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em1i2a3 · 2 months ago

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Carry The Zero

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry (or The Void) x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob are sharing a room while the Avengers Compound is under renovations, which brings on a slew of new things to learn about one another.

Warnings: Semi Spoilers for Thunderbolts I guess because Bob is in here. Other than that there is nothing too extreme happening in here, it’s a bit emotional, but there is fluff in here, I would kind of describe this as a Hurt/Comfort fic than anything. There are mentions of abuse and there is also some heavy petting maybe? I mean, I’ll put that in here to cover my booty lol.

Authors Note: My second viewing of Thunderbolts truly got my mind racing for what to write in regard to Bob. Thought I would put out this lil blurb and probably add more to it later in another segment or something! Anyways! Enjoy y’all and happy premiere weekend!!! :)

Word Count: 6,784

The room wasn’t built for two people, that’s what you knew for sure. It used to be a storage space, at least that is what you assumed judging by the various filing cabinets that lined the area, the dented lockers that were near the door, and the strewn papers that nobody decided to throw away in preparation for the move-in. The only thing that was the saving grace was the fact that the place had a window that let you look out onto the city. But it still didn’t truly make up for the cramped space, even though they were able to shove two twin sized beds inside it and call it a room–which showed how effective their planning was throughout all the chaos.

The Avengers Compound was still under renovations after a security breach took out part of the living space, meaning everyone needed to be shuffled like cards in a losing deck. Room assignments were given unwillingly to everyone, and you had been paired with Bob.

It was weird to be rooming with someone who had the power of a million exploding suns as people liked to say, because even though he carried that on his sleeve sheepishly, his personality certainly didn’t match that of a person who could take down the entire world. He was shy, quiet, and careful, tip-toeing around you like you were going to snap at him at any second–which was not the case at all.

Compared to the other options you had you actually preferred to be rooming with him.

The first few days had passed in near silence. You didn’t talk much, you’d only go into your room to sleep or change, and when you would do something outside of those two things Bob would rush out pretty quickly, apologizing nervously under his breath, like he thought you were obligated to time alone.

He’d go to bed early, and you’d catch him reading beneath the awful buzzing lamp that was left in the room from before the two of you moved in. You never really asked him what he was reading because the title was always changing, like he couldn’t finish anything, or he had so much time to himself he was finishing books like they were snacks.

Then there were little things you began to notice.

He’d pace a lot, wring his hands in his lap, or pick at the skin on his fingers. He was clean, he never left shoes in the middle of the room, and always lined them up neatly under his bed frame, even yours. He would flinch at loud noises, like if there was a childish argument happening in the communal kitchen and things got too high in volume he would get a little twitchy. He was observant, and paid attention to everything around him–sometimes you would hear him talking to himself, repeating fragments of conversations from earlier in the day, like it grounded him in some way.

He had his routine and you respected it as much as possible, but tonight was entirely different.

You were coming in late from training, and a med bay visit.

The scrape on your shoulder wasn’t serious, but it was bad enough to have Bucky send you down to get checked out. It was standard–some antiseptic, a lecture from one of the nurses about being more careful and aware of your surroundings, and then you were released with a warning, and a fresh bandage. You were exhausted, sore, and annoyed with yourself for not paying attention and letting your guard down during a simulation, especially because the past few nights had been like that.

By the time you reached your floor, the halls were quiet. There wasn’t any bickering or discussions happening in the kitchen, nobody was lingering in the living room with post-mission jitters, it was just peace, for once.

You stopped at the fridge to pick yourself up a bottle of electrolytes, then paused, eyeing the row of them. You bit your inner cheek, and after a second of hesitation you grabbed another one for Bob, tucking it against you.

You figured he would be awake like he always was when you were on your training nights. You weren’t sure if he was just waiting for you or if he was just incapable of resting when you weren’t accounted for, but you never asked.

Slowly, you moved down the hall, twisting the cap off your drink with a wince when you strained just a little too much, causing the bandage to sting beneath your shirt. You gritted your teeth and let out a frustrated grunt.

“Gotta take it easy on yourself.” You heard Bucky say from behind you. You turned on your heel, seeing he was still in his training gear, also holding a bottle of electrolytes as well, “You’re gonna burn out if you don’t take breaks.” You shifted under his gaze.

”I want to be better, that’s why I’m training. If you got your ass handed to you on the field you would be doing the same.” He shook his head.

”No. I would be resting and seeing what I could do better the next time. Don’t come to training for the rest of the week, just relax and recoup, we’ll revisit your regimen when you’re better.” Before you could say anything he typed his code in for his room, and was out of your sight. You could feel your body seething as you turned back around to continue making your way down the hall. You’d seen it coming from a mile away just by the way he was watching you during the simulation but you never thought he would say anything to you like that. It just added another layer of annoyance as you reached your room.

You pushed the door open gently, careful not to let the hinges creak too loudly. The room was dark, which was unexpected, Bob’s light wasn’t even on. The only thing that was illuminating the room was the shimmer of city lights, casting silver-blue shadows across the floor.

Bob was in bed, lying on his side facing you, with his blanket tugged up to his neck. His face was soft in the low light–features relaxed, eyes closed. Sleeping, or at least you thought he was. You lingered in the doorway for a moment, squinting in the dimness of the room to see him a bit better.

His light brown hair looked a little messy, like he’d been shifting around for a while before finally settling on the position he was in now. You wondered how long he was lying like that, or if he had been waiting for your return but fell asleep in the process, and now you felt even worse than before.

You let the door close softly behind you with a gentle click, removing your shoes slowly, one at a time. Every motion felt heavier than it should have–dull with fatigue, and edged in frustration. You padded across the narrow space, keeping your steps quiet, with the extra bottle of electrolytes tucked against you, the condensation seeping through your training jacket.

You crouched slowly beside Bob’s bed, biting back a wince as your muscles tensed in protest, while you placed the bottle down on the floor, angling it so he’d see it when he woke up. It was a small, quiet offering, just something kind, a consideration in a way. You took your next moves slowly as you stood up and turned to your own bed with a tired exhale, putting the cap back on your drink and throwing it onto your bed. One hand rose to the zipper of your training jacket, pulling it down in a swift movement, teeth grinding while you pushed the fabric off your shoulders, feeling pain erupt from your ribs and shoulder now, the muscles pulsing with burning heat.

The cool air of the room hit your skin instantly, and your tank top didn’t do much to hide any of your injuries from the environment. Your back arched with the grating sting that came through you, and one hand came up to press against the bandage, making sure it was still on properly and not tugging at your skin. The ache was sharp and pulsing, and when your fingers came away damp, you already knew there was blood seeping through the gauze. You grimaced but didn’t consider making another trip to the med bay. You were too tired to care at this point, and it wasn’t something that would cause you to bleed out, so it was a morning issue to deal with.

You turned toward your dresser, collecting a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized sweater that smelled faintly of sage, throwing both articles of clothing down onto your bed with a soft plop. You rolled your shoulder gently, testing the range of motion in it with a quiet wince before reaching for the hem of your tank top, peeling the rough fabric up your skin carefully, trying to avoid the worst of the sting, though even at your slowest pace you could feel the movement pulling at the wound.

The cotton clung briefly to the tape of the gauze and the dried sweat that coated your skin before finally giving way, and coming off completely. You let out a sigh of relief, as you let the fabric fall to the floor, reaching for your sweater next. The bandage on your shoulder throbbed with every shift you made, but it was the deeper bruises scattered across your body–ghosts of impacts from the past few days–that ached beneath your skin like an echoing thunder. You glanced down at yourself, taking in the way they bloomed across your ribs, stomach, and hips, at this point you could see more bruises than your actual flesh at this point, and they were tender, dark and swollen. Maybe Bucky was right, maybe you really did need a break…

Your fingers curled loosely into the hem of your sweater, but you didn’t think to pull it on yet, you just continued to look down at the wreck that was your body, and the longer you stared, the more numb you became. It was easy to take a break but it wasn’t deserved, you couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes during missions, and you knew you weren’t going to listen to Bucky, you would keep training until your body gave out.

You closed your eyes for a moment, before lifting the sweater towards you, ready to retreat into its softness, ready to disappear and call it a night, but then you heard it.

A breath. Sharp and quick. You froze in your spot.

Then came the sound of movement, the shuffling of the blanket, the mattress creaking under the shifting weight.

Your eyes darted toward Bob’s bed instantly, seeing that his back was now turned towards you. His blanket was pulled up around his shoulders, almost covering his whole head, but there was tension in his posture now, like he was more alert, and less relaxed.

Another breath was inhaled, only it was thinner this time, and wet, followed by a muffled sniffle. Your brows furrowed, and you worked quickly to throw your sweater on without hurting yourself so you were covered up completely, before making your way to his bed, crouching down on the floor, keeping your attention fixated on him. His shoulders were rising and falling now in uneven motions, and now you were piecing together that he was actually crying.

”…Bob?” You whispered, voice soft and low, like if you made it any louder than the volume you were at now it might shatter him. You could see the shuddering in his shoulders halt at the way you said his name, and he pulled the blanket higher over his head, like he was trying to shield himself from your eyes.

”I’m sorry…” Your brows pulled together in confusion as you leaned against the bed a little more, watching the outline of his frame beneath the covers, seeing the small tremors still running through his shoulders. You bit the inside of your cheek as you reached out, your hand hovering for a breath before resting gently against the curve of his back. He was radiating heat through the blanket, but he was stiff beneath your touch, like he didn’t know what to do with the comfort you were offering.

“Bob…Why are you apologizing?” You asked softly. He took in another shaky breath, but didn’t answer. You let out a sigh, rubbing your hand up and down his back like your mother used to when you cried, trying to soothe him, to calm him as much as you could.

”I…I saw the bruises.” He said, barely a whisper. Your hand on his back froze for a moment, “I-I didn’t mean to look, I swear, I just-“ His breath hitched, realizing that you were probably throwing daggers into his back with your eyes, “I just woke up…And saw them, and I couldn’t…Couldn’t stop remembering…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, it was just too much, as another set of sobs escaped his throat. You could feel your gaze soften at the noise, almost like a piece of your heart was breaking for him, continuing your movements along his back, pressing just a little harder into the muscle.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you want some electrolytes or something?” He shook his head.

”No…P-Please just stay…” His voice was hoarse, cracking under the thickness that coated his throat from the tears. You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, staring at his shoulders as he continued to cry, curling in on himself beneath his blanket.

You continued rubbing his back, keeping a steady and consistent rhythm. The heat of him radiated through the blanket like a furnace on the verge of burning itself out. Every time your hand passed over his spine, his shoulders seemed to loosen by a fraction.

“C-Can I ask something…Kind of w-weird?” His voice broke through the quiet again, in such a timid whisper that you barely heard it.

“Sure.” You replied, hearing him sniffle again. There was a long pause, and you could feel the hesitation, like he was trying to put his words together properly so whatever he was going to say didn’t come off creepy. You continued to run your hand over his back, waiting patiently for him, watching his figure rising and falling beneath the blanket, still seeing it shaking. In your mind, you were worried, you hadn’t seen him like this before, and there was a moment where you considered calling Bucky or Yelena to come help you, but then his voice broke through the thoughts.

”…Could you…” He took another breath, “Could you…Please hold me?” The question came out strangled, like it had clawed its way out of his throat before he could second-guess it again. You blinked slowly at the request, not because you were unsure of your answer, but because the way he said it was so gentle, and embarrassed it caught you off guard in a way.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say, you thought maybe he was going to ask you for a tissue, but this was something far more vulnerable, something you never thought would come from Bob of all people, even though you knew he was sensitive. Inside you hesitated only because you didn’t want to hurt him by possibly doing the wrong thing, yet your heart ached watching him break down beneath his blanket which at this point was drowning him because of how much he had curled up beneath it.

“Of course…Just let me change out of these training pants first okay? It’ll just take a second.” There was no response to that, just movement. He shifted towards the wall so he was giving you enough space to get in, still hunched over like he felt guilty for the area that he occupied. You quickly stood up, and made quick work of shimmying out of your training pants and putting on your cotton sleep shorts, which was probably the best idea since you felt him burning through the blanket he was wrapped in. You brought your attention back to him soon after, returning to the side of the bed, your eyes roaming over the lump that resembled his body.

With a gentle hand, you tugged the edge of the blanket down just enough to uncover the top of his head, revealing his light brown hair again which looked dampened with sweat beneath the illuminating city lights that shined through the window. He didn’t say anything, or protest being exposed to you, so you took that as a good sign to continue.

You slid into the space he made for you, careful not to jostle the cocoon he made for himself too much, and eased your bad arm underneath his pillow so your scraped shoulder could rest in a neutral position where your bandage wouldn’t rip off your skin completely. You pulled up the blanket slightly, getting in behind him, scooting closer until your chest met his damp back.

His navy blue t-shirt was soaked through completely, and it wasn’t helping that he was wearing long pants to bed either. There was a fear he was gonna pass out from heat stroke or something, but he had mentioned it several times that he ran hot in general, you just didn’t see it to this extreme. He smelled like a salty rain storm, or like ozone, it was something indescribable to you in those moments, but it was what he typically radiated, it was familiar.

Slowly, you brought your arm over his torso, placing your hand onto the hard plane of his sternum, the muscles beneath his shirt twitching against the unfamiliar touch that you introduced to him.

Neither of you spoke, you just laid against each other in pure silence, listening to each other's breathing–his trembling, yours steady. He could feel your hot breaths against his neck and tried to pay attention to it, as you pushed down the blanket a bit with your elbow to shed the makeshift shield from his body. It took him a while to compose himself enough to speak again, but when he did, you were hanging off of every word.

”…When I saw the bruises…” He rasped, “All I could think about was me. When I was a kid…” The mentioning of his childhood immediately felt like a blow to your stomach. He had said something about how he was raised in passing, but it was an off handed remark that nobody really paid attention to. You figured it was something he didn’t want to talk about, but hearing him say this only made you dread what he was going to continue with.

”After he’d hit me…I’d go over to the mirror, just to see how bad it was. I’d tell myself it didn’t hurt, even if it did, I’d just lie to myself, because I knew if I cried, he’d just get angrier. He was always in the mood to beat me up so when he had a reason I think it made him feel justified in some…Messed up way.” Your chest tightened at his words, thinking about how scary it must’ve been for him, and how terrified he must’ve felt not knowing when his own father would strike. You didn’t speak right away, but you did shift, sliding your hand up higher on his chest, so you could press your palm flat over his heart. His shirt was soaked there too, yet beneath it all you could feel the frantic fluttering of his pulse, like a bird rattling against its cage.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, your breath tickling his neck again. He didn’t respond, though he didn’t recoil either.

“None of that should’ve ever happened to you,” You continued softly, brushing your thumb along the fabric against his heart, “You were a child, and you didn’t deserve that.” He let out a breath like he was trying not to begin sobbing again.

”You don’t have to say that.” You raised your head a bit, almost in disbelief that he truly thought that what happened to him was somehow okay or justified.

”I do, Bob.” You murmured, inching just a little closer, feeling your body screaming in protest as your injured shoulder moved the wrong way, causing you to hiss through your teeth. Bob noticed instantly.

”You’re hurting,” He said quietly with guilt sinking into every syllable.

”I really couldn’t give a crap about that right now Bob, trust me I’ve been through worse. You’re hurting right now too and I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand?” You replied back, your voice low, but lacking bite, not that you intended to have it sound stern or anything.

Bob shifted beneath your touch, slowly rolling onto his back like the weight of your words cracked something loose inside him. You adjusted carefully to give him space, keeping your injured shoulder angled away from the impact of his back pressing against your arm, even though the ache felt like white noise beneath the tension that was beginning to rise in the room. When he settled on his back you adjusted yourself so your chin rested against his chest, keeping your hand splayed in the same position over his heart.

His eyes didn’t find yours at first, they stared blankly at the ceiling, the soft glow of the city lights catching the shimmer of the tears that were still pooling in his eyes. Now that you could see him fully, you realized how bad things really were. His skin was blotchy, and flushed from how hot he was. His cheeks were stained with fresh tears, mixing with sweat that created this overall sheen on his skin in general, which made his hair cling to his forehead. A long, old kind of hurt settled over his face, the kind that hid quietly within the corners of a person.

He inhaled shakily, and every exhale got caught somewhere between exhaustion and restraint. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your chin, and it made you ache in a way that put a hole deep in your chest.

”Bob…” You murmured, barely louder than the sound of the city humming outside the window, “Look at me.” At first he didn’t move, keeping his eyes fixated on the ceiling, distant and confused, still taking in those short bursts of air. Your hand left his chest, bringing them up to his jaw, coaxing his attention with the lightest touch you could give him.

“Look at me Bob,” You whispered again.

Then slowly, his eyes shifted downward until they found yours. The moment his gaze landed on you, something cracked open between you both–it was quiet, and delicate, but present and grounded in the center of it all. His expression was drawn, and his lashes were clumpy and wet with tears, framing his shimmering blue irises.

The skin surrounding his eyes were raw, almost a blood red, like someone had scratched it and left their marks streaking down his flesh. You didn’t flinch away from it though, you just looked at him with such focus, like your gaze could settle the storm that was in him. You could see his lip tremble slightly under your gaze as he tried to hold himself still, tears brimming in his eyes again, threatening to spill.

”I hate remembering…I can’t stand it. I don’t want to remember this stuff…I don’t want to think about it anymore, and I don’t want you to associate me with being weak.” You raised your eyebrows, now raising your head up to you were looking at him a little better, resting your hand against his chin now.

”I don’t, ” You stated, watching a set of tears flow out of the corners of his eyes, swallowing loudly, “I don’t associate you with weakness.” You whispered, brushing your thumb along the smooth skin of his cheek.

”I associate you with patience…With overwhelming kindness, and with strength so deep it doesn’t even have to be displayed. You could burn the sky down…You could use all the pain inside you to destroy the planet…Yet you help, you listen, and you keep going. That’s not a weak person Bob.” You wiped one of the tears away with your thumb, feeling him hesitate before leaning into your touch.

“Y/N…I’m not right in the head…You don’t understand…You’ll never understand.” You shook your head, and sighed.

”I don’t have to understand everything to care about you,” Bob’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment, like the words that you said hit him like a truck. You could feel the tension in his jaw, as he clenched it tightly, trying to contain himself a bit.

“I used to think that if I could just bury everything deep enough maybe it wouldn’t make me feel so contaminated…But then when I got the serum…And The Void came…And that awfulness manifested into something bigger…I realized that it just wouldn’t go away. I’m dangerous Y/N…I’m not someone that can be fixed. I know you care, but I can’t risk hurting you.” You shifted closer to him, moving up slowly, dragging your chest along his. His eyes followed your movements, turning his head when you settled near his shoulder, feeling your hand leave his cheek.

“You don’t scare me Bob. You’re just saying this stuff because you think it’ll make me give up on you, but I’m not that easy to sway.” You whispered, reaching down to touch one of his hands, which caused him to flinch. He was already bracing himself, preparing to be pulled into one of your memories, but it didn’t happen…It was like…Things were quiet. Just pure emptiness, and the only thing he could see was you. He stared at you as you wrapped your fingers around his hand, seeing his brows draw together.

“H-How are you…Doing this?” He asked quietly, like he was afraid he was going to disturb the peace and get thrown into your mind out of nowhere.

”I locked it out.” He shook his head at you quickly.

”That’s impossible…It always gets in…” A small smile came up on your lips, hearing the disbelief in his voice, the way he was almost entirely taken aback by what you had just said. You leaned in a little closer to him, like you were going to tell him a secret, feeling his breath fanning over your face.

“Before I was recruited, I was part of a different team. Black-ops, kind of like what the X-Men used to be, but very much under the radar. It was just…Constant missions, we were a clean up crew basically, picking up the scraps that nobody else wanted…” You smiled faintly, the corner of your mouth twitching with the memories of your team, how close you all were, how none of you took crap from anyone…Similar to what you had now, just a little better because of the tether you all had between each other.

“We ran into a lot of people with gifts. Telepaths. Empaths…Stuff like that. Some didn’t even know they were projecting until it was too late. Others weaponized it. Pulled secrets out like stitches and drove people insane without ever touching them.”

Bob was still staring at you, eyes wide and brimming with tears, his chest rising beneath you in short bursts.

“It was mandatory,” You continued. “To train in mental shielding. Neural control. The discipline to lock down your own mind so tight it’s like a vault. We trained until our thoughts didn’t even echo. You learn to breathe around psychic pressure, to mask trauma with static, to reroute memories into dead space. You learn to feel someone reaching for you…And then cut the line.”

Bob swallowed hard, hearing the way you explained everything to him step by step, while still holding his hand, running your thumb over the back of it.

“I wasn’t trained to stop the Void,” You said gently, “But I was trained to stop something similar to it. And apparently, it’s just close enough.” You watched his lashes flutter like he didn’t know whether he was going to cry again or if he was just going to sink into the mattress and disappear entirely.

“…That’s why the mental noise isn’t so loud when we're alone in a room together…” He whispered under his breath, almost like everything was clicking in his mind, as his hand began to tighten around yours now, matching the same hold you had, “…Mental shielding…Who knew that would be the thing that makes everything go quiet.” You smirked at his comment, already hearing the tension in his voice wavering, feeling his breath sticking to your cheeks, shifting in front of him so your noses bumped slightly.

“Technically it’s still quite an experimental thing, but…It works when needed I think.” You can see his lip twitch slightly, drawing into his mouth just a little bit, as if he wanted to get a taste of your breath that coated it.

“It’s…Amazing.” Was all he could muster up to say, continuing to hold onto your hand tightly, like it was anchoring him to this quiet space in his head that he had not been able to reach since taking the serum. “…All I hear, and all I feel…Is you and I had no clue until now…” The sound of his voice made your spine tingle, and goosebumps raise on your skin.

It was shocking that moments ago he was this wreck, then suddenly it was like he was on top of the world. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been touched like this in so long, or maybe it was because he finally had a break from all the noise that kept draining him, you had no clue…But what you did know is how soft his eyes had become, and how deep his breaths were now that he was a little calmer, and not being treated like a threat of some kind.

You shifted again, getting almost unbearably close to him now, the fabric of the blanket sliding down slowly, exposing your clothed bodies to the silvery-blue light just a little more. Bob didn’t move, but his eyes never left yours, he kept every ounce of attention on you, waiting for your next action, hanging on every moment. His breath hitched when your knees bumped gently against his thigh, as the warmth of your bodies radiated like twin heartbeats pressed just barely apart.

Your noses were brushing against one another, and if you tilted your chin up by just a little bit, you’d be kissing.

”I’m glad I’ve been able to make it go quiet for you…Even if it’s not permanent.” A faint smile slowly appeared on his face–crooked, and trembling, but so genuine.

“It’s more peace than I thought I’d ever get…So thank you.” He replied back, his hand squeezing yours, not in desperation, but with something closer to awe, like he still couldn’t wrap his head around the situation that was happening in front of him. His breath brushed across your face as he watched your eyes roaming over his. You couldn’t help but stare at him, to take him in now that he wasn’t crying, to admire the person who was in front of you. It was hard not to lose track of time studying his features, and how they were just…Him.

There was a long pause between the both of you, a snippet of time suspended into the universe where nothing else existed beyond the narrow bed and the hum of the city beyond the window. His chest rose slowly, puffing out warm shallow breaths against your lips, and for a second it felt like he was hesitating on something…But then, he leaned in.

It wasn’t fast, or sweeping like he was trying to catch you off guard. It was careful, like every little millimeter he closed between the both of you was an offer for you to pull back, but you didn’t take it.

When his lips met yours, it was a soft, trembling brush of mouths that lingered more in intent than execution. He kissed like he was afraid you were somehow going to disappear, but you could feel how much he truly wanted this. His lips were warm, and slightly parted, and you could taste the faintness of tears and salt, still hesitating to go the full mile.

There was a moment where he was about to pull back, and that’s when you took the opportunity to fully lean into the kiss and throw logic out the window, just for this one cut of time

Your lips moved against his, answering the softness of his approach with something more certain and grounded. The taste of him was still there, but now it was amplified tenfold from how much more pressure you were placing on the kiss now.

He was stiff at first, the tension in his jaw made it evident, like he was unsure of what he was allowed to do, what he was okay to give back, or like he was bracing himself for the possibility of you pulling back before he could even try to meet you where you were at. But then your hand let go of his, and slid up to cup the side of his face, and he let out the smallest gasp of disbelief against your mouth. Your thumb brushed gently beneath his eye as your lips molded to the shape of his mouth with a tenderness that shattered whatever restrain he’d been holding onto.

Your arm shifted beneath the pillow, bending just enough so you could lace your fingers into his damp hair, pulling him in more with such grace that it made him groan. His hand moved to your neck then–his shaky fingers pressing softly just below your ear, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw as he located your pulse instantly. His touch wasn’t possessive, it was filled with care, and curiosity. He wanted to feel the warmth of your skin, the steady–or not so steady–rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his fingers, he craved to be closer to you, and every moment that passed was giving him the signal that you wanted that too.

He shifted gently, slowly turning onto his side without breaking the kiss, being cautious not to put anymore unwanted pressure on your arm beneath him as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in until your bodies were flush against one another. You could feel the dampness on your sweater from his shirt, and your bare legs brushing against the cotton of his sleep pants, which only overwhelmed you more, knowing it was going to be a challenge to stop this from going too far.

His hand splayed out on your back, twitching against the fabric that covered it as you parted your lips for him, allowing his tongue to brush against yours with the softest flicker of hesitation, tasting you like he was drinking something sacred. The breath he let out against your mouth made your skin prickle beneath your sweater, and it only encouraged your response.

You angled your mouth to his, encouraging him to continue, feeling him follow suit in an instant, matching your energy bit by bit, syncing with the way you moved against him. When your hand slid further into his hair, and curled within the damp strands, gently tugging, he let out the smallest, softest moan–it was so quiet and desperate it sounded like it had been buried within him for years. It made your head spin hearing it, and it only made you shift yourself towards him even more, feeling his thigh nudging between your legs so the both of you can completely mesh together. It was such a subtle move, but it lit up every nerve ending in your body like it was nothing.

Bob’s hand slid beneath the hem of your sweater, craving the feeling of your skin beneath his touch. His fingers traced the small of your spine, barely putting enough pressure on it, yet he still managed to send shivers through your body. He was getting bolder, but kept his awareness at the forefront, like he was cataloging every reaction you gave him, terrified that he might cross an invisible line and ruin the moment.

You felt the muscles in his arm shift as he pulled you even closer, putting more pressure between your bodies until you felt every rise and fall of his chest, and his heartbeat pulsed through you. His knee shifted again, nudging further between your thighs, pressing it gently into the thin cotton fabric that covered your most sensitive area, eliciting a gasp from you now. You could feel yourself falter control for a moment, moving your hips just a little to test the friction that you wanted, and that’s when you both realized just how far this could go–and how close you already were to getting there.

His hand tensed against your back, and the kiss slowed down, until he found the correct moment to pull back, just a few inches. His lips were still parted, only now they were swollen and wet with saliva. He was out of breath, and you mirrored the same sentiment, as the both of you tried to even your racing hearts before they exploded. His pupils were dilated, and in the dimmed lighting you could only see a faint glisten of blue that rimmed the darkness that took over, the burn was there, the want was there, but there was the looming fear that you both were going from zero to one hundred really quickly, and that’s when regrets could be made, and neither of you wanted that.

”…We can’t do this…” He whispered, his voice cracking from being the first one to speak. You nodded faintly, your fingers still toying with his hair, reluctant to let go completely, but understanding him.

”I know,” You murmured, “Not like this…Not tonight.” You clarified. He closed his eyes, a soft exhale brushing your lips as his fingers twitched against your pulse point on your neck again.

”It’s not that I don’t want to,” He added quietly, “God I do…You have no idea.”

“I know,” You said again, running your thumb along his cheek, soothing the skin there, “Me too…I want to as well…But we’re not ready. Especially after being in the headspace that you were in a few minutes ago.” He nodded slowly.

”I don’t want it to be something that will be confused for a moment of distraction.” You stared at him, hearing how serious he was about it, “And I don’t want to ruin anything.” He added softly, opening his eyes again to look at you.

”You’re not ruining anything, we’re just pressing pause…And that’s completely fine, and it’s the best decision to make for right now.” He gave a small, nervous smile at that and leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours, “We’ll talk more about it later…But for now how about we just relax hmm?” He let out a shaky breath, the heat from it hitting your lips and invading your mouth for just a split second.

”Yeah…I’d like that.” You smiled faintly, as your bodies untangled just a bit from one another, removing the both of you from the intimate position you had found yourself in moments before. His knee shifted out from between your legs, and rested against them instead, letting the tension unravel and disappear slowly.

He wrapped both arms around you now, carefully noting your injury, and you folded yourself into his chest, letting your hand rest on his ribs as he pulled the blanket up to shield the both of you.

You both stayed there, nose to nose, breath to breath, hearts beating unevenly against one another until sleep came over you like a harsh wave.

4K notes · View notes

danysdaughter · 14 days ago

Text

After Hours

pairing | au!bucky x teacher!reader

word count | 7.8k words

summary | when bucky barnes keeps showing up early to pick up his nephew from school, it’s definitely not just about being a good uncle—it’s about the sharp, no-nonsense kindergarten teacher who won’t give him the time of day. one desperate club night and a locked bathroom later, you finally do.

tags | (18+) MDNI, unprotected sex, p in v, semi-public sex, rough sex, oral sex (f!receiving), dominant!bucky, flirty!bucky, modern au, cocky!bucky, no-nonsense!reader, slow burn to smut, mutual pining, enemies to lovers-ish, no description of reader, BUT reader does have surname (racially ambiguous as always), ABBOTT ELEMENTARY CROSSOVER (this is fanfiction so I can do whatever I want)

a/n | this is filthy you guys, based on this request, and after reading this if you haven't I beg you to watch abbott elementary, literally rewatching for the fourth time, it's everything and changed my entire personality

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

“You do realize we’re ten minutes late, right?”

The voice came from the backseat—small, unimpressed, and filled with the kind of quiet disappointment usually reserved for tax season and slow Wi-Fi.

Bucky glanced at his rearview mirror and caught sight of his nephew, Danny, hair flattened oddly on one side from sleep, Superman backpack twice the size of his torso, and the most judgmental frown a five-year-old could possibly muster.

Bucky cleared his throat, shooting the kid his best reassuring grin. “Ten minutes is nothing, buddy. Trust me. Back in the day, I once showed up to basic training a whole hour late.”

Danny blinked. “Did you get yelled at?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Did you cry?”

“…No.”

Danny leaned back in his booster seat like a seasoned war general staring down a doomed campaign. “Ms. Lane’s gonna be mad.”

Bucky huffed a laugh as he pulled into the parking lot, spotting a scattering of parents still dropping kids off at the entrance. “Your teacher’s not gonna be upset you when I explain. You’re five. You’ve got diplomatic immunity.”

Danny shook his head slowly, solemnly.

“Not with me. You.”

Bucky paused mid-parallel-park, one hand still on the wheel, his brow furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Danny didn’t answer. Just stared straight ahead at the entrance to Abbott Elementary like it was the last checkpoint before war. Like he was waiting for the music from The Godfather to start playing.

“You’ll see,” he said simply, grabbing his backpack straps like they were armor.

Bucky frowned as he helped him out of the car. “What’s with the dramatics, huh? She gonna throw a book at me?”

Danny shrugged. “She’s just… Ms. Lane.”

And with that, the kid marched ahead like a tiny soldier into the building, leaving Bucky trailing behind, wondering what the hell kind of teacher scared a kindergartner more than a DC-level supervillain.

He was about to find out.

Bucky followed Danny down the hallway, trying not to feel like he was walking into a parent-teacher trap. It smelled like crayons, wet sneakers, and disillusionment.

A cluster of teachers loitered near the front office—one of them with an armful of broken rulers, one loudly arguing with a printer, and one sipping coffee with the grace of a woman who’d already survived decades of nonsense.

He made a beeline for her. Elegant, composed, a pearl necklace that said “respect me,” and an aura of calm he hadn’t felt since his last decent nap.

“Ms. Lane?” Bucky asked, offering a smile that had gotten him out of more than one parking ticket. “Sorry for the delay, I was doing my sister a favor—her son, Danny? He’s in your class.”

The woman blinked up at him, unimpressed. He could practically hear the mental pen clicking as she filed him under Oh no, not another one.

“I am Mrs. Howard,” she said, calmly correcting Bucky like he'd just misquoted Scripture. “Ms. Lane is the other kindergarten teacher.”

Bucky opened his mouth to apologize, but she wasn’t done.

“She’s just down the hall. Room 3B.” Then came the pause. The head tilt. The look.

“Young man…” She gave him a once-over. Not flirtatious. Not judgmental. Just quietly disappointed—like he'd shown up to church in jeans.

Bucky blinked. “Yes, ma’am?”

Mrs. Howard offered a solemn shake of her head. “Good luck.”

And with that, she turned and glided off, coffee in hand, already done with his entire existence.

Bucky stood in the hallway for a second, frowning. How bad could this Ms. Lane be? What, was she going to quiz him on phonics or glare him into a coma?

The door was already open a crack, but Bucky still knocked first, because that’s what you did when walking into enemy territory.

There was no chaos. No screeching. No glue sticks flying through the air. Which was immediately suspicious for a kindergarten class.

Instead, he stepped inside to find… silence.

Twenty tiny heads bent over worksheets like they were prepping for the SATs. Crayons moved in eerie unison. No one screamed. No one licked a desk. A kid in the back raised his hand quietly—quietly—to ask if he could use the bathroom.

That was his first warning.

Because when were kindergarteners ever quiet?

Bucky hesitated in the doorway, feeling like he’d just stumbled into enemy territory. What kind of boot camp were they running in here?

Danny nudged him forward, but Bucky’s attention was already drifting to the figure at the whiteboard across the room—spine straight, skirt fitted, heels clicking as you scrawled a date across the board with clean, efficient precision. You didn’t look up. You didn’t need to.

You radiated authority from thirty feet away.

He half-expected to see gray hair, maybe glasses on a chain. Strict. Sharp. The kind of teacher whose name gets spoken in terrified whispers on playgrounds.

Then you turned around.

And Bucky’s mouth dried up instantly.

You weren’t old. You weren’t scary. You were stunning. Not just pretty—gorgeous. The kind of beautiful that hits you like a left hook. And you didn’t smile when you saw him. Of course you didn’t.

You just turned, one brow raised, assessing him like a problem you were deciding whether to fix or eliminate.

Bucky cleared his throat, defaulting to his most practiced, most lethal move: the smile. The one that had gotten him out of bar fights, jury duty, and once, weirdly, an IKEA return policy.

“Hi. Sorry—I’m Bucky Barnes,” he said, stepping inside. “Danny’s uncle. Rebecca asked me to drop him off today. It’s my first time—”

“Kids are supposed to be in class by eight,” you interrupted, voice calm, level, and sharp enough to slice drywall. “It’s eight fifteen.”

Right. Okay.

The smile faltered just a fraction.

You crossed your arms, waiting, watching him like you were unimpressed by his entire bloodline.

Danny, standing a little behind Bucky now, mumbled, “Told you so.”

Bucky sighed and shot him a look before stepping forward a bit, trying again with a little more Sergeant, a little less smug.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, holding onto the edge of that smile. “That’s on me. My sister got called in early, and I didn’t realize traffic near the school was… a situation.” He gave a little shrug, trying to soften the blow. “It’s only fifteen minutes.”

One kid—front row, bowl cut, way too invested—visibly winced for him as you took a step closer to him. Bucky barely caught the movement before he felt the weight of your stare.

“Danny,” you said, never breaking eye contact with Bucky, “you can go take your seat.”

Danny didn’t hesitate. He made a beeline for his desk like he was escaping a hostage situation, never once glancing back at his uncle.

You turned your full attention on Bucky then, your eyes sweeping him head to toe in a single motion so dry, so thoroughly unimpressed, it made his spine straighten instinctively.

“Fifteen minutes,” you said, voice still perfectly pleasant, “is long enough for a child to lose their morning routine. It’s long enough to miss foundational learning, to feel behind before they’ve even started the day. It’s long enough to build a habit of dismissing responsibility.”

Bucky opened his mouth.

You didn’t stop.

“Fifteen minutes late to school turns into fifteen minutes late to interviews. Fifteen minutes late to jobs. Fifteen minutes late to life. That might not seem like much to you, Mr. Barnes, but to a five-year-old trying to learn structure in an unpredictable world? It matters.”

A low “oooh” rippled through the class like someone had just witnessed a verbal assassination.

You turned your head—just slightly—and every single one of them went silent like a switch had been flipped.

Then you turned back to Bucky with a smile so polished it might’ve passed for genuine, if not for the gleam in your eye that said this isn’t over, and you will remember me.

“Have a good day, Mr. Barnes.”

He blinked. “I—”

“Have a good day, Mr. Barnes.”

His mouth shut. His posture shifted. He nodded, respectful this time. “Of course.”

You turned back to the whiteboard without another word, already moving on like he was just a bump in your perfectly structured morning.

As Bucky stepped out of the classroom, he glanced back over his shoulder one last time.

The kids were still silent.

You were still terrifying.

And now?

You were stuck in his head.

From then on, Bucky made a small but strategic adjustment to his week.

He got Rebecca to agree—grudgingly, at first—to let him handle school drop-off twice a week and pick-up three times. It was about being involved. Showing up. Being a solid, male figure in Danny’s life. A steady one. That’s what he told himself. And his sister.

And sure, maybe it was also because Danny’s kindergarten teacher was the most infuriatingly magnetic person Bucky had ever met.

Ms. Lane.

You.

Every time he stepped into that classroom—on time, now, thank you very much—you were there. Clipboard in hand, spine like steel, eyes that didn’t blink when he smiled at you like he’d invented it.

You never giggled. Never blushed. Never let him get so much as a twitch of a lip curl when he dropped a line like, “Careful, you keep looking at me like that and people are gonna think we’re in a PTA scandal.”

Nothing.

You’d just stare at him, arch a brow, and hand him a paper that said ‘Parent Reading Night RSVP – Required.’

At one point, he was pretty sure you gave Janine more reaction for sneezing glitter.

And the worst part?

The kids loved you. Danny adored you. Sure, you also partially terrified them all, but you had their respect. Which meant Bucky couldn’t even pretend to resent the way you owned every room you walked into. He just had to lean in, play along, keep showing up, and try not to let it get to him when you ended every conversation with a clinical “Have a good day, Mr. Barnes,” like he was some stranger in a waiting room.

So he tried harder.

He wore better jackets.

When Becs didn't have the time, he made Danny’s lunches look like they were packed by Pinterest moms.

He learned all the traffic patterns around Abbott to avoid being even one minute late.

He even tried calling you “Ms. Lane” in that flirty voice he’d once used on girls outside jazz clubs in Brooklyn.

You looked up from your lesson plans, dead-eyed, and said, “Are you choking, or is that how you normally talk?”

You were unshakable.

Immovable.

He was in hell.

Beautiful, dry, completely-uninterested-in-him hell.

And he couldn’t stop coming back.

The door creaked open just as you were nodding along to whatever Janine was rambling about—something involving manifesting healthy communication with her plants or possibly something about moon phases and exes.

You barely suppressed a sigh. You liked Janine in small doses. She was enthusiastic. Kind. Chronically incapable of taking a hint. And lately, she’d made it her personal mission to turn your life into a rom-com, complete with imaginary “will-they-won’t-they” tension and way too much commentary.

“See, what I’m saying is, if he keeps showing up early, that’s basically a love confession. And if you weren’t so emotionally repressed—”

The door opened and he walked in.

Bucky Barnes strolled into your classroom like he owned a portion of the lease. Jacket unzipped, sleeves rolled, hair an intentional mess. He gave Janine a familiar nod and then locked his gaze on you like he always did—like you were the only person in the room.

He smiled. That easy, smirky, I-know-you-hate-this-but-maybe-you-don’t kind of smile.

“Ladies,” he greeted smoothly. “Miss Teagues. Ms. Lane.”

You didn’t look up from your clipboard. “You’re early.”

“Yeah, figured I’d show up before the bell, for once.” He leaned against the edge of a desk, far too casual. “I hear being punctual really impresses a certain someone.”

You deadpanned, “My class is in the library for story time. They won’t be back for another twenty minutes.”

He grinned. “Guess I’ll just have to entertain myself then.”

“God, you two are so adorable,” Janine burst out, hands clasped like she’d just walked in on a Hallmark movie climax. “The way you flirt—so classic enemies to lovers. It’s giving Pride and Prejudice. But like, modern. And in a school.”

You didn’t even blink.

“Janine. Leave.”

You looked at her. Just looked. One long, unimpressed, soul-shearing glance.

“Right. Right, right, right,” she mumbled, fumbling for her tote bag. “I have… bulletin board stuff. Laminating. Paper… science.”

She took two steps backward, then paused, giving Bucky the most exaggerated wink a human could physically perform.

You didn’t react. You were too tired.

She nodded like she was passing the torch of your romantic destiny and literally backed out of the classroom like Homer Simpson into a hedge.

The door clicked shut.

Bucky exhaled dramatically, like he’d just survived a natural disaster. “She’s like a human glitter bomb. No warning. No escape.”

You didn’t look up from your clipboard. “She’s enthusiastic. It’s exhausting.”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “So I guess that means I’m not your type either.”

“You’re not glittery.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, stepping closer, that damn smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth. “I sparkle a little.”

You glanced at him then��slowly, flatly.

“You always this persistent?” you asked, voice dry as ever.

He tilted his head, hands sliding into his jacket pockets like he had all the time in the world. “You always this impossible to impress?”

You shrugged, tapping your pen once against the clipboard before setting it down. “Only with people who try this hard.”

He gave a low whistle, grinning like you’d just scored a point in a game he didn’t mind losing. “Damn, but I bet if I said I was here for the stimulating curriculum and not to see you, you'd kick me out.”

“I’d consider it,” you said coolly. “But I’m invested in Danny’s education.”

“Ouch.”

He stepped a little closer again, but not too close. Like he was testing a line with his toe, just to see if you’d swat him back or finally step over it yourself.

“I ever make you laugh, Ms. Lane?” he asked, real curiosity under the velvet of the question.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you want a sticker if you do?”

His grin turned into something a little rougher. “I’d rather earn one of those gold stars I see on your discipline chart.”

You didn’t smile. Not quite. But there was a flicker in your eyes he caught anyway, and his grin deepened like he’d won something.

You turned back to your desk, flipping a folder open without looking at him again.

“You know,” he said, glancing around your empty classroom, “this is the quietest I’ve ever seen it. Kind of eerie. I was starting to think the kids were fake—like one of those training simulations.”

You gave a low, unimpressed hum. “If they were fake, they wouldn’t sneeze directly into my coffee when I’m not looking.”

He chuckled, eyeing your desk. “Is that why you’ve got three different mugs over there? Just in case?”

You didn't respond. But the faint upward curve of your mouth—blink-and-miss-it—was the closest he’d gotten to a laugh since the first day he met you.

It made something curl low in his stomach.

“I know I keep saying this, but I’m not just here to bug you,” Bucky said after a beat, his voice edging toward sincere despite the grin still playing at his mouth. “Danny likes it when I pick him up. Says it makes him feel cool when I show up.”

You looked up, just slightly. “He does like showing you off.”

Bucky’s smile softened, just a little. “Kid’s got good taste.”

Then his eyes slid back to you, the cocky glint returning. “Speaking of good taste—what are the odds I could convince you to grab coffee sometime?”

You gave him a long, slow blink. Not mean. Just… devastatingly neutral.

He added, “I’ll be on time. And I promise not to flirt with the barista.”

You opened your mouth—possibly to respond, possibly to destroy him—but before a single word could land, the bell rang.

Shrill. Loud. Unforgiving.

You sighed like the universe had interrupted you on purpose.

“Danny’ll be waiting for you outside the library,” you said, already picking up the clipboard again like this was over and done. “Probably trying to con the librarian into letting him borrow another comic book.”

Bucky hesitated. “So… is that a maybe on the coffee?”

You didn’t even look up. “It’s a ‘your nephew’s in the library.’”

He grinned, slow and crooked. “I’ll take that as a soft yes.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Take it however you want, Barnes. Just go get your kid.”

He turned toward the door, still smiling, still smug—but quieter now. And before stepping out, he glanced back one more time.

You were already back to your paperwork.

But you hadn’t said no.

Bucky was still smirking to himself as he stepped out of your classroom and into the hallway—clearly riding high off your non-answer like it was a personal victory.

And, as luck would have it, he walked directly into Principal Ava Coleman’s path.

She had sunglasses on indoors and a folder she clearly hadn’t opened all week tucked under one arm.

“Good afternoon,” he said politely, offering her a nod and a half-smile.

Ava turned so fast it was like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. “Oh it is now,” she said, eyes raking over him so blatantly Bucky actually paused mid-step.

She watched him until he rounded the corner, then turned on a heel and bee-lined straight for your classroom, heels clicking like trouble.

She leaned into your doorway with no regard for your personal space or your peace of mind.

You didn’t even look up as she strolled through your door, “Girl.”

You kept sorting worksheets. “Ava.”

She gave you a look like she just walked in on free tickets to a concert and front-row seats.

“Now that is the finest white man I’ve seen this whole year,” she said, plopping down into one of the tiny student chairs with zero grace and maximum chaos.

You glanced up, deadpan. “It’s March.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “I meant school year. Don’t try and be smart with me.”

You arched a brow. “Wasn’t trying.”

She pointed a perfectly manicured nail toward the door. “You better quit playing with that man’s heart before I mess around and pull rank.”

You blinked once. “I’m not playing with anything.”

Ava smirked. “Girl, please. You’ve got him showing up early on purpose. That man’s in here more than Gregory and he actually works here.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just gathered your things slowly, expression unreadable.

Then: “He’s annoying.”

Ava stood, smooth as silk. “Mm-hm. And yet he’s got you so annoyed you keep your lipstick fresh after lunch.”

You glanced at her, unimpressed.

“I’m just saying,” Ava continued, striding around the room like she owned it (she technically did, unfortunately), “if you don’t take him, I will. That man is gonna give me some fine, emotionally stable mixed babies.”

You looked at her. Just looked. Slightly disgusted, mostly exhausted.

“Ava. Seriously?”

“What?” she asked, clearly unbothered. “You’re the one over here acting like you don’t notice. Always so uptight, hair all sleeked back like you’re about to defend someone in court. Girl, this is a school.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Ava, what do you want?”

“I’m going out tonight,” she said, waving a perfectly manicured hand like this was some kind of decree. “Clubbing. Drinks. Vibes. You’re coming.”

You didn’t even flinch. “Absolutely not.”

She pointed. “You’re coming.”

“No.”

“I’m your boss. You’re forced to. It’s in your contract.”

“It’s really not.”

“Also,” she added, shrugging, “you’re the closest thing to an equal I’ve got in this place. So you’re coming for moral support.”

You finally looked up, full eye contact. “Ava. No.”

She pointed at you. “Nine o’clock. I’m texting you the address. Now go home, let your hair down and let your scalp breathe for once. Wear something that says ‘I’m open to bad decisions.’ Not ‘I’m about to read you your Miranda rights.’”

You opened your mouth to decline again, but she was already halfway down the hall, yelling something about “energy healing” and “pre-gaming with affirmations.”

You sighed.

Loudly.

“You gotta stop lookin’ like someone stole your dog,” Sam said, nudging his shoulder as they walked toward the club entrance. “You’re killin’ the vibe.”

Bucky shot him a look. “You dragged me out.”

“I’m saving your sad, one-woman-man life,” Sam said. “You need to remember other women exist, Buck. The world’s bigger than that kindergarten teacher who makes you sweat like you’re back in basic.”

Bucky sighed, scanning the line outside the club. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope.” Sam clapped him on the back. “C’mon. Maybe the actual girl of your dreams is in here.”

“Already found her.”

“You are so damn whipped, man,” Sam muttered.

Inside, the club was all neon glow and bass-heavy music. The air pulsed with energy and cheap cologne. Bucky kept his hands in his jacket pockets, jaw tense as Sam tried to steer him toward the bar.

And then he saw you.

You were standing near a tall cocktail table, back to him, dress hugging every curve like it was tailored by sin itself. That deep burgundy color against your skin, the sheer lace sleeves, the neckline that made his mouth go dry—fuck.

It was like the air got sucked right out of the building.

He stopped walking. Just… stopped.

Sam bumped into him. “What? Don’t tell me you already gave up—”

Bucky lifted a hand, pointing without looking away. “That’s her.”

Sam followed his gaze. “That’s Ms. Lane?”

Bucky nodded, dumbfounded. “Yeah.”

“She teaches kindergarten?”

“Yeah.”

Sam stared a moment longer. “I’ve never wanted to re-enroll in school so bad in my life.”

Bucky’s jaw worked. You hadn’t noticed him yet. You were talking to someone—smiling, even, which was a rare enough sight that it nearly took him out.

Then he saw who was beside you.

“Oh. Ava’s here too.”

Sam turned. “Who’s Ava?”

“The principal.”

Sam blinked. “You’re telling me the tall one with the long hair and wearing that is the principal?”

“Yep.”

“I’m calling Sarah,” Sam said, already reaching for his phone. “We’re transferring my nephews.”

Bucky didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on you—his teacher, his girl, his quiet obsession—laughing in a club with a dress that made his palms sweat. All those weeks of buttoned-up shirts and sarcastic dismissals, and now here you were, looking like a damn vision.

Sam nudged him. “You gonna stand there drooling or go say something?”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I think I’m in love.”

Sam rolled his eyes hard. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

But Bucky didn’t hear him. You’d turned just enough for your eyes to start sweeping the room, and the moment you looked in his direction—

He knew you saw him.

And he knew everything was about to change.

The club pulsed around you—sweaty, crowded, way too loud—and you were already regretting everything.

You weren’t the kind of woman who went out on Friday nights. You were the kind who wrote parent emails about glitter-related injuries and kept a drawer full of emergency dry-erase markers.

The kind who dodged PTA moms like landmines and maintained a firm no-nonsense reputation because the moment you didn’t, someone’s child would be climbing the bookshelf like it was Everest.

But here you were. Burgundy dress, heels too high, lip gloss too shiny, sipping on a drink that tasted vaguely like regret and melted candy.

Ava was beaming beside you, obviously thriving. “Now this is what I’m talking about,” she said, swaying to the music. “You, me, outfits that should be illegal. This is the energy we need.”

You took a sip, trying not to look like you wanted to crawl out of your own skin. “I already want to go home.”

“You always want to go home. You're, like, emotionally married to your couch.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but then Ava froze—gasped like someone had pulled the fire alarm—and grabbed your arm with enough force to startle you.

“Girl. Girl. You will not believe who just walked in right now.”

You frowned, confused. “What—”

“Look.”

You followed her eye line. The club suddenly felt ten degrees hotter.

Bucky Barnes stood at the entrance, taller than anyone else around him, leather jacket open over a dark henley, hair tousled, mouth set in that stupid half-smirk like he knew he didn’t belong there and didn’t care. His blue eyes scanned the crowd like he was looking for someone.

And then they landed on you.

Oh no.

No.

“This is not happening right now,” you muttered, nearly tripping over your own words. “I have got to get out of here.”

You turned, already strategizing your exit route, but Ava threw an arm out in front of you like she was stopping traffic.

“Girl, forget you. Look at that man’s fine ass friend.”

You blinked, turning your head just enough to catch him—Bucky’s friend. Broad shoulders. Clean-cut. Smiling already like he knew how this worked. His eyes were on Ava like she was a problem he was already planning to solve.

“Hell yes,” Ava said. “That’s my man. Manifested. Claimed.”

You were too busy trying to make your brain reboot. Because Bucky was still watching you. He hadn’t looked away once. Like you were the only person in the club. His mouth curved slightly. Not cocky. Not playful. Just… locked in. Sure.

And damn him—you felt it. That same heat in your chest you pretended didn’t exist every time he came to pick up Danny. Except now, there was no desk between you. No escape.

And then, the inevitable.

The two pairs drifted toward each other. Like planets colliding. Like destiny had a sick sense of humor.

It was Ava who broke the silence first.

“Hi,” she said to Bucky’s friend, offering a hand like she expected it to be kissed. “Ava Coleman. Principal. Administrator. Visionary. And I know you’re about to buy me a drink.”

Sam blinked once, clearly amused. “Sam Wilson. Nice to meet you, Ms. Visionary.”

“Mmhm. I know.” Ava looped her arm through his like it was nothing. “Let’s go, future Mr. Coleman.”

You turned, shocked. “Ava—”

She didn’t even glance back. “You’re on your own, counselor. Don’t mess this up.”

And with that, she strutted away with Sam trailing behind her, clearly both confused and deeply invested.

You turned back to find Bucky still standing there.

Still watching you.

And now it was just the two of you.

No classroom.

No clipboard.

No rules.

Just you. And him. And the truth you’d been ignoring.

He smiled.

And you suddenly couldn’t remember a single reason why you ever told yourself he wasn’t dangerous.

Bucky stood there for a second longer, drinking you in.

The lace sleeves. The curve of your waist. The neckline that made his brain stop working for a solid five seconds. It wasn’t just the dress—it was you in it. Out of your usual uniform. Out of your guarded shell. Still composed, but softer somehow. Looser.

“You look—” he started, voice low.

“Hot?” you cut in, arching an eyebrow, mouth twitching just enough to betray your awareness.

He laughed, quiet, head tipping slightly. “I was gonna say amazing. But hot works too.”

You rolled your eyes and took a slow sip of your drink to hide the way your pulse jumped.

Bucky stepped closer, just enough to speak without raising his voice. “I didn’t think you went to places like this.”

“I don’t. Ava dragged me.”

You glanced past him, where Ava was already leaned over the bar with Sam looking both impressed and slightly alarmed.

“And now she’s dragging him,” you murmured.

Bucky followed your gaze and let out a soft chuckle. “Should we check on them?”

“No,” you said instantly. “Let natural selection take its course.”

He grinned again—less smug this time. Quieter. More real. The kind of smile that said he’d missed seeing you. The kind that made your breath catch a little deeper than you wanted to admit.

You took another sip, letting the pause stretch, then tilted your head at him.

The music pounded around you. People brushed past. The lights shifted.

But it felt like everything stilled between you and him.

“I thought maybe, outside the classroom... you’d stop pretending I’m not getting to you.”

Your grip on your drink tightened slightly.

You didn’t look away.

You should have.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you held his gaze like it was a contest. Like you were daring him to blink first. Your chin stayed lifted, eyes steady, but something behind them flickered—just for a second.

Bucky saw it. That crack in your wall. And God help him, it made his pulse jackhammer in his throat.

You tilted your head slightly, that same biting calm in your voice. “You really think you’re getting to me?”

He stepped in closer, slow, careful—not touching you, but close enough that the heat rolled off him like static. “No,” he said. “I know I am.”

Your throat worked on a swallow you tried to hide, but Bucky clocked it.

You were still composed. Still wrapped in that hard-earned edge of professionalism, like even now, in heels and lace, you could throw a behavioral chart at him and end the whole thing.

But your body betrayed you.

The shift of your weight. The way your breath hitched when he looked at your mouth.

You didn’t push him away.

“You always this arrogant?” you asked, voice like silk-wrapped steel.

“Only when I’m right.”

You opened your mouth, probably to put him in his place again—but then the music shifted, a heavy, pulsing bass dropping in from the DJ booth. A sea of people moved on the dance floor, but the space between you and him felt small. Pressurized.

His eyes dipped to your lips, then back up.

“Dance with me,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

His smirk curled slowly. “You heard me.”

You scoffed, already shaking your head. “I don’t dance.”

“Sure you do. You just don’t want to with me.”

“Accurate.”

“But you will.” He leaned in, voice brushing the shell of your ear now. “Because I’m asking. And because for once, I don’t think you want to walk away.”

You hated how that made your stomach flip. Hated it even more when he held out a hand—not cocky, not smug. Just… waiting.

You stared at it.

Then at him.

Then, slowly, you slid your hand into his.

And that was all he needed.

Big win. Massive win.

He tugged you gently into the swell of bodies, his hand warm against yours, his other settling lightly on your waist. And when he pulled you close—closer than you’d ever let him stand before—you didn’t pull back.

You danced.

At first, stiff. Calculated. Like you were trying to make it not mean something.

But Bucky? He knew how to move. Knew how to guide without pushing, how to lean in just enough to make your head spin. Every time your hips brushed, every time his hand slipped an inch lower on your back, you felt it in your knees.

You hated him for being good at this.

You hated yourself more for liking it.

And when his lips brushed your ear again, breath hot and voice low, you barely heard the words over the music:

“Just admit it.”

You swallowed, refusing to answer.

He smiled against your skin.

He already knew.

You didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because something inside you snapped the second his breath touched your neck. And the next thing you knew, your fingers were gripping his wrist, dragging him behind you through the crowd with single-minded purpose. Not speaking. Not thinking. Just moving.

Bucky didn’t ask where you were going.

Didn’t need to.

He followed like a man being led to his own damn salvation.

You found the restroom near the back—single occupancy, thank God—and yanked the door open, pulling him in after you. The lock clicked behind you just as his mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t gentle.

There was no space for that anymore.

You kissed like you’d been waiting weeks to do it—months actually. All teeth and tongue and heat, his hands gripping your waist like he still couldn’t believe you were real. You pressed him back against the wall, palms flat on his chest, lips dragging along his jaw, biting at the curve of his neck just to feel him shudder.

His hands roamed—your waist, your hips, sliding lower, greedy, hungry, completely unrestrained. His mouth returned to yours, catching your gasp mid-kiss as he backed you against the sink now, one hand curling around the back of your neck, the other on your thigh, tugging it up around his waist.

“You sure?” he murmured against your mouth, breath ragged.

You answered by dragging his lower lip between your teeth.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

He kissed you harder.

Sloppier.

Desperate.

The kind of kiss that said he didn’t care about the lipstick smudging or the way your dress rode up or how his belt buckle knocked against the porcelain edge of the sink. It was all teeth and moans and hands gripping too tight.

Your fingers slid under his jacket, then his shirt, pushing it up, needing to feel skin—hot, firm, real. You ran your nails over his stomach and he groaned like it physically hurt to be touched that way.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he panted.

You gripped his belt, pulling his hips flush to yours. “You’ve got a pretty good idea what you’re doing to me too.”

He looked down at you like he was already wrecked—and still starving.

Like this wasn’t enough.

Like it was never going to be enough.

Then suddenly Bucky let out a breathless laugh, eyes darting around the cramped bathroom as he made sure to lock the door behind you. “In here? Really?”

You smirked, stepping backward until your back met the cool tile wall, the sink brushing your hip. “What?” you said, voice teasing, eyes locked on his. “You’ve never fucked in a public bathroom before?”

He tilted his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Have you?”

You shrugged, that slow, calculated way that always made him insane. “First time for everything.”

He stared at you for a beat, eyes dark and full of heat—then moved.

He was on you in a flash, hands braced on either side of your head, mouth finding yours again in a kiss that tasted like restraint snapping in half. It was messy, all tongue and teeth, lips crashing together.

Your hands threaded into his hair, tugging, nails scraping against his scalp as he kissed you harder, deeper, needier. His body pressed into yours, firm and unrelenting, and you gasped when you felt the hard line of his cock against your thigh.

Then he dropped.

Literally—dropped to his knees, palms dragging down your sides with reverence and greed.

“Bucky—”

“Shh,” he murmured, voice rough as his eyes flicked up to meet yours. “Let me.”

His hands pushed your dress up slowly, worshipfully, bunching the burgundy fabric around your hips. He hooked a finger into your panties, pulled them to the side, and let out a soft, guttural groan.

“Jesus Christ…”

Then he dove in.

His mouth pressed against your cunt like he was starving, tongue parting your folds with a groan that vibrated against you. You cried out—soft, sharp—your hands flying to his hair again as he started to lick, slow and purposeful. Long, wet strokes that made your knees go weak.

One hand clutched the sink for balance, the other fisted in his hair as he sucked your clit into his mouth, groaning like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted.

You bit your lip to keep quiet—pointless, really. Your hips bucked against his face and he held you there, arms locking around your thighs, face buried between your legs like he had no intention of coming up for air.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled, voice muffled as he licked deeper, tongue fucking into you before circling your clit again with maddening precision. “Been thinking about this since the first day I saw you.”

You choked on a gasp, head tipping back, the edge already building—too fast, too strong.

And he wasn’t stopping.

Not for anything.

Your grip tightened in his hair as Bucky’s tongue dragged a slow, torturous circle around your clit, only to suck it between his lips with a low, obscene groan that vibrated through your entire body.

“Fuck—” you gasped, breath hitching as your thighs threatened to close around his head.

He wasn’t having it.

His left hand braced against your hip, holding you open, steady, while his right slid up your thigh—palm rough, fingers sure—until he reached your slit. One thick finger slipped inside, slow, dragging along your walls as he moaned like he felt it too.

“You’re so tight,” he breathed against your cunt. “So wet for me. This pretty pussy’s been waiting for me, huh?”

You shuddered, jaw slack, hips rolling down onto his face and hand like your body knew exactly what it needed. He pumped the finger slowly, deliberately, curling just right to make your knees buckle. Then he added a second—stretching you, filling you—and the heat in your belly twisted hard.

“Oh my god—Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to watch your face as his fingers curled deep inside you. “Let me hear you, baby.”

His mouth returned to your clit, licking in messy, desperate circles while his fingers fucked into you faster—his rhythm syncing perfectly with your shaking body. Every thrust hit that spot inside you with aching precision, your thighs trembling as your moans broke free.

You weren’t composed now.

You weren’t silent.

You were his, unraveling in his mouth, pulsing around his fingers, the world narrowing to the slick sounds of your body and the obscene groans he made as he devoured you like it was his last meal.

“I could do this all night,” he panted, fingers curling hard as your hips jerked. “You gonna come for me? Gonna soak my fuckin’ fingers?”

You couldn’t even form words—only nod, only whimper, only clutch at his hair and the edge of the sink like you might float away if you let go.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he growled, tongue flicking your clit fast and filthy now, fingers pounding into you. “Come on my face.”

Your body clenched, the pressure snapping like a whip crack—your orgasm crashing over you so hard you cried out, hips shaking, thighs locked tight around his head. He groaned, licking you through it, fingers still working you until you were whining, pushing weakly at his shoulder.

He finally pulled back, mouth and chin glistening, chest heaving.

He looked wrecked.

And proud.

Bucky stood, chest rising hard, his jaw clenched like he was fighting off every urge he’d ever had. His mouth was slick with you, his fingers still glistening, and he looked down at you like you were the only thing tethering him to sanity.

Then he cursed.

“Shit—” he growled, hand dragging down his face. “I don't have a condom.”

You blinked, still breathless, still shaking.

Then you reached for his belt.

You pulled him close with both hands, grabbed his face, and kissed him hard—tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting yourself all over him.

He groaned, loud and broken, his hands flying to your waist, gripping tight.

“I’m on birth control,” you panted against his lips. “It’s fine.”

He froze for half a second.

Then everything snapped.

He spun you around, bent you over the sink, and shoved your dress up around your waist again with a growl that sounded like it was ripped from his chest.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this,” he muttered, dragging his pants down just enough to free himself—his cock hard, thick, flushed at the tip.

You looked at him over your shoulder, eyes dark, daring. “Then take it.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed your hip with one hand, the other guiding himself to your soaked entrance. He groaned when he felt how wet you still were, and then he thrust in—hard, deep, one sharp movement that made both of you cry out.

“Jesus—” he bit out, buried to the hilt inside you.

You gasped, your hands bracing against the sink, your head dropping between your arms as he pulled back and slammed into you again, rougher this time, like all the control he’d been clinging to shattered in one thrust.

His grip on your hips was bruising.

His rhythm? Relentless.

“Look at you,” he gritted, hips snapping into you again and again, cock dragging perfectly over your walls. “All that attitude. All that sass. And now you’re fucking dripping for me.”

You moaned, arching your back, pushing back onto him. “Shut up and fuck me.”

That did it.

He pounded into you, deep and rough, grunting with every thrust, each one sharper than the last. Your hands scrambled for grip, one of your heels slipping as he rutted into you like he was trying to claim you, pull every sound out of your throat that you’d refused to give him in daylight.

“Been thinking about this since the first time you called me Barnes like it was a threat,” he growled, one hand fisting in your hair to pull your head back. “And now you’re letting me fuck you in a goddamn club bathroom?”

You gasped, eyes fluttering. “Shut up.”

He fucked you harder.

“You love this,” he growled in your ear. “You love the way I feel inside you. Admit it.”

Your nails scraped the porcelain.

He yanked you upright against his chest, his cock still buried inside you, pounding you with punishing, perfect rhythm.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice ragged. “Say you wanted this.”

You moaned, nearly sobbed. “I—fuck—I wanted this—”

He groaned, low and guttural, lips dragging over your shoulder and hand drifting to your neck.

His hand on your throat wasn’t choking—just holding. Just claiming. His mouth was at your ear, breath hot, voice wrecked. You were bent over the sink but upright now, your chest flush to his, and your eyes—

He made sure they were on the mirror.

“Look,” Bucky growled, fucking into you hard enough to make the sink creak. “Look what I’m doing to you.”

Your gaze caught the reflection—and fuck, it was obscene. Your lips parted, cheeks flushed, sweat-damp hair clinging to your temples. His broad chest against your back, one hand gripping your hip, the other still around your throat like he was holding you steady so you couldn’t escape how good it felt.

Every thrust slammed into you from behind, deep and fast, his cock stretching you wide, hitting that perfect spot over and over until your legs were shaking.

You whimpered, unable to hold back anymore.

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Let me hear you. No classroom. No clipboard. Just you. And me.”

Your head tipped back onto his shoulder as his thrusts grew rougher, deeper, fucking you in front of the mirror like he wanted you to remember this—to see exactly what he turned you into.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he panted. “So fuckin’ tight. You gonna come for me?”

You moaned, body tensing, orgasm coiling hard in your belly, your thighs trembling, the pressure too much.

His fingers moved down your stomach, finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles as he slammed into you.

“Come for me,” he growled into your ear. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

You shattered.

It was sharp, messy, loud—your cry bouncing off the bathroom walls as your pussy clenched around him, body locking up, hips jerking uncontrollably. You came so hard you saw white, barely able to hold yourself up as your orgasm rolled over you in crashing waves.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Bucky grunted, and then he lost it.

His rhythm stuttered, a broken gasp tearing from his throat as he buried himself deep one last time and came inside you, hips jerking, breath ragged against your neck.

He held you tight, forehead pressed to your shoulder, still inside you, both of you shaking and panting, sweat-slicked and spent.

The mirror caught everything.

Two people undone.

Two people who couldn’t take it back.

And neither of you wanted to.

The room was quiet now, save for your breathing and the soft hum of music bleeding through the walls.

You blinked slowly at the mirror, still bent over the sink, your hair mussed, dress bunched around your hips, Bucky’s body heavy and warm behind you. He was still buried inside you, both of you barely recovered.

He exhaled, lips brushing your shoulder, then your neck. “Well, damn.”

You let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh if you weren’t still coming down from the best orgasm of your life.

He finally pulled out with a low groan, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he did, and then helped smooth your dress back down over your thighs. His touch lingered just a second too long, like he wasn’t ready to let go of you just yet.

You straightened, turned slowly to face him, your expression mostly neutral—but your eyes were warmer than before. He saw it. He always did.

Bucky leaned back against the sink beside you, tucking himself back into his jeans with practiced ease, still watching you with that lazy post-orgasm smirk.

“So,” he said, running a hand through his hair, still slightly breathless. “Now that we’ve gotten the hard part out of the way…”

You arched a brow, lips twitching. “That was the hard part?”

He grinned. “Figuratively. And literally.”

You rolled your eyes, turning to check yourself in the mirror. Your lipstick was gone. Your cheeks were flushed. Your neck had the faint outline of his stubble. You looked exactly how you felt: fucked out and dangerously close to letting him in.

You dabbed at your collarbone with a paper towel.

He watched you quietly for a second, then said, softer now, “Come on, baby. Just one date.”

You froze.

He didn’t miss it.

“One date,” he said again, stepping a little closer, voice still low. “Not the club. Not the classroom. Just you and me. Dinner. Or drinks. Hell, coffee if that’s all I get.”

You looked at him, really looked.

He was flushed, eyes bright, hopeful in a way he hadn’t been in weeks. There was something real behind that smirk now. Something open. Unprotected.

You should’ve shut him down.

Should’ve said something cold. Dismissive.

But instead, you leaned in—kissed him, slow this time, less teeth, more tongue. Just a whisper of what could happen again if you said yes.

When you pulled back, your lips barely brushed his.

“You’re gonna regret asking me out, Mr. Barnes.”

He grinned.

“Not a chance, Ms. Lane.”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #james bucky buchanan barnes

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symbiomancy · 4 months ago

Text

scientific curiosity —frankenstein's monster

—summary: You created him. You patched him together from pieces of humans and beasts - lost your license to practice medicine and your PhD for that. He should not look at you and lust. But he does. | 1.8k | AO3 | monster masterlist

—warnings: monster x human, monsterfucking, handjob, implied mating cycle/heat, thigh fucking, rutting.

The creature has an affinity for music. That fact is not even near the most fascinating thing you’ve discovered about him, but it is a very pleasant one. He taps the keys of the piano with grace, despite his size. Mozart today, huh?

“Your motor skills are improving at an incredible rate,” you say more to yourself as you scribble furiously into your notebook. The creature voices a grunt of approval as he stares at the sheet music propped up in front of him. Mentally, you pat yourself on the back for selecting such a fine brain.

You cannot deny his improvement at everything, really. He’d graduated from picture books to children’s books within two days, to classical novels and medical books within a week. Getting him acclimated to his size had been a challenge at first but it has been leaps and bounds from those days. Writing, string instruments, key instruments, all of it, a truly incredible progress. There’s only a handful of things you’ve yet to ask.

“Any sexual desire?”

His fingers stumble on the keys.

You whip around, one arm slung over the back of the chair and push so the legs screech loudly against the wooden floor. There’s a grin on your face, pen in a death grip in your hand. “Care to elaborate?” You blindly reach for the notebook still on the table, eyes fixed on his large frame, at the way he hunches over, staring firmly at the sheet music.

“No.”

“Well, it is fall,” you muse, raise your elbow to lean it against the chair backrest, pen tapping against your bottom lip. “And I did have to supplement some parts for beast parts.”

“Hadn’t even noticed.” He thumps a foot against the ground. Griffin’s hind legs. Could’ve used the wings but taking too much from one body would’ve created too much suspicion.

“I really thought a vampire’s hand would, y’know react to warm blood — a mistake on my part, I’ll admit it. But,” your grin widens even further, “fascinating how a werewolf’s knot is still a knot even if you cut it off. Does the full moon affect it in any way?”

Your creation glares at you from across the room.

“What? Scientific curiosity.”

“You had your PhD and medical license revoked for…” he takes a deep breath and takes his hands from the piano keys to motion to himself, “me.” There’s a hint of something in his tone, something that borders on disgust. You file that away to discuss at a later time. “It’s why we’re out here. Hiding.”

“There are worse reasons to lose a doctorate for. And I was a scientist while creating you. So, scientist. Now, answer my question, please?”

The creature gently pulls down the key lid on the piano, stands, and wordlessly leaves the room.

He doesn’t come down for dinner.

You stare at the vacant seat on the other side of the dinner table with a frown. His plating is untouched, steam rising from the potato stew where he usually sits. There is no creaking in the house, nothing to signal he’s coming down. You eat alone and place his meal into the still-warm oven.

His door is closed. You stand there for a while, mulling over your words, trying to string together an apology. Should you wax something long together? An explanation? Run-on sentences to try to justify your innate curiosity at your creation’s physiological state? Nothing sounds right. Nothing sounds like enough.

“I’m sorry… for asking like that. I got carried away. It wasn’t proper of me. There’s um,” you clear your throat, “I left your plate in the oven. Heat it up if you get hungry. Good night.”

You stand at the door for another prolonged moment, trying to catch any sound on the other side of the door. It’s faint, barely there, but you can make out his breathing, slow and steady. At least he’s still here. But you decide not to test your luck any further tonight and retreat to your own room, leaving the door slightly ajar. It doesn’t fit into the frame quite correctly, anyway.

Maybe he’ll at least go downstairs for dinner later.

He stands in front of your door, staring at the small sliver of moonlight that pours into the dark hallway. There are too many loud thoughts in his head, racing and colliding. His skin feels ill-fitting, a heat simmering underneath it. You ask too many questions, he thinks — has thought since he left you in the study alone to hide away in his room with the blinds drawn and his cock in hand — too many questions that prod all the right places.

It’s in your nature. You were a scientist. And a doctor with an intricate web of knowledge about the human (and creature) body. He shouldn’t fault you for asking.

While you were downstairs eating dinner alone, he had his cock in hand — not a wholly new experience but a new-ish one — stroking it over the low bathroom sink. He’d tried, tried thinking of other things but nearly all of his experiences are tied to you and your presence. So he keeps coming back to you. Your pretty face, your smile, the light in your eyes when you ask him about his body, his psyche to scribble into your umpteenth notebook all about him.

Even now with his pants undone, cock hanging out, already (or still) hard, he thinks of you. He stares at you through the crack in the door, soundly asleep in your bed. The covers are tucked tightly over your body but legs exposed to the fall chill. It’s not right, he thinks, he should at least tuck you in before you get a cold.

He pushes the door open slowly. It creaks a short, aborted squeak and you shift in bed, pull the blanket tighter against yourself. The creature steps forward, carefully placed footfalls dancing around the one creaking floorboard right at the entrance, long slow strides taking him to the foot of your bed. You shuffle again, and for a moment he thinks this is it, you’re awake, but you turn onto your back, kick at the blanket with one foot.

You are… enticing like this, he finds. He thinks that’s what this feeling is. All he has to compare it to is the novels he’s read over and over and over again.

He grabs onto your ankles with his warm hand, touch featherlight, and gently, slowly, pulls you forward. The end of your nightgown catches against the sheets, drags further up the closer you get to him. He has the anatomical knowledge of the human body — he’s read every book in the house several times over no matter if fiction or an anatomy book, he’s effectively memorized all the illustrations, if not the texts themselves.

His fingers trace the expanse of your skin, gently knead into the flesh. He can name the muscles and the tendons, the nerves at the crook of your knee. He’s spent countless hours staring at the illustrations, even the more… explicit ones. He’s curious — you’ve rubbed off on him — but it’s dark. Instead, he stares at the gap between your thighs. It’s inviting, just perfect for him to slip his cock through. It jerks at the thought, precum dribbling from the tip.

You blink slowly. The room is dark, save for the moonlight filtering in through the window above your head. In front of you, right at the foot of the bed stands a tall figure, hand wrapped around your ankles, resting against his shoulder. Your brain jogs the existence of your creation before you startle involuntarily. He startles too, nearly dropping his grip on your ankles.

“Everything alright?” You ask. The fall chill bites at your thighs and oh.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing his body against the back of your legs. Something hot and heavy, wet presses between your thighs. The tip of his cock presses between your thighs, forward and backward. Slowly, like he’s testing the waters. You stare at it for a moment, then press your thighs together.

The creature groans and thrusts forward, hips assuming a sloppy pace. He’s tall and wide and big and that’s how you built him. The bed rocks with his thrusts, the headboard banging against the wall, scraping at the paint. His cock plunges between your things, smears precum onto your skin, slick and wet and loud. The sound of his cock plunging between your slick thighs is nearly deafening in the silent house. Your own arousal curls under your skin but you file it away to stare at him.

This… this is not what you had in mind when you first came up with this (quite possibly very stupid, very illegal, medically and scientifically (not to mention ethically) dubious) idea. It cost you your license and your reputation, sent you into exile. You don’t regret it on the worst of days but especially not right now.

His cold hand wraps nearly wholly around your thigh and you clench around his cock involuntarily. Your muscles jerk from the sudden chill. He groans and his hips stutter for a moment, stumble in their sloppy rhythm before he regains whatever shred of his composure is left and continues thrusting. The bulb at the bottom of his shaft is engorged, knocking against your clit with every thrust. You can’t even focus on that, just on the beads of precum dribbling from the tip of his cock, smearing against your thighs as he pulls nearly all the way back. When he thrusts towards you, pearly droplets fly, splatter against your wrinkled nightgown.

He pulls you into him, hips slamming against your thighs. The metal bed frame screeches at something, you can’t even react as he thrusts forward one last time. He cums with a guttural growl that reverberates in your own chest, thighs pressing against yours, hips jerking forward. Ropes of hot cum shoot from his cock, land on your torso. You reach out, wrap a hand around the enormous cock to jerk him off, prolong his orgasm, milk him for everything he has to offer. There’s a hiss from the back of his throat as you work him empty, splattering onto your stomach and chest, even your chin. It’s warm and sticky and it sinks into your cotton nightgown, clings to your skin.

His breathing is erratic once his large frame stops shaking. His chest expands and constricts against your legs, nails digging small crescents into your ankles. Your toes are cold from the forced position.

You reach down to the puddle of cum pooling on your stomach and draw a heart into it with a small giggle.

The creature looks up from his mess tentatively, brow furrowed and lips jutted into a hopeful smile.

“You’re not mad?”

“I’ll have you know I picked out every part of you according to my personal preferences.”

banners/dividers by @/cafekitsune

#monster x reader #monster x you #monster x human #monster imagine #monsterfucker #monster fucker #teratophillia #monster boyfriend #monster smut #terat0philliac #terato

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remxedmoon · 5 months ago

Text

your friends don’t know what to do.

so!! i redrew every single enemy in the game. in the span of like 9 days (excluding the king i made him right after the last update). that’s abbbout 79* drawings total, with only 3 custom ones for once!! i’m so normal. as always, these are free to use with credit!! go nuts!! spritesheets are included <3

got some notes under the cut, along with As Many Enemies As I Could Fit without making this post obnoxiously long. and i failed. i had to swap between the app and browser several times and i still couldn’t fit every drawing. open this post at your own risk (silly).

okay so first of all. what’s with the asterisk. well. I Drew A Lot More Than 79 Assets Actually. they’re getting posted separately, because this post is ABSURDLY long. you can find most of them in the miscellaneous folder, but for a bit of clarity, i added the teleport map and a bunch of ui elements that reference sprites from the icon sheet. and also the game over and loop back animations but i haven’t finished the spritesheets for those because they’re a pain in the ass so they’re not in the drive yet

if you missed my complaining a few days ago, a few enemies might look a bit crunchy in the actual game? specifically, calamité and désespoir were drawn at the wrong size, because their images in the files do not match the spritesheets! i avoided the issue with most of the other enemies, those two just blindsided me. sorry about that!

^sadnesses having inconsistent designs was actually a running theme with these. détresse rock has an unused design in the files (which i managed to catch before having to redo it thankfully), anxiété has extra spikes that don’t appear on the spritesheet (sorry i was too lazy to fix that one), even the version of the friend rescue in the files doesn’t match any of the frames in the spritesheet. hfjfhfj. sorry about the quality issues.

tangentially related to that, massive thank you to @riggedbones for grabbing the individual frames for the animations for me!! they made my life so much easier. vs friends would’ve been so annoying…

speaking of the animations! hi can you tell i’m not an animator. these were my first time doing Anything animation related since, like, middle school. super sorry for the Jank in some of these! the friend rescue looked way better when i drew it 💔💔.

bourdon’s hands also might act a bit odd, my apologies. the sizing ingame is SUPER inconsistent (why is one of the hands SMALLER than the other????). once i’m able to actually test the mod, i’ll try to fix it wauaua.

the 3 custom sprites are for the triplets! i ended up making two versions for each, one that follows the ingame art, and one with my personal designs for them. i like my own designs for them, but they’re a lot easier to tell apart? so if you want to use the ones that fit the gimmick better, they’re also in the drive 👍

this update. was originally going to have way more custom art. i’ve actually got an act 6 siffrin enemy asset in my art program! but school started and i decided it’d be better to just get the normal stuff done. so the mod can actually come out in a reasonable timeframe. promise that’ll all come out Later! sorry about the wait 😓😓😓

also adding this because i almost forgot: no i don’t know if these are compatible with sasasaap. i don’t have the game still and it’s not my main priority atm, apologies!

okay! that was a lot! and there’s a ton of art down here! thank you for reading all this, i’ll be back with the game over animations and teleport map pretty soon! like. within the weekend. enjoy!!!

#marshdoodles #isat #in stars and time #isat spoilers #isat redraw project #LORD. SORRY THIS IS SO LONG #there was no way i could’ve fit these into 10 images.#anyways. some of these are just traces. because i couldn’t really do much without changing their designs and potential fucking some stuff up #sorry about that!#im not sure how much people are going to be bothered by that but hey! might as well be transparent #fun fact i made an entire mockup for the vs friends art. i was going to use it as the header for this post buut #i didn’t really like how it turned out. sad!#anyways. ill stop talking now lol. again. apologies for the long post

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reidrum · 1 year ago

Text

like i would | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

a/n: ok im gonna be honest idk how i feel about this one, i just wanted to finish it and put it out so apologies in advance if its not the best lol. this was requested with the prompt "i bet he can't fuck you like i can"! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated ! thanks for being paitent while i got this one out <3

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, munch!spencer, jealous!spencer, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you whack it), reader's bf has a name which i hate in fics but its so hard to write this trope without a name so, afab!reader,

summary: a confession about your sex life makes it's way to the one person you'd hope wouldn't hear, and now he's determined to rectify the way you've been wronged

wc: 4.5k

_____________

you were a great asset to the bau. it was why you were personally recommended by emily to transfer out of sex crimes, the skill set you brought alongside the field training you had proved to be vital for the team’s success lately. you were also a great asset to the team. the bau was notorious for having people turnover fast, and you knew they were apprehensive with newcomers. but you managed to hit it off with every single member, one more than others.

spencer reid did not expect someone like you to join the team. not that he didn’t have faith in your talents and skills, he’s read your file and obviously knows you’re more than qualified to be here. he just did not expect someone who looked like you to join the team, someone who didn’t look beaten down by the horrors of the world and still believed in pots of gold at the end of rainbows.

it didn’t help that you were so beautiful he literally would feel his heart ache when you walked in. like literally, would have to rub his chest to soothe the pain. and as spencer would, he would logic out his feelings with science because that’s all they are, scientific chemical reactions in the body. but what he felt in your friendship, what he felt when he was lucky enough to be in your presence, was something no textbook, theorem, or equation could explain.

so imagine the size of the fucking hammer coming down on his head when he finds out you have a boyfriend who: 1. is not him, and 2. is an actual real life bozo.

apparently you’d been seeing damon from organized crime for about a month now, that’s what he heard from penelope, and you ‘claim’ to be super happy.

spencer doesn’t buy it.

he’s seen the way your ‘relationship’ operates, and he’s got the facts to back it up. damon never lets you get a word in when you’re in group settings, even purposefully talking over you when you’re clearly attempting to speak. majority of the time he’s condescending about your job as a profiler for the bau, saying that him and his team bring down drug rings, but you guys ‘just read their horoscope or whatever and decide the killer.’

it made spencer’s blood boil hotter than the sun. he couldn’t figure out why you put up with it, and why you continue to.

the final straw that broke the camel's back about his disapproval on your relationship choices, is what he overheard on the jet one time on the way back from a case.

the girls were talking in the back of the jet, unaware of spencer’s very awake mind despite his visibly sleeping body.

“i don’t know guys,” you had started with a sigh, “you think it’s weird right?”

“that your own boyfriend won’t go down on you? yeah hon, that’s fucking weird.” emily strikes.

“what did he say exactly?” jj asked.

“he said it increases the risk of STIs on the mouth? and doesn’t like the feeling of thighs crushing his head? and that even with all the … grooming … it’s still unnatural ?”

emily gagged while jj continued, “um…but do you like…on him?”

“yes! he literally won’t touch me unless i do!” you rage whisper.

“i am about to give him an organized crime to deal with,” emily half jokes, “what an asshole, why are you still with him?”

“i don’t know, he’s still nice to me i guess, and maybe i’m just being dramatic. or maybe i’m just not someone people go down on, who knows.” you sigh.

spencer stops listening, he can’t hear you talk so poorly of yourself. not when it’s so far from the truth yet you’ve been indoctrinated to think it’s accurate. how anyone could take advantage of you like that is beyond him, but it did light a fire inside of him and made him determined to help you realize you deserve so much better. if that happens to be him, then who is he to fight that?

—

spencer doesn’t get his chance to prove it to you for another two weeks, when you’d come over to his apartment for a movie night after getting in a fight with damon, your date night being canceled and leading you to spencer’s doorsteps, all dolled up with tears lining your eyes asking to come in.

he doesn’t even have time to be mad at your shithole boyfriend when he’s ushering you inside, offering you to sit on the couch while he goes and put a kettle on the stove for tea.

“i’m really sorry to just show up like this, spence.”

he doesn’t even blink before calling out from the kitchen, “don’t apologize, i’m always here for you. anytime and anywhere.”

you give him a soft smile before returning your gaze to the soft glow of doctor who.

he returns cradling two mugs in one hand and a pack of haribo gummies in the other. spencer doesn’t care for gummies, he’s more of a chocolate guy, but he knows it’s your favorite. so he makes sure to keep a couple bags in his apartment for you.

“my favorite!” you gush. his heart warms at your smile as he sits next to you on the couch. you naturally gravitate towards him to lean your head on his shoulder, and it’s automatic for spencer to wrap an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer.

the whirs and whooshes of the tardis fill the silence for the next hour as you visibly become calmer than when you first arrived. he decides this is a good time to ask, “do you want to talk about it?” as he turns his head to look at you.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly popping another gummy in, “i’m starting to believe it's just a me problem. like, maybe i’m just objectively not a great partner, and that’s why we keep getting in these fights. you know this time, he said i’m not worth all the effort and stress i bring him and that because of me he’s gonna bald at 29? i’m not a scientist like you or anything but even i know that, at least, can’t be my fault.” you end with a chuckle.

spencer knows he should probably comfort you in this time of honesty you’ve graced him with, squash your insecurities like a pesky bug on the windshield, and tell you how beautiful you are in as many words it’ll take for you to believe it (and he knows a lot of words).

but right now? he’s just fucking pissed.

not at you, never at you. at your situation, yes. at that sorry excuse of a partner let alone agent, immensely.

so he can’t help what escapes his mouth next, “why do you let yourself get treated like shit?”

you look up at him in surprise, at both the cursing and what he said, “what?”

“you’re constantly talking about how awful he treats you, and yet everyday you still go back to him knowing it’s going to repeat the next day. i just want to know why you don’t respect yourself enough to not let that happen to you.”

pulling away to sit far from him on the couch, you start letting the annoyance show on your face, “spencer, that’s not fair at all. you think it’s my fault? do you really think i want to feel like this?”

“yes!” he shouts, “you seem like you do with how much you crawl back to him everytime, and everytime you let him back in.”

“okay, i think i should go,” you stand up and grab your things, “it was a mistake to come here, goodbye spencer.”

he grabs your wrist before you can get too far, “i just have to know, what is it?”

“what’s what spence, let me go.”

“what keeps you going back to him, it can’t be because you love him. it’s obviously not because you’re happy with him,” he lets out.

“you don’t know anything about me or my life, spencer!” you snatch away your arm and start heading towards the door.

“it’s definitely not because the sex is good, because i know it’s not.”

any emotion you had on your face wipes away like an etch a sketch, staring blankly at the door, hearing the man you’ve harbored a crush on since you started at the bureau years ago, telling you he knows your sex life is abysmal.

your voice comes out small, “h- how would you know that?” you don’t dare to turn around, knowing that if you did any resolve you held onto, any denial of emotions you’ve stripped from yourself would come pouring out like a broken dam.

the couch groans at a loss of weight, and the floorboards creak closer and closer to you.

“i heard you, on the jet.”

you’re especially glad he can’t see the blood draining from your face. if your heart already wasn’t at your feet, it’s most likely six feet under at this point.

he heard you?

“when you were talking with the others about how he doesn’t reciprocate, and won’t sleep with you unless you get him off.” he continues.

the room is getting hotter by the millisecond, temperature about to be comparable to the sun’s core. it’s one thing to have just anyone hear the intimate details of your life, but spencer? the man to which you’d been using damon to get over?

the only sound that can be heard is your increasingly heavy breathing, and spencer feels like he’s caught a fish on his line and is ready to reel you in as he inches closer to you.

“you’re okay with that? not being taken care of in the way you deserve?”

his presence is merely nanometers behind you, the ghost of his fingers looking for landing on your hips. when you don’t move away, and he hears your breath hitch at the contact, he sets his hands more earnestly on your curves as he leans down to the nape of your neck.

“just don’t know,” kiss, “how anyone,” kiss, “wouldn’t want,” kiss, “to give you everything.” kiss.

your head lolls back onto his firm chest as he whispers in your ear, “cat got your tongue, sweetheart? you were so mouthy not even five minutes ago. be honest with me, has he even ever made you come?”

the whimpers escape you without warning and you find a single decibel of voice to speak, “spencer…” hoping the whine would dissuade him to let it go.

“uh uh, i asked you a question,” his arm tightens around the front of your waist to press back and fully feel him, “answer me.”

your lexicon has depleted except for the one word you know he’s desperately waiting for you to say, and the one he knows is the answer. yet you know the second it leaves your mouth, everything changes. and maybe you’re okay with that.

“no.”

spencer hums lowly, “has anyone made you come?”

“no.” you say again, softer this time.

“should we change that?”

this was not what you expected when you came to see him after your failed night out. the amount of processing you’d done in the last year to essentially not be thinking about spencer 24/7 was extensive. and you were ready to render it all useless in a matter of seconds.

so you let the strap of your bag fall down your arm and hit the ground with a thud, and finally turned around to look the good doctor in his eyes. while his voice held traces of anger and frustration, you came to see his eyes were full of reassurance and comfort, the spence you always knew to prioritize your wellbeing more than anything.

he looked down at you and slid his hand to up to cup your jaw, and he hears the smallest murmur, so delicate yet so full of want leave your lips.

“yes.”

that was all spencer needed to catch your lips in a heated kiss, moving your body to the closest wall as he places a hand behind your head to protect you from the wall’s impact while the other pins your waist to the wall.

you move your arms to wrap around his neck and keep him pinned to you with no escape, like he’d ever want to. his lips detach from yours and make a descent towards your neck again, taking deliberate effort to locate the sensitive spots.

he finds one just behind your ear and spends time sucking and bruising up the spot, relishing in the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. while you’re lost in the sensation on your neck, you don’t notice spencer move one of his hands closer to the button of your pants, effortlessly (and impressively) opening it up.

detaching from your neck with a heavy pant, he moves back to lean against your forehead with his own and look you in the eyes to ask, “is this okay? we can stop if you want, i didn’t mean to be so forw-“

“please don’t stop.”

he searches your eyes for any conflict and finds none, considering it the okay to continue his downward descent. he returns his lips to the second home they’ve made on your lips and starts to push your pants down over the curve of your ass, leaving your panties on.

the flash of purple lace underwear glares at him when he glances down, and suddenly he remembers what got him in this position in the first place.

“were you wearing this for him?” he lets out condescendingly, “you really think he deserved to see you like this?”

spencer’s fingers brush against your front, leaving your heavy breaths hitting him in the face. you can’t think of anything to say. hell, you’re not even sure if you know any words right now. all you can offer is a pathetic moan, and spencer doesn’t think that’s enough.

“come on, don’t get all shy now. what were you expecting him to even do, hm? thought you said he didn’t care about making you feel good.” he taunts as his middle finger traces the outlines of your cunt through your panties.

you shudder at the contact, leaning your head back against the wall as he refuses to break eye contact. he’s waiting for you to say something, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he’s slowed down his movements on you. taking a shallow breath you open your mouth, “h-, he didn’t care, just thought if i ke-, kept looking nice he’d wanna, fuck, do something.” you moan out.

“and did he?” he moved his hand back up to slowly slip into your panties.

his finger dips all the way down to your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it all the way back up to your clit, your mouth dropping open as you let out a whiny, “no.”

“what a shame.” he dips a finger into your hole and you let out a pornographic moan.

he drags his finger in and out slowly making sure to watch your face as it contorts in pleasure. once he feels you’ve gotten used to it he slips in a second finger, increasing the pace and moving his thumb to circle your clit again.

“oh fuck,” you cry.

“baby, you’re so tight.” he whispers. the way you clenched around his two digits made feel almost pussy drunk, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. he starts to wonder if damon was doing anything really to prioritize your pleasure, and it only just worked him up more. he felt more determined to bring you to finish, so he picks up the pace and increases the pressure on your clit.

you drop your head to his shoulder no longer being able to hold yourself up anymore, the sensation of his fingers on you taking over, loose whimpers and moans falling out of your mouth every other second.

“spencer…shit, i’m gonna come…”

“let go for me, baby.” he whispers in your ear.

the pleasure barrels through you like a wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of your mind and body. your legs turn into jelly and you almost fall before spencer holds you up. you try to regulate your breathing into his shoulder, hoping to calm down before you look up and meet his eyes again.

he makes that choice for you when he gingerly lifts your head up, his eyes silently asking if you’re okay. you don’t even bother responding before softly pressing your lips to his again, hoping he can feel your response to his silent question.

the kiss picks up in urgency, and soon his hands are back to exploring your body again. they slide down to the backs of your thighs while he murmurs a small, “jump.” and lifts you to wrap your legs around his waist. without breaking the kiss he walks you both to his bedroom and places you on his bed with care.

his fists flank you on both sides as he leans down to kiss you, and he moves further down kissing along your neck and chest. you reach down to the bottom of your top to pull it over your head, leaving you in the purple lacy bra that matches your panties.

he detaches from you and stands at full height, gazing at the sight of you spread out on his bed with your hair framing you like a halo. he can’t even help himself when he says, “you look so beautiful, angel.” the blush rises to your cheeks, and you beckon him to come back down to which he happily obliges.

spencer moves down further towards your hips, and his lips ghost over the lace band spreading along your waist. his fingers play with the fabric and he moves his face to be directly in line with your clothed cunt. your breathing gets heavy, and you anticipate what he’s about to do.

“wait, you don’t, you don’t have to do that, spence. i already came.” starting to feel a bit guilty at the man above you potentially feeling obligated to do this, as you realize that if he heard you on the jet, he heard about the one thing damon refused to do for you.

“sweetheart, i’d love to keep making you feel good as long as you let me, okay? you gonna let me make you feel good?” he breaths, pressing chaste kisses to your inner thighs.

you give a slight nod and he gently pulls your panties off your legs, marveling at the light glistening off your cunt. he kisses up the plush of your thighs before pausing right where you need him the most. you look down at him and meet his unwavering eyes full of love.

he places a long kiss to your core before licking a long stripe. you moan out languishly, the euphoric feeling taking over every sense in your body. you’re unable to comprehend how you went so long without feeling this, it almost feels criminal. and the way spencer was eating you out, felt like this was doing it for him too even though you were the one getting pleasured.

it turned you on even more to know he was getting off on how much you were enjoying this. your head was spinning off into another realm, and the only thing tethering you to this reality was the grip of your hands in his hair. his tongue made circles and shapes all over your cunt before dipping down to thrust into your hole.

your thighs shake and threaten to clamp shut on his head, and he uses his wide hands to wrap around your thighs to hold them in place. “oh my god fuck, that feels so good…spence…please..” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, but of course, spencer does when he adds a finger into your hole and moves his tongue to focus back on your clit. the combined sensations were enough to tip you over the edge for the second time tonight, your release glistening on his chin as he moved back up to kiss your lips again.

your heavy panting tries to bring you back down from your high, a mix of sweat and the taste of you lingering everywhere.

spencer smooths your hair back as he moves his body to lie next to you, “i think, damon’s a fucking loser, if he doesn’t think that’s worth doing.” he says between pants.

you hum in agreement, or just in acknowledgement at whatever he said since you’re still reeling from the endorphin release. hiking your leg over his body to straddle him, you clumsily reach for his belt and attempt to undo the clasps to reach his growing member. you pull his pants down and palm him through his boxers, reveling in the broken moans falling from his mouth. you start inching downwards when spencer grabs you by the forearms and flips you over so you’re back on the bed staring up at him.

“not tonight, sweetheart. it’s about you right now, wanna make sure you know what you deserve.”

“but…” you pathetically respond.

“i don’t know what that neanderthal tells you, but sex is not transactional. i think if i ever see that guy again, i’d punch him for making you think otherwise.”

the words go straight to your core, turning you on even more. spencer takes note of how your pupils widen and your chin tilts up towards him.

“besides,” he presses his crotch to yours, “the sex wasn’t even that good with him, right?”

you moan out again, unable to find words to satisfy his question. he leans back up and off the bed to fully remove his boxers and you finally get a good look at what was underneath.

holy fuck, he was huge. you propped yourself on your forearms to get a better look at him, and watched as he lazily stroked himself while he sauntered back over to you. the image was so lewd, you hoped you could borrow some of his eidetic memory so you could hold on to this moment forever.

his face held a smug smirk at your awestruck one, and he felt his ego inflate even higher, “by the looks of your reaction, i’m guessing he’s never been much of a, challenge, for you in bed has he?”

you dumbly shake your head no, “definitely not as big as you.” you whisper, more to yourself than him.

his smirk grows wider, “don’t worry, baby, i’ll take real good care of you.” he says as he climbs over you to line himself up to your entrance.

you feel him slowly start to push in, the sensation of being split open growing bigger by the second. your brows furrow and your eyes are shut tight as you wait for the pressure to turn into pleasure.

if spencer thought you around his fingers had him pussydrunk, what he’s feeling now has to be close to pussy poisoning or something because he cannot think of anything in existence that feels as good as the walls of your cunt clenching around his cock. it’s taking everything in him to not break, to just fuck you senseless and reach his peak.

once his hips are flush with yours and he’s fully settled within you, he waits for you to give him the okay to move.

you, on the other hand, have never felt more full ever. damon was not nearly this big, nor has any other guy you’ve been with. it’s a bit of a miracle on how it fit inside you, and how it felt better than anything you could’ve imagined. the pressure and slight pain subsides, and with a slight nod spencer takes the cue to start moving.

the first thrust has you both moaning out in harmony together, and he sets the pace nice and slow so as to make sure you’re comfortable.

but it's not enough for you, you need him to fuck you.

“spence…harder.”

he stills at your word, leaning up so he’s perpendicular to you.

“whatever you say, princess.”

and he starts pounding into you, hips rutting at a pace you can’t even keep up with. the whimpers and moans gush out as the familiar coil begins to build within you. he taps your leg to lift it up over his shoulder to allow him deeper access, and he’s able to reach that one spot you’d heard about from all your friends, on reddit, in movies. you had no idea this type of feeling even existed, and spencer was hitting it with precision every single thrust over and over.

“fuck,” you whine.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, “the way you’re squeezing my cock so tight, i doubt that fucker ever made you feel like this, huh?”

your tits bounce with every thrust, and the deepened angle has you reaching your climax fast. spencer feels it too and drops his head to whisper in your ear.

“i bet he’s never fucked you like this,” he continues his taunt, “he’d never be able to fuck you like i can, make you come three times in one night like i can.”

you whimper, “spencer,”

“say it, sweetheart. say no one’s ever fucked you like me.”

he was trying to kill you, death during intercourse would be a crazy way to go out but it’s a fate you’d be willing to accept. nonetheless, you comply.

“never ever, fuck, been fucked like you, baby.”

spencer has never felt more satisfied, “good girl, now come.” and with a final thrust he lets you reach your peak as he releases himself into you.

in the midst of groans he gingerly pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss.

the next few minutes are just filled with the sounds of yours and his heavy breathing, before spencer leans over to you, “was that too much?”

still in your daze you let out a soft giggle, “spencer, i think you’ve ruined all men for me.”

he smiles back, “i meant what i said, damon’s really stupid if he’s not willing to do all that for you.”

you intertwine your hand with his, “you know, i never really liked him anyway. i was just using him to get over you.”

“me?” he says incredulously.

you nod, “i didn’t know if you would’ve felt the same so i just tried to move on to someone else, stupid i know, but i don’t know it made sense then.”

he pulls you closer to rest in the crevice of his chest, “i have been into you since the day you walked into the bullpen, and letting you slip through my fingers is a mistake i will never make again.”

you hug him tightly before groaning out loud, “shit, i have to tell damon it’s over now don’t i.”

“i mean, i could tell him if you want.”

“spence, no. i think you might kill him.” you laugh, “i can do it, i just don’t want him to get all ‘organized crime’ on me.”

“just tell him i have a gun.”

“so does he?”

“mine’s bigger.” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “well, yes.”

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x oc

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patrycarro · 5 months ago

Text

TS3 - LS3SR08 (No CC)

ENG:

When I set out to share my creations with the community, I made a promise to myself to publish at least one every week. I wanted to prove that I could commit to something and stay consistent—and I was doing it.

A few weeks ago, my computer broke down. It had been acting strange for a while, so it didn’t exactly catch me off guard, but it did stop me from reaching my goals, and that’s been frustrating. Even though this content drought was beyond my control, I still feel upset about it. And as much as I love Christmas, it only made things harder.

From the bottom of my heart, I sincerely apologize to the Simmers who subscribed to my Patreon in December and early January and didn’t get what they paid for. To make it up to you, I’ve decided to release four extra creations this month to catch up. I'll be sending you a private message with a link for instant and free access to these creations, along with the ones I'll be sharing over the next four weeks. So, Patreons, keep an eye on your inbox and claim your gift as soon as possible!

Once again, I’m truly sorry.

And to everyone else, thank you so much for your support and all the love you give to everything I share. You’re incredible.

I hope both you and your Sims really enjoy this house. Have fun!

Features:

Lot type: Residential

Lot size: 40x40

Location: Bridgeport

Furnished lot value: 312.424 §

Unfurnished lot value: 175.346 §

Bedrooms: 3

Bathrooms: 4

Packs used in this build: EP01, EP02, EP03, EP04, EP05, EP06, EP08, EP09, EP10, EP011

Terms and conditions:

DO NOT claim my creations as your own.

If you want to use any of my builds in your custom world or save file, you are allowed to do so, BUT make sure to credit me as the original creator.

DO NOT re-upload my content under any circumstances; share it with your friends using my own links.

If you experience any issues, let me know and I’ll try to fix it as soon as possible.

Download it here. 🤍

SPA:

Cuando decidí compartir mis creaciones con la comunidad, me hice la promesa de publicar al menos una cada semana. Quería demostrarme a mí misma que podía comprometerme con algo y ser constante. Y lo estaba logrando.

Hace unas semanas, mi ordenador dejó de funcionar. Ya llevaba un tiempo comportándose de forma extraña, así que no me pilló por sorpresa, pero sí me impidió seguir cumpliendo mis objetivos, y aunque esta pausa en el contenido fue algo que escapó de mi control, no puedo evitar sentirme molesta y terriblemente frustrada por la situación. Y, aunque adoro la Navidad, esta vez complicó aún más las cosas.

De corazón, quiero pedir disculpas a los Simmers que estuvieron suscritos a mi Patreon durante diciembre y principios de enero y no recibieron lo que esperaban. Para compensarlo, he decidido publicar cuatro creaciones extra este mes, y así ponerme al día. Os enviaré un mensaje privado con un enlace para que podáis acceder de forma gratuita e instantánea a estas creaciones, así como a las demás que publicaré a lo largo de las próximas cuatro semanas. ¡Así que, Patreons, estad atentos a vuestra bandeja de entrada y reclamad vuestro regalo lo antes posible!

De nuevo, lo siento muchísimo.

Y al resto, quiero agradeceros todo el apoyo y el cariño que le dais a todo lo que comparto. Sois increíbles.

Espero que tanto a vosotros como a vuestros Sims os encante esta casa. ¡Disfrutadla!

Características:

Tipo de solar: Residencial

Tamaño del solar: 40x40

Ubicación: Bridgeport

Valor del solar amueblado: 312.424 §

Valor del solar sin amueblar: 175.346 §

Habitaciones: 3

Baños: 4

Packs utilizados en esta construcción: EP01, EP02, EP03, EP04, EP05, EP06, EP08, EP09, EP10, EP11

Términos y condiciones:

NO proclames mis creaciones como tuyas.

Si quieres usar alguna de mis construcciones en tu mundo personalizado o save file, tienes permitido hacerlo, PERO deja claro que yo soy su creadora original.

NO resubas mi contenido bajo ninguna excepción; compártelo con tus conocidos usando mis propios enlaces.

Si experimentas algún problema, házmelo saber e intentaré solucionarlo lo antes posible.

Descárgala aquí. 🤍

#no cc build #sims 3 build #sims 3 builds #sims 3 download #the sims 3 #ts3 #ts3 build #s3house #sims 3 #sims 3 lots #casas #40x40

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wrestlingwithlife · 5 months ago

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(COD Monster AU)

Wow this took me way longer to do than it should have.

Monster!Task Force 141xKaiju!Reader

————————————————————————

Price’s tail flicked idly, his eyes narrowing as he sat across from Laswell. She slid a folder onto the table in front of him, its edges slightly worn.

“What’s wrong with this one?” He grunted, reaching for it, his claws grazing the paper as he flipped it open.

Laswell exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “There’s nothing wrong with him, John. It’s just... getting more dangerous out there. With you sidelined from most of these missions, I figured you could use a heavy hitter.”

“Half of this is redacted,” Price muttered, flipping to a new page, his sharp eyes scanning the censored text.

Laswell leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed. “He’s a special case,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully.

Price glanced up, his gaze fixed on a striking photograph of the new recruit. A man — or what seemed to be a man, though something about him felt different. A pair of piercing e/c eyes stared back at him from the image, their intensity almost unnerving.

“Shit…” Price muttered under his breath, feeling as if those eyes were staring straight through him, into something deeper.

Laswell’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You don’t come across beings like him often. The higher-ups like to keep him under lock and key, for... reasons.”

Price shut the folder with a snap, feeling a cold unease settle in his gut. “What is he?” His voice dropped low, his tone skeptical.

Laswell met his gaze evenly.

“Kaiju.”

---

The courtyard was silent for a moment, the distant sound of approaching vehicles stirring the air.

Soon, the unmistakable hum of an armored truck filled the space as it rumbled into the compound, kicking up a small cloud of dust behind it.

Two heavily armed guards emerged, their tactical gear glinting in the midday sun.

"Bloody hell," Ghost muttered under his breath, watching the truck's slow arrival. “What kind of super weapon has Laswell assigned us?”

The back of the truck was lowered with a mechanical hiss, and one of the guards moved inside while the other approached Price, holding out a fresh set of documents. The guard’s expression was tight, his posture rigid.

“Apologies for the previous file, sir. The higher-ups have certain protocols they insist on following,” the guard said, as he handed Price the new set of papers.

Gaz raised an eyebrow, wings flicking as he eyed the truck with suspicion. “Is all this really necessary?”

The first guard nodded gravely. “Transportation protocol for him, issued by his last captain. It's... standard procedure.” He paused, as if trying to choose his words carefully. “For him, it’s just safer this way.”

As the conversation waned, the truck's back doors creaked open. The guard’s partner emerged, his hands tightly gripping a thick chain that led to something inside the vehicle.

He also held a cattle prod, the prongs gleaming menacingly in the sunlight. The chain rattled with a cold, ominous sound, drawing all attention to the truck.

Then, with a slight groan of metal, a massive figure ducked out of the truck and into the light. The Task Force froze, their eyes widening at the sight of the newcomer.

The first thing that struck them was the size of the figure. A man, or something resembling one, but far larger. His skin was s/c, almost ashen, with wild, untamed h/c hair falling in waves around his broad shoulders. He was bound, a thick chain wrapped around his neck, connected to a steel collar that gleamed under the sunlight. His arms were shackled, cuffs linking his wrists in front of him.

And the final touch — a muzzle, covering his lower face, making it impossible to see his expression fully.

Y/n stood there, motionless for a moment, eyes adjusting to the light, his thick, black tail kicking up dust as it scraped across the dry ground. His presence was overwhelming, his sheer size dwarfing the guards and the rest of the Task Force. For a heartbeat, no one moved.

"Hot damn..." Soap muttered under his breath, not bothering to hide his surprise. The werewolf can’t help but feel his instincts rage at the amount of restraint the kaiju was under, fighting the urge to tear it off of him.

The second guard spoke, his voice betraying a mixture of discomfort and apology. “It’s all really unnecessary,” he admitted, passing the chain and the keys to Price. “But his last Captain... he was terrified of what he could do if he wasn’t controlled.”

Price’s gaze locked onto the hulking figure in front of him. He could feel the dragon within him stir, a primal instinct to claim this broken soldier. The eyes of the creature before him — the glowing e/c orbs — seemed to burn into him, even from across the distance. He felt a cold shiver down his spine, though he refused to acknowledge the sensation.

“No one likes being locked away like this.”

The first guard seemed to agree, shrugging slightly. “Protocol’s protocol. Can’t be helped. But he won’t be easy to control.” He turned his gaze to Y/n, who stood, unblinking, before them all.

“Seems like we’ll find out soon enough,” Price said, his voice hardening. He stepped forward, taking the keys from the guard’s hand, his eyes never leaving Y/n.

Y/n remained silent, the chain clinking softly as it swayed with his movements. The moment hung in the air — a heavy silence, thick with the weight of uncertainty and danger. Then, as if on cue, the guards stepped back, leaving Price and the Task Force to deal with the Kaiju.

Price was the first to break the silence. “Alright, then,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Let's see if you’re worth all this trouble.”

—————————————————————————

Im so sorry that this was a bit rushed and is not that great, I wanted to get the intro for this series done so I could open things up a bit for more suggestions.

I’ll let you guys have the reins a bit more for this series, but I imagine it will be a collection of one offs that have minimal timeline to it, unless that’s something you guys suggest!

~ Mwa Mwa

#task force 141 #cod x male reader #cod x reader #captain john price #john soap mactavish #cod monster au #monster au

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spencerreidsrightsock · 5 months ago

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I Need Help

Summary: The team is on a case in Colorado. Spencer and reader have to share a hotel room due to limited space. Reader has a wet dream and calls out a specific name.

TW! MDNI! Smut, wet dream, praise kink, p in v, sleepy sex, unprotected sex, creamp!e, anything else.

Pairing: SoftDom!Spencer x Fem!Reader

W.c: 1,100ish

A/N: SO, my family and I have type A flu. I'm going to cry, I want to get better😔

The team got called this morning to a case in a small town in the middle of Colorado. To say this place was in the middle of nowhere was an understatement. There was a singular hotel in a 30 mile radius.

The team arrives at the tiny hotel from the local precinct, they pile one by one, out of the black SUV’s, sleepily holding their go bags as they file into the hotel. They all get hotel keys except for Spencer. Everyone else leaves to go to their rooms so Spencer and y/n are in the lobby, alone.

“Hey you can stay with me, if you want” She says smiling at him. “Hang on a second” he whispers walking back to the desk, he and the clerk exchange a few words before Spencer walks back over, “looks like I’m crashing with you tonight” he says with a low laugh. She nods her head and turns to walk to the room.

She unlocks the door and goes in holding the door open for Spencer, he comes in behind her. They both throw their bags on the bed. They look around the room, it’s a tiny room with brown walls and one nightstand, with one full size bed.

They both let out a sigh, “Tonight is going to be fun” y/n says jokingly and starts rummaging through her bag, “Hey, I’m going to shower the day off.” she says smiling back at Spencer. “Okay I’ll be here.” he says sitting on the bed with a book in hand.

Y/n disappears into the bathroom and strips her clothes off, she gets into the shower and turns the water on, to her dismay there is only a bit of hot water, so she hurries and washes her body, not daring to stick her head under the cold water.

She steps out and gets dressed in her pajamas, and steps into the room, “I do not recommend showering, there is little to no hot water” she complains shivering. Spencer looks up at her, “Get under the covers you’ve got goosebumps everywhere” he says laughing.

She walks closer to the bed and peels the thin cover back and lays down. “Well this cover isn’t doing much of anything” she complains again giggling. He puts his book down and looks at her, “Come here” he says, holding his arm out to her.

They both scoot close to each other, entangling their legs together, Spencer wraps his arm around y/n’s waist and pulls her head to rest in his chest. “Goodnight, y/n” he whispers. “Goodnight, Spencer” y/n whispers back to him.

Y/n and Spencer were best friends, they had worked together at the BAU for seven years, so they had endless nights of sharing hotel rooms, going to the bars together, and hanging out, just the two of them.

Sleep had overtaken the both of them, they lay there tangled together, their breathing had evened out, and dreams came to them both.

A while later Spencer woke up to hear you whimpering, he shot up and stared at her, afraid she was having a nightmare, he looked at the early 2000s style alarm clock that laid on the nightstand, it was 3am. He sighed a bit and looked back down at her face.

She let out a tiny moan, then said “Spencer”, his face immediately flushed a bright red as he realized she was having a wet dream about him. He places his hand on her shoulder and shakes her gently, “y/n” he whispers.

She shoots up out of bed, “Spencer, what” she says whining a bit. “You were uh- having a- uh- dream.” he says, she wakes up enough to realize what she had been dreaming about. She brings her hands to her head, “I’m sorry” she whispers. “Don’t apologize y/n, you can’t control your dreams” he says laughing.

She brings her thighs together and tries to get some relief, “Spencer, will you help me” she moans out. “Are you sure?” he asks, staring into her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure” she says leaning to press a kiss to his lips.

He kisses her back and slips his tongue into her mouth as his hand comes to rest on her hip, she lets out a moan and pulls back. “Spence, I need you to fuck me” she whines out laying on her side. He raises his hips up and slides his pants and boxers off, he turns on his side to face y/n. She brings her leg to rest on his hip. He takes his cock in his hands and fists himself, “Are you going to be my good girl, y/n?” he asks, staring into her eyes.

“Yes Spence” she moans out. He brings the tip of his cock to her folds and lets a moan escape his lips, “You’re so wet already” he whispers, his eyes watching her face intently.

He slides the tip of his cock to her entrance and slides in slowly, “God you’re so fucking tight” he whispers. Her face contorts with pleasure as he slides fully inside of her. “Spencer fuck me” she moans out. He thrusts his hips inside of her, grunting lowly, “Such a good girl, taking my cock like this.” he spits out.

She lets out a moan and presses her lips to his. He continues thrusting inside of her, “Spence, you feel so good” she moans staring into his eyes. He brings his hand up to her hip and slides it under her shirt. He finds her breasts and gently massages them. He brings her nipple between his fingers and gently pinches.

“I’m so close Spencer” she moans. “I know baby, I’m right there” he grunts out. He thrusts inside of her at a quicker pace hitting her g spot repeatedly. “Oh Spencer I’m cumming” she moans out her legs shaking. He helps her through her orgasm and chases his own, his hips thrust forward a few times before he stills inside of her, his cum filling her up. “God, y/n, that was amazing, you were amazing” he says catching his breath as he leans in and puts his hand on her cheek and pulls her in for a kiss.

She kisses him back still trying to catch her breath, “Thank you for helping me Spence” she says smiling at him. He wraps his arms around her and holds her close, soon they both fall back into a deep sleep.

#spencer reid #spencer reid masterlist #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid headcanon #spencerreidblurbs #criminal minds masterlist #spencerreidsfw #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid series #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

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file #2: the amputation fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!gojo satoru x reader (jjk).

length: 2.9k.

warnings: non/con, amputation, unhealthy relationships, abusive relationships, obsessive behavior, amputation (no injury to reader in fic), handjobs, masturbation, and unbalanced power dynamics.

“Babydoll? You wanna let me in?”

A beat of silence, a light knock. You stayed where you were, crumpled on the bathroom floor, and Satoru sighed.

“C’mon, angel. I can’t help from all the way out here.”

You clenched your bloody arm closer, pulling your knees up to your chest. An orange-tinted, half-emptied pill container sat lidless and on its side next to you. Shoko’s pills took care of the worst of the pain, but a steady, persistent throbbing had lodged itself in the knob that used to be your wrist and refused to let-up. It probably wouldn’t for the next hour, if not the next day.

“I can’t take you to see Shoko if you keep me locked out.”

At that, you relented, uncurling with from your self-made bundle. It took a second to shift yourself onto your knees, another to find the doorknob with your remaining hand, but Satoru himself in as soon as the lock clicked out of place. Thankfully, mercifully, he gave you time to skitter back to your corner before crossing the threshold, but that didn’t stop you from withering as his eyes raked over you, as he evaluated the damage. Eventually, he collapsed against the adjacent wall and sunk to the floor, letting out a raspy groan before tossing you a familiar, crooked smile. You didn’t return it. “That mad at me, huh?” You didn’t respond, gaze dropping to your decimated hand – or, rather, the mangled stump that used to be your hand. His smile wavered, but didn’t fall away. “Yeah, no, I probably deserve that. Does it hurt?”

You didn’t indulge him with an answer. “Did you call Shoko?”

“On a mission,” he said with a slight shrug, a strong note of ‘what can you do?’ in his tone. Like this was some minor inconvenience, annoying but ultimately trivial. Like like you weren’t missing an essential part of yourself. “She said she’d swing by as soon as she’s done, but I’d give it another hour. I think she’ll kill me if I keep asking her to make house calls.”

Another beat of silence, another deafening failure to respond on your part. Finally, he turned to face you properly, leaning forward. “…can I?”

He always did this – paused like that, smiled like that, tried to make himself seem so gentle, so loving, so considerate. It might’ve been well-meaning, an attempt to let you know he was sorry without having to swallow enough of his pride to actually apologize, but all it ever seemed to make you feel was cold and alone, stuck in a shell of an apartment with a shell of a man. It was always the same. It was always going to be the fucking same.

And, like always, you relented, looking away as you nodded stiltedly. Satoru’s smile brightened as he closed the distance between you, his thigh pressing into yours as he settled against your side.

When you’d first gotten into a relationship with Gojo Satoru, you told yourself that if things ever so much as seemed like they might be going south, you were gone. You hadn’t known anything about cursed energy or sorcerer hierarchies or malevolent spirits, but you didn’t have to – even if you hadn’t watched him obliterate monsters the size of apartment buildings with a snap of his fingers, he still would’ve been the strongest person you’d ever met, a man capable of shattering bones with his bare hands and breaking open skulls with all the effort it would’ve taken you to swat a fly out of the air. He was dangerous to be around, even if you doubted Satoru could ever intentionally hurt another living, breathing person. He was rich, and pretty, and strong, and used to getting his way. You loved him, but you needed to be able to leave if it ever seemed like that love was going to put you in danger.

And you did leave. The first time you argued, the first time he lost control of his temper and you were left sobbing on the floor with nothing below your left knee, you’d gotten as far as you could as quickly as you could. It’d taken him a full week to track you down, another to convince you that one of his bizarre friends could heal you, and roughly half a minute of Satoru sobbing and clinging to your (newly restored) leg for you to forgive him, to write it off as an accident – just the kind of risk you took when you got into a relationship with someone who could deadlift armored tanks. The second, you’d stayed at a friend’s place for a few days before coming back on your own, as desperate for his miracle-cure as you were for the pet comforts that came with Satoru’s bottomless fortune. The fourth, you’d barricaded yourself in his bedroom for sixteen hours and only come out for Shoko, who’d muttered about your ‘wreck of a boyfriend’ as she rebuilt the three missing fingers on your right hand.

Now, on the ninth, you’d barely managed to keep him locked out of a bathroom for all of five minutes. It was embarrassing, more than anything. You wanted to be able to hate him, you wanted to be scared of him, but it was hard to be scared of someone you loved. Someone you loved as much as Satoru, especially.

You shook your head, dragging yourself out of your own spiraling thoughts. Your attention, instead, moved to Satoru – still slumped against the tiled wall, his head lulled back and his attention focused pointedly on the ceiling. You were dressed to go out, uncomfortable jeans and all, but Satoru looked like he just rolled out of bed – a plain white shirt pulled tight over his broad chest, a pair of pitch-black sweatpants falling low on his waist, the lights dim enough to mean his piercing blue eyes didn’t have to be locked behind tinted glass or thick fabric. That was what you’d been arguing about, even if it was hard to remember why it’d seemed like such a big deal. He had the day off, no class and no cursed spirits to slaughter, and wanted to waste his morning in bed, with you wrapped in his arms. You’d tried to tell him, as slowly and as tenderly as you could, that you couldn’t, that you had an important early-morning lecture, that you’d be back by the time he actually wanted to get up, but he’d whined and pouted and you’d lost your patience when he reminded you that you could ‘always drop out’. You tried to leave, and he tried to catch your hand, to make you stay for that much longer, and—

“Can I see it?” You were almost thankful to hear his voice, if only for the distraction. “Your hand, I mean. If you’re comfortable with showing me.”

You weren’t, but you were desperate not to sink back into your own head, either. Slowly, cautiously, you shuffled that much closer to him, folding your legs underneath you as you gingerly held out the arm you’d spent the better part of the last few minutes cradling. It made you sick to look at a part of your own body so violently distorted, so violently wrong, so you didn’t – keeping your focus trained on your knees as Satoru took up your shortened limb. His own healing abilities had taken care of the worst of the gore, but even with the open, gaping wound at the end of your arm closed, there was still a ring of bruising around your wrist, streaks of dried blood running down the length of your forearm, a raw quality to the skin where his hap-hazard repairs hadn’t quite taken. His touch was feather-light, skirting around the worst of the remaining damage and lingering near your elbow, then your bicep. Acknowledgement came in the form of a low whistle, an airy sigh. You tried not to let his casualness get to you. Sorcerers must’ve seen injuries like this all the time. This was the end of the world for you, but Satoru would be just fine. “I’m not going to let you lift a finger after this. You know that, right? I’ve gotta make sure my pretty baby’s still nice n’ spoiled, even when I go and fuck everything up.”

It wasn’t an apology, but it was as close as he’d ever get. You grit your teeth and nodded, taking a second to find your voice. Even with the delay, it came out as a croak; almost too low and too ragged to be coherent. “This can’t keep happening, ‘toru. I love you, but this can’t keep happening.”

“I know, baby, I know.” One of his hands remained wrapped around your arm while the other, unoccupied, fell between his open legs. “I don’t mean to. If I had it my way, nobody would be able to touch you, but…” A pause, a laugh. “I just get so stressed out when we start fighting, like that. All I can think about is someone hurting you when I’m not there to keep you safe, and I forget how delicate I’ve gotta be with you. It feels like I’m not in control of myself.”

Despite your better judgement, you felt a deep, churning well of guilt open up inside of you. It was your turn to sigh, now, to slump, to let your eyes fall shut. “I love you,” you repeated, like it was the only thing you knew how to say. “It’s just— It scares me, when you get like that. I know you’re just trying to be protective, but it hurts.”

You heard his breathing pick-up, his grip tighten ever so slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel. “I know, sweetheart. I’m just trying to take care of you.”

“You do take care of me, but—” You were cut off by a breathy swear, a throat groan. Momentarily, your fear and self-loathing gave way to irritation, a frown tugging at the corner of your lips as you opened your eyes and snapped towards Satoru. He was still focused on your arm – what was left of it, at least – but his gaze was glazed over, far away, and his hand was moving between his—

You put it together too quickly, the force of the realization leaving no time for numbing shock or dampening confusion. He was touching himself, grinding the heel of his palm into the base of his cock. You could see the outline of his shaft against the dark material – already half-hard, if not worse.

If you’d been able to feel anything, you might’ve felt sick.

Reflexively, you tried to pull away from him, but his hold on your arm only tightened, fingertips digging into your bicep as Satoru laughed, the sound strained and airy. “Sorry, sorry, my bad. I know you like a head’s up, but…” Now, he looked at you, but it was too late, too much, too sudden. All you could seem to think to do was gape back at him, unmoving and unthinking. “Guess it’s just what you do to me. I’ll try to make it quick – all you’ve gotta do is sit there and look pretty.”

It was a familiar line, a familiar excuse. You’d heard it a thousand times – mumbled into your neck as draped himself over you in the early hours of the morning, spouted off as he dragged you back to his car halfway through dinner at a restaurant you’d been looking forward to visiting for months – but it didn’t seem to make sense, this time, didn’t fit with the image of your missing hand hovering a few inches above your loving boyfriend’s erection. The dissonance only seemed to get worse, more dizzying as he shrugged the waistband of his sweats past his hips and down to his thighs, freeing his stiff cock. You’d been too generous, before; he was already hard, his tip flushed a dark pink and leaking thick beads of arousal. Again, you tried to get away, and again, he only pulled you closer, until your side was flush against his. There was a deep grunt, a hazy grin as he wrapped a fist around the shaft of his cock, his grip almost painfully tight. His eyes never left the dull stump on the end of your left arm, his raspy breathing soon turning to a deep, heady panting as you watched him pump his fist over his cock, his pace slow and methodical – a far cry from the spontaneous, erratic Satoru you were used to. A soft voice in the back of your mind, awful and treacherous, suggested that he might be trying to savor it, and a dozen more screamed loudly enough to drown it out.

“Satoru,” you said, nearly surprising yourself with how distant you sounded, how detached. You didn’t feel detached. If anything, you almost felt too grounded in the feeling of cool tile against your back, the heat of his body where it pressed into yours. “Please, stop.”

“I don’t really have a choice, babe.” He shot you a playful grin, and for a second, you could almost imagine hating him. “It’d go a lot faster if you helped me out, though.”

You didn’t answer, but he didn’t need you to. His hand was already groping for yours, already forcing your reluctant participation. The position was awkward, your body half-bent over his, but when you shifted, Satoru’s thumb dug into the bone of your wrist and instantly, you went still. This was bad. Not having control of your only remaining hand was bad. But having your only remaining hand taken away from you would be worse.

Satoru didn’t seem to see it that way. Sounds of aching pleasure bubbled past his lips shamelessly, turning the abruptly claustrophobic bathroom into an echo chamber of pitchy whines and raspy groans and the slick, wet clicks of his cock fucking into your balled fist. It was terrible – being able to feel how his cock pulsed against your palm, being forced to acknowledge the little, stilted movements of his hips whenever he decided your (admittedly lackluster) pace left something to be desired. In less than a minute, his head had lulled onto your shoulder, his voice muffled by the proximity as he struggled to speak in spite of his own unabashed moaning. “Love you so much,” he half-mumbled, half-panted. You could feel his breath against your shoulder, his drool starting to pool just above your collarbone. “W-wanna take care of you when you can’t take care of yourself, make sure nobody else ever gets to put their hands on you. I’d be good – cook for you, n’ shower with you, ‘n dress you up all nice n’ pretty,” He paused, nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You… You wouldn’t hate me that much if we left it that way, right?”

You felt something drop into the pit of your stomach. “Satoru, you’re—”

“Please, baby.” It was the same tone he used when he was begging you to make a late-night snack run with him, or when he wanted to finish inside of you without protection. “Just—Just tell me that you’d let me take care of you. Just say that you’d still love me.”

It felt like your throat was swollen shut, your chest stuffed to bursting with shattered glass and razor blades and spiny needles only just beginning to poke through your skin. You didn’t want to say anything, you didn’t think you could say anything, and yet, when your mouth fell open, you found a voice that was not your own seeping out by means beyond your control. “It’s alright,” you muttered, distantly, as his cock throbbed in your hand. “I’d still love you, ‘toru.”

Although, you were starting to wish you wouldn’t.

You heard him groan, felt something thick and searing spill over the back of your hand. Satoru’s hand, cupped snuggly over yours, kept you moving until every last drop had been milked out of him, until the final ember of his climax had burnt itself out. He went limp against you, his vice-grip finally falling away, but rather than run, you only straightened, wiping your hand on your jeans before tucking it into your lap. How you looked didn’t matter, anymore. There couldn’t have been more than a few minutes left in your lecture, if you hadn’t already missed it entirely.

Silence interrupted only by panting breaths and the beating, drowning drum playing in your ears reigned over the confined space, keeping you in a state of bleary stasis until the sound of a sharp knock, shortly followed by a distant door opening broke through the fog. “That’s Shoko,” Satoru murmured, almost disappointed. He started to separate himself from you, only to relapse – burying his face in the crook of your neck and letting out a deep, contented sigh. “You know that I love you, right?”

“I know.”

“And you know that all I wanna do is keep you happy?”

“I know, ‘toru.”

“Good.” He pulled back, grinning. “’cause all I ever wanna do is take care of my angel. Don’t let anything ‘side from that get into your pretty little head.”

You only nodded as he pushed himself to his feet, as he slipped out of the bathroom to meet Shoko, to explain what vital part of yourself he’d torn away this time. You wanted to get up, to wash the cum off of your hand, to pump feeling back into your numb legs, but your remaining limbs were uncooperative, heavy and awkward and useless. It was all you could do to pull your knees up to your chest, wrap your arms around your legs, and hold yourself as you started to cry.

At least, next time Satoru decided to tear you apart, you might not find it so hard to hate him for it.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk #yandere gojo satoru #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #yandere gojo #yandere satoru #gojo satoru x reader

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sourcherrybites · 3 months ago

Text

Legally Binding Affairs

Character: Jason Todd x DA! Reader

Disclaimers: My knowledge of the US legal system is based on Law and Order, Criminal Minds and Legal Eagle. I wrote more words than I usually do so the end is kinda sloppy, my apologies babes

Word count: 1.181

➜ Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2

Masterlist

Jason hates you; he despises your very existence because you make his job miserable and eight times more complicated than it should be. Ever since you got to Gotham, you have caused anything but trouble for him, his family, his business AND his crime-fighting activities.

It all started when that dumb fuck of New Jersey's governor announced that to fight the overwhelming crime rate in Gotham they would appoint a brand new DA, the starlight, the ace, the beloved child of the country's justice system; you. A prodigy since law school, with a 98% conviction rate, not reaching 100% because not even you could fight the unfairness when prosecuting rich folks or false allegations.

There you were, standing next to the Governor on TV with a serene look on your kind features, and a body language that said nothing could disturb your peace, a suit tailored to your shape, clean and ironed until perfection, fixed and organised hair and a straight pose. You. Were. Perfection. And maybe that's why they sent you off to Gotham —you were just too good. (suspiciously good)

You made it your goal to turn the Gotham court system into your personal renovation project, From the very moment you stepped out of that courthouse, determination etched on your face, the whole City watched as you won case after case. Your conviction remained unshaken, even in the pervasive corruption that seemed woven into the very fabric of the city. Nothing could stop you —not even the countless attempts to end you. In fact, you managed to reduce Gotham's crime rate by a staggering 1% in just two months—an achievement that was basically historical. (and again, suspicious)

You were stubborn and couldn't mind your own business, and Jason didn't really care; at the end of the day, you became a small spark of hope for Gothamites — that until you threw one of his guys behind bars, then it became personal.

Were you just that stupid that you couldn't grasp the danger you put yourself into by going after high-profile criminals? He was sure that every Rouge in Gotham had a bounty on your head, and you didn't care! You just didn't care! Like you were some sort of masochist, suicidal maniac! But he would make you care, on God, he would; one, because no one wanted the new favourite child of the city becoming another Harvey Dent, and two, he was just absolutely tired of you messing up his stuff.

Drug operations were busted, fights for keeping territories were more common, and the attempts to get the most clients by dealers became more desperate, selling harder and harsher drugs. You were just messing it all up! You just had to stop before you got everyone killed.

"Pretty nice home you got here. The federal government pays well, it seems." His modulated voice echoed through the emptiness of your apartment, it wasn't expensive, you weren't one of the luxurious lifestyles because you just couldn't afford it, but it was neat and well taken care of, the most expensive thing you had was your Computer on your desk, a long, caramel coloured structure next to the window looking at the city.

"Should I add trespassing to your file, Mr. Red Hood?" You asked calmly, in the same calm voice you used when talking to the defence attorneys. He was sitting on your couch, manspreading on your couch, one hand on the back of it to keep up the relaxed posture and the other on the gun that sat comfortably against his left thigh. "Funny little one." He let out a smug chuckle, an edge of annoyance in his voice that couldn't be hidden by the modulator. He stood up, the thud of his boots loud as he approached slowly, probably trying to make you feel smaller, which it did because he was the size of a double refrigerator, but you were, by far, more worried about the files hidden under your couch, in the special plastic pocket in which it usually is the information about the furnishing, him finding that made you nervous.

"Should I offer you a glass of water, sir?" You asked with faked courtesy, barely holding back the subtle shake of your voice, to which he chuckled again. "Thank you, doll, but I have other things to talk with you." He said, clenching and unclenching his fists.

He took another few steps, "You're tense. Are you scared?" Yes, absolutely terrified, about to pee in your expensive suit pants that you wore only once every millennium. You wanted to jump out the window before spending half a second longer with that beast. "Somethin' to hide?" He inquired again. You shook your head, keeping your eyes locked into the whites of his mask. And then you looked back at the couch, a little too low.

Shit.

Both of you pounced at the same time, struggling for two different reasons, you were doing your best to keep him from reaching the files and him barely struggling to keep you away with only one arm. You kicked, pulled, pushed, and clawed at him to keep him from flipping the couch. Meanwhile, he barely did some force to keep you away with the arm which was holding the gun.

He reached one of the files from under the couch, and you yanked his hand away, twisting his elbow at a painful angle and making all the pages fall and scatter around the floor. "You little sh-" He wanted to growl, looking over the mess on the floor until his eyes met the deep blue ones of a picture. Bruce's picture. He violently pushed you away, making you hit the floor with a thump and kicking the air out of you whilst he read the notes, and every page he read made him panic more. Somehow you had noticed things no one else picked on, his pattern of picking up children just at the same time as a new robin hit the streets, analysis on his posture, his voice, coincidences and discrepancies you had found. You had figured The Batman out.

He grabbed another file, the one labelled Grayson, the same story. Drake. Damian. Gordon. Brown. Sionis. Todd. There was no point in keeping the helmet on now so he just took it off and threw it somewhere else in your living room as he flipped on his file. You knew who he was, you knew who his family were and for the first time since he knew about you, he panicked.

"How did you get this....?" He muttered, barely above a whisper, his shaky hand pointing the gun at your face. "Did you show this to anyone else?" His grip on the barrel tightened, his index pressing against the trigger as he snarled. You coughed, placing a hand on your chest. "Lower your gun... and I tell you..." you managed to gasp, sitting up against the wall. "Let's just... talk... Mr. Todd... and I promise I'll explain everything." And that was it, He just needed to hear you out.

But would he?

#dc x reader #dc jason todd #dc red hood #dc comics #batfam #batfam x reader #jason todd x reader #dc batfam #jason todd #jason todd imagine #sour cherry thoughts

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mydearestbeloved · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 26 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

Content Warnings: This chapter is Red, Igris, & < Devourer > butterflies-centric—sorry, little to no JinwooxReader in this one; this chapter also contains some elements of gore—this is a work of fiction and I do not condone or glorify violence in real life; my attempts at magical anatomy—'cause college is still kicking my ass when it's the holidays, so I must apologize if this chapter might be boring; & experimental writings—a.k.a. me trying out a different style of being more descriptive and new p.o.v.s shifts.

See more in the < End Note > in case the descriptions in this chapter do not deliver as well as I had hoped + extra funsies.

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

——oOo——

{ < Children of ‘Trial Player’ >

File 001# - Quick Status Window

< Red >

Lv. MAX

"The Ducchess"

Would you like to initiate < Title Change >?

<<Yes>> <No>

Initiating < Title Change > . . .

< Red >

Lv. MAX

“The Devourer”

< Title Change > successful!

Specialty Passive Skill: < Crimson Carnage > is activated!

*In the duration of < The Feast >, user will gain 3× the energy and experience points from consuming lifeforce. Both can still be distributed to fellow < Children of ‘Trial Player’ >.

Stats: < HP >, < Stamina >, and < Mania > are now boosted.

Special Note: “Sustain the flesh, blind the soul.”_ }

——oOo——

At the center of the morbid tableau, Igris saw her.

A study in grace—a slender silhouette clad in velvety white and traces of black, the intricate patterns of her wings shimmered like molten rubies on flowing sleeves and coat tails. Every little movement was deliberate yet seamlessly flowed amidst havoc, out of place yet undeniably captivating.

Amid the blood-soaked carnage, she seemed untouched by the grime and chaos. Unhurried steps so light, the heels of her boots left no imprint on the sodden earth. She weaved through devoured carcasses left and right with the same grace as she would have when flying in her butterfly form.

A rapier on one hand, her crimson eyes, languid yet sharp, fixed on the dungeon boss his Liege had felled—once a towering centaur-like beast, its body now laid on the ground with its neck slashed open. Red approached its head, its purple blood pooled under, yet there was not a single splash when she stepped on it, only calm ripples.

The thin silver blade emitted wisps akin to flames as she got close enough. At the same level of its eye, it was clear that the beast’s vacant optic that stared into the void was larger than her head.

Shing!

Igris caught the quick circular slash of metal, and at first, there seemed to be nothing amiss. At least until—

Gush!

Viscous liquid burst out like a jet stream, becoming a heavy downpour as it fell. In a split second, Red’s figure was swallowed by the waterfall, the blood pooling underneath widening in size.

It was not until a few seconds later that the curtain of purple lifted enough for everyone to finally get a glimpse, the outline of the figure in it. As the stream progressively lessened in its intensity and amount, Red didn’t move a single step from her position, and it was revealed later that she remained as pristine as ever, not even her pants were soiled by the icky violet. She stood there under an umbrella where her rapier had been, the white material unstained as the droplets of blood dripped down from the lace decorated with red gems.

When the outburst of blood around the beast’s eye finally ran out, the remaining little amount of liquid cascading down the orb, the unseeing eye shifted. Red took a step to the side as the beast’s eyeball rolled out of its socket onto the purple ground, following it were the blood vessels, nerve optic, and tendons with their detached ends cut short.

When the eyeball stopped rolling, there was a swarm of butterflies at the ready, and soon, the globe was surrounded and began to be gnawed on by the voracious insects.

Red remained unbothered. She went to close her umbrella, and then pulled at its handle, revealing that it was a scabbard as the thin blade came to view once again. The umbrella disappeared in red wisps as Red jumped onto the beast's massive head and began to chop away. First at his antlers, the bony branches fell to each side with its cut-edges blackened, and began to glitch away until the whole antlers vanished into air, presumably stored into your inventory.

Igris also caught her next slash: a horizontal one, and then a vertical that was instantly followed by a backflip—Red landing on the beast’s upper body behind the detached head.

Something similar to before happened, it took a few seconds after the initial swing of her blade for the blood to burst, first from the horizontal cut that detached the snout and the next was from the rest of the head splitting into two halves right in the middle. Igris recognized this delayed reaction, it was the body that didn’t realize it was cut the moment it was when the cut was done far too quickly for it to respond in time.

Igris knew this because he was also capable of doing such. However…

The rapier was not a blade meant to slash like other swords typically. It was meant for prioritizing speed and precision, capitalizing on its user’s dexterity and finesse. And Red had proven she had all of these qualities when she had done exactly thrusting attacks when they fought together moments prior.

A rapier was a sword meant to pierce.

So how in his Liege’s name did she was able to cut through flesh and bones so easily with that same slender and pointed blade?

The only possible explanation Igris could think of was the use of magic, the red wisps as the proof. It was not unlikely for swordsmen and swordswomen capable of magic to use them to enhance their attacks, be it the body or the weapon itself. Perhaps she used magic to give the blade sharper edges and fortified it to not break under heavier pressure? Then she also needed more strength to accomplish that clean cut.

But was that all there was to it when her stances were just as odd?

As though caught in an endless waltz, even in combat, Red’s steps were odd. It wasn’t practical; it was theatrical, the combination of sheer extravagance and fluidity of it all.

It wasn’t the typical disciplined efficiency of a warrior’s training. No, her movements carried the flair of high society, the sway of aristocrats at frivolous galas.

{”I am aware that you do not fancy such occasions,”}

It reminded Igris of the rare instances when he had been forced to attend those annoying noble gatherings in life—when he could’ve been fighting on the battlefield instead—standing stiff and indifferent at the edge of opulent ballrooms, enduring the swish of gowns and the hum of violins for the sake of duty.

{An upturned of plump lips glistened, as though painted by blood, something he was more familiar with—}

Or perhaps it was more akin to the high-end performances he had glimpsed while on patrol, the kind that packed theaters and sparked envy among the masses unable to afford. The kind where tickets were scarce and disputes over seating made so much ruckus and his duties more complicated—stagnating his training, the progress to his goal—in the past.

{”However…” An extended hand delicately hidden under satin glove.}

Those fleeting moments were far from meaningful to him, but they had left enough of an impression for him to recognize the same artistry now.

Her moves weren’t a metaphorical dance of the blade, the way swordsmen sometimes fought with an almost artistic rhythm.

No, Red was dancing—truly dancing.

{—she was more familiar to him than anything else in this godforsaken room.}

Every pivot was a pirouette, every sweep steeped in poise, every sway she put her heart into it. A face so serenely doing her calling, not caring who was watching or what the world might think of the unconventionality. She moved as though the battlefield was her stage and she its prima ballerina.

And, to Igris’s astonishment, it worked—brilliantly, might he add.

{”Can you humor this lady just once,”}

A match, a complimentary to his own.

He had never seen anything like it before.

{”Sir Knight?”}

“How fascinating.”

Even before Red had taken her current form, Igris had always been intrigued by the red butterfly that had inexplicably taken a liking to him—or so you had claimed.

To him, she had always carried an air of refinement that set her apart. Every flutter of her iridescent wings was not without purpose, Red had always been peculiarly polite and oddly dignified for a summon. When the shadows discovered they could communicate with the butterflies—a feat made possible, apparently, through a telepathic mechanism Igris only vaguely understood as a mix of their mimicry of shadows and some illusions—Red’s demeanor stood out for her articulate and courteous responses.

Now, that same poise radiated from her in full force.

As Red continued to cut away the dungeon boss’s body into smaller pieces so the other butterflies would have an easier time to eat, an acrid smell wafted. Igris caught the sight of blackened spots and edges on some chopped fleshes. Only when a bone fell with its cut-side directly visible to him did Igris have his answer.

Fire.

The surface of the cut on the bone was completely blackened—no, charred.

Not every chopped part was; the fleshes mostly remained fresh which Red might have enough strength to cut through. But when it came to a harder material like the bone, the cut was always completely burned. And the fleshes that did have that discoloration must’ve been the skeletal muscles, the closest one to the bones—that meant Red had control over when and how much heat was needed.

Red landed back on a puddle in the ground with grace—again, no splash, just ripples—her rapier disintegrating into the same red wisps as her magic, the motion was like a ballerina’s reverence. As the dungeon’s boss body fell in neat cubicle pieces behind her, the red butterflies closing in to eat like a curtain-call.

A step accompanied by a ripple.

Another followed.

Red walked towards a minion’s corpse, significantly smaller than the boss’, but was still noticeably larger than her own. While the body below the neck was already getting chewed on, the head was left untouched. With deliberate care, Red knelt beside it, her tailcoat pooling around her like spreading wings.

Right hand took off the left’s glove, the remaining other pulled by teeth until the delicate and pale fingers underneath was revealed. As both pieces of dark leather vanished into thin air, black nails trailed along the beast’s jawline in an almost gentle gesture, as though caressing a long-lost lover.

She began to hum, a calming melody that sent chills through Igris. It wasn’t a tune he recognized, but there was something uncomfortably intimate about it, as if she were singing a lullaby for a child.

A small ornate dagger materialized, fingers curling around its handle in firm. The ornate blade gleaming in the muted light as she raised it high—

Stab!

Igris flinched—a reaction he hadn’t experienced in years—as the silver tip plunged into the beast’s unseeing eye.

Similar to the new… feeding routine of the butterflies, he had no problem with the act of stabbing itself—it was the way the scene unfolded, like an oil painting came to life. The illustrated content long debated between the brutality it actually depicted behind strokes of beautiful paints, pure white among vivid reds and deep shadows.

Red pulled the dagger free with practiced ease, and with it came the beast’s eyeball.

The strings of optic nerve and blood vessels stretched from the force; the other end clung stubbornly to the socket. With a flick of her wrist, they broke in the middle, the orb held aloft like a precious gem while the bundle of fibers dangled from it, swaying like a clock’s pendulum.

The dagger, now acting as a makeshift fork, brought the eyeball to her lips. Her sharp canines peeked through as she bit into the orb. A brief sight—a single rivulet of viscous fluid trickling down the corner of her lips to her chin—was almost immediately hidden behind a palm, as if the act of showing the sight itself was most impolite. An accidental stroke in the otherwise masterful portrait.

Despite the slight hiccup, Red maintained her composure. The dagger in her right replaced by a materialized handkerchief that she dabbed over her lips daintily, catching any stray pieces as she quietly chewed. Her carmine gaze closed to savor, as though she were merely fine dining at a dinner gala, the orchestra of carnage its backdrop.

“Hm...” She swallowed delicately, her voice a dulcet whisper that carried through the stage. “A bit too earthy for my taste.”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a serene smile, and the usual sight of her upturned lips would’ve been captivating—it was still—but now, Igris didn’t think just one word would do the scene in front of him their due.

“Well?” Red turned her head slightly, vermillion orbs opening with a glint.

“What do you think, children?”

——oOo——

The red kaleidoscope seemed to simultaneously pause mid-feast, a brief change in their pattern, a different flutter. Distant bells in the wind, like twinkling stars given voice.

Chime. Chime. Chime. Gurgle. Chime—

‘Gurgle’?

A tremor ran through the swarm. Their luminous bodies wavered, light bending strangely around some, as if space itself recoiled. The chimes grew discordant, warping into something wet and bubbling, like air escaping through viscera.

Squish…

A single butterfly convulsed midair. Tiny form curling in on itself, shrinking—no, collapsing. Wings folded inward with a schlk, dissolving into a raw essence of erratically pulsing mass of light. And from that quivering cocoon, something grew.

SQUELCH!

A spine unraveled; a spider’s threads pulled taut from unseen tether. Bones spiraled into existence, each piece of vertebrae locking into place with a sharp click. From there, the thin golden tendrils further expanded the structure like a time-lapsed birth—simultaneous yet seamless.

Upward, forming the trachea, jawbone snapping into place with a muted crck. The smooth curve of a skull, hollow sockets yawning open, vacant.

Downward, the pelvis solidified, grinding against before anchoring the extending femurs and other bones that would shape the legs, feet, and toes. Similarly for the upper extremities, from the shoulder bones, lengthening arms, hands, and down to the phalanges that made up each finger.

Inward, ribs sprouted from the spine’s embrace with a slow, deliberate snap-snap-snap, spreading like curved thorns, forming a cage locked by the sternum. And nestled within that hollow prison, a small thing took shape, suspended in the air just like the rest, a crystalline jewel held between unseen fingers.

Motionless—silent.

{How far can an imitation of life go?}

Like roots seeking soil, nerves branched out, mapping, in search of something to anchor to. Alongside them, veins crawled along the ivory framework, seeking to create the intricate web to feed, growing from that very same confined still-mass at the center.

Like ink spreading through water, a deep crimson bloomed then—

Ba-dump.

A pulse rippled through the arteries as blood surged outward, painting the spectral shifting-mass with life as raw organs came into being. Lungs, pinkish and fragile, swelled as if on the verge of their first breath, filling the rest of the ribcage. A brain placed snug within the skull where the eyeballs popped in their sockets. The liver slid into place with a damp plorp, intestines coiled like serpents, slick in the dim settings.

The stomach, kidneys, and so forth, each instrument settled into their place perfectly between the smooth walls of bone while sinew knitted around them like a loom at work over shifting joints. Nerves and veins threaded through all as muscles stretched over them in a weave where limbs twitched to life. True skin followed suit from behind, covering the exposed curves of the body and face with the same abnormal growth, each feature smoothed into an eerie, flawless symmetry.

For a time, what were under were still just as see-through even with the steady appearance of the outermost layer. At least, until the translucent skin neared its completion of sealing over the body. What should be the healthy complexion creeping in as the flesh and dermis closed over the last exposed area—a last glimpse over the beating heart.

{If you lie long enough—}

As naked as a newborn, a maiden’s bare feet kissed the slick, viscous blood pooling beneath. The deep purple clung, stark against the rain-watered surface, too pristine, like a being sculpted rather than born. Her wings, now immense as they adjusted to the owner’s new form, stretched one final time before shuddering. As if exhaling their last breath, the glittering membrane melted into the smooth planes of her back, disappearing as if they had never been there.

As if the one left standing was undoubtedly just a mere human.

And more followed.

A notable number of butterflies went through the same collapse. Delicate bodies unraveling, twisting, blooming like life in fast motion. Their arrival was heralded by the symphony of growth—cartilage cracking, skin sealing with quiet, wet whispers, the sickeningly organic sounds of something becoming, of creating features to each of their own.

Save for the rain, the silence of a field of mannequin settled after.

Until one threw her head back, auburn locks following her every movement, a new set of green eyes catching light under the drizzle.

The undeniably rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, making motions with her rosy lips—the sound light and airy, almost melodic.

{—won’t it become the truth?}

Following the lead, a second one, black of hair, brown of skin, and hazel for eyes, also started tittering. Joined by a third, white-haired and red-eyed, clapping gleefully. A fourth followed, and then a fifth, sixth, and the rest—small delighted laughs that grew louder and louder—a crescendo.

The first to move wobbled slightly on her feet, crouching beside the nearest carcass, fingertips tracing its ruined hide with something akin to fascination. Then, with a motion of deceptive ease, the beast’s skin peeled away with a wet rip.

She stumbled back, losing her balance and landing onto her haunches with a childlike-“Oof!”, even as the spray of warm, sticky blood came into contact with her side. She clutched the torn chunk in her bloodied cradle—like a prize, fresh crescent marks forming under digging nails—uncaring of the fleshy part still dripping onto her lap.

She lifted it to her mouth, a peek of growing canines between parted lips before teeth sunk into meat and tore them away under. Icky purple painted her chin, ran down the pale column of her throat as she chewed, staining the pristine surface that magic had so carefully perfected.

The very first taste on her tongue, of iron thick and rich.

When she eagerly swallowed, the others followed.

The butterflies—those still in their original form—perched alongside their newly reborn kin. Together, the feast began anew, of chimes and tearing flesh, of lips smacking against dripping muscles, of mirthful hums between gulps. Until each was bathed in the mix of blood and rain, violet dripping from fluttering wings and tresses from head to toe.

And at the center of it all, Red’s smile lingered, sealing her sight once more—content.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [25/02/2025]

I'm back y'all! 🥳

For a short while at least. 🥹

I might've gone overboard writing the descriptions for this one. 😅 I'm not so sure on how well I am at describing action sequences, I still want to add them, so I'm learning as I go! 🫡 And so sorry if the magical anatomical sequence felt like a lesson, it's definitely NOT a real-life lesson okay? Please note the ✨️fantasy✨️-elements!

I'm already out of ideas on what more to edit to make this chapter better, so let me know your thoughts on this! 🥰

And just for clarification, what I want to depict for Red's fighting style is not true swordmanship. Igris stated that her moves are more theatrical, not efficient. The butterflies are not meant to surpass the shadows in direct combat, with few exceptions. They can hold their ground long enough if push comes to shove. 🦋💀

As for Red's dance-based fighting style, I would like to add that it will not be copy-paste Cha Hae-in's. I would like to think Hae-in's is like "she fights like she dances", while what I want for Red's is more like "she uses dances to fight". This will correlate to Red's other title by the system that will be revealed in the future, but what I can say now is that Red won't have or in any way take Hae-in's title. Our lovely Hae-in will still be the only one nicknamed "The Dancer" as she deserves, and I will NOT take that away from her 😤❤️

I also took my chance on writing Igris' backstory from what we know of him right now, mainly from the brief info I got from reading the Solo Leveling: Arise wiki, so plus some creative liberties to match the story. I DO NOT play the game—interested, but don't exactly have the time to try it out—so feel free to send corrections if I got any info wrong. 🙏

Anyone interested in theorizing what's up with Red and Igris? 🤭

Also, I mentioned 3 new humanoid butterflies here with more physical decriptions than the rest, but still less than the leaders of kaleidoscopes (the main 8 butterflies, i.e. Red, 'Bel', Trick, Neonie, Blanche, Sol, Gale, & Aria).

The 3 mentioned here—

Auburn-haired, green eyes, with olive skin;

Ravenette, hazel eyes, with brown skin;

White hair, red eyes, albino

—are meant to be background characters kinda easter egg. So, for funsies, can any of you figure out which 3 shadows soldiers these butterflies are supposed to be counterparts of?

Hint: They are only mentioned in the Solo Leveling anime's media, as far as I know. 🤔

And last but not least, in celebration of this chapter being Red-centric, a dear friend of mine and fellow beloved Reader of Trial Player AU, @eternadreeblissa, who somehow predicted this chapter being Red-centric (just kidding, but it's still very good timing since I don't remember ever spoiling her on this chapter until AFTER she sent her gift), sent me this absolutely fucking gorgeous panel of Red from Chapter 20 😍

I'm dying from happiness ASDFGHJKL

Boo, I love you so much. ❤️❤️❤️

Please check it out y'all! And better yet, check out her blog, her arts are so 🩷❤️🖤

Feedbacks are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading. 🙏💕

182 notes · View notes

pure-smut · 11 months ago

Text

addicted.

featuring: Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

contains: college!Sukuna, groping on public transport (exhibitionism maybe??), a smidge dubcon, orgasm denial, missionary, mating press, size k*nk, Sukuna is a stalker and super possessive/toxic, unprotected s*x

word count: 2.6k

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

series: 1. infatuated | 2. obsessed | 3. addicted | 4. toxic | 5. feral

masterlist

a/n: thank you so much for all the love this series has gotten!! kinda feel like this maybe isn't the end?? idk i feel like sukuna's got more tricks up his sleeve so lmk if you'd like to see more~

It’s been a few days since you had that wet dream about Ryomen Sukuna and you still can’t get it out of your head.

Weird enough that it had come completely out of the blue – it’s not like you’d really thought about him since you slept together – but it was so vivid. The feel of his tongue on your throbbing clit, broad and deft as he made you cum on his tongue.

You shudder, growing wetter even as you remember it.

You’d seen him around campus a few times but despite his usual intense look, he hadn’t acted any different to before. You didn’t mind – despite being a great night, you knew Sukuna was a fuckboy through and through. You have no interest in spending more time than necessary with a guy who couldn’t give a shit about you.

So, you’d ignored him back.

Except for that wet dream.

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the memory, wrapping your arms around yourself. You’re at the train station, waiting with a thick crowd of commuters as you wait on your train home. You usually leave class a bit later than everyone else, staying behind to study, specifically so you could avoid the crush of people at rush hour. But today, your textbooks were getting delivered and the timeslot was less than convenient, forcing you to rush home with everyone else.

You try to make yourself small as the train arrives and you’re swept up with the crowd.

Everyone files on quietly, squishing themselves into the cramped space. You mumble a few apologies as you press into the commuters around you, finding a corner that you can face, hugging your bag to your chest. The train shudders as it starts up but you’re so crushed into the corner, you don’t even sway at it moves. You sigh heavily. It’s going to be a long journey home.

You start to zone out, wishing you’d thought to bring your earphones so you could at least listen to some music. When you feel a hand on your hip, you don’t even register it, assuming it’s someone in the crowd squeezing past. It’s only when you feel hot breath on the top of your head and the hand slides lower, touching your bare thigh, that you jolt.

You try to turn around but you’re pressed into the corner, not able to move. You heart hammers in your chest, your breath catching. Some random pervert is feeling you up!

What do I do?! You think to yourself, panicked.

And then you hear him.

“Relax, baby.” Sukuna’s voice is low so only you can hear, his mouth against the shell of your ear.

You freeze.

“S…Sukuna?!” you squeak.

“Shh,” he hushes you, his thumb tracing circles on your thigh. “Keep quiet for me, angel.”

You risk a quick glance behind you, but Sukuna’s large frame covers you completely, blocking you from view. You twist your neck to look up and see him grinning down at you.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” you say back, blinking. “What are you-?”

Before you can even ask, he’s answered you. Sukuna’s hand moves up your thigh and under your skirt, cupping your panty-clad pussy. You gasp and Sukuna tuts in your ear.

“Be quiet, remember?” he says firmly.

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry, but give a small nod. Despite the absurdity of the situation, a weird thrill runs up your spine at how brazen he is. You’re in public. Anyone could see. The train rocks on the tracks and Sukuna takes the opportunity to slip his fingers under your panties.

You bite back a gasp.

“Good girl,” Sukuna purrs.

He starts to stroke small circles around your clit, already slippery with your arousal. Your body responds to him on instinct and you spread your thighs slightly, allowing him more access.

The train stutters to a halt. You remain rooted to the spot, unmoving, as people file off and on the train. Thankfully, it remains full to the brim, so no one notices Sukuna groping you in the corner. You only breathe when the train starts moving again.

“Tell me something,” Sukuna says lowly. “Who were you speaking to earlier?”

Your mind is foggy with lust, too focussed on his fingers playing with your pussy in public. You blink several times, trying to understand his question.

“Um…” You falter as he applies more pressure, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “W-who?”

Sukuna growls in your ear and he pulls his fingers away. You fight the urge to whine, your clit still needy.

“Don’t play dumb.” His voice is quiet enough for only you to hear but has a dangerous undercurrent. “That white-haired jackass.”

You furrow your brow, confused. You had bumped into one of your classmates earlier outside your work and had ended up chatting to him for maybe ten minutes. But how did Sukuna know about that? And why was he angry?

You’re jolted from your thoughts as Sukuna lightly slaps your pussy.

“Well?”

“T-that was just a c-classmate,” you stammer out.

“You seemed awfully cosy with him.”

“How would you know?” you shoot back, a nugget of defiance forming in your chest. “And why do you even care?”

“I care,” Sukuna whispers in your ear and it sounds more like a threat than reassurance. “I care a lot.”

Your breath catches in your chest as Sukuna’s fingers return to your puffy clit, stroking it again. You nearly groan but bite your lip to contain it.

“Does he get to do this to you?” Sukuna asks. “Does anyone but me get to touch you like this?”

“N-no. Of course not.” You’re trying to keep the waver out of your voice but the way he’s rubbing your sensitive bud is making your knees weak.

His deft fingers quickly bring you to the brink. You press your back against his hard stomach and chest, stifling your moans as Sukuna dips a finger between your folds to gather more of your slick. You tilt your head back, resting it against his chest as your breathing turns ragged. You’re nearly there. You’re so close.

And then Sukuna pulls his hand away, withdrawing out from under your skirt completely.

“What…” you puff out, frustration and surprise colouring your cheeks.

Before you can twist your head to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, Sukuna intertwines his fingers with yours. As the train stutters to the next stop, he pushes through the crowd like a battering ram, pulling you by your hand behind him.

“Where are we going?” you protest. “I don’t live at this stop.”

“I do.”

Sukuna drags you out of the station but once you’re free of the rush hour crowds, he slows his pace, letting you walk in step beside him. You notice he doesn’t drop your hand.

You open your mouth several times to ask what he’s doing but the answer is obvious. He wants to fuck. Why, is the bigger question. Why when he could have any girl he wants, at least for a night. So that's what you ask him.

“Why me?”

Sukuna brings you to his front door, an eyebrow cocked as he pulls his keys free.

“What kind of a question is that?” He rolls his eyes.

“Why do you want me?” you insist.

Sukuna sighs, slotting in his keys and opening the front door. He drags you in, slamming the door closed before pushing you against it.

“Because you’re mine,” he states plainly.

Mine.

The word echoes in your mind as Sukuna dips his head to kiss you roughly. His lips part yours, his tongue demanding entrance. You open yourself to him as he grabs you loosely by the throat.

“You’ve been making me wait,” Sukuna groans into your mouth. “You’ve been testing my patience.”

Before you can question him, he scoops his large hands under your ass and picks you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around him.

“You’re not working tomorrow,” he says, almost a question but not quite.

“How do you know that?”

“Yes or no?” he ignores you, carrying you through the hall and into his bedroom.

“N-no.”

“Good. We’re not leaving this house for two days.”

Sukuna doesn’t ask you. He tells you.

He throws you on the bed before lying on top of you, pressing his mouth against yours to swallow any protests. His hand tangles in your hair at the back of your head, cradling your skull against his palm. His lips are soft even as his kisses are rough, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. Between his prolonged teasing on the train and his annoyingly good kisses, you feel your thighs growing slick with how turned on you are.

You snake a hand to the back of his neck, fingers gliding through his soft, pink hair. Sukuna grinds his crotch against yours, the friction making your clit throb. You whine with need.

“Let me cum,” you beg. “You got me so close before.”

“Say it again.”

“Let me cum, Sukuna.”

“Again.”

“Please! Please let me cum, Sukuna.”

He pulls back to grin at you.

“That’s all you had to say, angel.”

Sukuna reaches down to undo his jeans, pulling his cock free. You know he’s big, the memory of working it inside you still imprinted on your mind, but seeing it in person again makes your eyes widen.

“You were too tight last time, baby,” Sukuna coos, stroking himself. “Need to loosen you up first.”

Sukuna moves his hand from his cock to your clit, resuming his previous tight circles. Your back arches and your nails sink into the hard muscles of his shoulders. Sukuna uses his other hand to tug your shirt up, exposing your breasts. Still playing with your pussy, he latches his lips around one of your nipples, sucking and nibbling at it.

“Ah!” you whimper, the combined sensations overcoming you.

Sukuna feels you wriggling beneath him and pins you down at your hip, forcing you to stay in position. Your breathing gets short as you squeeze your eyes shut, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train.

You cry out Sukuna’s name as he makes you cum on his fingers, finally fulfilling the promise his touch made on the train. Sukuna talks you through it, his cock responding to the sweet noises you make because of him. With a satisfied smile, he pulls his hand back.

You collapse back onto the bed, dazed, as the head of Sukuna’s hard cock nudges at your entrance.

“Keep your legs spread for me, baby,” he commands. “There’s a good girl.”

Still coming down from the high of your orgasm, you’re pliant and obedient. You push your thighs apart, resting them on the cut of Sukuna’s hip muscles as he leans forward over you. Sukuna’s fat mushroom tip meets your hole and then slowly, so slowly, he pushes it inside you.

Your breath hitches, your brows scrunching up in the middle. You look down to see him splitting you in half, his cock stretching you so deliciously.

“Ah-!” you gasp. “Fuck, it’s so big…”

Sukuna doesn’t stop himself from grinning. He’s never been on top before, never thought anyone could take him like this. But he knows you can. And he’s willing to be patient for it.

Your pussy is slick and relaxed from your orgasm, stretching to accommodate Sukuna as he sinks himself another few inches inside you. He’s only halfway but the feel of your walls pulsing around him is setting his skin on fire. He grits his teeth and pulls back slightly, fucking you with a few shallow pumps to spread your juices along his cock.

You feel heavenly. He could cum just like this but he knows you can do more. He can wait.

Sukuna pulls your legs up, hooking your ankles over his shoulders so he can go deeper. He presses himself further, your welcoming pussy swallowing another few inches, your lips wrapping around him so tight.

You fist the bedsheets next to you, his cock rubbing against every nerve along your walls.

“S-Sukuna!” you cry out.

“You can take it, baby,” he soothes you, holding himself agonisingly still to let you get used to him. “You did before.”

You know he’s right – in fact, you made a point of taking his entire cock last time, just to spite him. And you don’t want him to stop, not really. You’ve never been with anyone who’s reached so deep inside you before. It feels strangely intimate, this secret thing that you only share with Sukuna.

Sukuna waits until you stop squirming before moving again. He’s so close, only an inch or two left. He thrusts in and out a few more times, drawing another whimper from your lips, before sinking in fully.

The front of his thighs meet the back of your ass, pressed together as he leans some of his weight down on you. Your lips fall open, a million curses waiting at the back of your throat, but all you can think is – you feel so full.

“Your pussy was made for me,” Sukuna groans, teeth gritted.

That’s exactly how you feel. He fits so snugly inside you, so tight and stretched, the thick ridges of his cock dragging so perfectly along your plush walls. Sukuna starts to thrust, keeping himself deep, never wanting to leave the warmth of you for long, and every stroke sends you hurtling towards another orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Sukuna’s eyes are glued on where your bodies meet, at where his girth slides in and out of you, coated in your juices.

He’s addicted to the way you sound, the lewd squelch of your pussy, the desperate moans from your lips. He’s obsessed with the feel of you around him, swallowing him whole. He’s infatuated with how you look, folded beneath him as he fucks you, your face contorted in the pleasure he’s giving you. Beautiful. Perfect.

He is never letting you go.

Sukuna picks up his pace, hips rolling. Your bodies are both coated in a thin sheen of sweat, the sounds of slapping flesh filling the room.

“You’re mine,” Sukuna growls. “Say it back to me.”

You’re delirious, drunk off the feel of his cock pistoning in and out of you. When you look up at him, your eyes are half-lidded and glazed.

“I’m yours,” you breathe.

“You going to ignore me again?”

Sukuna punctuated each syllable with another brutal snap of his hips. You cry out, so close to cumming even as your pussy aches.

“No!” you sob. “Never.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m yours, Sukuna. I belong to you!”

“Good fucking girl.”

Sukuna leans down further to kiss you roughly, his tongue lapping at yours without breaking pace. His cock rubs against just the right spot and you dive headfirst into another orgasm.

Sukuna feels you cream on his cock, your pussy like a vice grip around him. It’s enough to bring him to his own finish. He tips his head back, a flurry of curses falling from his lips as you feel him spill thick ropes of cum inside you.

Your thighs fall to either side of him as Sukuna half-collapses on top of you, chest heaving. You hold him to you, pressing soft kisses against his neck.

“Sukuna…” you say quietly, unsure.

He rolls over to the side of you, pulling you with him so you’re lying tucked into the side of him, your cheek pressed against his chest.

“I meant it,” Sukuna says, seeming to understand you even without you asking. “You’re mine.”

He looks down at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“And I’m yours. Always.”

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cyberrmusee · 4 months ago

Text

| I hope nobody catch us

(but i kinda hope they catch us) |

contents: professor!nanami, virgin!reader, chubby!reader, nerdy!reader fem!reader, age gap (reader is in their early twenties, nanami is in his early thirties), pet names (darlin’, doll, pretty girl, sweetheart) oral (f receiving), p in v, size kink!, softdom!nanami.

synopsis:Kento has always been fond of his students, but his naive, innocent, star student? Drove him nuts in ways he couldn't explain. The need to corrupt the young, pretty, straight-A thing, was his only thought.

A/N: thank you SOOOO so much for over 100 followers and all the love on my last post!! (this is not proofread so i apologize in advance LOL) pls enjoy!

"Alright everyone." Nanami started, voice rumbling deep, grabbing his students attention right at the very end of his class.

"Next class.... we'll start going over Kantianism. So everyone please, do tonight's pre-reading," His eyes drifted over each students face until his emerald and hazel eyes landed on you.

Your sweet and innocent focus on his words made his cock twitch. Hanging on to every word from his thick, pink lips— snap the fuck out of it kento

His eyes lingered on you for a moment as you flashed him a polite smile, waiting for him to continue on with the “homework” he was in the middle of assigning.

He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from you, no matter how much he desired to gawk at you as if you were the mona lisa freshly painted. “Its only twenty pages.. you all should be able to handle that.. right?”

And again his eyes were back to you, as the rest of your peers let out collective sighs and groans. You nodded your head eagerly, the biggest, most dorkiest albeit adorable smile on your face.

Admittedly, for whatever reason, Your Ethics and Morality class, was your favorite one. You loved the way any and all information you learned in the class challenged your brain, and you loved to think and see problems from any and every angle possible.

And there was also the fact that your Moral Philosophy professor was fuckin smokin-

Nanami couldn’t help the faint smile that flickered at the corner of his mouth when he saw how eagerly you nodded your little head. He wouldn’t admit it out loud but you were his favorite student not to mention, star pupil and dream fuck—

He looked over the class once more with a faint chuckle and nod before speaking again. “Alright then everyone, class dismissed. Enjoy your weekend.”

With that the entire class began to pack up and file out, before Nanami remembered he’d be posting their test scores from last weeks exam . “Ah also, grades for your most recent exam, will be posted this evening.”

a few sighs of relief were heard from some as they exited, while others face palmed and groaned at the thought of seeing their grade.

You however, were elegantly and quietly packing your class materials away into your little earthy shoulder bag. Standing from your seat as you finished and rounded the table to head toward the exit, pulling the bag over your shoulder.

The long patterned skirt you wore, hugged your hips. Little bits of chub spilling out over the top, just enough to make Nanami’s mouth salivate.

Your form fitted shirt clung to your curves and hugged your chest. Breasts overflowing out of the shirt just enough to make your cleavage the main appetizer of the meal that was you.

your skirt flowed within the air conditioned breeze inside the classroom as you walked, hips swaying and a small mindless smile across your face as you did so. blissfully unaware of the raging hard on you were giving Nanami.

He had already been watching you, sitting at his desk, leaned back in his chair. You were always the last person to leave from his class, but he didn’t mind, the longer you stayed, the more fuel it gave him to imagine shoving his cock right into your little hole and ruining you for any other man.

He knew he probably shouldn’t, it felt wrong, he was your professor, and ten years your senior. It went against everything he knew within the world of ethics.

But god, he needed you wrapped around him, he needed to feel your walls squeeze his cock and milk him til his balls shriveled up from how empty they were.

You were the only thing he was willing to break his moral code for.

Mindlessly you waltzed past his desk “Have a good weekend, Professor Nanami, see you on monday” your voice was like honey and lilacs, so soft and sweet but also rich and deep, he throbbed in his boxers and sat up before clearing his throat to speak.

“Would you like to help me grade your classmates exams?” He sputtered out voice strained, sounding like a nervous teenage boy.

You whipped your head around to face him, a small smile creeping onto your pretty features. “Again?” you questioned, a small chuckle following behind your words.

It was no secret that you were sort of his undefined teachers assistant. after all, you did have the highest grade throughout his entire student chart. 102.3%, most students left his class with an 83% on average. Last week you helped him grade another classes exams as well.

He smiled a little sheepishly after hearing you speak, though your tone was laced with amusement, he felt a twinge of guilt.

He always asked you for some form of help, but he couldn’t help it, it was the only way he could be with you alone to admire and ogle you the way he wanted.

“Yes, again.” he chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners as he confirmed your word. “Won’t hold you too long, yeah? swing by my office tonight and we’ll get through it together” he smiled reassuringly as if you weren’t already gonna say yes.

You had no plans this weekend (or any other) other than to write, masturbate or play a few games on your PC, the usual. “alright, is seven okay?” you asked, voice a bit softer than usual as you offered him a small smile.

he hummed and looked at the expensive watch on his wrist before nodding and drifting his gaze back over to you, drinking your body in again. “perfect, i’ll see you then.” he said firmly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

you nodded, your small smile turning into a much larger, toothier one, excitement brimming in your veins at the prospect of grading papers with your favorite professor again. “see you tonight professor” and with that you were out of his sight.

the door to his office was cracked when you showed up to it, punctual as ever. typical behavior for you. you’d decided on dressing a little more comfortable, some cute, fluffy little pajama shorts, a long sleeved shirt with lace just at the hem of the fabric, and the cutest little fuzzy slippers to match.

you held your bag over your shoulder and rubbed your lip balm covered lips together as you knocked on his office door before peeking your head in.

“hi professor” you said cheerily as your head popped into his office. he was sitting as his desk, first few buttons on his shirt undone, pen tipping back and forth between his middle and ring finger and tie partially unraveled as his eyes bore into the stack of papers on his desk.

his hard gaze, once focused on the papers in front of him, shot up to you and immediately it softened at the sight of your face.

“hi, c’mon in, glad you could make it.” he said rolling back in his chair, pushing away from his desk. you opened the door fully, stepping in and shutting it behind you, revealing your little outfit and his eyes nearly left their sockets.

his throat went dry and his cock started to harden in his khaki slacks. you looked so sweet and innocent in your little outfit. his mind began to run rampant, fantasizing about all the ways he could rip you out of it as his eyes traveled over you figure.

“i’m happy to help you Professor Nanami” you mused sweetly as you took a seat opposite of him in front of his desk, crossing one leg over the other.

you noted his lustful gaze and the way his eyes raked over you, and your mind started to swirl a bit.

You were innocent, at least in the way that society had painted you. No one knew about how curious and insatiable you were.

How you dreamt about your professor rearranging your guts and walls to the shape of his cock, nightly. How you fantasized about him being the one to touch you, while you touched yourself. How badly you wanted to hear him whisper how good you were taking him while he corrupted you.

You wanted him to do so, badly.

“Kento.” he corrected in a soft but firm tone. “Huh?”

He chuckled a bit “Call me Kento, or Ken.” he replied as he lazily drug his eyes over your body from across his desk.

“Kento” you repeated out loud, more to yourself than to him. He smirked, good, now he just needed to hear you moan it next—

He knew feeling like this about you, fantasizing like this about you, went against everything he stood for. His moral code, his ethical one.

But fuck he just could not help himself. There was something so sweet, so pure about your very being, that just drove him to the edge in the best way possible.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the stack of exams dividing it in half to split amongst the two of you. “Need a pen doll?” he asked with a raised brow, offering you the one between his fingers.

“Oh, um.. yes please” you smiled softly, pulling your mind out of the gutter as you grabbed it softly.

Your finger tips brushed against his and you swore you felt something deep in your soul ignite, it crackled and sizzled and it started to burn. Nanami felt that same feeling, it went straight to his groin.

you weren’t quite sure how you got here. sat on top of your professors desk with your shorts and underwear off, legs spread wide open with him on his knees in front of you, kissing your inner thighs.

maybe it was somewhere between the lighthearted jokes and prolonged eye contact, or the repeated subtle brushing of finger tips when you’d ask him if you graded a test correctly, showing it to him for reassurance, regardless both you and his dreams were coming true.

you looked down at him, eyes half lidded and low as he kissed closer and closer to your cunt, his glasses pushed up as far they’d go on his beautiful, broad nose. you were soaked, Nanami ran a finger between your puffy lips, coating it with your slick “pretty lil things all wet just f’me huh?”

you whined at the feeling, your body jerking just a bit against his finger, desperate for more, for anything. “ken, d-don’t tease me, p-please” you pleaded as you rolled your hips against his thick appendage.

you’d never done any of this before, you’d never even gotten past a singular kiss or first date with anyone before. sure you’ve tried fingering yourself, but it just didn’t feel right when you did it, maybe you didn’t know what you were doing, so you always stuck to good old fashioned clit rubbing.

a low chuckle rumbled from his chest, vibrating up your thighs as he kissed them, closer and closer til his face was right in front of your core, glistening and hot, he was close enough he could feel the heat from it warming his face.

“alright baby, won’t tease ya no more” his words were a promise. he licked a long stripe up your cunt, right between your sticky folds, eliciting the prettiest little whimpers from you.

he savored the taste of your slick on his tongue, thinking it was the sweetest little pussy he’s ever licked on “pussy so sweet pretty girl, tryin’ to get me addicted huh?”

immediately he dived in, his big muscular arms snaking around your thighs to hold you open, making you lean your body back and placing your hands on his desk to keep yourself as steady as possible, his lips latched on to your clit and he started to suck and lick on it like a man starved.

all the intense stimulation had your brain going haywire, unintentionally trying to shut your legs around his head “nghh— k-ken i— ohh m’god” he only hummed in approval.

he lapped at your cunt like you owed him something and this was his way of taking back from you, what was owed. like you’d stolen something and by god, was he going to get it back. he yanked you closer and pushed his head deeper as his tongue worked your clit into overdrive, you thought you’d physically explode from the way he ate you.

“w-wait.. kennn.. m’gunna” you whined as you tried to scoot back away from him, the pleasure was too much, but at the same time not enough.

he yanked you back to the edge of the desk, shooting you a little glare as he stopped for just long enough to discipline you and fix his glasses, moving them up to his forehead “no movin’ ‘kay darlin’? m’hungry, let me eat.” and then right back to your cunt he went.

you couldn’t even respond to him with words, all you could do was choke out moans and cries as your head tipped back, eyes in the back of your head with your mouth dropped open. the heat in your stomach was building, it was tight, and white hot, bound to break the dam and overflow.

“m’gunna cum— ken…pleaseee” you cried, cunt clenching around nothing, the heat in your stomach at its limit. “i know darlin, let me have it, give it to papa” was all he muttered as he redoubled his efforts on your clit, driving you right over the edge.

the damn finally broke. the heat overflowing as he held you in place and worked his tongue while you came. body trembling, legs shaking as you whimpered from the intensity of your orgasm.

his face was drenched in your juices as he lapped you up, working you through your orgasm and drinking you up as your essence dripped down his chin.

“there you go darlin’ that’s it, let it out” he cooed as he watched your eyes finally flutter open “good, you did so good f’me sweet girl.”

he pulled away from you and stood up, leaning his body against you, his bulge rubbing against your exposed core. you looked at how messy and wet his mouth was and felt a wave of embarrassment flood you.

“m’sorry” you muttered as you looked away. he laughed in response, it was deep and husky, filled with amusement as he tilted your face back towards his with his index finger. he set it under your chin and tilted your face up, making you meet his gaze.

“eyes here pretty girl” he murmed “you’re okay, i like the mess” he cooed sweetly as he leaned closer, pressing himself fully against you, “taste yourself, you taste so good” then he kissed you, chest pressed against your own as he moved his lips languidly against yours.

he grinded his bulge against your core, letting your wetness soak him through his pants as he groaned into the kiss. “need to feel this pretty pussy on me doll” he murmured against your lips.

you whined in response, heart thrumming in your chest nervously as he moved a hand down and worked the buckle of his belt and his zipper, glasses falling back down on to his nose, his pants dropped and his boxers weren’t far behind him. you broke the kiss and looked down at his cock—

holy shit.

your eyes widened, anxiety suddenly filling you to the brim as you stared at the monster, it was fully erect, standing at attention. precum beading from his angry red tip.

veins adorned the sides of his thick cock, traveling all the way down to his based where little curls of dark blonde hair nestled against his skin. how were you supposed to take that monster?

your eyes flicked back up to his, and he’d been watching you, watch him the entire time, letting you take in the sheer size of him, a knowing smirk on his face “s’alot ken..” you whispered

“i know darlin’, but you’ll be good and take every inch f’me wontcha?” he cooed sweetly. you figured at this point, there was no turning back, so now was a good a time as any to tell him you were a virgin right? right?!

“kento.. i.. i’m a-” you stuttered out, and before you could finish, he’d cut you off with words of his own “a virgin, i know doll, i’ll be gentle. promise.” your face flushed, hot as ever. “h-how’d you know?” you asked in a small voice.

he laughed, like genuinely, his chest rumbled against yours as the melodic chorus of his laughter filled the room. “doll, you came in less than sixty seconds. now i’m pretty good with my tongue, but that’s still a tell tale sign f’me.” he snickered just a bit.

you had never felt so embarrassed in your life, did you really cum that fast? it felt way longer when he was down there. how did he even know it was less than sixty seconds? was he keeping track?

he was, earlier, while you had your head in the clouds, singing a symphony of moans, he’d been lapping at your cunt and looking at his watch, noting the fact that he made you cum in about 45 seconds.

your face was hot with embarrassment at his words. you wanted to shrivel into a hole and die. nanami however thought the entire scene was so adorable, and it made him unimaginably hard.

he pressed himself against you to pull you out of your head. his tip and shaft gliding through your fat lips to gather up your juice. he groaned at the feeling “focus darlin’, m’not judgin, im proud to be your first, i’ll take care of ya” he reassured you as he leaned in and peppered small kisses against your neck.

you whined as you felt his cock glide through your lips and his sweet kisses against your neck, coupled with the reassurance, it was enough to get you right back in the zone. “m’ready ken” you crooned as he kissed at your neck and collar bone.

he hummed in approval and he drug his head from his neck to look at you “yeah? alright pretty girl, just hold on to me, papa’s gotcha”

you nodded slowly, placing your hands on his shoulders for stability. he gripped his throbbing cock, dragging it through your lips again, to gather up enough slick and pumped himself before settling at your entrance.

“deep breath for me sweet girl, mkay?” he said gently. you nodded and braced yourself, inhaling deeply as his fat mushroom tip invaded your little hole, nanami ignored his own pleasure in favor of watching your face to make sure there were no signs of discomfort.

he got a quarter of the way in before he stopped. “y’alright doll? s’not too much is it?” he asked as his eyes traveled your face.

“n-no s’just.. you’re r-really big ken” you breathed out. he chuckled as he rubbed soothing circles on your hips “you’re doing amazing pretty girl, but make sure you tell me if i need to stop ‘kay?” he nodded at you.

“okay.. i.. i can take it.” you whispered softly. he smiled at that, he thought your determination was so cute. “alright doll” and with that he pushed in a little further, you whined and gripped his shoulders, nails digging into them.

you could feel the stretch, the burn as his cock split you open for him. your greedy little walls sucking him in, inch by inch. nanami hissed, the pleasure of your cunt swallowing him and the pain of your nails in the divots of his shoulder blades, egging him on.

“get ready for a biigg stretch pretty girl” his voice had some breathiness to it. you could tell he was trying to hold back for you, he didn’t wanna hurt you. you nodded your head mindlessly, eyes nearly in the back of it.

he chuckled at your cock-drunk state and held your thighs up a little higher and as he pushed the rest of the way in, he let out a strangled moan as his tip kissed your cervix and he felt you clench him tight, almost a little too tight

“loosen up doll—hah—gonna b-break my dick if you—fuck— don’t” he breathed out, leaning forward to pepper more kisses on your neck. you whimpered as you tried to relax around him and adjust to the feeling of being so full. “s’too big ken.. mmf— m’trying” you whined.

it took you a few minutes, but nanami kissed your way through it as he waited for you to loosen up, you couldn’t lie, making out definitely did help.

“ready pretty girl?” he muttered against your lips. you nodded and that was all he needed to hear.

he drew his hips back, pulling out about half way before languidly thrusting his hips forward back in, filling you completely up, the both of you moaning in harmony as he set a slow, languid pace.

“pussy so—shit— so tight—hah-fuck” he groaned as he pulled your hips impossibly closer, your ass barely on the desk. “talk to me doll—fuck— feels good huh?” he panted as he rocked his hips back and forth, bullying your tiny little pussy.

“mmm f-feels gooooddd.. kennn” you crooned as your arms wrapped around his neck. the sensation was new, but god, it felt so fucking good, even the bits of pain from his fat mushroom tip kissing your cervix.

“yeah? taking my dick—hah— so fucking good pretty girl” he praised, and god was it making you twice as wet as before. “f-faster.. ken—nghh-harder.. m-more” you choked out.

it was like those were the magic words he needed to hear, something within him snapped. he grabbed the bottom of your ass and lifted you off his desk into the air as he slid you up and down his dick with ease. his big arms spreading you more open as he used you cunt like a toy, bucking his hips up into you picking up the pace.

“like this doll?—ah shit— you like that huh? like the way my—fuck—dick fills you up pretty girl?” he grunted as he moved you up and down, his hips meeting your body halfway.

your vision was white and spotty as he reached places inside your cunt, that you didn’t know were possible. mouth falling open, head back, whining and nodding as he thrusted upward, your tummy juggling with each upward motion he gave you. “y-yes sir.. i.. ah- ah— ken!”

the way your cunt fluttered around him, he swore he was seeing stars, he walked towards the wall holding you in his grasp as he pinned you against it and hoisted one of your legs on his shoulder as he held the other one open and pistoned his hips upward, eliciting cries from your pretty mouth.

“that’s right baby, you feel me in your tummy hm?” he breathed out, his balls we’re getting heavy, cock twitching in your cunt, the way your walls wrapped around him, it was like a vice, he picked up the pace just a bit further as his balls continued to tighten and the knot in his stomach grew.

“nghh- ken— s’deep.. m’gunna cummm” you whined as your soaking pussy gripped his cock tight, walls pulsing and legs shaking. the squelching sounds of him bulldozing your pussy and the symphony of your and his moans was all that could be heard within the confines of his office.

“go on sweet girl, cum on this dick f’me, give it to me baby” he coaxed as he pulled you off the wall and closer to him, chests pressed together as he kisses and bit at your neck and fucked into you with twice the effort as before.

you yelped and pulled him closer burying your face in his shoulder as your orgasm hit you like a freight train, white and hot, your vision was blurry as you clenched around him, crying out for him “m’cumminnnn kennnnn”

he groaned feeling your cum, hot and creamy, slide down his cock, spurring his own orgasm, he thrusted a few more time before burying himself at your hilt, the heat in his abdomen rushing forward as he came inside of you, hot spurts of cum, jetting out of him and painting your walls with his essence. “shit— f-fuck— sooo fucking good baby”

he rolled his hips up a few more times, emptying his balls as the last remnants of his seed coated your walls before taking your leg off his shoulder. you lifted your head from his neck and looked down at the small space where your bodies connected.

he slowly pulled out, watching the mix of your cum and his, leak out down his shaft and drip onto the floor and groaned at the sight “look at that fucking mess, you did so good f’me pretty girl.” he praised and you whined tiredly as he kept you in his grasp and sat down in his chair, rubbing soothing circles all over your lower back and sides.

“hurts ken” you mumbled against his shoulder softly. he chuckled just a little bit and you smacked his shoulder “s’not funnnyyy” you whined, which only furthered his laughter.

“don’t worry your pretty little head doll, papa’ll take care of ya” he whispered sweetly as he kissed the top of your head sweetly as he rocked you back and forth soothingly, rubbing your lower back as you laid against him, nearly asleep.

he could only hope the two of you didn’t get caught in his office, because he had no plans of moving you or himself any time soon.

nor did he plan to stop fucking you every chance he got, you might’ve been his number one student, but now you were just his.

and Kento Nanami, was not one to share.

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