffened. Just those words were enough to hint at his purpose.

So... it was finally time.

You clenched your fists, jaw tightening. “If he sent you to bring me back to that hellhole,” you muttered, “tell Gwi Ma I'd rather die on this rooftop than crawl back to him.”

Your eyes flicked to the side, and there he was—Jinu. Standing there with his hands tucked into the pockets of a black and gray hoodie, his expression unreadable. One eyebrow raised, clearly thrown off by your sudden declaration.

You exhaled through your nose, pushing yourself up to stand, brushing dust from your pants. “Don’t play dumb,” you said, facing him properly now. “You’re here on Gwi Ma’s orders, aren’t you? To take more souls for his pathetic little collection.”

A scoff escaped your lips. “That old fart just doesn’t know when to quit.”

Jinu blinked, visibly stunned—not just by what you said, but by the fact you said it so openly. No fear. No hesitation. As if speaking about the demon king was no different than mocking some washed-up manager.

“You—” he started, then hesitated, eyes narrowing. “You really aren’t scared of him anymore.”

You looked him dead in the eye. “I stopped fearing him the day I tasted freedom.”

You turned slightly, eyes locked on the distant city lights glittering below the rooftop. The cold wind brushed against your face, but it was nothing compared to the bitterness in your voice.

"He's been trying that for years," you muttered. "And look where it got him—still trapped in that rotting world. What makes him think this time will be any different?"

Jinu shifted behind you, about to speak. You didn’t even turn.

"Don't even think for one damn second that I'll help you," you cut in coldly.

Jinu closed his mouth, jaw tightening. Silence hung between you before he finally asked in a quiet voice, "H-How... how have you lived this long?"

You let out a sharp laugh, the sound laced with exhaustion and mockery.

"Like hell I’d tell you."

Then, in a blink, your scythe was unsheathed—its blackened blade gleaming in the moonlight, already hovering near Jinu’s throat. Your eyes narrowed as you stepped closer, weapon steady.

"I should kill you right now," you said lowly. "Save the hunters the trouble."

Jinu's lips twitched into a bitter grin. "A demon... siding with hunters? That’s new."

You pressed the blade closer, enough for him to feel the chill of death breathing down his neck.

"I don’t side with anyone," you said, voice sharp as steel. "I work for myself."

Another step forward. You loomed over him now, gaze burning with centuries of fury and grief.

"I've watched this world rise and fall for hundreds of years. You think I'll let you tear it all down just so my corpse of a father can claw his way out and devour everything that still breathes?"

You shook your head, disgust flickering across your face.

"What did he promise you, huh? Power? Freedom?" Your voice dropped, dangerous now. "You really think he’ll give you what you want?"

You tilted your head slowly, voice venomous with finality.

"You're nothing but a pawn, Jinu. And if you keep playing his game... you'll die like one."

"Your father… is Gwi Ma," he said, voice low—almost afraid to say it aloud.

Your heart skipped. Eyes widened. You stiffened in place, cursing yourself internally for letting the truth slip. But it didn’t matter now. The damage was done. The truth was out.

Jinu's gaze dropped to his trembling hands. As your weapon shimmered and faded into the shadows, his fingers began to glow with a familiar, ominous hue—those same violet markings you had seen too many times before.

"He said... he’d take them away," Jinu whispered, eyes fixated on the marks. "The memories."

You let out a long, tired breath, pressing your fingers against the bridge of your nose.

"And you believed him?" you muttered, the weight of exhaustion and disappointment heavy in your tone.

A silence hung between you, thick with unspoken things. Then, with reluctance weighing every step, you moved closer to him.

Jinu’s brows furrowed in confusion. His body tensed instinctively, unsure of your intentions.

You raised your hands halfway to his face, then paused.

"Can I?" you asked softly, voice quieter now—gentler.

He hesitated, gaze searching yours for a moment before he gave a small nod.

You took it as permission.

Your palms cupped his face. Slowly, you leaned forward until your forehead rested against his. You closed your eyes. A familiar tingling crept into your hands as your power activated—dark purple mist curling from your skin, winding its way into Jinu's.

He inhaled sharply, but didn’t pull away.

You exhaled shakily, then drew back, turning away from him as the mist dissipated.

"There," you said, voice low. "He won’t bother you—for a few hours, at least."

A beat passed. Then:

"Did you just... seal him?" Jinu asked, stunned.

You didn’t turn around.

“Temporarily,” you said, your voice dropping lower, the word hanging in the air like a reluctant farewell.

There was a pause. A beat of silence filled with things you couldn’t bring yourself to say. When you finally spoke again, it was softer—strained, like it hurt to admit.

“…It’s the best I can do right now.”

You didn’t look back.

Your figure melted into the shadows, leaving behind only the echo of your presence and the cold wind brushing across the rooftop.

Jinu stood there, unmoving. His brows furrowed, heart pounding, mind reeling.

a/n: I really need more of him pleaseeeeee

#jinu x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpdh #kdh #saja boys #jinu kpdh #jinu kdh #saja boys x reader #kpop demon hunters au #kpdh x reader #oneshot #fem reader

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sylusgworl · 2 days ago

Text

WHAT THEY LOVE DOING WITH/TO YOU ft. love and deepspace

as the title says — sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, caleb x fem!reader

notes: very fluffy, no stressy, no cws just love and affection, slightly suggestive in sylus's part

a/n: yup, another comforting piece. at first i only thought of writing xavier's part, but then it just came to me... i can write FIVE. so uh, enjoy <3. wc: 900 . rbs are very appreciated <3

m.list

if xavier could, he’d live with his head on your lap.

yes, exactly. especially after coming back home from being outside all day, your lap is his safe haven.

and you, you love seeing his tired form appear through the door, as he walks groggily towards you, flashing you a sheepish smile.

“how was your day baby?” you ask him, while he plops down on the sofa right next to you.

“‘twas good,” he answers simply, pecking your lips before lying down, his head resting on your lap.

you then start stroking his hair, gently, then hear soft snores coming from him. you love seeing his relaxed features and gentle sleeping face, you wish he could rest more.

sometimes as he’s resting on your lap, his arms would wrap around your abdomen, to bring you even closer, occasionally tickling you when he’s still awake, before slowly drifting to a peaceful sleep, your slow hums lulling him until his consciousness fades.

zayne holds your hand at any given chance. if he could, your fingers would stay entangled to his, forever.

yes, it’s that serious.

especially whenever the two of you go on walks, his hand will never leave yours, unless you’re the first to let go.

“wait zayne, i dropped my tissues,” you say while your hand momentarily leaves his.

those three seconds are for zayne like an eternity.

he doesn’t like how something feels amiss right away, but the emptiness is filled right away when your fingers find his again.

zayne loves your hands, the warmth of them, and just smothering the back with kisses, slowly and gently, all without averting his haze from yours.

and the simple hand holding escalates quickly into something more.

zayne peppers your hand in kisses, then your wrist, then your arm all the way up to your neck and chin. then, he presses gentle kisses against your lips.

most of the time, the two of you end up going further and further, craving each other like you are the missing part he needs, and vice versa. oh, and of course his hold on your hand is still safely tight.

it is now an essential activity in sylus’s life to lay in bed next to you and rest his face against your chest, his head cushioned by the softness of your breasts and lulled by your calm heartbeat.

yes, sylus couldn’t ask for more. if he could, he’d never leave that position.

you often remind him to let you breathe for a couple of minutes, but after that, he’s back at it again.

“you knew what you were getting into when you accepted to be with me, sweetie,” he teases you, pushing a stray lock of your hair behind your ear while looking at you, amused, as you slap back his hand, offended.

“the girls didn’t sign up to be pillows though,” you mutter, looking elsewhere. and sylus would just chuckle, closing his eyes while feeling your skin under his palm.

“sylus where are you touching!?” you yell startled, but he just ignores you, and keeps doing what he wants.

“i’m putting the girls to good use since they refuse to be just ‘pillows’, clearly,” and you just can’t stop him, no matter what. not that you mind, you’ll just see it as a free massage.

caleb is constantly wrapping an arm around your shoulders, sometimes both of them, while peppering kisses at your nape and neck. causing you to shiver as you gently attempt to move away.

yes, he loves having you in his arms, only then he’ll be 100% sure you are safe.

sometimes, he’d even bear-hug you while you’re laying down and just fall asleep in that position, causing you to giggle at his childishness.

“c’mon caleb, you’re pressing my rib,” you try to reason with him, but he’d just muffle some inaudible words and get back at snoring.

so, you resort to tickling his sides so that his strong hold mellows, and you just move his arm, feeling his strong bicep under your fingertips.

“please, just a bit more,” he groans and proceeds to hold you even closer.

well, the battle was already lost at the start.

you just leave him be and stay there, cradled by the big bear that is your boyfriend.

what rafayel enjoys most is pressing his hands against your cheeks and just causing your expression to scrunch, only to laugh at your funny look as your eyes shoot him daggers.

besides being a prankster, his hands cup your cheeks every time the two of you are kissing.

he believes it brings you even closer than you are.

sometimes, it just starts as something innocent.

his firm and focused gaze is locked into your eyes as he rests both hands at the sides of your cheeks, feeling the softness of your skin, as he causes you to look funny, yet again.

“rafahyl s-shtop…” you try to say while clutching his fingers

then, his eyes drop down, at your puckered lips and he just can’t stop himself from leaving a peck. then another one. then another.

until the two of you are slowly making out, his tongue swirling in search of yours while his hands gently bring your face closer.

“oh you’re so done,” and you start running around as he flees from you, noticing how enraged you are but still giggling like a five-year old boy.

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loserabby · 2 days ago

Note

could you write something on eating out big pussy!abby for the first time

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚. 𝐒𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑 (𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐈'𝐌 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑) big clit!abby x reader

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ . ** MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOGI DO NOT GIVE ANYBODY PERMISSION TO REUPLOAD OR PLAGARISE MY WORK. IF YOU SEE SOMETHING I'VE WRITTEN ANYWHERE ELSE OTHER THAN HERE OR MY A03, PLEASE LET ME KNOW VIA ASK **

₊˚ 𓂃 ₊ ˚ ✧ some people just aren't into receiving, or at least that's what you think the problem is when it comes to the fact that your girlfriend of two months still won't let you make her feel good. until you accidentally catch her naked for the first time and suddenly you start to get an idea about what might actually be the problem.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : explicit language and content, use of Y/N, no outbreak au (modern), established relationship, references to sex, enlarged clitoris (clitoromegaly), slight misunderstandings. sexual content: kissing, dry humping (once again, to quote madeline argy: BRING BACK DRY HUMPING), mentions of strap-ons and sex-toys, cunnilingus, cum eating. slight dirty talk. mentions of past bodyshaming, embarrassment 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 5,869k

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 : i mean i imagine her pussy to be an absolute meal in all my writing but this one really focus' on it. shout out to @onlyheluvsme for being the mvp of team big clit abby i highly recommend going through her masterlist for that it's... chefs kiss. ngl the smut is not my best but this has been fermenting in my drafts for like a week and showed no signs of getting better I'M SORRY. and finally, clitoromegaly is obviously nothing to be embarrassed by and i don't want anyone to take abby's shame/bad experiences in the past as me mocking the mutation but it is something others might not be as well educated about so i didn't want to pretend that doesn't happen. [ read on ao3 ]

[ border credit ] [ resources for palestine ] [ boycott tlou ]

Admittedly, it takes a few times before you start to pick up on a recurring theme and when you do pick up on it? You don’t just feel guilty but… Curious, and deep down… Disappointed.

Abby had wanted to take it slow and to her credit, you guys had only been officially dating for two months. Taking that into consideration with classes, part-time jobs and other college related things that meant you were both busy, it was understandable that she wanted to take it slow when you guys were able to see each other.

She was a gentleman, making sure to take you out on proper dates first — not just somewhere quick and then have her hand up your skirt on the car ride home but actual restaurants with recommended dishes and signature wines that just confused you. She’d kissed you properly for the first time in her apartment on date number three, a movie forgotten about in the background but even then, she’d wanted to keep the pacing of your relationship slow.

But when you did start to get hot and heavy? God, it was good. So blindsightingly good you didn’t notice that every time it seemed to always focus on you.

Climb on her lap? She readjusts you so you’re straddling her thigh instead and you’re so lost to the pleasure of your clit dragging against your panties and the hard muscle of her leg to pick up on it.

Your hand snakes down to try and touch her pussy? She’s got your wrists pinned above your head in one hand, your nipples caught between her teeth and her other hand rubbing fast circles against your clit before you know it.

It doesn’t help that by the time you’re both in those situations, it’s late and when Abby finally decides she’s pulled enough orgasms out of you — slick coating your thighs, sticky against your cunt, her chin shiny from where she’d used her mouth on you and fingers still smelling of you even after she’s sucked them clean obscenely in front of you — you’re too exhausted to even think about cleaning up, never mind returning the favor.

Which fucking sucks cause when you do realise you can’t help but pout at how many opportunities you’ve been robbed of seeing her eyes roll to the back of her head, to see what her pussy looks like as it quivers.

You were no stranger to pussy, it’s not like you wouldn’t know what to do. In fact you were proud to say you were very much a giver in that you could spend all day between a girls thighs much like Abby has done for you previously.

You’ve dated other girls before that maybe weren’t as keen on reciprocating and, given the circumstances, you assume at first that maybe that’s what Abby thinks about you. You had just rolled over and gone straight to sleep (albeit after making her spoon you and wrapping her big, strong arms around you beforehand so you’d feel safe in your fucked out state) so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that she had assumed you were a pillow princess.

Respectfully to all pillow princesses, that misconception simply will not do.

So you try and subtly make it clear that you are very much interested in being a munch the next time Abby has you pressed into her sofa at her campus apartment, fingers buried knuckle deep inside your pussy, so wet you can hear every movement as she fucks you harshly. Abby’s got her mouth on your neck, sucking dark marks at your collarbones that make you whimper and keen before soothing them with her tongue and soft kisses as her thumb strums over your clit.

“So fucking pretty, baby, look at you swallowing my fingers so easily… Greedy little hole’s sucking me in” The blonde hisses against your skin, having to use her other hand that was groping your tits roughly to keep your thighs open. They’re shaking, threatening to slam shut even with Abby lying between them and you whimper as you feel her fingers digging into the soft flesh.

Last time she left the prettiest bruises there, you’d spent days pressing your own touch to them just to feel the ache, an embarrassing wave of sadness coming over you when they started to fade. So maybe you purposely don’t hold back from letting your thighs twitch and writhe so she’s forced to hold you tighter, just so you’re maybe gifted with another reminder of her touch.

“Please, please… Let me, I wanna…” It’s unclear what you’re begging for, to cum or to touch her. You’re so close but not quite lost to the delirium Abby brings by orgasm number three so you take advantage of that, shaky hand coming out to grip at the butch woman’s jeans but faltering, instead clutching at whatever you can grab when her fingers start pounding at that gummy spot deep inside only she seems able to find as your vision starts to white out.

You can feel yourself clenching around her fingers, the sound of your weeping pussy obscene as she continues her relentless finger fucking. “Shit, baby, you’re so.. Fucking.. Tight” she grits the words out, chuckling when she looks at you beneath her with your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your back arching off the couch and your head thrown back so far. “You coming? Gonna make a mess on the leather for me? C’mon, lets see how messy this pretty pussy can get for me, yeah?”

It doesn’t take long after that, pussy squirting all over Abby’s hand and dripping down your ass to the leather couch like Abby predicted, but even then she doesn’t let up with her relentless torture of your clit and hole. You try to grab at her jeans again, trying to unbutton them but she shakes her head, eyes wide for a split second before she’s making soft coaxing noises, your hands pinned above your head again. “All about you, baby” Is all she murmurs against your skin, before she makes sure to send you over the edge again and again, effectively cutting off any urgency in completing your task.

The next time you try and focus on Abby, try to make it clear you want to reciprocate is when the two of you are watching a movie at her apartment, your body lazily thrown over her and your head resting in the crook of her neck and your arms tossed around her.

Slowly your attention drifts from the screen, bored by some adaptation of a historical-fiction book Abby read but you’ve never heard of. Your lips slowly trail down her neck, featherlight kisses pressed to her collarbones as one of your arms drops and begins to drift below the blanket she’d pulled out to keep you both warm.

Abby’s attention is still on the film, still pointing out changes they made from the book to the movie but you know the moment she realises where your hand has gone. You feel her reaction more than see it, how her breath catches and her body stiffens. Your hand immediately stops tracing her crotch, teasing line drug along her slit over the fabric of her basketball shorts.

“Sorry, I didn’t— I shouldn’t..” You pull your hand away quickly, your apology rushed and face hot from embarrassment.

“We should, um.. We should focus on the film, yeah?” Abby says after some consideration, and you just wanna hide in embarrassment and shame because she clearly didn’t like that.

You miss how she clenches her thighs together, mistake her heart racing for being out of panic and try to ignore the failed attempt at seducing your girlfriend when she has you bent over the sofa a few hours later on her strap in the low light of her living room, cooing in your ear about how pretty you look dripping down her cock.

Maybe you come to the conclusion Abby might be a stone butch, a touch-me-not, whatever the hell you wanna call it. Because she seems to shy away with every advance you make to try and reciprocate.

You get it if that is the case but can’t help but feel like that should have been mentioned, communicated in some way so you didn’t feel so… Weird about it. Sue me, you think, is it so wrong to want to touch your girlfriend? Your incredibly attractive girlfriend? No, surely not.

You wouldn’t exactly say it’s a deal breaker, you like Abby a lot. Even in the little amount of time you both have been together already, she’s amazing and not just physically — although that is certainly a perk.

She’s thoughtful, caring, she makes sure to check in with everyone (seemingly knowing everyone on campus). She always sends a good morning and a good night text, even when she’s deep in her study sessions or writing papers. She makes sure all your dates are ‘real’ ones, even if it’s just going to her apartment to make dinner cause she wanted to make sure you didn’t feel like you were being used for your body. Hell, she even made sure to let you know where the spare key to her apartment was kept so you could let yourself in after that time you got caught in the rain outside waiting for her.

Which leads to now; Enter you, spare key in hand after sending a rushed text to Abby saying you were coming over to talk when you realised you couldn’t go any further without discussing boundaries.

You should have realised something had thrown a wrench in your plan the second you stepped foot in Abby’s apartment really, the small space weirdly quiet and steam slowly rolling out of her bathroom. Distantly, you can hear the low murmur of music coming from her bedroom, the door slightly ajar.

You’re calling Abby’s name as you push through the door, not bothering to knock as you assume she’s read your text. It’s only when you process what’s in front of you that you come to the realisation that you seem to do an awful lot of assuming — and you know what they say, to assume is to make an ass out of you and me.

Because Abby clearly didn’t read your text, not based on the horrified look on her face when you walk in on her stark naked on her bed. Her skin is flushed, still damp from the shower she’d clearly just taken and her hair dripping big, fat water droplets onto her chest. Her muscled thighs are spread open, heels digging into the mattress as her fingers remain still stuffed deep inside her dripping hole. Her bush is wild and untamed, a light brown that curls through her fingers as her other hand spreads her lips wide open

There’s a voice in the back of your head, a really unnecessary one that points out that it seems like Abby does like being touched after all, but maybe just not by you.

But the best part of the sight — or the worse part, taking Abby’s look of utter shock into consideration — is her pussy, just as a whole. Her enlarged clit, erect and pulsating as it seems to stand to attention. Her pussy as a whole is big, the kind of big that makes your mouth begin to salivate, embarrassingly, as you think playing with it.

It makes you realise you’d never actually seen her pussy before, that every time the two of you fucked she was either fully clothed or had her strap on over her boxers. How cruel of her to hide that perfect pussy away.

“I… I texted” You say weakly after a few moments of silence, stood in a half step in the door way.

Abby doesn’t move, and you don’t know what else to say as you spiral, murmuring apologies and rushing back out the door before Abby is able to process what just happened.

Communicating isn’t going so well, more so after you accidentally walked in on Abby’s post-shower masturbation session. She’s avoided pretty much all your texts asking to talk and even gone as far as changing her routine to avoid running into you.

It kind of leaves you in a weird limbo where you’re not quite sure where you went wrong. There’s definitely areas you could have improved on (i.e. actually communicating about boundaries from the start so all this assuming bullshit didn’t happen) but you texted, you said you were coming by. Maybe you could have shouted a hello when you first entered the apartment but the last time Abby was in when you did she said you didn’t have to.

You’re also just incredibly unaware as to what the state of your relationship even is anymore? Is Abby still your girlfriend? Does she only like to touch herself and not be touched by others? It’s frustrating, yes, but you can’t help but feel like you owe Abby the time to digest what happened.

After all, it was her that got walked in on in her own home, completely naked and knuckle deep inside of herself. You can cut the blonde a break.

Doesn’t stop you from salivating at the memory of how beautiful and fucked out she looked that split second before she realised she’d been caught, face contorted in pleasure and juices spilling down past her knuckles.

After a dozen texts to Abby, ranging from apologies to simple messages telling her you missed her and you would wait until she was ready to talk, it’s a week later you finally get a response. It’s simple, to the point and very Abby.

[ Abs ] : You can come to my apartment for dinner, we should talk.

A terrifying text to receive, given the circumstances. The ‘you can come for dinner’ aspect giving you a sense of security, it makes you feel like everythings fine but the ‘we should talk’ part? That’s sending ‘break up talk’ alarm bells ringing through your head.

You text back nervously, asking what time and if you should bring anything. You end up outside her apartment door, pointedly ignoring the space where her spare key is hidden like it might burn, with a bottle of wine in hand as you wait for her to answer.

When she does, there’s a tension between the two of you the moment your eyes meet and — thank god — it’s not a bad kind. It’s like suddenly you’ve both had the air knocked out of you, like you hadn’t realised you’d been missing a piece of yourselves until you saw what was missing right in front of you. Two months you’ve been together, god Lesbians were stereotypically quick to get attached.

You can see how Abby’s eyes soften, warm when she sees you and she has to steady both her hands on the door frame as she welcomes you inside.

“Dinner might be a while,” She says, uncharacteristically timid seeming, her hand drifting to your lower back as she guides you into the apartment. “Sorry, took a little while longer than I thought but, um… We can sit on the sofa? Maybe, uh, if you want we could talk now? Get it out of the way?”

Get it out of the way?

You place the bottle of wine on the coffee table, heart racing as you consider what Abby might be about to say. God, is she about to break up with you? No, she couldn’t be… She’s made dinner, it would be epicly cruel to break up with you and then expect you to stay for whatever homemade pasta dish she’s made.

“I’m sorry!” The words spill from your mouth at a rapid speed, not even bothering to stop to give her a chance to cut in — her brows shot high and eyes wide as you ramble. “I-I texted and I thought that was enough but clearly I didn’t think that through, and I totally should have shouted to let you even know I had arrived in the apartment but I just didn’t think. But.. You.. I.. I froze when I saw, I mean how could I not but I thought you didn’t like that, and I guess that’s my own fault cause I never asked what you do and don’t like — we kinda forgot to have that talk a-and—”

“Woah, woah, Y/N, slow—” Abby tries to cut in, hands coming to your arms to try and stop them from moving around wildly as you talk. “What are you talking about, c’mon, slow down.”

“It’s my own fault, I didn’t notice for way too long and when I finally did, I realised you probably thought I was just a pillow princess so I kept trying to subtly show my interest but you— a-and then you kept pushing me away or turning it back on me so I just figured you didn’t like being touched, stone butch or whatever but then i-in your bed… you… you were touching yourself a-and—”

You only stop, words cutting off suddenly, when Abby takes your face in her hands and forces you to look at her.

“Y/N. Baby, stop. I need you to breathe, calm down for a sec’ okay?” Her words are spoken so softly, the care dripping off each word as she brushes a strand of hair behind your ear gently. “Can you do that for me, slow down and take a breath?”

You nod slowly, watching her reverently. Abby’s tongue darts out to wet her lips as she watches you, taking a deep breath of her own. “I should have talked to you sooner, I’m sorry I just… got caught in my own head. Maybe none of this would have happened if I’d of done that, but if you still want… If you’re still wanting us I’d like to talk now, if that’s okay?” She sounds nervous as she speaks, the words almost practiced. You nod, giving her the time to speak and watching as her hands drop from your face to twiddle nervously on her lap.

“I… It’s not that I don’t like to be touched, I want— I really want that, but I… I haven’t had the greatest experiences in the past when it came to… Other people and what they thought of my body” Your heart aches as Abby speaks, her blue eyes cast down to where her hands lay nervously on her lap and her voice going soft.

“I just… Got used to hiding my body, you know and I didn’t even realise I was doing it until you… You remember that night we were watching the City of Thieves film and you—” She didn’t need to go any further, your face brightening in shame as you recall the awkward rejection. “I just didn’t know how to… broach the subject, y’know, and it’s not like I really thought you’d be judgemental and mean about my body but it’s just built up after so many negative reactions”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes narrowing slightly as you stare at your girlfriend. “Why would I judge you? I know you’re big, I know you’re muscle-y, why would I be mean about that?” You ask in genuine confusion, causing Abby to freeze and look at you equally as confused.

After a beat, she speaks slowly. “You… You think that I was talking… about my body-body?” After a beat, you nod just as slowly. “I was talking about my pussy” She finishes after a long space of silence, blunt and to the point.

Your head cocks to the side, confusion still clear in your expression as you process what she’s saying. What the fuck is so wrong about her pussy? You didn’t see anything wrong with it in that small (but well committed to memory) glimpse you’d had of it. “I don’t?—”

“Shit, you don’t… You really don’t see a problem, do you?” She sounds like she’s in awe, like your total lack of an issue around her genitals is something groundbreaking which makes a simmering bit of rage begin to boil inside of you because who in their damn right mind made the beautiful, the amazing Abby fucking Anderson so insecure in her body she couldn’t even show her girlfriend what she looked like?!

“Shit, okay, uh… I mean, you know — you saw — it’s big. Fatter than the norm’ I guess. It’s a mutation, congenital… I just.. I guess a lot of people I’ve been with have found it weird, ugly a-and they didn’t really wanna.. return the favor or do anything I guess.”

Yep, definitely rage you feel below the surface. The idea that Abby has been dealing with this because of people that were supposed to care for her speaking so badly about her body, for their reactions to something she cannot control makes you clench your fists. But you force yourself to relax, fingers stretching out on your thighs as you try to remain cool.

“Like I said, I didn’t really realise I was doing it until you started to, y’know… And I don't know, I couldn’t stop myself from panicking that it was gonna be the same reaction all over again. I just.. I couldn’t handle seeing that look of… of disgust on your face, not… you.”

Your delicate hands reach out to capture hers, stopping her from picking at the skin around her thumbs nervously as she speaks, to get her attention. “Abby, I.. I know other people have reacted that way but I would never—”

Her cheeks tinge red, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth and a small smirk etching its way onto her face. “I know, Y/N”

“You— You do?”

She nods, looking up to meet your eyes. “Yeah, I know. I, uh.. I figured that out.”

Your face pulls together again in confusion and slight annoyance, if she knew that then why did you spend the last week getting ghosted?! “What do you mean?”

“You have this look that comes over your face whenever you get turned on… Normally see it whenever I’m getting you off but, uh… That day, when you walked in on me? You had it when you were looking at me”

Your mouth drops open, breathless as you take that in. It’s no surprise though, you had been incredibly turned on at the sight, even thinking about it now has a wet spot forming in your panties at just the thought of Abby’s legs spread to unveil that beautiful cunt.

Shaking off the haze of lust, you focus on Abby. “So… Why did you, I mean I was happy to wait as long as you needed — I mean, again, I walked in on you a-and you needed to process that shock — but… why did you wait so long to talk?”

She heaves out a slow sigh, scratching at the back of her neck. “It was just weird, this bizarre 180 I was experiencing where this thing about me and my body that was always… weird for others and that I was kind of, y’know, expecting to be weird for you was suddenly attractive. That made you get that fucked out, horny expression on your face and I… I couldn’t believe it.”

“And now?”

“I mean… I believe it”

At that, your hand comes out to lightly smack at her arm, the both of you falling into light rumbles of laughter. Your hand lingers on Abby’s arm, dropping after a moment too long.

“Asshole,” softly you shake your head, a smile forming on your lips as you dip her head down. “I meant and now what? I mean, I take it this isn’t you breaking up with me like I was worried about?”

Her eyes widen in slight horror, like she hadn’t considered all of the nightmare scenarios that had been swarming in your mind over the last week. “N-No, no, absolutely not. Shit, you didn’t think— God, okay. No, no breakup was ever considered for the record”

That definitely eases the weeks worth of tension that had built up.

You bite your lip, leaning forward into Abby’s space slightly. After a moment of silence, your needy eyes lift to meet Abby’s “Can we just skip to the part where we kiss and make-up?”

The other girl barely gets her own eager nod out before you’re clambering onto her lap, hands in her hair as you kiss her hard and messily. Your tongue licks into her mouth aggressively, small noises falling from the two of you as your hips rocks against hers. You missed this, missed how Abby tasted, how her tongue felt against yours as she explored your mouth just as thoroughly.

“I missed— missed you… so.. much” Heavy pants bracket each and every word, only broken by Abby pulling your lips back to hers as she devours you whole. She only pulls back with a high-keening hiss when you roll your hips in a certain way against her that makes her clit throb in her boxers. “Fuck, baby, careful” She sounds so pretty when she whines, her lip bitten as her head rolls back against the back sofa cushions.

Her head rolls to the side, looking at the kitchen before she swallows thickly, looking back at you. Her large hands move down to your hips, tapping the hip bones to get you to stand up.

“Gonna save the food before we forget and burn the apartment down, you… Get in the bedroom” The way she breathes the words out, like she’s as affected as you are makes your head spin and you’re quick to scramble off her lap and into her bedroom.

Abby’s on you quicker than you realise, shoes barely kicked off before she’s at your back and kissing down the column of your neck with her hands running up and down your sides. Turning to face her, you drag her down into a punishing kiss until you feel her bed hit the back of your knees. You don’t fall back though, turning the two of you so Abby now has her back to the bed.

You’re panting when you break the kiss, wetting your lips despite the messy kiss as you look up at Abby through thick lashes with deep arousal. She looks equally as fucked, hair messy from where your fingers have gone through it as you both made out and her blue eyes dark with need. “Get on the bed for me, Abs. Like… Like you were that day” You sound fucked out already, thinking back to when you caught her touching herself like a wanton whore. You see the moment it registers in Abby’s mind what you’re asking her to do, a single raised eyebrow as she breathes heavily.

Slowly she strips her clothes, kicking her own shoes off. You spend equal time helping her discard her clothes as you do standing back and admiring her form, salivating as her tits spring free of her sports bra. She’s just got her boxers left when she crawls onto the bed, laying back against the headboard before lifting her hips and pulling them free.

She pulls them past her ankles and throws them on the floor, landing with a soft noise by your feet. Not that you notice, no, you’re too focused on Abby. Lay back on the bed, completely bare with only her knees propped up straight and infront of her to cover that pretty pussy of hers.

Your eyes are dark, hungry as you stare ahead, right where you know her crotch is covered by her legs. “Abby, that’s not how you were lay when I caught you” The words are low, almost rough as you wait, watching.

Her long hair, free from the braid she always wears, cascading messily down her shoulders is pushed behind her nervously before she slowly spreads her thighs and finally mirrors the position you’d caught her in a week ago.

Her heels aren’t quite digging into the mattress with need the way they were that day, but Abby isn’t nearly as worked over as she was then either. Still, you move forward hungrily, almost drawn to her like a magnet with your palms spread on the mattress to catch yourself as you instinctively move to get closer to her glistening slit. You look like a predator, crawling up from the foot of the bed and settling between her thighs, eyeing her pussy like prey.

She’s wet, so fucking wet you know your fingers would glide with ease through her folds. It makes you dizzy with lust, watching how her large clit throbs as you stare it down.

“Fuck, what… What now?” Abby whines, voice soft and breathy.

“Show me what you were doing before I walked in” Your voice is low, rough and your eyes don’t lift once from her drenched core.

You can hear the needy whines from Abby, her soft little moans that make you want to bite and kiss at her skin but she does as she’s told. Her hands come down to her pussy, one hand spreading her lips wide to show you everything while her other eases in with slow circles against her clit.

Not that she needs warming up, not with how quick she is to react to the barely there circular motions she does. “C’mon baby, you can do more. What did you do with this pretty pussy after that?”

Bottom lip drawn between her teeth, Abby can’t help but watch your darkened gaze as she drags two of her thick fingers through her slick, coating them with her juices before working them inside her hole.

Instinctively you lean in closer, inhaling her scent as you watch her twitching hole stretch to take her digits. Each time she fucks her fingers into herself, slowly and so fucking erotically, you watch as her hips lift slightly to meet her fingers, clit bumping against her palm and leaving a messy trail behind.

“So fucking gorgeous, look so pretty stretched around your fingers” You barely register your own voice, that you’ve said anything as you practically drool at the sight. No, wait, you’re actually drooling. Okay, between that and the obscene sounds of Abby fucking herself you can’t stop yourself, deciding you’d waited long enough to give.

Still, you can’t stop yourself from teasing before you stop her as you begin by kissing up her ankles. Your lips make sure to suck the occasional hickey the closer you get to her inner thighs, laughing low and wickedly when you hear her whine so pretty and the muscles of her thighs quiver. By the time you make your way close to where she wants you — and more importantly, where you have been wanting to be all this time — you have to take a moment to just… stare.

Take it in.

Fucking beautiful.

Licking a stripe up her pussy, slow flat tongue against her before sucking her fat clit into your mouth and laughing as she keens, hips lifting off the mattress before moaning at the taste of her. Above you, Abby’s head eventually falls back against the headboard with a soft thud as she makes a low, whining noise.

That’s when you start eating her out like a woman starved, messy and unashamed as you go to town. Licking her long and rough, spit falling from your mouth as you suck her clit into your mouth and lay one of your hands flat against her abdomen to keep her from lifting off the bed. She melts like honey on your tongue, the sheets beneath her messy with a mixture of her arousal and your saliva as it drips both down her ass and off your chin.

You’re eating her out half with the desire to bring her over the edge, to show her what all her other partners should have been giving her this entire time, and another part of you wants to just lap at her pussy with no regards. Hungry for the taste of her juices on your lips, to swirl your tongue around her protruding bud like you’re lazily licking an ice cream cone.

Her hands are in your hair, torn between yanking you off her when you suck harshly on her fat clit, laughing as she whines and whimpers, or pressing your face against her cunt to keep you fixed in one spot when you start to go rogue

“Oh.. Oh god, yes!” She’s a mess, completely gone beneath you when you finally decide to focus on getting her off. She’s soaked, dripping down your hand when you do touch her, and flooding your mouth with her arousal so much that when you grow desperate — yanking her up and throwing her on her hands and knees, eating her out from behind — you can’t stop the way her arousal drips onto the sheets beneath. She’s too damn wet for your mouth to capture all of it and the thought makes you feel feral.

“C’mon, Abs, I wanna feel you cum on my tongue okay? Wanna feel that pretty clit throbbing in my mouth”

You’ve got your hands at the junction where her thighs and her ass meet, spreading the skin so you have the max amount of access as you bring her over the edge, Abby’s neighbours no doubt able to hear her reaching her apex with her wailing. You move one of your hands down as you focus your mouth on her clit, fingers pushing inside of Abby’s warm heat again and sighing against her slick as her hole sucks them in greedily.

It doesn’t take long until Abby goes rigid, screaming and babbling that she’s coming with her head thrown back as you continue your ministrations, working her through her orgasm happily.

“Fuck, you coming from my fingers or my mouth, Abs?” You tease against her pussy as she gushes down your wrist practically, lapping her juices up with your tongue and feeling it drip down your chin.

Her strong fingers thread through your hair and practically have to rip you off of her once overstimulation sets in, toned thighs twitching, desperate to slam shut and hide her pussy away from you. You let her pull you off, licking your lips with a wicked grin as you hover over her.

She’s redfaced, skin glistening with sweat and she looks completely fucked out. It’s a good look on her.

“What’s the verdict?” You ask with a teasing lilt, watching as she huffs out a laugh with her chest rising and falling rapidly still.

“Uh… Might let you do it again” She tries to play it casual but you swat at her chest lightly and she quickly falls into laughter. “Fine! I loved it, 10/10, I’ll write a damn Yelp review if you want me to”

“Who the hell even uses Yelp anymore, damn how old are you” You tease, caressing her cheek. “Promise me you’ll let me do that more? No more hiding” Your voice is tender as you speak, eyes warm as you look down at her. Abby’s breath catches in her throat at the softness, the love she can feel and she nods up at you. “I promise. No more hiding away.”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson smut #abby anderson imagines #abby anderson #.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚. writing: mine

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