#i have nothing fleshed out no plot or anything

[peachdues]

COMPASS

bad boy!Sanemi • gang AU • NSFW

A/N: Peach?? Not having any self control when it comes to writing a fic?? It’s more likely than you think.

This was supposed to be a bad boy!Sanemi takes your virginity drabble that spiraled into a meta-analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred that then blew up into a fic with plot. All of those elements are still present but surprise!! Enjoy 24k words of my brain rot.

Inspired by @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 ‘s wonderful meta analysis of Sanemi’s self hatred and his scars.

CW: 24k • explicit sexual content • MDNI • gang-related violence • mentions of blood and broken bones • mentions of murder/death • loss of virginity • creampie • vaginal fingering • some angst

I have plenty more of this AU written, so if y’all want more, just let me know 🫡

There are three rules to surviving life in the Corps.

The first is simple: once you’re in, you’re in.

Never outwardly confirm or deny rumors; let others talk, but don’t even think about opening your fucking mouth about the things you see or the whispers you hear.

And don’t be stupid enough to think you can cling onto any vestiges of your old life. There’s no splicing your life within the Corps with the one you’d had before. No separation. You’ve whored yourself to their cause, and for better or worse, you’re there until either someone important says otherwise or you end up in a morgue.

This is especially true for someone like Sanemi, so hopelessly entrenched within the organization that he’d allowed himself to be branded at the age of seventeen upon his ascension from rank-and-file street member to full-blown Hashira — the elite of the Corps, just short of the higher-ups who ran it.

The hot sear of iron between his shoulder blades had hurt like hell, but it was a welcome pain. A reminder that he’d not only outlived his father, but had actually made an impact, enough to be noticed and entrusted with more strenuous duties.

Each Hashira is assigned to a particular field. Uzui, silver haired, boisterous and extravagant, deals in bodies — mostly women, but men too, and he runs all of the strip clubs and escort services west of center city. Kocho, a child prodigy in chemistry, leads an intricate narcotics network.

And then there’s Sanemi: the debt collector.

Largely monetary debts — collecting on behalf of loan sharks, gambling debts, or that which is owed to his fellow Hashira, when their customers forget that there are no friends in business.

But the brand seared into his flesh has nothing to do with money — it is a reminder that above all, he is to ensure debts of another kind are paid.

Life debts.

In the three years since his initiation, Sanemi has only had to carry out this oath twice. Both had been scum, responsible for the deaths of innocents.

Their executions had been quick and without fuss — or much mess. A quick trip to an overpass abridging the Wisteria River. A march to the barrier in the dead of night, when no other cars were out and about to see or hear pleading sobs and bargains for their pathetic lives. A bullet to the head would quiet them, and Sanemi would let the rapids below take care of the clean up for him. Job done.

But even though the spray of their brains hadn’t touched him, their blood still stains Sanemi’s hands.

He will never be able to wash them clean.

But this is the life he chose, so Sanemi will endure the consequences — for the sake of his brother, the only living person on earth he gives a damn about. For whom he’ll do anything — be anyone — if it means Genya does not have to pick up a gun and sell himself to the very gang that owns his elder brother.

The second rule is simpler: no patterns. Patterns signal comfort and comfort may as well be a target on your back, begging for someone to come and take their shot (or several).

And finally, the third and arguably the most important rule, is don’t get attached. Keep your circle small so there’s less collateral to be used against you — against the organization that owns you.

This rule applies to both Corps members and civilians alike.

For the longest time, Sanemi Shinazugawa found Rule Three to be the easiest one to follow. He has his brother and no one else. His parents are dead; he has no friends beyond those in the Corps with him, and he knows better than to get overly invested in any of them. His inner circle is as tight as it can get.

But then he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in and that’s when everything falls apart.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Sanemi mutters, anxious eyes tracking the large hand on his watch as it ticks the seconds by.

They were late.

The job was simple, and well within Sanemi’s capabilities. Maeda, a local dealer in stolen goods, had run up a sizeable bill at one of Uzui’s joints that he’d yet to pay. And while the slippery lech was quick to come sniffing whenever news spread that Iguro, a fellow Hashira, had managed to hijack a semi-truck full of luxury items, he was surprisingly difficult to connect with when it came time for him to pay for company he couldn’t get elsewhere.

He glanced down at his bruised, swollen knuckles and smirked. Sanemi couldn’t say he loved that his worth was measured in the number of bones he could break, or the amount of teeth he could punch out, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish the chance to smash the pervert’s face in whenever the opportunity arose. Nor could he deny the rush of satisfaction he’d felt when he’d thrown open the steel door of the Maeda’s small office, crowbar in hand, and watched the snot-nosed pervert piss himself, stumbling over his words as he’d begged for mercy Sanemi hadn’t been hired to give.

The stupid, greasy fuck.

By the time he’d finished, Maeda had been little more than a quivering, helpless lump curled in on himself on the sticky, slate floor. His office had been left in shambles, drawers yanked out and emptied, only to be thrown aside (or cracked over the vermin’s back as he sobbed). But he’d had found the money, right down to the last dollar, just as he knew he would.

And that’s how Sanemi finds himself standing in the alley tucked behind Maeda’s small warehouse, Uzui’s payment split into two rolls that he’d shoved down into boots. All that was left was for the two junior Corps members he’d brought along for watch to bring the car around, and then they’d return to the abandoned factory that served as their headquarters.

Normally, this would have been a solo job, and Sanemi would already be on his bike, speeding off to safety. But he’d received an order to take along two, new Hinoe so they could get experience with higher level jobs.

Conveniently, his instructions had omitted the part the fact that the two lugs were utterly useless, bumbling idiots, contrary to what their recent promotions otherwise suggested.

Because neither of the two juniors are anywhere to be found. Nor is there any sound signaling that his getaway ride is approaching.

Sharp, lavender eyes scan the alley before him, but to his dismay, it remains empty — disquietingly so.

Leave it to a couple of rookies to set his teeth on edge.

Sanemi’s eyes drop down to follow the large hand of his watch as yet another minute ticks by. It’s been six minutes and their window had only allowed for four.

He knows how to be patient when the circumstances call for it, but now is not one of those times.

One minute, he decides, shifting his weight between his feet. They get one more fucking minute and then he splits —

A sudden screech of tires at the opposite end of the alley makes his stomach flip. Sanemi looks up just in time to see his escape car grind to a sharp halt, its rear jolting up as the driver slams on the brakes.

The passenger door flings open, and one of the Hinoe stumbles out, his feet barely connecting with the pavement before the car guns away, the side door flapping open.

The familiar howl of police sirens accompanied by distant shouts is enough for Sanemi to know this simple little debt collection has now gone tits-up.

“Pigs!” The Hinoe who stumbled out of the getaway car calls to him. “Pigs!”

“Shit,” Sanemi growls. No doubt Maeda’s bruised ego sold them out. He should’ve taken the time to smash the asshole’s phone.

He’ll be dealt with later — and with relish. But right now, Sanemi needs to get the fuck away.

Part of following Rule Three means not worrying about your fellow comrades when the cops come. None of them are stupid enough to actually risk talking to law enforcement about the Corps’ operations, but the fewer of them who get caught, the better.

So Sanemi takes off, adrenaline pumping fast and jot in his veins as he hears the swine behind him split off. He can’t be sure, but he can make out two, maybe three pairs of footsteps trailing behind him.

He scowls; shaking one cop is a breeze; having to shake off three is a bitch.

He hurtles over a pile of wooden crates and shoves a stack of delivery pallets over behind him as he runs, darting down random alleys and side streets that he knows will eventually lead him to a safe house.

The backstreet he shoots down is a fork, but only the path straight through will lead him to a rust yard of abandoned warehouses and shipping containers that Sanemi knows like the back of his hand. He could lose them there, could vanish between freights and wait the bastards out, and once clear, he could slip back into the district marking the outer territory of the Silo and get back home.

Iron pumps hotly in his veins. Almost there, almost there —

A car skids to a stop at the end of the middle ting of the alley, police lights flashing and alarms blaring.

No good.

“Fuck.” It isn’t the end of the world, but the blocking of the alley meant he had to reevaluate his escape. While he’s familiar with the path now obstructed by the police cruiser ahead, he hadn’t the chance to fully scope out his only other two options — the side streets to the left and right.

Without much thought, Sanemi darts sharply left and prays to whatever deity is listening that he hasn’t fully fucked himself.

Only one shop remains open; a tiny hole in the wall, tucked in between two old apartment buildings at the end of the street — one that borders the city’s western wing.

It’ll have to do, he decides, especially as the police sirens grow louder with each passing second.

He explodes through the front door, wide eyed and panting. Vaguely, it registers to him that this is a bookshop — a thankfully empty, cluttered bookshop.

But his abrupt arrival does reveal that the shop is not totally empty. There is one other — the store’s lone employee, who startles out of her seat behind the clerk’s counter, nearly knocking over a small cup of coffee.

He regards her for a moment, and she him, with matching expressions of wariness and shock at the presence of the other.

Behind him, the police sirens grow louder; more urgent.

It’s now or never. And, because he’s desperate enough to try, he risks a move he knows better than to take.

“You got someplace I can hide?”

——-

You blink, stunned as you stare at the frantic, pleading man anxiously looking between you and the door behind him.

His name registers dimly in the back of your mind. Here. In your store. And, evidently, on the run, if the distant echoes of police sirens growing steadily closer to your store is any indication.

Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You know him; you’d known him most of your life, even if you’d never spoken to him. You’d gone to the same school in your youth — all thirteen years of it, in fact. He’d been an abrasive loudmouth in the hallways, but a quiet, even polite boy in the classroom.

You know he’s from the Silo — a worn down, derelict part of the City that housed only the poorest residents. A cruel nickname meant to mock the poverty of its population.

But the Silo was also well known for being the epicenter of operations for the notorious group known only as the Corps.

It was the Corps who owned a majority of the City, its reach extending from the Silo, through the West and East wings, and all the way into Midtown. And, as was the case with most leeches, the Corps relied on the most desperate and hungry to carry out its biddings, offering some level of protection and security for the poor souls who needed it most.

Hence, its presence in the Silo.

So you hadn’t been surprised when you’d heard Sanemi had joined the Corps. Most kids from the Silo did; what had surprised you were the rumors that he became a high-rank member by the ripe age of seventeen, before he’d even graduated high school.

You shudder to think what he had to have done — what he’d become — in order to achieve such status and notoriety.

If he’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have helped; you would’ve screamed, alerted the police to his presence, maybe even outed him as a suspected Hashira.

But you owed him.

Years ago, before either you or your siblings could drive, you all relied on the city bus to get to and from school.

But one afternoon, when you’d had to stay late for a club meeting, your little sister accidentally got on the wrong bus. Rather than being dropped safe and sound a block away from home, she’d ended up in a bad part of town that just so happened to have been the stomping grounds of the scowling delinquent now shoved under your cabinet, contorted between boxes of blank receipt rolls and stacks of returns.

Had anyone else found your sister, there would be no telling what would have happened to her. The Silo was not a place known to be kind to lost little girls.

But it was Sanemi who discovered her, sniffling and red-faced at the dilapidated bus stop. And though he’d been nothing more than a scrawny ten year old, he’d put your sister on his back and carried her not just the six miles back to safe part of town, but the additional two that led right to the front doorstep of your parents’ home.

You’d watched him curiously from the stairs as your parents profusely thanked your sister’s white-haired savior. They’d offered Sanemi dinner, or at least some sort of reward for his efforts, but he’d only waved them off, briskly telling them it was “no big deal.” As though carrying a six-year-old nearly eight miles was par for the course, as far as he was concerned.

His eyes had flitted over to you once during the exchange, briefly lingering before he turned and left, a single hand held up in casual farewell.

You’d been ten at the time. And now, here you are, twenty years old, running a shabby bookstore, and the opportunity to pay him back has finally arrived. The chance to show your gratitude for sparing your sister of a fate he himself, had not been able to escape.

Quickly, you motion him to you and without explanation, you cram him under the clerk’s counter, holding the cabinet door shut with your knee just as the police burst through the store entrance.

There are three of them, and they do not bother announcing themselves to you. Instead, they begin to prowl through your aisles, flashlights out and guns drawn while they comb the quiet corners of the store, searching for signs of anything that did not belong; anything misplaced.

A bead of sweat slides down the back of your neck, but you keep your face and your stance casual. Below the counter you cross your fingers, hoping and praying that the criminal stuffed inside your cabinet isn’t stupid enough to try and shift.

One officer rounds back into the main part of the store and locks in on you, stiff and anxious behind the counter.“You haven’t seen anything suspicious?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what you mean.”

The cop grimaces. “You haven’t seen anyone who looks out of place? Maybe seems like they’re running?”

You feign an easy, sweet smile, even as the leg holding the cabinet door shut begins to tremble. “I’m afraid you’re my first customer of the day, sir.”

The officer grumbles under his breath something along the lines of not your customer, but he questions you no further. He only waves to his comrades and the three of them shuffle out through the door, one muttering into the walkie strapped to his shoulder.

Several moments pass, tense and thick. The silence is broken only by the sound of your heart hammering against your sternum. You remain still, fingers curled tight against the counter’s edge listening for any sound signaling the cops have returned, that their stiff departure had been a ruse to lull you into a false sense of security, as they waited for you to reveal your deception.

But all remains quiet. And you cannot stomach the silence any longer.

“They’re gone,” you mutter, finally moving aside to let the cabinet door below you swing open.

There’s a faint thumping and a few, muffled curses as the scar-speckled fugitive unfolds himself and spills free from the under-cabinet.

In a way, Sanemi still resembles the boy of your memories. His eyes and hair have always been distinctive: a shocking contrast of violet framed by thick, dark lashes that do not match the mop of silvery-white atop his head. But it’s the faint scowl he wears as he stands, the tinge of annoyance that tugs at the corners of his mouth, that scrunches his pale eyebrows, that feels familiar.

That expression, a portrait of vague irritation with the world around him, was one you came to know well — at least, at a distance. One that remained constant even as you grew; his default.

However, it is still not nearly as memorable as the shy embarrassment that had turned his cheeks slightly pink, had made him cast his eyes down as your parents showered him with gratitude.

But that earnest bashfulness is nowhere to be found now.

He wears a patterned, short-sleeved button down. Though rumpled and a tad dirty, you suspect the top three buttons were left open intentionally, rather than being the product of whatever scuffle he’d found himself in before he decided to make it your problem.

You try not to linger on the very obvious hint of the well-defined muscles revealed by his open collar. Nor do you let yourself consider the bulging mass of his biceps as he runs a hand through his cornsilk hair.

He has scars he’d not had in your youth — jagged, silvery lines that cut halfway across his cheek and forehead. Yet their presence does not dull his good looks.

A scrawny ten year old no longer; Sanemi Shinazugawa is now tall and roguishly handsome. But his infuriating good looks aside, your debt to him has been repaid; now, he needs to get the fuck away.

“Can’t thank ya enough,” he shoots you a devilish smile as he straightens his shirt. “You really saved my ass —“

“Get out of my store.” You order, your voice hard. “Take your trouble somewhere else and leave me out of it.”

Sanemi’s eyes narrow at your use of the word trouble, but he says nothing. Instead, he only rounds the counter with a loping, infuriating swagger, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“As you wish, Princess,” and you bristle at the sarcasm dropping from the word. He pauses to scan the shelf marked New Releases. “Just need somethin’ for the road.”

He snags a small novel — a fantasy story, judging by the cover - and he tucks it under his arm.

“Later,” he calls, waving a lazy hand over his shoulder.

You stare after him, slack-jawed and incensed. “You have to pay for —“

But the door bangs shut behind him, and Sanemi Shinazugawa disappears into the night.

—-

By the time Sanemi returns to his shabby apartment, it is well after midnight. He’d met up with Uzui and forked over Maeda’s payment. Though, the Corp’s head pimp hadn’t been particularly pleased that his money rolls had been shoved deep down in his boots, his nose wrinkling as Sanemi dropped the crumpled, slightly damp wads of cash into his waiting, magenta-nailed hands.

As it turned out, Maeda hadn’t sold them out. Rather, one of the Hinoe had stupidly gotten into a scuffle with some brash, young teenager and in his anger, pulled his gun on the kid.

Right in front of two, marked cop cars.

One of the idiots had been caught and cuffed, and was now spending his evening locked in the damp, cold jailhouse pending bond. The other — the driver — had managed to escape, though he’d been carted off to Iguro for punishment.

There’s a reason he prefers working alone, he thinks bitterly as he kicks his boots off. He fucking loathes incompetence.

He pulls his gun free from its place in his waistband and sets it gently atop his ratty kitchen table. Sanemi then trudges over to his futon, collapsing heavily on it with a groan. A shit day, he decides, pulling the stack of cash he’d received as his cut for the job free from his pocket, thumbing through it. A shit day with shit juniors.

He shifts against a lump that sits under his ass. Frowning, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the book he’d swiped from your store and turns it over in his hands. Surprisingly, it has managed to remain in pristine condition despite its rather unceremonious storage in his pocket.

Your face flashes in his mind, but before he can fully appreciate it, your words echo in his ears.

Take your trouble somewhere else.

Sanemi scowls, tossing the book onto his coffee table, annoyed. The implication underlying your use of trouble and the venom with which you’d spoken it is a thorn in his side he cannot ignore.

You know what — who — he is. In Sanemi’s world, that’s a liability.

Though, in fairness, he can’t really be surprised that you do. Gossip is a free commodity in this town, and it’s a coveted one. It wouldn’t be a stretch to conclude that you’d overheard one of the rumors about him and his ties to the Corps.

What concerns him is he doesn’t know what your connection is, if any, to his world. Maybe you’re really just a girl in a bookshop who paid back a decade-old favor.

Or maybe you’ve got an in with them.

The Corps isn’t the only gang operating within the city; there is another, crueler and far more violent that had arisen west of the Silo.

The Kizuki.

In the last six months, the Kizuki have managed to overtake the Western Wing, nearly expanding their reach into center city.

Their takeover had been swift; practically achieved overnight, following the systematic execution of every known Corps members in the area. And their violence hadn’t been limited to active members; the Kizuki had brutally maimed and murdered anyone tangentially connected to those Corps members.

Neither women nor their children were spared. And now, it seemed the Kizuki had set their sights on the Silo.

There are whispers that they’ve expanded into their operations into the neighborhood adjacent to the one in which the bookstore sits. That alone is enough to make Sanemi suspicious — perhaps you’re in league with them, and you’ll hand him over the moment it’s most convenient for you to do so.

Admittedly, that theory seems doubtful. You’re a bookseller. Not the kind of girl he knows is prone to becoming involved with the seedy underground world of organized crime. And your apparent disdain for him and his trouble only supports that theory.

But that’s an assumption, and in his line of work, assumptions are precarious; risky. Too much so for comfort.

Either way, he doesn’t know, and that uncertainty is a breeding ground for the parasite that is doubt. Toxic enough that were it to take root in his brain, his judgment could be compromised, leading him to mistakes he can’t afford to make.

Sanemi doesn’t tolerate blind spots. He will keep you on his radar until he determines the threat you pose and once he knows its severity, he’ll decide how to proceed.

He eyes the book he’d swiped from your store. He likes reading, though he hasn’t had much time for it lately (or, ever). But, if he’s going to hang around you while trying to identify the threat you pose, he might as well have a strategy for getting you to talk.

Sighing, he grabs the novel from his table and thumbs to the first page as he pads into his kitchen, in search of something to quell the grumble in his stomach.

—

His inquiries into you and your life reveal shockingly little.

You work at a bookstore. Your parents sold off your childhood home and retired to some beach down south. Your siblings are spread out across other cities and don’t visit home often, if ever.

Only you remain, abandoned by your family to fend for yourself in a crumbling city with only a shabby bookshop that sits on the furthest end of an otherwise safe street to keep you busy.

Truthfully, the bookstore probably is more interesting than you, at least on paper. But it’s that dirge of information that piques his interest; makes him look at you more as a mystery worth unraveling.

Besides, the smart thing for him would be to keep a tab on you until he can confirm you are in fact, as boring as you appear.

Or so he tells himself.

The image of a ten-year-old you peering at him from your parents’ stairwell flashes through his mind once more.

He’d felt your gaze burning a hole into his head, and shyly, he’d looked back at you, only to find himself unable to look away. Only your mother’s prodding about him joining your family for dinner had broken your temporary enchantment over him.

The memory of how you’d looked at him — a mixture of curiosity and awe highlighted by a faint blush in your cheeks when he’d met your stare head on — remained fixed in his brain for years after.

And though the two of you never spoke, you always smiled at him whenever you locked eyes in the school hallway or cafeteria. A real, genuine smile.

He wonders if he ever smiled back and finds himself irritated that he can’t remember if he had. He should’ve; especially now when it seems as though he’s unlikely to ever see that gentle, radiant smile again.

Sanemi’s phone pings and all thoughts of you come to a screeching halt. The message that flashes on his screen — instructions, only by way of an address and an amount — chase away the images of you and your sweet smile, like a hand scattering smoke.

With a sigh, Sanemi dials the number for two, lower-ranked Corps members to serve as scouts. With watch secured, he shoves his phone into his pocket and runs a tired hand over his face.

He wonders what will kill him first — whether it will be a bullet or whether it will be because there’s nothing left of him to whore out on the Corp’s behalf.

Ultimately, he knows it doesn’t really matter. He won’t die as himself; as Sanemi, the boy from the Silo who wants a life that’s anything but this. He’ll die only as Shinazugawa the Hashira. He’ll die under the mask he’s forced to wear so often, he wonders if it hasn’t yet bonded with his skin.

But as long as he remains in one piece, he must continue on as a puppet in this this tedious show. So, Sanemi grabs his gun from where he’d placed it on atop the cheap plastic of his kitchen table and he tucks it into his waistband.

And by the time his apartment door slams shut behind him, Sanemi has slipped the mask down over his face, and he is Shinazugawa once more.

—

Two weeks pass before he ends up back in front of your bookstore.

Sanemi doesn’t really remember how he got here. He awoke well before sunrise to his phone chiming with orders that he go collect on a sizeable gambling debt owed by one of Iguro’s regulars, an owner of some pawn shop.

The sun was already high overhead when he finally left the pawn shop, knuckles bruised and arm aching. He’d kicked his bike into gear in a familiar daze, one that always slipped over him after he completed a job. A kind of numb quiet that settled into his bones, a dull static in his brain that did not fade until the tremor in his hands subsided.

That paralysis needs to be broken. Contrary to popular belief, desensitization was not an ideal state of being for someone like him. It made him apathetic and careless to the world around him, and that was little better than painting a giant target on his back, begging his enemies to come and do their worst.

So, when the numbness still lingered by the time his bike roars past a rusted water tower that marks the outer limit of the Silo, Sanemi knows of only one cure. His go-to.

His bike is still hot by the time he lifts his phone to his ear, just outside his shithole of an apartment.

He doesn’t know her by name — only by description, as told by the series of emojis that accompany her number on his phone. But it’s surprisingly easy to charm her, though perhaps that’s because she’s looking for an escape just as much as he is.

Less than ten minutes later, the girl pulls up beside him in the parking lot.

Her hands are already roaming down his chest and playing with the buckle on his belt as Sanemi unlocks his door and pushes her inside.

At some point between the front door and his bedroom, the girl has stripped herself of her outer clothing, leaving her only in her undergarments as she tugs Sanemi down by his neck and into her kiss. She’s licking and nipping at his lips in a way he’s not sure he likes, but he allows it because his cock is painfully hard and throbbing where it strains against his pants.

And, after all, he’s the one desperate for relief.

“I’ve only got ten minutes,” she warns, kicking off her underwear as she falls back onto his bed. Sanemi only smirks as he slides his hand down the length of her leg, gripping her by the ankle and flipping her to her stomach.

He shifts away long enough to quickly wiggle free of his pants. He grabs a condom from his nightstand and rips the foil with his teeth. Fingers toying with the girl’s clit as she moans into his mattress, Sanemi rolls the latex down his cock. Protection secured, he reaches for her again, yanking her by her hips until her backside is flush against him. One hand pushes down between her shoulder blades while the other snakes up her neck, and Sanemi nudges the tip of his cock up against her entrance.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he winds the long tresses of her hair around his fist and gives her a sharp tug. “We’ll be done in five.”

—-

Even an hour after he tossed the girl her clothing and not so casually suggested she leave his apartment, Sanemi still feels restless.

He cannot shake the images of the afternoon from his mind, and so, Sanemi resorts to walking.

He does so without thought as to destination or the rapidly setting sun. Sanemi only focuses on the activity itself. One foot in front of the other; pace even and quick, each step accompanied by a flash of that day’s sins.

The crash of a garage door as it slammed back against the wall. Wide eyes that quickly filled with panic at the sight of him and the flash of metal tucked against his hip.

Step.

A plea; a desperate promise to pay, one that he’d heard a thousand times from a thousand different mouths. None of them ever seemed to understand their word wasn’t worth shit when they’d already defaulted on their obligations. Yet still, they begged.

Step.

The breaking of teeth beneath his fists.

Step.

The crush of bone under the iron pipe he’d found discarded on the garage floor. The agonized futility of trying to scoot back and away from him, despite a shattered leg.

Green; the color of the money he’d found stashed in a duffel, the debtor’s desperate attempt to hoard the wealth owed to the Corps.

Step. Step. Step. All the way down the street leading until he finds himself on a distantly familiar stretch of pavement that ends at the bookstore’s front steps.

For a moment, he lingers outside the shop, hesitant. He should turn around; there is no reason for him to be here. His investigation into you is not a priority by any means, especially where whatever poking he has done has revealed so little.

The book he lifted from the New Releases shelf is tucked carefully in his jacket pocket. He doesn’t know why he’s carried it around with him, all this time. Sanemi finished the novel the very night you’d helped hide him from the cops.

He should leave; but then his feet carry him up the walk leading to the store, and he’s pushing the door open.

His arrival is punctuated by a cheerful ring of the old bell nailed above the door. At first, the store appears deserted; but then you pop up from under the counter, surprise coloring your features.

That surprise melts quickly into cold disdain that makes something in his chest flutter as he strolls toward you. With every step, that numb haze of his disperses and instead, Sanemi feels himself returning to normal the closer he brings himself to you.

“This isn’t a library,” you chide when he plops his borrowed novel back down on your counter. “You have to pay for the books here.”

It’s incredible how easily he is able to slip back into the skin of the suave, smug playboy, and your adorable glare only makes him smirk. “I brought it back, didn’t I? Look — didn’t even crack the spine.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you reply coolly, snatching the book up and tossing it on a small cart marked Restock. “That loss came out of my paycheck — which is scant enough.”

That piques his attention. “Didn’t you say this was your store?”

His question makes you turn pink, and you’re quick to put your back to him, pretending to shuffle through new releases waiting to be shelved. “I work here,” you mutter quietly, but when you turn back around, you stick your chin out, defiant. “But I am the only employee, so it is my store, in a sense. The owner doesn’t ever come by.”

You wrinkle your nose. “So yes, lost profits affect me, and me alone, you thief.”

Sanemi cocks his head, his eyes running over you in consideration.

You’re beautiful; he’s always found you cute, even as a kid, but the transition between your teen years and adulthood have been kind. Even if you’re glaring at him like you would a crushed bug stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

But your words strike a chord in him. His job is to collect money from those greedy lowlifes who waste it; who use money to carry out their bad deeds, who use it to fuck over others.

He doesn’t take it from those who need it; from those who are barely scraping. by. Sanemi knows the agony of having to choose between keeping the lights on or feeding a hungry stomach far, far too well.

“Fine, here,” he tosses a random novel on your counter and a crumpled twenty dollar note. You ring him up, eyes flicking up to glare at him every so often as you count out his change.

He only continues to watch you, the heat of his stare ignites an itch under your skin that makes you squirm.

Your restlessness boils over. “What?”

“Nothin,” he shrugs. “Just think it’s interesting that you of all people are still lingering in this shit hole.”

Your head snaps up, your task of totaling out his change forgotten. “I live here, idiot.”

He snorts. “Didn’t you want outta here? Do somethin’ different?” He leans forward, elbows propped on your counter as he rests his chin on his fist.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He’s dancing dangerously close to a sore spot of yours — that you are alone in your hometown, working at a failing bookshop, with no one and nothing to justify your stagnancy.

“This can’t be your dream life.”

You don’t have to answer; you know that. But his line of questioning is puzzling. Because, no matter how casual he manages to keep his tone, his nonchalance is betrayed by his eyes, sharp and inquisitive.

Like he’s waiting to dissect whatever answer you give him.

Sanemi continues. “It’s strange for people not to want for more — to not dream about somethin’ different.”

“And who are you to say I don’t?” You bristle, slamming your cash drawer shut with more force than necessary. “I have a dream of my own. Just because it’s not one you would pick for yourself doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

He blinks, taken aback. “Woah, woah, I never meant any offense.” He pushes back from the counter. “My bad.”

His response feels genuine but your ego is already bruised. Stiffly, you finish counting out his change and drop it into his waiting palm.

You slide his book across the counter. “Have the day you deserve.”

His surprise morphs into amusement at your iciness. So haughty, he winks. “You too, Princess.”

You turn aside in clear dismissal. He makes a show of taking out his wallet and stuffing his change inside, but your pointed ignorance of him means you don’t see him toss another note on the counter.

He’s already halfway out the door when you call after him, urgent. “Sir, you dropped your —“

“Nah, I didn’t,” he raises his hand in farewell as the bookstore door bangs shut behind him, leaving you to stare open-mouthed after him.

Clutched tightly in your hand is his crisp, one hundred dollar note.

—

His next visit is unplanned, but not in the way that Sanemi avoids routine. It’s unplanned in that he’s annoyed and it’s partially your fault, so that means the onus is on you to fix it.

You’re in the process of double checking delivery logs to ensure all your new inventory has arrived when a large thud against the clerk’s counter startles you.

You frown. It’s him again — all ivory hair and silvery facial scars that somehow are less imposing than the irritated scowl he wears.

“This book was shit,” he scoots the novel across the counter to you with distaste. “I want a refund.”

You level his pout with a frosty glare of your own. Wordlessly, you lean over the counter and tap a single finger against a laminated sign duck-taped to its edge.

Return-exchange only. No refunds.

“But it was shit,” he repeats, as though that will somehow spur you to change a policy you didn’t create. “You let me waste twenty bucks.”

“I did nothing,” you rustle the pages of your delivery log in pointed dismissal. “You’re the one who decided to buy a book before checking it out.”

You glance down at the discarded novel. “Figures,” you scoff. “He’s not even an author. He uses ghost writers and takes all the credit.”

“Woulda been nice if you’d told me that before you let me give him my money.”

You hum idly as you cross off the log’s boxes for new releases. “I suppose I was too stunned that you even knew how to read. Guess I wasn’t really paying attention to your shit choices.”

“Oh?” And you glance up to see Sanemi smirking at you. “The Princess has claws, does she?” He leans against the counter, propping his cheek under a loose fist. “So, what are your recommendations, gorgeous?”

“I’m not your Princess,” you snap imbuing the nickname with as much venom as you can muster. “Call me by my name or call me nothing at all.”

His eyes drop to your name-tag, pinned neatly on the front of your sweater. That insufferable smirk of his only widens. “Alright, alright. What are your recommendations, Y/N?”

The syllables sound rich and honeyed and suddenly, you wish you’d let him stick with Princess, as grating as it was.

Because your name should not sound so sweet, should not roll off his tongue so seamlessly, as it just did.

You’ve never been one to indulge in rumors. But in this city, as economically fractured as it is, gossip is a currency everyone keeps in their back pocket. And though you keep your head down and mind your own business, even you have heard the rumors swirling around town about the eldest Shinazugawa child.

Rumors that he has ascended the ranks of the same Mob that claimed the life of his deadbeat father long before the bastard was shived in the back for a debt he’d owed (their words, never yours).

Rumors that he holds a unique position within the gang, known clandestinely only as the Corps, and that position requires him to do things most won’t speak about.

But the rumor that screeches to the forefront of your mind has nothing to do with his alleged status with the Corps. It’s his reputation as a flirt; a rumored womanizer, through and through, that is a splinter under your skin.

Determined to pick him out, a wicked idea blossoms. “Fine, here.” You stalk purposefully to the section marked Literature. Your finger drags down a line of titles before finally settling on one. You pull it free with a soft grunt, the book sitting thick and heavy in your hand as you dump it into Sanemi’s.

“Read that.”

His eyes flick between its cover and you, incredulous. “This ain’t a book; it’s a brick.”

“It’s a classic,” you counter. “One that examines age-old question of destiny versus free will, generational curses.” Your head cocks to the side, a challenging smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Love and lust.”

His eyebrow raises and you cross your fingers. If he falls for it and ultimately ends up hating the book, then perhaps he’ll decide your taste in reading material is indeed shit, and maybe then he’ll leave you alone.

Sanemi considers you for a moment but then he takes the bait. “If you say so,” he sighs. “But if it’s shit, I’m taking my refund.” And then he leans in close, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

His breath is hot against your ear. “Regardless of your shitty little policy.”

You refuse to let him see how much he’s knocked you off-kilter. “So I can expect to be robbed? Will it be at gun or knifepoint? Just so I’m prepared.”

His chuckle, low and dark sends goosebumps skittering down your arms. “Worse,” he promises before he draws back. His grin is wolfish, all teeth and feral hunger. “You’ll owe me a date.”

He looses a low, appreciate whistle as he steps back and takes his eyes over your rigid form. “Though, I might just take you out anyway.”

“You assume I’ll say yes — or are you planning on kidnapping me? I’m sure you’re rather proficient at it, given your occupation.”

Something dark flashes across his face, and it’s enough to make you step back, a sudden fear creeping up the back of your spine.

Stupid, you chastise yourself. You never know when to keep your mouth shut.

But the shadows in his features recede as quickly as they appeared, and Sanemi’s mouth eases back into that same, cocky smile.

“You’ll say yes, Princess. You won’t be able to resist the temptation.”

“Temptation?” You force out a laugh. “And what makes you think I can’t?”

Sanemi’s eyes find your current read, open flipped over on the counter, marking your current page.

It’s a mystery novel. Your third of the month, born of a new hyperfixation on the genre.

You want nothing more than to wipe that smug grin of his clean from his face. He gives an affectionate snake of his head as he turns and makes his way toward the door. “Habits, Y/N. It all comes down to habits.”

You should throw it at his head, but Sanemi exits the store before your hand can find its spine.

——-

Over two weeks pass without so much as a whisper from the enigma that is Sanemi Shinazugawa.

Loath though you are to give him that sort of credit, you cannot deny that he utterly confounds you. He is everything you expected while simultaneously nothing at all what you’d imagined. He is brash and cocky, and he struts around with an insufferable self-importance that can only come from years of being at the top of his game (no matter how he got there).

Yet, he also reads. Enough to have opinions, even decent ones, about certain authors, and he’s open minded enough to accept your recommendation even if it feels as though he has an ulterior motive for doing so.

And, he’d been bothered by the dock in your pay as a result of his mischief; so much so, that he’d slipped you more than enough to make up the loss. That is the action that puzzles you the most, even weeks later. You’d assumed that someone like him, so used to ensnaring people into various schemes, wouldn’t have given two shits if he’d stolen money from some broke girl at a bookstore. After all, his business was all about money — and the lengths some would go to keep it.

Yet he’d paid you back — paid you more than you needed, if you were honest.

Since that day, you’ve had your ears tuned to any mention of his name, any whispers of the mysterious, scarred gang-member who has occupied nearly all the open space in your head. You’ve managed to glean small things here and there. That he’s a Hashira, and Hashira means he’s only one step below what is known ominously as the Master Family — the heads of the entire organization.

That he’s rather feared, even among seasoned Corps members; that he’s known for his swift brutality.

That he’s more than just a flirt; he’s a virile lover. Not picky in the slightest about who warms his bed, though no one has ever been able to pin him down longer than a handful of one-night stands.

You stop poking around after that particular revelation, embarrassed that you now know exactly what makes him so popular.

Apparently, his flexibility pairs well with his near inhuman stamina. And he’s said to be very well-endowed.

It’s more information than you care to know, but you can’t deny that your curiosity lingers.

You brush aside your inquisitiveness as nothing more than a natural side effect of your own inexperience. And you’ll be damned before admitting that your interest in Sanemi Shinazugawa isn’t limited to rumors of how good he is in bed. That, perhaps your curiosity stems from something deeper, from a desire to know if that bad boy persona is authentic or a mere facade, and boy on the stoop still lurks somewhere beneath his mask.

—

“You look like shit.”

You startle up from where you’d been resting your head on your arm, wavering between consciousness and sleep.

You know that gravelly voice before you lay your eyes on him, and your irritation is quick to flicker to life.

Nearly a month has passed since your last encounter, and for a moment, you’d thought you’d been freed from his nuisance. But now, Sanemi stands in your store, wearing a half-amused expression on his stupidly handsome face.

“Is that the only descriptor you know?” You ask miserably, hands working quickly to smooth down your mused hair. “Is everything either shit or not-shit to you?”

Sanemi shrugs. “Pretty much,” and he holds something out to you, waiting. “Here.”

It’s a to-go bag from a cafe two blocks away. One known for their almond croissants, for which you have a particular penchant.

Your stomach grumbles fiercely. You’d foregone eating breakfast when you realized you’d overslept your alarm, and had to rush out of your apartment to ensure you’d be here in time for the weekly delivery truck.

The sweet scent of butter and sugar wafting from the bag makes your mouth water.

But this is Sanemi Shinazugawa, and you should think to know better. “Is it poisoned?”

He rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to drug you, sweetheart, I’d pick a far more convenient way to do it — and one that didn’t involve me getting up at the ass crack of dawn for some overpriced pastries.”

Warily, you accept the paper bag, and Sanemi surprises you again by handing you a to-go cup of coffee. He watches as you, ever the dramatic, sniff tentatively at the lid and frown, apparently dissatisfied that you can discern nothing but the rich, aromatic scent of espresso.

Sanemi takes a deep drink from his own cup. “It’s a thank you. For that book you recommended,” He smirks. “It wasn’t shit. It was good.”

You fish a pastry out of the bag, and nearly drool as you behold its buttery, flaky goodness. “You sound surprised.”

“Maybe I was. Your success rate was only fifty-fifty. I had every right to be skeptical.”

“You’re the one who grabbed that last book,” you take a large bite out of your croissant and you fight to keep yourself from moaning. “That had nothing to do with me.” You swallow thickly before taking a large sip of coffee to wash down the pastry. “So, no date, then?”

The smile he gives you is almost apologetic. “Sorry, beautiful. I don’t actually date.” And you nearly double over at the bewildering taste of disappointment creeping sourly up the back of your throat. “Gotta keep things casual in my world.”

The once-over he gives you is razor-sharp. “And you don’t look like a casual girl.”

You resist the urge to cross your arms. “You seem awfully certain, Shinazugawa.”

“Experience,” he offers easily. “I know casual women.” He turns his head away before quietly adding, “And you ain’t one of ‘em.”

It’s odd; you know of his rather wild reputation among women, and yet he seems almost embarrassed by its acknowledgment. But as you’re slowly learning, Sanemi Shinazugawa is a conundrum you haven’t yet been able to pick apart.

You could throw it in his face; you could spew some barb about his experience, rub your salt right into his obvious wound. You have no reason to spare his feelings, not when he’s been such a consistent pain in your ass.

Your eyes drift to the empty pastry bag and coffee cup before they find him again, and suddenly, you don’t see the swaggering, cocky Corps member with a reputation for being just as dangerous and violent as he is flirtatious.

You see only the boy on your stoop; the one who’d gently removed your sister from her place on his back and handed her back to your tearful, relieved parents.

And it’s because you cannot stop seeing that boy, that you offer before you lose the courage to ask, “So, friends, then?”

Sanemi whips back to you, surprise coloring his features that quickly melts into a smile — a real, genuine smile.

And thus, Sanemi Shinazugawa, ruthless member of the Corps and a ranked Hashira, befriends a girl who runs a bookshop.

—-

In retrospect, Sanemi knows he’s probably fucked himself.

His only intention in visiting your shop after that first day had been to discern what level of threat you posed to him, if any, and to address it accordingly. Befriending you was never his goal. After all, he prided himself on his staunch ability in following the unspoken Rules of the Corps — number Three, in particular.

But he has always interpreted Three has a warning against forming bonds within the Corps. And though he knows it’s good practice to keep his circle outside its operations small as well, he rations he’s entitled to indulge his curiosity in you. He doesn’t have friends, not really. Just Genya, and his little brother lives well over an hour away, enrolled in a school in a far better — far safer — city.

It would be nice to have someone a little closer to home that he could relax around.

Yet, he can’t recall whether Rule Three would bar him from associating you outside work hours. Caution would dictate he shouldn’t, but Sanemi never claimed to be a careful man.

He never visits the same day or at the same time. Rule Two says no patterns, and though he’s steadily blurring the lines of Rule Three with each passing day, he convinces himself that as long as he abides by the first two, he won’t be in as deep shit as he, in theory, could be.

It starts out slow; tentative. Despite what he’d thought otherwise, you’re not nearly as prim and haughty as you’d tried to make him believe.

You’re sweet. Genuine, in a way that’s rare for him to encounter in his world.

Gradually, he begins spending more time with you. At first, your relationship is confined strictly to discussions of books. You swap favorites, debate which author is at the top of their genre, and you occasionally needle each other over your respective guilty pleasure: yours, bodice rippers. His, fairytales.

He spends a great deal of his free time at the bookstore, though he’s never consistent with his visits. You never ask him about it, and for that, he’s grateful. But eventually, your conversation turns to other interests — movies, shows, music — and each new mutual interest only further enamors him with you.

And when you invite him over one day after you close the shop to watch an old movie you’d swiped from the store’s limited collection, he can’t find it in him to tell you no.

The first time he visits your apartment, he is appalled.

For starters, the neighborhood you live in isn’t the safest. It’s not the Silo, by any means, but it’s an area he frequents as part of his job and that fact alone sets him on edge. He knows what kind of people linger here; knows that they tend to borrow cash that ends up in Uzui’s business — another Hashira.

And when he sees the shoebox you live in (a studio, you’d proudly boasted, as though the distraction of exposed brick and industrial piping made up for its shit location and shit security), Sanemi finds himself clutching his proverbial pearls.

He supposes he can see its appeal — you’ve certainly turned it into a home.

You’ve made a small living room out of a single couch, thrifted coffee table, and a faintly stained rug. Your TV is laughably small, but he supposes it gets the job done.

A small kitchen stands to the right of the entryway, and there is a bathroom to the left. You have a wall of closets with folding doors, and the wall directly opposite of him boasts three large, arched windows. Sanemi supposes during the day, they provide enough natural sunlight to negate any need for any overhead lighting, of which you have none. But he can’t tell if they open from the outside, so he resolves to furtively check once you’re distracted.

Your bed stands on the furthest wall, tucked into a corner and laden heavy with colorful pillows and plush throws. Books are stacked everywhere — in shelves, in corners, by plants and furniture. All well-worn and loved, their spines cracked and covers stained.

It’s lively; warm. And it has you written all over it. That alone is enough to slightly endear the place to him.

But it’s still a shit apartment in a shit neighborhood.

Worse, your door is little more than a flimsy piece of wood that latches with a single turn lock — the easiest to break, if someone was determined enough to try. He tells you as much and you roll your eyes, brushing aside his concerns as though he’s not precisely aware of what kind of filth might linger around the corner.

The next day, he brings over a deadbolt, a chain, and a drill. He bats off your indignant protests as he installs it on your door. And, because he’s petty, he forces you to sit through a painfully detailed demonstration of how to properly latch and unlatch the chain once he’s finished.

The weeks blend seamlessly into months, and Sanemi finds himself spending more and more of his free time with you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re working at the bookstore or enjoying a night of brain-rotting entertainment on your shitty little television. He just wants to be near you, and he finds himself unable to stay away.

Four months into your friendship, you start a weekly movie night, though the date is always subject to change. Still, Sanemi finds himself craving more of that precious time with you. The hours spent in your store or at your apartment fill a void in his chest he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring, and it’s a fullness he quickly becomes addicted to.

It is an odd thing, this new ritual (never routine) of his. The alternation between visiting the scum indebted to the Corps, to feel bones crush and snap beneath his hands or the iron of a spare crowbar, or blood griming to his knuckles, only to return to your bookshop or apartment, cheap beer and greasy takeout in hand, isn’t the kind of switch he imagined he’d ever make. But you make taking off his Hashira mask so damn easy, and every time he leaves he finds it more difficult to slip back on.

With each passing day, he learns you more and more. He gathers information like a dragon hoards its jewels, each new tidbit a precious gem that he tucks safely away in a mental box labeled with your name.

He learns that, while he prefers tea, you prefer coffee, but you’re picky about your order. If it’s hot, you want it black or with only the faintest splash of cream. If it’s cold, however, you want every sweet syrup and topping known to man, even though it only makes you crash like a freight train once the sugar high wears off.

He learns you think cooking means pouring yourself a bowl of cereal and calling it a day, and it’s a revelation that makes him have to walk away and collect himself, lest he start lecturing you on the importance of proper nutrition, just as he does with his brother.

In exchange, he opens up about the more sacred aspects of his life — namely, Genya. He confides in you the great pride and adoration he has for his little brother, and admits his deep-seated fear that Genya will somehow be pulled into his violent, hostile world of his. And each time Sanemi begins to feel that anxiety rear its ugly head, threaten to settle into the marrow of his bones and send him into a spiral, you’re always there to pull him back.

Sometimes you ask questions, and Sanemi tries to answer them as best he can. But there are some subjects he can never touch. Never wants to.

He can’t tell you whose blood stains his knuckles or is splattered across his shoes. He can’t tell you where he goes when his phone vibrates late at night or at random during the day. He can’t tell you what his fellow Hashira do; the specialties they oversee.

Sanemi does make a point to assure you there is one sacred creed by which they all abide: no kids. This seems to put you at ease, as though this tepid moral line somehow absolves him of the other shit he’s guilty for.

It’s selfish, this thing he has created with you. He knows that. And his blossoming friendship with you likely breaks more than one of the sacred precepts of the Corps. But you’re the first person he’s met since his initiation who knows what he is and doesn’t cower in fear, and that makes him desperate to cling onto you. You know what an ugly, beastly creature he is, and yet you do not run away from him. Even when you probably should.

So, he makes a promise. He won’t show you the Shinazugawa who belongs to the Corps; a formidable member of the Hashira, known because of the things he can do to others to make sure they pay their debts. What he does to them when they don’t.

With you, he wants to be Sanemi; only Sanemi.

And so it goes, for the better part of a year, the two of you learning one another, pretending the ease you feel in the company of the other is merely the product of two people relieved to find a friend in a city that cautions against such ties, and not something in danger of becoming more.

As though the metamorphosis hasn’t already set in.

—

“You never told me what your dream was, y’know.” Sanemi says one night while you finish up inventory at the store.

“What dream?” You hum as you scan the shelves reserved for non-fiction releases, your lips pressed into a firm line as you run your pen down the entries of your log.

He leans against the bookshelf, arms folded across the considerable mass of his chest. “Your big dream — the one you bit my head off for insulting that one time.”

You look up long enough to roll your eyes at him. “Where’s this coming from?”

“Dunno. Curious.”

“Thought you’re not supposed to ask questions in your line of work.” And you shoot him a sly grin. “You ought to be careful.”

Sanemi snorts but he nudges your foot with his. “I’m serious.”

Your eyes dance back and forth between him and the log before you. There’s no real harm in it, you decide. After all, he’s the only friend you have. “I want my own bookstore.”

“Yeah?” He raises a pale brow and waves his hand vaguely around behind him. “Aren’t you practically running this one? That ain’t enough?”

“I don’t own it, though.” You frown, setting your clipboard down. “I just work here. You’ve seen my paycheck.”

And he had, having found a paystub when he’d gone snooping under your counter. You would’ve been furious at his invasion of your privacy had you not been so mortified at the way he’d stared in horror at the pitiful figure reflecting your earnings after two, grueling weeks of work.

His insistence on bringing you meals at any and every opportunity afterward only compounded your embarrassment.

“I want something that’s mine — that I own.” You continue. “I’ve begged the owner to let me organize author meet-and-greets as a way to promote the store for months, and he always says no. If I owned my own store, I wouldn’t need anyone’s permission.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “I wouldn’t have to live under anyone’s thumb.”

Something shifts in the way Sanemi watches you, a certain profundity creeping into his eyes.

Your cheeks heat. “I know it sounds stupid —“

“It doesn’t,” Sanemi says earnestly. “Wanting your freedom can never be stupid.”

You soften then, as understanding passes between you. Of course he would know all about that — arguably better than anyone you know.

Sanemi clears his throat. “So, a bookstore?” And he gives you a broad smile as he pulls out his wallet and tosses you a twenty dollar note. “Consider me your first investor.”

—

Sanemi spends the rest of the evening watching you work, fascinated by the way you meticulously organize your store shelves, and count the cash in your register. When it comes time for you to heave boxes of excess inventory to the back storeroom so they can be shipped back to their distributors, Sanemi plucks them from your hands, batting off your protests as he carries them for you.

By the time closing arrives, every new shipment has been unpacked and its contents have been shelved.

You flick off the overhead lights in the main store, relying on the backlight of the exit door to light your way out. You tug on your coat and find him watching you, expectantly. “Are you walking me home?”

“Tch. Don’t I always, when I can?”

You grin and it’s enough to chase away some of the sourness twisting in his gut. He shouldn’t do it, as often as he does. He’s risking enough as it is by constantly redrawing the lines around Rule Three to justify the way he’s beginning to bend the parameters around the rule against patterns. But it’s dark and late, and you don’t have a car, and he’ll be damned if he lets you brave the walk home alone.

Better he’s there to protect you from the dangers he can anticipate and see than to stick to his code and risk your harm from those he cannot.

Thankfully, the journey back to your apartment takes no more than fifteen minutes, even when he stops to thumb free a cigarette from the spare carton he keeps tucked in his jacket. You wrinkle your nose at him in mock-disgust as he lights it, the smoke curling out of his mouth reminiscent of a fire-breathing dragon.

He wouldn’t do it if he knew it truly bothered you. But you’d once shyly confessed you liked the faint smell of tobacco that clung to his jacket, especially in cold air like this. So he only shoots you a wink as he brings it to his lips and takes a long drag.

Besides, he thinks as he looses a slow exhale. He needs something to help him take the edge off; to guide him in making that transition between Hashira and Sanemi.

He escorts you all the way to your front door, the two of you trading quips and jokes. And Sanemi savors how utterly extraordinary something as ordinary as walking you to your door feels. Almost as if he’s ordinary, the way he so desperately wishes he could be.

You fidget with your keys, sliding them into your lock. “Did you finish that series I recommended?”

Sanemi grins. “Last night. I think it was your best suggestion yet.”

You duck your head, a bashful smile spreading across your pretty lips and its sight fills him with a golden warmth.

Your door gives way and you turn back to him. “‘Til next time?”

It was what you always said; you never asked him when you could expect to see him again, and he appreciated it. Appreciated not having to explain himself, when most outside his world would likely demand he try.

“‘Til next time,” he confirms, returning your smile with one of his own.

You hover in your doorway, fingers drumming on the frame, eyes roaming his.

“You never told me yours — what your dream is.”

He should leave. You’re treading in murky waters, ones made dangerous because he almost wants to tell you — tell you the truth, at that.

That he dreams of more. More life. More stability. More everything. He’d settle for anything, really; anything at all.

As long as it was more than this.

But Sanemi only responds with a wry grin. “To wake up in the morning, Princess. That’s all I can ask for.”

———

Sanemi’s answer lingers with you long after you emerge from your shower, warm and toweling your damp hair.

To wake up in the morning, Princess.

He’s full of shit and you know it.

Over the course of the last year, you’ve learned a handful of crucial details that make up Sanemi Shinazugawa.

You’ve learned he loves matcha, but he really loves the expensive kind. While you can’t afford to buy the high quality powder, you make do with what you can afford at the grocery, and you make it for him as often as you can.

He drinks it every time, bitter dregs and all.

More importantly, you’ve learned what it means to have a friend involved in the Corps. Not that he’s merely involved with the notorious gang — at least, not any more than the two of you are just “friends.”

Town gossip aside, Sanemi’s affiliation with the Corps is made obvious by his own actions. Like the way the two of you only ever hang out at the bookstore or your apartment; how he never invites you to visit his place, over in the Silo.

Or how he insists on scoping out your apartment every time he comes over, his eyes alert and sharp as his hand lingers at his hip, ready to pull out the gun you know he keeps tucked into his waistband at all times.

It’s evident in the way Sanemi never sticks to a consistent schedule. He varies the days and times of his visits at random, never allowing himself to settle into a routine, even if that means going an entire week or longer without seeing you.

But perhaps the most significant detail you’ve learned about Sanemi over the year of your friendship is this:

He wants out. Dreams of it, even.

This revelation does not come from the scarred Hashira himself. It is the product of months of observation, of studying how his face darkens when his phone pings! while you’re watching some sitcom on television, or when he sees a familiar face pass by your shop window, and suddenly he has to leave because he must be Shinazugawa again, and you won’t see him for the rest of the day.

It is evident in the way he talks of his younger brother, who, by all accounts is a star student and athlete, with a promising future in collegiate archery.

Sanemi is saving every penny he can to send his brother — Genya — to school, far, far away from the Silo. The conviction with which he speaks of Genya’s future, full of college and internships and promise, breaks your heart, because you know Sanemi hadn’t anyone to want those things for him.

Sanemi does not speak of any future of his. You suspect it’s because he doesn’t believe he will have one.

That has to be why he answered your question with his vague desire to wake up every morning. It was an easy answer. One that relied on you making certain connections between his life and his words and deduce that he truly had nothing more to live for other than life itself.

A cop-out, is what it is.

But his reading habits betray his darkest secret — betray the truth — and that’s exactly how you know his flippant answer is utter bullshit.

The book Sanemi carries around the most is a series of classic fairy tales, bought off your sale table a few months back. He’s read the whole thing cover to cover, but he keeps a bookmark on one specific page, and periodically, you catch him flipping back to it.

He made the mistake of leaving the book on your coffee table one night when he excused himself to use your bathroom. Realistically, you knew it was no big deal to flip through it, but somehow, the thought still felt like an invasion of his privacy.

But your curiosity got the better of you so you snatched it up, and thumb quickly to the bookmarked page, desperate to know which story has so captivated him.

You opened to the first page of of a tale — an old French story, about the daughter of a merchant who is sent to life with a beast in a distant castle, as penance for his theft of the beast’s rose.

You smiled to yourself; you were familiar with the story. You know how it goes — the beast everyone believes to be the villain is saved by the woman, and revealed to be a handsome prince. And the two live happily ever after.

Your smile faded as you recalled how the woman saved her Beast. True love’s kiss, or something along those lines.

True love.

And as Sanemi returned from the bathroom and plopped down next to you on your couch to watch a rerun of some old sitcom before he has to leave for the night, you mulled over Sanemi’s apparent fascination with the tale of the beast and the beauty.

And that’s how you drew the series of conclusions which enabled you to see right through his thin facade.

He wants out.

He wants a happily ever after. He doesn’t think he’ll get it.

And, above all, he dreams of love.

—

If any doubt lingered as to the magnitude of his ties to the Corps, it disintegrates one night, about eight months after he’d first burst into your bookstore.

It is well after midnight, but you are still awake, too engrossed in a new fantasy novel to pay particular attention to the lateness of the hour when your phone buzzes on your bedside table.

Sanemi’s name lingers above the notification, which reads simply, Outside.

You untangle yourself from your blankets and pad over to your front door, hastily tugging on a pair of sleep boxers over your underwear.

You open the door and the flutter of excitement you’d felt upon seeing his text is chased away by shock at the sight before you.

There is a bruise forming along Sanemi’s cheek that you almost would have mistaken for dirt if not for the swelling. His hair is rumpled, his clothes in disarray. Though it winks away the second he sets his gaze on you, you swear you were able a cold fury in his eyes; foreign, and violent.

The fury that belongs to a Hashira, not to the friend you know.

Wordlessly, you step back and allow him to limp past you.

“You got liniment?” He rasps, plopping heavily down in your kitchen chair. “And water?”

“You mean icy-hot?” You’re already filling a glass from the tap that you set on the table next to him before you retreat to your bathroom to rummage the cabinets.

You return a few moments later, tub of minty topical gel clutched in hand. You nearly drop it when you realize that Sanemi has stripped himself of his shirt already and is now bare from the waist-up, his forehead resting against his arms where they’re propped up on the back of your chair.

You’ve known for a long while that Sanemi is well-built (obscenely so).

Once, in the early days of your friendship, you’d snapped at him to button his shirt properly if he insisted on hanging around your store, dramatizing over how obscene it was for him to prance around with his chest half-exposed.

Sanemi had only grinned at you before he unbuttoned two more, revealing a generous glimpse of infuriatingly toned abs. Your open-mouthed, scandalized stare was met only with a wink.

He kept his shirt like that for the remainder of the day. You’d hardly been able to look at him without flushing a deep scarlet that only seemed to inflate his already generous ego even further.

But, you’re only human. And as the months passed by, and your friendship with the scarred mobster grew, you found yourself sneaking the odd peek every now and then. A glimpse of pectoral here; a hint of his rigid v-line when he stretched his arms over his head there.

And now, here he is, sitting in your small kitchen area awaiting the relief of the icy hot clutched in the tub that grew more slippery between your rapidly sweaty palms, every mouth watering inch of his upper body on display.

Beautiful. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. Sanemi is unbelievably beautiful.

“Need ya to rub it into my shoulder, if you don’t mind,” his voice is muffled against his arm. “I hate asking, but I dislocated the damn thing and had to reset it — fuckin’ hurts, now.”

You know better than to suggest he go get an x-ray. No hospitals, he’d once explained. Not unless you’re bleeding out.

You also know better than to ask how he dislocated it, and so you only pad silently over to him, grateful he’s turned away from you so he cannot see the tremble in your hands or the blush creeping across your cheeks.

Eager to give yourself something to do besides ogling, you focus on unscrewing the lid on the jar of liniment, your nose wrinkling under the burn of its stringent odor. You scoop a generous amount of the salve into your palms and warm it between your hands.

“Motherfucker,” Sanemi hisses as your hands spread gently across his shoulder, your fingers gingerly massaging the topical into his swollen joint. “Shit stings.”

“You’re lucky it’s not broken,” you chide, carefully prodding along the joint in search of anything that may be amiss — an odd lump or gap, signaling something hasn’t been reset properly. “At least, I don’t think it is.”

“Your medical expertise is astounding,” Sanemi drolls, but he winces again as your fingers press against a particularly tender spot. You step away from him with a huff and fish your phone out of your pocket, hands still slathered with ointment.

“I’m not a doctor,” you shoot back. “And since you refuse to go see one, the best I can do it give you the advice of the internet.”

You ignore his grumblings as you search for treatments for dislocated joints. You tap on the first link that appears and scroll, eyes narrowed as you read.

“You’re in luck. It seems like you won’t die,” you say dryly. “But you’re going to have a nasty bruise.” You purse your lips, eyes scanning the article on your phone. “And this says you’re supposed to rest — not overexert the joint.” You reach to tug playfully on a lock of his hair. “I don’t suppose you’re actually going to do that, though.”

He twists and flashes you a mischievous smirk over his shoulder. “You know me too well, Princess.”

You roll your eyes and snort, tossing your phone onto your table in favor of reaching for a discarded kitchen towel to wipe off the excess icy hot from your hands.

You’re about to tell him to put his shirt back on and stop flaunting the muscles he just can’t seem to help but show everyone he has when your eyes snag on a mark that rests squarely between his shoulder blades.

You wouldn’t have noticed it but for the shiny redness surrounding it, a clear contrast to the rest of his skin. But the longer your stare at it, the more clear its abnormality. The mark is puffy and raised, but there’s a distinct pattern to it that makes the hair on the back of your neck curl.

A brand, you realize with horror. Someone has branded him like cattle.

Your finger reaches to trace over the ridges seared into his skin before you can think the better of it. Sanemi twitches under your touch, a small shudder skirting down his spine as he tilts his head back toward you.

“Ugly, ain’t it?” His tone is unreadable. “Like a collar, ‘cept it’s permanent.”

Though he tends to err on the side of caution when it comes to discussing the Corps, you at least know what is role is within it. He told you: debt collector. Mostly monetary debts.

But the brand has nothing to do with money. No, the symbol burned into his skin — the one that stands for Kill — is a neon sign of a reminder that Sanemi’s duties can and do entail another kind of collection.

A chill snakes down your spine. You’d had your suspicions, of course, you’re not stupid. But seeing it confirmed by a brand of all things is a lightning rod through your chest.

Sanemi must sense your stare against his back, and you hear his rueful smile though you can’t see his face. “Guess it’s fitting, since I’m their dog.”

There it is; confirmation of what he is, as though it were possible to forget. You don’t know why you’d held out in letting its weight settle over you. Nor do you know why your brain had refused, for a moment, to reconcile the Sanemi who brought cheap beer and greasy fast food to your apartment for a night of trash television and book reviews with the one before you now, branded with inexorable reminder of what his duties are when he steps outside and debts go unpaid; when scores go uneven.

Your eyes slide to his gun, resting atop your table. It may has well have been smoking.

“It’s barbaric,” you murmur. You never offer much of an opinion on the tidbits of information about his life he shares with you, unwilling to make him feel as though you aren’t someone he can confide in.

But the sight of the brand scorched between his shoulder blades stokes something ugly and angry within you. You’re grateful his back is to you so you can furtively rub your hand over your prickling eyes before he can see you do something stupid, like cry.

He tilts his head back until it rests against your abdomen. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting shut.

You freeze for a moment, your anger temporarily suspended against your uncertainty of whether you should step back or remain. You’ve touched Sanemi a thousand different ways — you’ve grabbed his arm, smacked him upside his thick head, and elbowed him more times than you can count.

But this; this is something far different from your teasing nudges of the past. This small gesture feels infinitely more tender. Gentle.

Intimate.

Sanemi has never not been the picture of cocky brashness, especially around you. His priggish smirk was a constant, only ever dampened by the occasional alert on his phone — the one that meant he had to stop being yours for the night, and go be theirs.

But this Sanemi? This peaceful, eased, vulnerable version of your best friend is wholly uncharted territory. And perhaps it’s because he looks so unguarded this way, his face relaxed and his eyes closed, that you feel so flustered.

You brush his hair away from his forehead. At the first graze of your fingers along his scalp, Sanemi leans further into you with something akin to a moan.

Hot; everything feels so damn hot, the air in your apartment suddenly too thick. Too oppressive.

Yet, you don’t stop; your fingers keep raking through his hair, surprisingly silky.

You think he may have fallen asleep in your chair, but after another moment of your hands carding through his hair, Sanemi stands. You step away instantly, and you avert your eyes while he pulls his shirt back over his head, cursing softly as he works it over his injured shoulder.

Sanemi turns to you and clears his throat roughly. “Thanks again. Don’t know what I would’ve done without ya.”

You wave him off with an exaggerated eye roll, eager to conceal the redness in your cheeks. “Oh please, I’m just your neighborhood book supplier and occasional first aid nurse.”

A sudden sobriety passes over his features, clouding over that all too familiar smirk with something heavier.

“No,” he murmurs and his hand absently lifts to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “No, you’re more than that.” His palm lingers against your cheek and his voice quiets to a hoarse whisper. “Much more.”

For a moment, you wonder if he’ll lean in; if he’ll show you whether his lips are as warm as his touch.

His eyes drop briefly to your mouth and your stomach somersaults at the thought he might be considering it, too. But the clouds part and Sanemi withdraws from you with an affection flick against the tip of your nose.

And then he turns and leaves.

You sink back against your door after you close it behind him and slide to your floor. You remain there for a long while after, your mind little more than a gnarled tangle of brambles you can’t begin to pick through. But even despite the complicated mess of thoughts and emotions knotted together in your head, one thing stands clear: you’d wanted to kiss him.

And for a moment, you swear he’d wanted to, as well.

An old rumor, one you hadn’t considered since your very first interaction with him, resurfaces in your mind. The one that had less to do with him in the Corps, and more so involved his activities outside of it.

The rumor that he cycles through the bodies he uses to warm his bed more frequently than you change the sheets on yours.

Your cheeks heat, and you shake your head to clear away the sudden, intrusive images of Sanemi tangled in the throes of passion with some faceless stranger that fill your imagination. You don’t care what those blasted rumors claim; you know him. And what’s more, you know that what you feel for him is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt toward anyone.

You’re in love with Sanemi.

It is his face you see at night before you fall asleep; it’s his touch you imagine in those secret moments in your bed or in the shower, when you’re desperate and aching.

It’s he who makes you feel most at ease; the one person you feel truly sees you, thinks you’re actually worth something.

You’ve never really known love before. But it’s because you’re such a novice that you know your feelings are true; powerful. You know what he is — what he thinks he is. And you know that you will never want anyone else; you can’t.

You won’t.

—

Three rules. That’s all he had to do, was follow three simple fucking rules.

Don’t speak. No patterns. And don’t get overly attached.

It had been easy, so easy, to follow them. If there was one thing Sanemi believed he could pride himself on, it had been his steadfast adherence to the Corps’ rules. Number three, in particular.

Until you. Until the day he’d chosen your bookstore to hide in.

Because that was when Sanemi decided that those rules were really more like guidelines; malleable. He’d let himself cast them aside out of a desperation for human connection. And he’d justified his carelessness by convincing himself that as long as he maintained some semblance compliance with the unspoken code of the Corps.

Sanemi had built his own set of rules around the foundation of his friendship with you, a wall of stone around the glass castle meant to ensure you would not be cut by its shards should it ever shatter.

He would not be your liability, nor would you be his.

But now, he’s too deep; Sanemi knows he’s gotten in way too fucking deep with you.

Until this moment, he imagined he’d managed to toe the line of this internal code that applied only to his relationship with you, save a handful of instances when he’d let himself blur it.

As it turns out, he’d been dead fucking wrong. Because he’s pretty sure you just asked him to cross the last major boundary he’d set for himself when it came to you.

So, Sanemi only gapes at you. “What?”

You huff, impatient. “I want you to fuck me.”

You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — as though you haven’t just ripped the floor out from beneath him and sent him falling directly on his ass.

If he didn’t know you were dead serious, he would’ve laughed in your face. And that’s how he knows he’s fucked.

You’re a virgin; he knows that, because you’d drunkenly confessed it to him two weeks prior, tipsy on the cheap beer he’d brought over for your weekly movie night together.

Admittedly, he’d been surprised. You were beautiful — not that beauty was a requirement for a good fuck, but you didn’t seem the type to go for random hookups, unlike him. Still, he would’ve thought you’d had some prior relationship where the opportunity would have arisen.

As it turned out, you’d never been in a relationship, either.

Between long gulps of your drink, you’d asked him to fix it and he’d turned you down — his tolerance for watery beer far surpassed your own, and Sanemi Shinazugawa wasn’t the type to sleep with someone who couldn’t fully consent.

So he’d let you down — but not before he kissed you. It was only once; soft, the way you deserved to be kissed. His lips met yours and suddenly, the gaping hole in his chest felt smaller; fuller. Kissing you felt like coming home, even though Sanemi was sure he’d never fully known what home truly felt like.

And then he parted from you with an affectionate flick on your nose to cover the way his heart clenched at the visible disappointment in your eyes.

He’d boldly kissed you twice more after that night — one a quick, cheeky peck when you went in to hug him, an act done more to fluster you than to sate any desire of his, no matter how he craved more of you.

The other happened only three nights prior, and it was anything but soft and sweet.

One of Sanemi’s fellow Hashira, Kanae, hadn’t been seen in several days, and no one had been able to get in touch with her. When she’d missed a scheduled patrol of one of the neighborhoods in the Silo, he and another member, Iguro, had been sent to check on her.

They’d found her in the kitchen of the small home she’d shared with her two sisters with a hole in her head and her brains splattered across the floor.

Curled under the protective stretch of her limp arms, had been her two sisters, both bearing matching bullet wounds to their skulls.

Kizuki, most likely. They were the only ones brave enough to target someone as high ranked as Kanae.

Their blood had still been fresh, and the stench of decay and rot hadn’t yet set in, which only told them that the girls had been held for several days, forced to endure unknown horrors at the hands of their murderers.

He hadn’t been particularly close with the woman, but as his rank equal, she’d had his respect. But now she and her adolescent sisters were nothing more than smears of brain matter and skull fragments to be scraped off the linoleum of their kitchen floor and quietly buried. Forgotten.

The hours passed by in a blur once Kocho’s death was called into the higher-ups, and Sanemi didn’t remember cleaning up the scene anymore than he remembered the solitary trek back. His mind and his body disconnected, and he only snapped back to reality when he realized he was standing in front of your apartment, unsure of how or when he’d begun walking in its direction.

He knew he should turn around and go home; there was nothing you could do for him right then, he shouldn’t bother you —

His fist was pounding on your door before he could think better of it.

Despite the late hour, you’d greeted him with a broad smile and a shy hi. Your hair had been damp, and he could smell the floral sweetness of your shampoo still mixed with the steam from your shower as it spilled into the hall.

Safe; you were safe.

Your door had still been hanging wide open as Sanemi surged forward, trapping your face in his hands to crash his lips down against yours, his kiss heavy and hot.

You’d broken away long enough to ask, “S-Sanemi — what —?”

“Shut up,” he’d snarled, slanting his mouth back over yours, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. He’d half expected you to shove him away, perhaps to even aim a knee right at his crotch, yet you’d only buried your fingers in his hair and tugged him closer.

He backed you up against the wall opposite of your entryway, though he’d moved his hand to cup the back of your head to keep it from banging against the exposed brick.

You moaned into the kiss and Sanemi lost whatever shred of sense he’d managed to cling onto. His tongue swept along your bottom lip, and the hand cupping the back of your head loosely pulled at your hair, tugging your head to the side and signaling you to open up — to let him in.

And you did. And the first brush of his tongue against yours as he licked into your mouth ignited an inferno within him that he did not know how to tame.

His hands pushed under your sweatshirt, seeking out the comforting warmth of your skin. Higher and higher they rose, until they came to rest against your ribs, and Sanemi realized you were bare — completely bare — beneath your hoodie.

That you’d allowed him to toe so dangerously close to a line neither of you could cross had clouded every bit of his judgment. The thought that he’d only have to move his hands mere centimeters to touch you in a way no other had before had sent him reeling, and his hips were beyond his control when they pinned yours against the wall and ground into you.

But your single gasp into his mouth broke the spell, and with more regret than Sanemi knew he should feel, he broke away, leaving you both breathless and panting.

Without a word, he’d turned around and stalked right back out of your apartment, closing your door firmly behind him.

He’d sent a text only a few minutes later — a single, ominous reminder to you to lock your door, deadbolt and all.

He hadn’t the stomach to explain his cryptic warning; not as the sight of Kocho remained burned into his retinas.

So, yes, he’s blurred a few lines when it comes to you. But those had only been kisses; heavy touching aside, he’d never allowed himself to go further than that.

No matter how much he wanted to.

And it’s because he knows he can’t cross this last line — can’t open you up to risk more than he already has, that he meets your expectant stare with a rueful smile.

“You’re better off asking someone else, Princess. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone like me.”

Never mind that you’re already tangled up with him — but he’s managed to uphold this last boundary, and Sanemi has convinced himself that as long as it remains in place, he can’t ruin you the way Kocho and her young sisters were ruined.

“I don’t want to ask someone else,” you fold your arms across your chest and cock your hip out, defiant. Normally, Sanemi finds your stubbornness endearing, if not adorable, but not now; not when you should know better.

A low growl of your name is his warning. “You don’t know what you’re asking —“

“It’s you I want. I don’t care what the rumors say, I don’t care what anyone thinks — including you.”

The sincerity in your eyes nearly scalds him. “And I am not asking as a friend. You and I both know this is more than that.”

He wants to throttle you. Not literally of course, he could never — but he wants to shake the sense you’re so clearly lacking back into you until you see; until you understand.

Of course he wants you. He has wanted you for months — so much so, he hardly can focus on anything else. And he’s pent up. He hasn’t had the stomach to fuck anyone else. Not since he began falling asleep and waking up to thoughts of you and your touch, of how you might look under or above him, wanton and desperate. Or how you might feel in his arms; on his tongue.

Really, it’s been quite a blow to his rather wild reputation throughout the Silo. But God knows he has tried to fill the you-shaped void in his heart, but nothing — no one — has come close.

More than anything, he wants you to be his, and for him to be yours. He longs to be the Sanemi who takes you out on dates, who kisses you freely without the compulsive need to check over his shoulder, to make sure there aren’t any enemies watching and plotting to strike him right where he’s weak. He wants to be the Sanemi you come home to after a long day at the bookstore. The one with whom you plan a future, utterly and completely yours.

But he can never be just Sanemi. He is nothing more than the property of the very organization he’s sworn allegiance to; the group whose brand he bears on his skin.

He is not good. He is a curse that will infect you, a poison to your life.

He will rot you from the inside, out.

His friendship with you is selfish. He knows that — he’s always known that, and yet he did not stop. It is selfish because he deluded himself into believing he could actually be someone else when he was with you. Someone worth befriending; perhaps someone worth a little more.

You were right to call him a thief, that day. All he does is take your time and affection when he knows damn well he won’t give you anything in return, no matter how he wishes he could.

Sanemi won’t label that thing he holds deep inside his heart which is formed in the shape of your name; not when it could so easily doom you both. But he knows his feelings for you are dangerous, and he cannot allow you to sniff them out.

Because if he does, then this only ends one or two ways: either he lets you in only for you to abandon him once you realize the truth of what he is, or you’re used as a weapon against him.

In either event, he loses you. So it is better to cut this off now, to force you away before either of you become more invested than you already are.

He will not hurt you, but neither will he allow himself to be hurt by you.

You take a step toward him, and the soft whisper of his name sounds like a holy prayer on your lips and that’s how he knows this is wrong.

Your obstinate refusal to recognize him for what he is is a needle digging into his skin, one that whittles away at every wall he has managed to build around his heart, that damnable, soft, dangerous thing that he will not allow you to find; he cannot.

You’re confusing your roles. He is the vulture and you are his prey, not the other way around. he is not here to give. He is here only to take, and you will let him and then he will leave.

And he will not be the carcass you pick clean only to discard once you’ve had your fill.

(A lie, but it’s one Sanemi almost believes. Almost.)

But Sanemi knows you; he knows you better than he knows anything else. You are a constant he has become far too dependent upon, and you are precious — far too precious to him to continue to indulging.

He knows you are too good, too loyal in your feelings to forget about him, even if he disappeared from your life entirely.

A clean break. it is the only thing that will force you to forget him and move on, find another, someone good and whole and not a broken, misshapen thing like him.

He will show you who he really is. He will show you that he could never be just Sanemi, and he sure as hell can’t ever be yours.

Better; you deserve better, so he will become worse.

He advances on you, his step heavy and imposing, and you have enough sense to scurry back from him. But he is too quick and soon he has you caged against the wall of your studio, literally backed into a corner.

“You want me?” He is scathing and he loathes himself for it, but he can’t stop. Not when he’s desperate to save you from the blight of himself.

You shouldn’t; you can’t.

But you nod, damn you. Wide-eyed, you nod and he resents the certainty reflected in your gaze.

His mouth twists into a cruel sneer. “You want to say you’ve had a taste of the lowlife, huh?“

Your eyebrows knit together. “Sanemi, that’s not —“

But he can’t stop his venom. “Bragging rights, that’s all you’re after, right? You want to be like one of the characters in your stories — the good girl who makes an honest man outta the good-for-nothing villain.”

“Stop it,” you bite, and your eyes harden. “You’re acting like an asshole.”

You’re angry. Good. Sanemi knows how to deal in anger.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but I’m not acting like an asshole. I am one.”

Your hackles raise, and you step away from the wall and toward him, bold in your fury. “I know you want to believe you are, but you’re not —“

Sanemi’s hand shoots out to grab a fistful of your hair. “Is that so?” You yelp as he wrenches your head back, your neck straining. “Then maybe I oughta bend you over and fuck you like I would any other cheap whore. Then you can tell me what you think I am.”

Your eyes water as the grip in your hair tightens.

Good, he thinks savagely. Let you see the monster he truly was, let you know he was his bastard father’s son, and that he’d be no different, no different at all. He’s a brute, and you don’t want that, you don’t want him —

“You can do whatever it is you want,” you manage, you throat tight. And Sanemi’s eyes blow wide at the soft, watery smile that forms on your lips despite the tears that escape the corners of your eyes. “Do to me what you like; I don’t mind, as long as it’s you.”

All at once, his ire with you and your bewildering devotion to him melts away, leaving nothing behind but a deep well of guilt, bitter and acerbic.

It isn’t that you think he might take you forcefully and harshly; after all, he’s only shown you he’s entirely capable of doing so.

It’s that you would let him. Without a shred of doubt, he knows you would offer yourself to him to use however he wants, and that you’d do it with a smile not unlike the one you’re wearing right now, soft and earnest.

Fuck, you just did.

And it’s that realization that has Sanemi’s hand loosening from your hair, his eyes softening. An errant tear escapes down your cheek and he moves to brush it away, but you close your eyes the moment you spy his knuckle nearing your face.

You do not flinch, but you are steeling yourself in anticipation of expected cruelty, and the front he’s put forth crumbles to dust.

He is a monster, but not for the reasons he’s used to justify this ugly display of his. He’s a monster because he has made you believe that this treatment is acceptable — an unavoidable cost of intimacy, no matter how fleeting.

Worse, he’s done the one thing he’d sworn never to do to any woman, let alone someone as good and as dear as you.

He’d only wanted to disgust you; enrage you, so that you would kick him out of both your apartment and your life, right out on his sorry ass like he deserved.

But this is worse. He has frightened you.

He recoils from you like a kicked dog. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He stands awkwardly as you stare at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, and each second that ticks silently by only amplifies the oily well of guilt in his stomach.

He clears his throat. “I’ll go,” he says roughly, too ashamed to meet your eyes. “‘M sorry, I didn’t —“

Your hand grabs his bicep, anchoring him in place. “I want you to stay.”

“You don’t owe me anything —“

“It’s not about owing you,” you interject, lifting your hands to take his face between your palms. “I want you. I want this.”

You prove your point by taking his hand and guiding it to your waist. You hold it there, mouth set in a determined line as you inch closer to him.

“You deserve someone else,” Sanemi can’t stop the admission from rolling off his tongue. “Better.”

But you’re already shaking your head, as though you somehow know different. “There is no one better; I only want you.”

Idiot, he thinks as you rise up on your tiptoes, your arms winding around his shoulders as the distance between your bodies grows narrower. You’re an idiot.

You can’t possibly believe he’s as good as it gets. He’s used you as a distraction this whole time, a chance to forget the things he’s done and what he’ll be required to do in the future. Surely, you must know that.

He will hurt you; it’s in his nature. It’s unavoidable. He can’t be what you deserve.

But then your lips brush gently against his and the last of his resolve crumbles.

Sanemi melts into your kiss. He brings one hand to cradle the side of your face as the one braced against your waist shorts, until he wraps his arms around you and tugs you closer to him.

This kiss is gentle in every way the last was not. Sanemi’s lips are soft moving against yours, his hands almost hesitant in how they hold you. For a moment, he imagines himself not as the selfish, hard brute he knows he is, but instead as the gentle, giving lover he wants so desperately to be. One who is worthy of someone as kind and vibrant as you, and not the trash you’d be better off leaving out on the street.

The tentativeness with which he kisses you tempers some as his tongue flicks out against your bottom lip. You answer his silent request with enthusiasm, your fingers burying themselves in his hair as you haul yourself closer. The moment Sanemi’s tongue sweeps into your waiting mouth, you buckle against him with the sweetest sigh he’s ever heard. One of pure relief, as though you’d been burning and he was your balm.

Ironic, considering he’s only adding gasoline to this fire between you.

But there’s nothing he can do now except allow the flames to consume you both.

Soon, the shy curiosity with which he explores your mouth gives way to a mutual hunger, evident by how he feels as though he’s boiling alive while you gasp and sigh into him, your fingers tugging pleadingly at his hair.

You want more, and he needs you, too.

His nose nuzzles against yours as he bends down, his hands running along the bare expanse of your legs. The ground beneath your feet disappears as Sanemi gathers you up easily into his arms.

One of your arms is looped around his neck while your other hand cups his face, turning it toward yours as he carries you to your bed. Your thumb smooths absently over the scar that cuts across his cheek and then your lips seek out his once more. His kiss is as gentle as the hand squeezing your waist, his fingers slotting into the gap between your sweatshirt and the top of your sleep shorts, stroking your skin.

He lays you out upon your mattress, grateful you’d at least purchased a full bed rather than some shitty twin. Your hands untangle themselves from his hair and instead seek out the waistband of your sleep shorts, but Sanemi covers them with his, halting you.

“Don’t,” he murmurs between quick, messy kisses. “Let me — please.”

Before you can respond, Sanemi sits back and grabs a fistful of his own shirt, yanking it over his head.

Your pupils blow wide at the sight of him and he feels himself hesitate. Sanemi has always felt an easy self confidence when it came to stripping in front of his partners for the night. He’d always been quite proud of his physique, relying on his considerable muscles to mask his deep loathing of his scars.

But in front of you, all sense of self-assuredness goes flying out the window, and suddenly he feels too exposed. His eyes drop to scour the planes of his chest — have his scars always been this prominent? This thick?

“Holy shit,” your soft sigh snaps his attention away from the howling inside his head. For one, petrifying moment, he thinks that you are as disgusted with his body as he is, but then he sees the pink flush staining your cheeks.

Your eyes roam hungrily over him and your tongue darts out to wet your lips. You meet his gaze and your pupils are blown wide with desire — rich, hot need for him.

Your voice is little more than a sultry whisper. “Come here.”

He moves eagerly to cover your body with his, his hair rumpled and his eyes bright as his lips press hurriedly against yours. Your hands smooth over his pectorals and tease down his abdomen until he’s panting, but the moment your nails rake along the skin on either side of his navel, Sanemi moans.

More. He needs more.

He hauls you up from the bed, straddling you across his lap, his hands notched behind your knees as they press into the mattress. You reconnect your lips in a heated kiss, one hand playing with the ends of his snowy hair, the other dropping down his back, settling over the brand seared between his shoulder blades. Covering it.

Yes, he thinks as he nips your bottom lip, urging your mouth to open so he can slide his tongue in to dance with yours. Yes, this is fitting. Because in his ideal world, his life with you would come before any other — including his with the Corps.

Sanemi’s lips begin trailing hotly down your jaw, pausing when he reaches your neck. He finds a particularly sensitive spot with a nip of his teeth that he soothes with his tongue, and he hums in approval at the faint, breathy whimpers that squeak past your lips as you tilt your head, offering more of yourself to him.

The ache burgeoning in his groin in response to your display is enough to drive him insane; he has never wanted anything in his life as badly as he wants this — you.

As his mouth continues its heated path, his hands find the hem of your hoodie. With a gentleness that surprises even him, Sanemi begins charting your skin with his fingers. With every new plane of your body he explores, he pushes your sweatshirt up, up, up, until he guides it over your head.

He tosses it to the side, not caring for where it lands. His attention is focused solely on you as you fall back against your bed, now bare from the waist up.

“Beautiful,” he marvels, eyes running over the slope of your shoulder and tracing the curve of your breasts. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

He savors every hitched breath, every chill that ripples over your skin as he explores your body with his mouth and hands. Over the years, Sanemi has become well acquainted with the magic of the female body. He’s always liked how soft women were compared to him. He isn’t a picky man; he’ll celebrate them all, regardless of their shape or size.

But you? Celebration isn’t enough; you deserve nothing less than outright worship.

“You feel so damn good,” he mutters against your breast before closing his lips over your nipple and sucking hard. You bow off the bed with a keening moan that gutters out into something more ragged as his hand covers the other, pinching and rolling your stiffened bud between his fingers.

He could spend all night like this, lavishing your soft mounds with his mouth. But Sanemi knows that won’t be enough to satisfy the hunger gnawing at both of you, so with a tinge of regret, he forces himself to move on, descending your body in alternating kisses and nips.

He reaches the waistband of your shorts and his eyes flash to yours as he tugs on it with his teeth. The hot exhale of his breath below your navel sends goosebumps across your skin. Sanemi’s fingers inch below the hem of your shorts until he loops his hands around the waistband, and he yanks them down your legs in a single, fluid motion.

His eyes rake down your body, taking in every beautiful inch. A blush forms on his cheeks as he realizes all that separates you from him is your simple pair of black underwear.

He sits back, eager to join your near-nudity. His hands are quick, if not a little clumsy, as he finds his belt buckle. The instant the metal clicks and the leather around his hips loosens, Sanemi shoves off his pants, eagerly kicking them off your bed until he is left in nothing but his briefs.

Your eyes fall to where the evidence of his desire protrudes stiffly from between his legs. Sanemi watches your throat pulse as you try to stifle your small gulp, your thighs tensing beneath him in an effort to press together.

He can sense your nerves; can see by the way your eyes dart anxiously between his and the rigid tent in his briefs.

With a gentle smile, Sanemi leans in and soothes your unease with his lips. “We’ll take it as slow as you want. I’m not in any rush.”

“N-now?” You murmur between kisses, and he nearly seizes at the hesitant, questioning brush of your fingers against the underside of his shaft.

“Not yet,” he groans against your mouth. “I gotta make sure you’re ready first.”

“I am ready -“

“Not like that,” he cuts off your protest by ghosting his fingers up the covered seam of you. Sanemi circles his finger around where he thinks your clit is, and he smirks when your head tips back against your pillow, your mouth widening in a silent o.

“Found you,” he croons, repeating the movement again until your legs begin to twitch beneath him.

He makes quick work of your underwear, tossing them over the side of your bed without much thought. The sight of you bare beneath him nearly stops his heart dead in his chest. His eyes drop to the neat thatch of curls resting at the apex of your thighs, and his mouth waters.

You blush under the intensity of his appreciative stare, and your legs twitch, as though you mean to close them.

A hand sliding between your thighs restrains you from doing so. “Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Can’t hide from me now, sweetheart’.”

He smooths his hand down the length of your leg until it hovers just outside where he’s most eager to explore. The heat radiating from sends his pulse skyrocketing.

One, tentative finger circles your entrance, testing. Sanemi leans in to capture your lips with his as he pushes in, swallowing your soft gasp with his tongue that he slides into your parted mouth.

A moan vibrates in his chest in time with a faint whimper that sounds in the back of your throat as Sanemi begins exploring you. You’re tight; almost impossibly so, clenching and pulsing around the single finger he gradually sinks inside you, pushing deeper with every gentle pump of his hand.

The thought of your tight, wet heat constricting around the aching length of him just as you were around his finger makes him dizzy with want.

He won’t go down on you, he decides. Not tonight. Not when he’s throbbing this badly after just a couple of fingers; not when your breasts are so plush and soft pressed against his chest where you’re already arcing up into him, sending his mind wild with thoughts of how you’ll move under him; how you’ll moan.

His lips are hot against your neck, trailing down past your collarbone. Left behind are a series of purplish-maroon whorls blooming beneath his mouth, your skin quickly becoming a tapestry for him to display how badly he wants this. You.

You cling to him, one hand buried in his hair, pulling and tugging at him as the other clutches wildly at his shoulder, your fingers digging hard into his muscles. Your teeth are buried into your bottom lip in an effort to stifle your whimpers, but a needy whine slips out as Sanemi sucks one, soft breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking out across your pert nipple.

Another finger slides into your entrance as his thumb works your clit, and before long, you’re vibrating beneath him, unrestrained in how you moan and cry out for him so beautifully.

“Sanemi! I think — oh, I think I’m -“ but then he crooks his fingers, brushing against a rough spot deep within you that makes you writhe. You thrash back hard against the bed, your hips grinding against his hand with abandon.

He smothers a curse into your skin. You’re close and he knows it; can feel it in the way your walls flutter and pulse around him. And as desperate as he is to study how you fall apart, it’s too soon.

“Not yet,” he pants against your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue before imparting a final nip at the soft flesh and drawing back.

Remorseful, he pulls his fingers away from you, leaving you panting and flushed under him. But the hot, searing flames of desire burning beneath his skin intensify still, as he takes your hand and guides it between your legs.

“There. Feel how wet you are?” His voice is husky with want. You peer up at him through heavily lidded eyes as you nod, a whimper vibrating in your throat as Sanemi grinds your hand against your sensitive flesh.

“For you,” your voice is syrupy and warm, and damn if Sanemi doesn’t feel like he could get drunk on it. “It’s all for you.”

His tone sharpens into something possessive; hungry. “That’s right,” and he pushes your hand firmly against your clit and rotates it, eliciting a deep moan from you. “Because you’re mine.“

It’s not fair. But he wants to pretend like it’s true, if only for a while.

Once your fingers are sufficiently shiny with your own wetness, he brings your hand to his mouth, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. Slowly and languidly, he drags it up the side of your digits, and his eyes burn into yours as he slides your fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean.

It takes everything in him not to moan at the sweet taste of you that floods his tongue.

He’d made the right decision in not going down on you. If he had, he’d never be able to pull away; not until his face had become so adorned with your essence that he could not comprehend anything that wasn’t you. Not until you were trembling under him and begging for a break.

The first time you cum will be on him; with him. So as much as it pains him, he resists your temptation.

But not before you know; not before you understand exactly how wild you drive him. How much you threaten his sanity.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasps as he pulls your hand away from his mouth. “Here.”

His hand his gentle but firm as he grips your chin, squeezing your jaw until your mouth parts. The question in your gaze dissolves, your eyes instead rolling back into your head, as Sanemi slides the two fingers he’d just had between your thighs, still covered in your wetness, past your lips.

“Go on,” he orders, his other hand brushing your hair from your face. “Taste how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

The moan that slips free from your lips is one he wishes he could bottle up as your tongue caresses his fingers, your cheeks hollowing so fucking perfectly around him as you dutifully clean yourself from him.

Fuck, you’re trying to kill him.

But some of the burning he feels ebbs as the sobering weight of what’s to come settles over him; the magnitude of what he is about to do. Because no matter what happens after, nothing between you will be the same. Whatever else you are after tonight — whether that’s something or nothing — you will never be just friends again.

Sanemi supposes the punishment fits his crime; this is what he gets for getting in too deep with you, even if it means losing you entirely.

He chases away those thoughts by running his hands down your sides before he pulls back, leaving you in favor of shucking his briefs down his thighs.

Finally bare, he’s quick to drape his body over yours once more, his hands smoothing up and down your sides, unable to quench his need to feel your skin against his. But a foreign uncertainty stills him, and his eyes flash to yours, hesitant.

“Are you sure?”

You answer only by reaching to grip the back of his neck, tugging him down to meet your lips, your kiss feverish and urgent.

He doesn’t have a condom but he’s in too deep now to stop. In a way, what is about to happen is new to him as well. He’s never fucked anyone raw before. No matter who he’d had in his bed, no matter how much they begged him or assured him they were on birth control, he’d always been sure to have protection on hand.

Children are a gift, but he’d be damned if anyone tried to come after him and demand he raise one in his fucked up world. Either Sanemi got out or he never became a parent; there was no middle ground.

But once again, he is blurring boundaries where you were concerned, and Sanemi doesn’t think he knows how to stop himself from having the full taste in the indulgence that was you.

“It might hurt a moment,” he admits against your mouth, his voice raspy. “But I promise I’ll be gentle — as gentle as I can.”

You stretch to kiss him again, your lips soft and warm and everything he loves. “I trust you.”

You shouldn’t, he wants to say. You shouldn’t, and you should run far away from this — from me.

But Sanemi knows you won’t just as much as he knows he doesn’t have it in him to try and chase you away, and so he only kisses you back, slow and indulgent.

He breaks away from you with a soft groan and sits up on his knees. His back straight, Sanemi’s hands curl around your hips and he tugs you forward until your backside is flush against his thighs.

The heat radiating from you pulls him in like a magnet as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance. A vein above his brow ticks, the only outward sign of the battle raging within him as his self restraint wars with his tantalizing urge to impale you on the thick, throbbing length of him, desperate for the sweet relief only your body can give.

Every inch of him trembles as Sanemi presses his hips forward. “Fuck,” he exhales shakily, pushing his tip past your entrance. “Fuck.”

His head falls back and the muscles in his throat strain. Some small, needy sound leaves him and the fingers on your hip tighten nearly to the point of pain.

The noise registers in the back of your mind, and vaguely, you recognize it as a whimper. You wonder whether he makes that sound for the others; somehow you doubt it, given that he does it again, only now in the shape of your name.

The rumors always said he never asked for names; he was a one-and-done kind of man. A great fuck, but not someone to go to if you were looking for comfort; softness.

Once again, Sanemi is nothing but a collection of contradictions, especially where you’re concerned.

Sanemi hisses as he slowly eases into you. Despite your wetness, you’re impossibly tight, and your body is a live wire hell bent on pushing out his intrusion.

With a deep groan, he falls forward, one arm shooting out to land near your head to catch himself before he can crash into you. His weight carefully braced above you, Sanemi shifts, widening the stance of his knees. Your legs slide up his waist, locking at your ankles at the base of his spine.

His cock is barely a quarter of the way inside your heat when he pulls out. A whine of protest mounts in your throat, but it quickly flickers out when he presses his leaking tip to your clit and grinds. A soft moan slips out of you when he repeats the movement again, and your thighs widen, your hips tilting up to allow him easier access.

Sanemi circles the head of his cock once more against your sensitive nub, coating himself in more of your sticky wetness, before he slides back into your entrance. This time, your body parts more easily around him, sucking him in rather than trying to squeeze him out.

“There you go, that’s it,” his breath is hot against your ear, his lips trailing silkily across your jaw. “That’s my girl.”

Halfway in, Sanemi brushes against that thin barrier that separates him from the rest of you, and he stills.

He pulls his head back from your neck, and moves his hand out from between your legs to cup your cheek.

“Ready?” His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, tender and soft.

There is a tightness building in your abdomen, a foreign pressure that isn’t entirely unwelcome, but neither is it wholly comfortable. You brace a hand at your side, balling your sheets into your fist as you steady yourself, flushed and panting beneath the scar speckled man holding rigidly still above you.

Your eyes flick up once, and you see the tightness in his jaw; the tremble in his limbs as he fights against the urge to relief the friction mounting where you are joined.

You swallow around the lump of anticipation lodged in your throat. Your breath is shaky, but at last, you manage a single “Please.”

With a groan, he grips himself around his base and slowly, he presses forward. There is a sharp prick that shoots deep in your lower abdomen as Sanemi surges past that thin inner wall.

You cannot stop your cry of discomfort from ringing out anymore than you can stop the surprised tears which escape the corners of your eyes as the sharp pain between your legs intensifies.

But then Sanemi’s lips are there, kissing away your tears, and the hand he’d used to guide himself into your body skims along the outside of your thigh, hiking your leg higher up his waist before it drops to rub gentle circles into your hip.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between soothing caresses of his lips against your cheeks and across your eyelids. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He coos his string of apologies as his cock continues to push into you. On and on he sinks, his length endless, and you begin to think your body will split in two before you find the end of his.

Just before you reach your limit, Sanemi stills, fully embedded in your heat. He pants through gritted teeth, his jaw locked against the way you’re constricting around him so tightly it’s nearly painful.

It’s unreal; not only does Sanemi realize how much fucking better sex feels without the restriction of a condom, but he’s also bashed over the head with the realization that you were made for him. For nothing, no one has ever felt as incredible as you.

Nothing in his life has ever felt so right.

Sanemi has always been someone who fucks fast and hard. He’d had no objective other than to escape for a few, blissful moments in the body of another as he pretended not to feel the hollowness in his chest, or the throb of his own self-loathing.

With you, however, he wants nothing more than to relish every movement of your body against his, to savor your every gasp and sigh; to learn what makes you lose control.

You are no temporary distraction; he wants to know you.

He drops his forehead against yours and waits, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion of him.

He trails his lips across your collar bone and down to the twin swells of your breasts, sucking softly at your plush skin as you fidget and squirm beneath him. One broad hand skirts down the outside of your thigh until he finds your knee, and gently he guides your leg around his hips. The other he leaves relaxed against the bed, your foot resting somewhere against his calf.

When your eyes flutter open and find his, he knows you’re ready. So he moves his arm out from between your bodies and winds it instead around your waist, deepening the arch in your back until his chest is flush with yours.

His lips press to your forehead, a silent warning that he is about to move.

And then Sanemi begins molding your body to the shape of his.

He starts slow. He doesn’t withdraw far from you, instead focusing on rolling his hips against yours. Each churn of his groin pushes his cock deeper into your warmth, and soon, your timid whimpers melt into soft moans as your initial discomfort gives way to pleasure.

Encouraged by the way your body starts to relax in his embrace, Sanemi tests drawing his cock out a few inches before plunging back into you.

Before long, the room fills with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, and Sanemi’s moans join yours as he rapidly becomes lost in the euphoria of your wet, tight heat.

One of your arms jumps to lock around his ribs, your nails sinking into his skin as you anchor yourself to him.

His hand snakes across the sheets in search of yours. When he finds it, fisted against your sheets, he pries your fingers loose, winding them with his and he wraps your arm around his shoulders.

“Tighter,” he gasps. “Hold me tighter. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the muscles of his back and Sanemi groans his approval.

And then he’s rolling to his side, pulling you along with him until you’re stretched out across the length of your mattress, chest to chest.

His hand grips under your thigh, tugging it over his hip as he rocks harder into you. “Talk to me, angel,” the hand under your thigh moves to splay across your rear, pushing and pulling your hips in time with his as he grinds. “Tell me how you feel — tell me what you want.”

You cry out, mournful, as Sanemi draws out his cock nearly to its tip before he plunges back into you.

The fullness you feel is overwhelming. You can’t stand that empty feeling, even for a moment. So you hitch your leg higher around his hip, and dig the heel of your foot into the firmness of his ass, limiting his movements.

“Closer!” You gasp. “I — I need you closer.”

He needs that too, he decides; craves it. He doesn’t want to feel any space between your bodies. He wants — he needs — to be so enraptured with you that there is no point in trying to separate. That way, he might get to keep you for just a little longer.

Sanemi’s hand massages your backside, his cock throbbing with every push into you. “Deeper,” he confirms between throaty groans. “You want me deeper?”

You bury your face into his shoulder. Your teeth sink into his skin and with a moan, you nod.

He can do that; is more than happy to, as a matter of fact.

So, with a faint snarl, Sanemi grips the fat of your ass and spreads you wide, and he begins thrusting, hard.

The new angle allows the tip of his cock to bump up against a sweet spot deep inside you. Sanemi’s eyes narrow at the way your head drops back, a loud cry tearing from your throat.

Determined to hit that point within you again and again, he shifts his hips under you while hiking your leg higher up his hip, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass.

It’s a success; soon, your wails echo throughout your studio, punctuated by every punishing slap of his skin against yours.

Really, he can’t give less of a damn at how thin your apartment walls are. The sounds pouring from your mouth are the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

Something hot and electric mounts quickly in your stomach with each of his frenetic movements. You’ve come before with your own hand, but this — this is something different. Something far more intense, something that threatens to rip you apart from your very sanity until you know nothing but him.

You try and tell him you’re losing control but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper.

But he knows; he knows exactly what you need.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you.” And with that, Sanemi rolls you back underneath him, settling into the cradle of your thighs and pushing his cock faster and deeper into you. His arms gently unwind yours from his shoulders, and he brings them up over your head, one large hand pinning them down.

“I’ll take care of you, sweet girl,” he promises, and he weaves the fingers of the hand keeping you pressed against the mattress with your own. “Just keep your legs around me.”

Your thighs squeeze his waist in silent answer, your mind far too suspended in the throes of your pleasure to do anything else.

With his lips trailing along your neck leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in its wake, his free hand slides between your sweat-slicked bodies. He wedges it between where his groin is pressed to yours, and he searches along your sensitive, swollen folds, seeking the spot between your thighs that made you tremble and whine for him earlier.

You jolt under him as his fingers find you again, that foreign, electric sensation sparking deep in your abdomen. “Sanemi —“

“It’s okay,” he murmurs sweetly, pressing down on your clit until you arch further into him with a gasp. “It’s gonna feel so good, baby, I promise. Just focus on me.”

Each rotation of his hand against your sensitive bead matched the deep, pointed roll of his groin, with Sanemi capping the end of every powerful thrust with alternating pulses of his thumb. The pressure he uses mounts with every churn of his hips, and the moan vibrating in your chest as another surge of sticky wetness gushes from your thighs is the sweetest sound he thinks he’s ever heard.

A broken chant of please please please stutters its way out of you, spurning him to go faster; hit deeper.

And Sanemi only knows how to oblige you.

“You’re doing so fucking good, sweetheart. Just keep letting me take care of you —- that’s it.” He curses as you clench down around him, crying out in approval at his praise. “Yeah, yeah. You’re my fuckin’ girl, aren’t you?”

A single wail of his name is your only response, but it’s enough of a confirmation to damn you both.

“You are,” he affirms, his voice taking on the timber of a growl. “Mine. You’re fuckin’ mine.”

His thrusts grow sloppier with every second, though each is punctuated by a silent, recurring chant of mine, mine, mine. Though your eyes are closed, Sanemi can spy a faint sliver of white peeking out from between your eyelids.

You’re close; he can feel it. And he knows, as the walls of your cunt flutter and tighten around him, that your climax will be his undoing.

The hands he has pinned against the mattress over your head flex as you twist and writhe beneath him. your head tosses from from side to side, and the vibrato of your cries rises octave by octave. Every muscle in your body is tense; you are a live wire thrumming with a need to come apart that he knows you do not fully understand.

Sanemi grunts as he fucks you harder into your bed, no longer concerned with keeping his weight off you. He will show you; he will show you how to shatter, and then he too, will break.

But he needs to see you, first.

“Look at me,” his voice beckons you back from the precipice of ruin. “Look at me, Y/N.”

Your eyes open to meet his and suddenly you’re right back at that edge, only this time, you’re falling freely over it, plummeting down a drop that has no end.

“S-Sanemi —!” It’s all you can manage before the knot steadily building in your stomach unravels. Your back arcs sharply away from your bed, and Sanemi ducks his head to smother his own cry against your breast as he takes its tip into his hot mouth.

Your hips jerk and twitch against his, your cunt seizing around him with force that threatens to squeeze the life out of him. Above you, your arms strain and pull against his grip as you writhe and sing for him.

“That’s it baby, that’s it,” Sanemi’s praise is muffled against your sternum, though it is strangled as he nears his own end. “Fuck!“

He’ll have to buy you the morning-after pill tomorrow, he realizes as you continue to come apart so beautifully on his cock, a soft chant of his name the only thing on your lips. He will not force you to bear the consequences of his own selfishness; he will not saddle you with his burden.

But he’s also not strong enough to pull out; not when your body feels like it was made for him, not when your sweet cunt is gripping him this hard, is this wet — all because of him.

He is selfish and he is weak; it’s a toxic combination, and yet he knows cannot stop.

Sanemi’s hips snap a final time against yours, pushing them up and away from the mattress, pressing deeper than he thought possible. His eyes roll back as his own orgasm rocks through him, powerful and blinding, and the growl that built in his throat melts into a strained groan.

He holds you in place, his cock pulsing in time with your cunt while the two of you ride out the waves of your climax together, his cum steadily filling you with his warmth. Your hands skirt down the length of his arms, blindly searching for his hips. When you find him, you pull and tug, a faint whine sounding from the back of your throat. Sanemi answers your plea with a broken moan of his own and he rocks against you, your hips circling with his until he finally lets you collapse against your mattress, limp-limbed and exhausted.

He follows you down, smothering you with his weight as he clings to you like a lifeline, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, you did so good, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good.” He moans into your ear before he pulls back, his eyes searching your face as he pants.

One hand cradles your jaw and his thumb strokes repeatedly over the flushed curve of your cheek. “You okay?”

You don’t answer right away, your eyes shut tight, and Sanemi feels panic bubble hot in his stomach. The hand cupping your face tightens with his worried call of your name, his fear rearing its ugly head, ready to rip him apart, to turn him into the horrid monster he’s always known he was —

“I love you,” and then you’re peering up at him, eyes round and shining with emotion he does not deserve to feel. “I love you, Sanemi.”

It would’ve hurt less if you’d shot him.

Whatever wall remained around his heart cracks and crumbles under the weight of your confession. Sanemi does not answer, cannot find the words to adequately capture the depth of his feelings.

Instead, he snatches you up into his arms, crushing your body against his.

He kisses your lips and then your cheek. One hand cups the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he presses your face into his chest. His arms tremble as he holds you close, every hard ridge of him cradled against your soft curves. He feels your smile against his collarbone, and the way your fingers dance up and down his spine that makes him melt.

It hits him, then. You aren’t waiting for an answer — you said it only so he would know, and you’d not expected anything in return.

All you’d done was give while he took and took. Your body. Your love.

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

Whatever or whomever came after this would never compare to you. Truthfully, Sanemi doesn’t think it would be worth trying anything different. Everything now began and ended with you — including him.

He twists his head to kiss you again and again, your lips meeting his with a sleepy enthusiasm.

He pants as he breaks away. “‘M gonna pull out — might be uncomfortable for a second.”

You wince at the sudden stab of cold left behind by Sanemi’s retreating warmth. He shifts back onto his knees and slides his hands down your thighs, parting them.

A low whistle blows past his lips. “Damn, I made a mess outta you.”

For a moment, Sanemi can’t tear his eyes away from the sight between your legs; the sight of him trickling out you, staining the sheets below. But some of that hot, possessive pride that wells in his chest tempers at the small smear of blood staining your inner thigh.

His fingers massage your legs in silent apology. “Let me clean you up.”

Your hands shoot to grasp at his shoulders, a pleading whimper on your lips. “Don’t leave — not yet.” You bite your lip, your eyes wide and anxious. “Please, can you just hold me for a bit?”

Sanemi’s eyes soften and his heart throbs painfully in his chest. He can’t imagine leaving you; not now, not ever. No matter how stupid and selfish that makes him.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know the source of your anxiety — or that you didn’t have reason for it. Sanemi isn’t known for lingering.

But this is different — you’re different. You’re not some temporary distraction. You’re everything. His everything.

“Shhh,” he maneuvers you easily atop him, settling you in against the length of his torso, his hands smoothing up and down the column of your spine. “I’m staying right here, sweet girl. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He seals his promise with a gentle kiss against your forehead before laying his cheek against your temple, cradling you to his chest.

Finally, you relax against him, convinced. He lays with you for a long time after, one hand on the back of your head, his fingers rubbing against your scalp until you fall asleep on against him, safe and sound and warm.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. But Sanemi’s head does not quiet, not even under the soothing sounds of your deep, slow breaths as you dream.

He must have lost his mind. There is no other explanation for the way he’s disregarded every rule, every boundary he’s ever made sense of, all in the name of you. In a single evening, you managed to obliterate every last defense, every barricade he’d safely cowered behind, and now that the castle has fallen, he isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do with the rubble.

What he does know is that there’s no putting things back to how they were.

His eyes search your sleeping face because if you were able to make him question nearly everything that made sense in his life, then surely you must also have the answers he needs to re-strike balance in his tilted world. Maybe they lie among the lashes that tickle your cheek, or in the occasional twitch of your mouth between your deep inhales.

But Sanemi is only left feeling more confused the longer he watches you. Because, despite the way he feels vulnerable and exposed at how easily he has been stripped of his guard, he can’t quite bring himself to believe it was entirely your doing.

His eyes widen. There’s his answer.

Perhaps you are not trying to sink your nails into his flesh to peel it back, to demand he be stripped to the bone for you to inspect, to scrutinize and use as you please.

Perhaps that is what you’ve done to yourself, and you’re waiting to see if you will join you; to know if he can volunteer his vulnerability, rather than wait for someone to come and force it from him.

He cannot make any promises. He has spent so much of his life cowering behind the armor he crafted out of his scars and his sneers and barks that were always more ferocious than his bite, that he does not know how to take it off. He does not know how to navigate the world without its weight, both his safety net and his chain. And there is an understanding in your eyes that signals you know that, too.

But he can try.

He mouths I love you against your hairline — he does not voice it, not yet, though it’s what he feels. But your love is a compass that just might point him down the road the leads to a life he so desperately wants; to you.

And he’ll get there, maybe.

In time.

LIKES, REBLOGS, COMMENTS APPRECIATED!

#demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny fic #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer smut #kny smut #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x you #sanemi smut #demon slayer sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #sanemi x y/n

[piierrote]

I think perhaps my 3rd year project will b abt solarpunk/sci-fi cowboys

#i have nothing fleshed out no plot or anything #but thibkibg avout making perhaps alien cowboys??? alien style horses too #idk!! maybe wont lean so much into the sci fi and more into the solarpunk? #but uts the first idea im actually Excited about

[lord-squiggletits]

You know, I think my thing about liking “asshole Megatron” more than “good Megatron” (speaking in terms of IDW1) isn’t just the fact that I find evil Megatron more entertaining and sexy, but that I suppose I don’t like the way good guy/Autobot Megatron’s personality is?

Like mmmm I’m not trying to be one of those people who goes “he’s OOC!” or “he’s such a wimp!” or “he’s evil and doesn’t deserve to be redeemed,” but there was just something slightly grating about the way Megatron is/acts in MTMTE/LL. If I had to pick a word for it, he just seems very... self-pitying? Ratchet said it perfectly while the DJD were attacking and he told Megatron “Oh of course it’s all about you, what a surprise.”

There’s something about Autobot Megatron that makes me hate him as a person, not like in a “haha what a pathetic bastard” way the way I see villain Megatron, but in a way that’s like “god you are so fucking stuck up and annoying” in a non-enjoyable way. Maybe it’s because Autobot Megatron was a last minute plot change and I’m sensing how JRO “forced” Megatron to be part of the narrative last minute? But that would just be a matter of shoddy writing, and MTMTE/LL aren’t shoddily written.

It’s presumptuous to try and assume the motivation of an author, but I guess it kind of feels like JRO was trying so hard to make Megatron a better person that it backfired and made him more unlikeable in my eyes. Like, Megatron’s dialogue about how if he goes back towards violence he’ll never come back out again because the guilt will be too much is poetic yeah, it’s a very cute notion, but the context is that the fucking DJD (who Megatron made) is attacking and killing members of the Lost Light (who Megatron is in charge of) and was it supposed to make me think of Megatron as noble or pitiable or something? Because instead it just pissed me off and made me want to scream “this isn’t fucking about you Megatron, stop being an angsty mope and DO SOMETHING GOOD FOR ONCE instead of crying about how hard it is for you to not enjoy killing people.”

It’s fucking weird because I of course love the concept of redeemable Megatron, and I’m fascinated with the way in which he adopted violence as a coping mechanism for trauma, but the way he’s written in MTMTE/LL just makes him seem more like he’s a self-justifying asshole trying to make pitiable attempts at good deeds than like he’s actually improving as a person. Which of course is a problem caused by the fact that JRO shoved him into the plot last minute and it didn’t actually make sense for Megatron to be on the Lost Light.

#squiggposting #negativity #like deadass i don't get how so many people loooooove mtmte megs because like yeah there are really good moments #but as a person megatron is so annoying and self righteous and kind of whiney and is basically pointless to the plot to begin with #if you took him out of mtmte/ll i don't think the NARRATIVE AS A WHOLE would have lost anything worth keeping #like idk i'm trying really hard to avoid punitive and judgmental language when talking about meg/atron but just #he really really really annoys me the way he acts and how the fandom thinks that he's so precious and sad and such a good person #yeah he's less of a piece of shit than he used to be but he's still kind of a POS lol #he's so out of place in the narrative that JRO had to invent an entire alternate universe just to give him something heroic to do #meg/atron didn't even make reparations in the universe he fucked up #he just got an alternate universe made just for him for him to save instead #that's not justice that's not redemption that's not him compensating for what he did #CONCEPTUALLY YES redeemed megs is good #JRO did indeed do a lot to flesh out megs as a person #but overall he's like so fucking annoying actually and i feel like he's actually so fucking pathetic as an autobot #but everyone else seems to think he's a precious bb who tried so hard and is such a good person now #there are whole armies of meg stans who try to act like he did nothing wrong and he's god's gift to cybertron/the plot #he's really not BUT when i look at the plot of mtmte/ll i say to myself #'i see exactly why the fandom stans see megs the way they do' #because the whole story after megs comes in has this vibe of making excuses for him and trying to soften him #giving him superficial moments and forced plotlines that make him the hero of an entire alternate universe #THE UNIVERSE LITERALLY REVOLVES AROUND WHETHER MEGA EXISTS OR NOT #sure megs is punished in universe by people hating him and going off to be executed at the end #but in terms of structure and aborted plot lines (looking at you mutiny arc) the story bends to soften mega/tron and give him every chance #and it just feels.... cheap #it's one of those things where if i ignore my opinion i can enjoy the story i'm given #but if i look at it with a critical eye i'm like 'this isn't actually Pure Perfection Incarnate and actually kind of annoys me'

[teddytoroa]

i can't find it but ages ago (like several days) i saw a post that was about how fanfic turned into romance novels is like the tiktok of books bc they dont have any breathing space and just jump between the main plot points and it makes the book unsatisfying and im like yeah actually thats absolutely true. And imo it feels in line with the antiintellectualualism problem we have where people just wanna be spoonfed the "interesting" bits.

But also the flip side of that is when theres entire books of like,,character interaction that doesnt go anywhere and its marketed as slice of life or light romance or whatever and yall know me i LOVE some chill slow paced low stakes character exploration but even slice of life stuff needs like actual plot to hold it together or it just feels a bit like mush. some of my most favourite stories are slice of life with characters who dont do very much at all but theres enough actual development of relationships and an underlying thread of a plot (not always a conflict even) to tie it all together so its not just a loose collection of characters in a bag rattling around like marbles and going nowhere. does any of this make sense

#often i think of the novel i read a few years ago that had characters i liked and seemed to be building up to something really big and cool #but then it just kind of couldnt support its own hype and the second half of the book was just. flat. it was just nothing #it felt like the author sort of..ran out of ideas? or was just freestyling without any overarching plot or goal for the end? #it was very bizarre. a good slice of life should feel like just that- ur briefly dipped into a fully fleshed out world #but this was like. ok this is gonna sound mean but you know when youre playing dolls with a toddler #amd they're just making up big plot points as they go along because theyre literally 3 years old #like 'ok the barbies are married now. ok and now this one dies and the other one is sad. ok now they have a new car. ok heres a dinosaur.' #it felt like that. no substance no real plot no character development no goal no endgame no worldbuilding no meat on the bones #ANYWAY its just as well i couldnt find the post bc i wouldnt want to clog the tags with this #god that book bothered me. never read anything else by that author bc i just. like it wasnt good. #it was like ordering takeout from a new place that looks promising but it arrives cold soggy meanly portioned and missing half the order

[c0llisiion]

SIN FOR ME — J.JK

Pairing : jeon jungkook + f!reader

Genre : smut

★: request, npr , cnc , older!jk , boyfriendsdad!jk , cheating, pwp , named!bf , misunderstandings , slight manipulation, unprotected sex at the beginning, protected sex later on , bigdick!jk , coming on body , cum eating , dirty talk , name calling/nicknames, slight angst — lmk if i missed any!

W/C: 2,919

A/N: thank you to pookie for requesting this!! I had a hard time with the plot 😭✋ but i had fun! Thank you sm for requesting! And also sorry 4 going m.i.a i have js been so off 👎👎🤧🤧🥺🥺 anyways enjoy!!

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ This is strictly fiction. Any scenario or situation should not be taken seriously. Please refrain from reading if the topics make you uncomfortable. ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

[edited ver.]

Another day came to an end. A bad end. You were cuddled up with your boyfriend, watching whatever popped up first on your recommended shows. You were hoping to get some action tonight, as it’s been a while since you guys had sex. 2 months, to be exact. You were frustrated, of course. He hasn’t touched you or done anything to you for two months. That's the longest you have gone without sex. You tried so hard to push away the negative thoughts. Convincing yourself that he was just busy and tired and definitely not fucking some other bitch. 

 His parents wouldn’t be coming back home for a couple of hours since his dad is always busy and barely comes home, and his mom is most probably out with another broad. So You tried getting him in the mood. Wearing just a tee and some ck thongs. Rubbing against him. Kissing his neck. But nothing seemed to work. He kept pushing you away. ‘Not now.’ ‘Im not in the mood’ ‘im too tired, not today.’ were just coming out of his mouth like a broken record. But you still didn’t give up! You were determined, but before that- “im gonna go sleep.” You looked up at him, confused. “What?” “Im tired, alright? Im gonna go to bed; you can continue watching your stupid show by yourself.” There was venom laced in his words. It hurt you. Your heart sank. He pushed you away before walking up the stairs. You were trying to hold back your tears. How could he do this to you? You scoff. “Seriously? You’re really not even going to ask me to join you?” Your boyfriend turned around and stared at you blankly. “No. I want some peace and space. Do whatever the hell you want.” And with that, he walked away. You could hear his loud footsteps descend before a loud slam took over. 

You huff and try not to cry. It was too overwhelming for you, and you couldn’t help but think about the possibility that he was probably seeing someone else, or else why would he act like this? The waterworks started pouring slowly as you thought about the memories you made with him. Your soft sobs echoed throughout the empty, dark, and cold living space. 

 ————————————————————————

He was mad. So mad. Finding out that his company just fell into a major controversy after all he worked for was not the cherry on top. Jungkook hastily unlocked his house’s door. It was unusually dark. The only light illuminating the space was the soft kitchen light, which his dumbass son forgot to turn off. He dropped his case and trenchcoat by the door before kicking off his shoes and walked further into his home. He noticed a small figure face-down on the couch, sleeping. 

You were sleeping on your stomach, your head tucked in your forearm, and your hair covered your face. Your shirt was slightly rolled up, and your ass was on full display. Jungkook walked over and took a good look at your body. He needed something to pour his anger into, and so, assuming that it was his wife, he loosened his tie and sat where your foot rested. His hand went up your thighs before resting on your plump ass, cold fingers fondling with the soft flesh. He grabbed a handful before giving your ass a soft slap. He shuffled to hover over you. His hand cupped your pussy. Palm pushing into the wet hole, dampening your underwear. “…Gonna fuck you, okay, pretty? Just stay still f’ me..” His voice was low and deep. He was still under the impression that it was his wife. Jungkook’s fingers hooked around your underwear before pulling it to the side, exposing your bare cunt. He couldn’t see much, but he noticed how his ‘wife’s’ pussy was glistening in the dark. He circled your entrance with slow movements. Your cunny was getting wet at a quick rate. He swallowed thickly at the soft, warm feeling. Without wasting much time, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants along with his boxers.

Jungkook was rock hard. His tip glowed a deep red, and pre-cum was already dripping down his slit. Using his strong hands, he gently shifted your position so your ass was up in the air. He placed a couch pillow under your abdomen so you could lay comfortably. He hunched over your small frame, his hand gliding his aching tip over your glossy slit. He breathed heavily. It felt too good. Jungkook slowly started pushing himself in. He was struggling. It was easy to slip inside his wife, but this time? It seemed different. But familiar. Still, he continued moving forward. Maybe some miracle had happened to his wife. Who knows. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched your puffy lips swallow his hard length. You were still in deep sleep. The long crying session took a toll on your energy, so you were not really aware of what was happening to your body. Jungkook's breath gets caught in his throat as he finally stuffs you full. Your pussy clenching around his length unknowingly. 

Jungkook started moving. Rolling his hips gently. He threw his head back at how your sweet cunny felt around his length.  It was hard to believe that it was his wife. You felt warmer. Softer. And, of course, much tighter. Nothing compared to his wife. His eyes were squeezed shut, and short, heavy breaths left his lips as you continued taking him in. His hands grasped your plush hips, gripping the flesh tightly.

“Mmf-“ you let out a soft whine. Jungkook's tight grasp was enough to give you a bit of consciousness. Soft gasps escaped your lips at every thrust. Your stomach felt weird, and your body was getting hot. You were starting to sweat. “Junwoo… feels good…” you mumbled in your sleep. You felt something penetrating your sopping walls and immediately thought that it was your boyfriend. Maybe he felt bad and decided to finally give in.

Jungkook's heart dropped. No way. There's no way. His eyes went wide when you mumbled his son’s name. With shaky hands, Jungkook leaned forward and pushed the hair off of your face. Shock and terror spread all over his body. He stared down at you. His hand is still resting on your cheek. You were mumbling incoherently. You nudged your face into his palm. “Keep..going.. please.” You murmured. Jungkook gulped. He didn’t know what to do. He was fucking his son’s girlfriend! His thumb brushed the side of your cheek. He felt bad for you. He knew about the fact that his idiot son had been cheating on you for the past 3 months. How could he cheat on such a precious piece? He had to treat you right, even if it was wrong.

You were writhing and squirming under his huge build. Consciousness was starting to hit you. Your body felt hot and uneasy. The feeling was something you had never felt before. It was so much better than what junwoo was giving you. It was suspicious. You slowly lifted your head up, wanting to turn around and see ‘your boyfriend’. Jungkook immediately stopped and pulled out. He was still rock hard, and his dick hit his abdomen with a loud -thump-. He gulped heavily. You tuck your hair behind your ears and glance at the man who was fucking into you senseless. 

“What the fuck!!!!!” You immediately pushed yourself away from him. Cramming yourself in the corner of his Fendi Casa sofa, your thighs shut together. Your eyes first landed on his twitching cock. Oh, it was big. Bigger than his son’s. It was leaking too, and you couldn’t help but feel yourself getting wetter. It was so wrong. So, so wrong. You immediately come out of a trance and look at the man in front of you. His shirt was open, revealing his built body. “I c-can explain-“Jungkook stuttered. “What the fuck mr.jeon???????? How could you just do that to me???” Jungkook's hands were up in defense. “It’s not what you think, y/n. I was mistaken too.” “Mistaken???? You just raw-dogged me???. You are fucking your son’s girlfriend!!!” Jungkook swallowed hard before looking at you with his dark eyes. “Like it’s not the first time i touched you. Be for real right now, y/n” he rolled his eyes at your reaction. “Yeah! Touched. You have only TOUCHED, me. Its a big difference mr.jeon!” It was true that you both fooled around here and there but that was before you started dating junwoo. And everything ended after you confirmed your relationship with his son who was once your bestfriend.

He was hard af and you felt too good to stop. So there had to be some way to get you convinced. It was about time he told you about his son’s double life. “Look. There’s something you should know. Your boyfriend or my son has been cheating on you.” He did not want to beat around the bush and just dropped the bomb. Your heart shattered, and you felt lightheaded. Your eyes went wide at Jungkook’s claims. You were too stunned to speak and just stared at him. It seemed like it had worked, which prompted him to slowly hover over you, pushing you down softly. “And I know about the fact that my whore of a wife has been cheating on me every day." He looked down and watched as his calloused fingers ran up the soft rolls of your abdomen before making eye contact with you again. “You need this, y/n.. we both need this…” the last 4 words came out in a hush. His words were so sinister, and he had a shit-eating grin on his face as he watched you process the information. You trembled under his frame. Oh, you definitely needed it. You shook your head before grabbing Jungkook's loose collar and pulling him into a heated kiss. If your now ex boyfriend cheated on you? Might as well start fucking his dad again for revenge.

Jungkook giggled into the kiss and kissed you back. His hand found the back of your head before tightly gripping your soft hair. You whined into his mouth as it started to hurt. Jungkook kissed you further. His tongue tasting the insides of your mouth. He ripped your underwear, making you gasp and whine. “I will get you new ones, pretty, dw” he mumbled into the kiss with a smirk. His dick was rubbing against your bare pussy, making you leak. His hips moved incoherently. He loved the feeling of your wet pussy lip’s coating his length. Jungkook started aligning himself with your entrance, but before he could shove it in, you stopped him. You broke off the intense kiss. A string of saliva connected your lips to his. Jung Kook looked at you in concern. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” You gulped before speaking up. “Protection… mr.Jeon.” You avoided eye contact with him as he narrowed his eyes at you. He let out a soft chortle before reaching down and taking his wallet from his discarded pants.

He pulled out a condom from one of the sleeves before chucking the wallet away. He was sitting on his heels and looked at you with a smirk. “Put it on for me, darling..” You nodded shyly as you sat up a bit and took the condom from his hands. You slowly ripped the blue plastic wrapping and pulled it out, all while innocently staring up at him. Your shaky hands gripped the base of his cock, giving it a slight squeeze before focusing on pushing the rubber down his huge dick. Jung Kook watched you with pure lust in his eyes. His hand went to the back of your head before forcefully making you look at him, causing you to whimper at the sudden action. “I didn’t know you were such a good girl, y/n..” He gave you a reassuring smile before pulling you to him. Your legs rested on his thighs, and his cock rested on your stomach. The length sat comfortably on your plush tummy. “Gonna take me all, baby? Can you do that for me?” You nodded vigorously before slowly moving your hips on his cock for some stimulation. He chuckled at your reaction and hissed as he entered you slowly. now savoring each and every inch of your sweet pussy. You whimpered as you finally felt how big he was. It still hurt, even though he had already dicked you down. 

You stared at Jungkook's face, your eyebrows knit together and eyes swelling up with tears, your lips bitten down hard as you watched Jungkook's face contort in pleasure. Sweat dripped down his body, and soft grunts left his mouth as he inched inside you more. His eyes quickly glanced at yours, and he internally fumbled at your expression. Knowing that he was fucking you was making this experience even better. 

With a quick thrust, he was fully into you. His tip kissing your spongy spot. Your breath was unsteady and faltering as he had you filled to the brim. His fingers were hooked under your chin and you lifted your face slightly so you could meet his gaze. “Can i?” He asked you gently with a reassuring smile. You nodded at his words before grabbing onto his shoulders for stability. Jungkook's hands held onto your waist, keeping you in place. His hips started moving. Each thrust made him grunt loudly. His pace increased as it got easier to move inside you. Your gummy walls were spasming around his length, and he could feel your warmth. Your both eyes were fixated on the way his dick went in and out of you. His cock would form a small bulge in your lower abdomen every time he pushed into you. “You see that baby? You’re taking me in so well… fuck-“ he was cut off as your pussy clenched. You let out a whine at his words “s-sir.. faster p-please..” 

That was all Jungkook needed to hear for him to go absolutely feral on you. The way you begged with that voice sent blood rushing straight to his cock. “Yeah? My little slut wants me to go faster? I will give anything you ask, baby..” His thrusts got harder and faster. You gripped his shoulders tight, and your eyes rolled back as Jungkook hit your sweet spot perfectly. Sounds of wet skin slapping against each other were echoing throughout the whole area. Your moans are starting to get increasingly louder. Jungkooks quickly covered your mouth before leaning down and whispering into your ears. "don't want your boyfriend to hear how much I'm making you feel good, wouldn’t ya?” Tears streamed down your face as his dick abused your hole. Jungkook left wet kisses and purple hickeys on the sides of your neck, going lower and lower. You wrapped your hands around his neck and your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to your body as you writhed and twitched in pleasure. Jungkook's cock was ruining your pussy

“Fuck-“ Jungkook's voice got caught in his throat as you clenched around him again. He savoured the warm feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock. “Taking me so well little girl…” he breathed into your ear in a whisper. Whines after whines left your mouth. His girthy cock, grazing your gummy, warm walls. The grip on your hips got tighter, enough to form visible bruises.

His thrusts were quick and sharp, and it has you seeing stars. You could feel the knot in your stomach reach its peak. He grunted into your neck and lifted his head up to look at you. “Gonna cum pretty? Gonna make a little mess for me?” You nodded and whined as his hand left your mouth and reached down to play with your puffy clit. You choked as he started flicking your sensitive nub. “Make a huge mess for me.. I will make sure my idiot son cleans it up..” he gave you a wink before focusing on helping you reach your orgasm. He was almost close too. His grip on your waist tightened, and he continued pounding into you. 

“fuckkk!!!!” Your vision went blurry as you came all over his lower body. Streams of clear liquid coated the couch and his abdomen. Jungkook gawked at the sight, and he was so close to cumming. He quickly pulled out of you before removing the condom. His hand wrapped around his throbbing length, and he started jerking himself off. His head thrown back and mouth agape. “L-look at me baby..” he whispered, and you obeyed. Looking up at him through your dazed state. Eyes glossy, and your face was covered in a thin layer of sheen as you slowly came down from your high. Jungkook opened his eyes, looked at you once, and busted all over your body. Some of his cum even reached your face. A load of his creamy white cum never seemed to stop pouring out of his dick. Your stomach and shirt were stained with the thick liquid. You quickly wiped it off your face, licking it off your fingers as you stared into his eyes with a smirk. Jungkook let out a soft chuckle before reaching down to grab your face so he could kiss you. His lips met yours again, but this time it was more gentle. More passionate. He could taste himself on your lips. “Dirty little girl.“

A/N: thank you for reading!!! I was not rlly sure abt the topic because its the first time i actually wrote a cnc fic w plot 😭🧍‍♀️but i hope it was upto par!! Also if it seems like the plot gets lost somewhere please ignore 💀✋😨

Masterlist <3

!!

#౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ yun’s silly fics #bts #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts army #bts fanfic #bts headcanons #bts scenarios #taehyung smut #jungkook headcanons #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook reaction #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook

[captainfern]

hi cap ily sm

pls price x reader x graves smut 😛

With The Lights Out

Captain John Price x fem!reader x Commander Phillip Graves

["With the Lights Out" boxset by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - price and graves don't have anything in common. except, of course, their attraction to you lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 4.3k • warnings - fem!reader, all porn literally zero plot, this is nasty guys fr, threesome, reader goes to paris, possessive!price, possessive!graves, oral [f!&m!receiving], fingering, unprotected piv, cumplay idk, double penetration [2 in 1 *wink wink*], creampies, a competitive breeding kink from both men lmao, price has a sir kink, graves has a corruption kink, both men are whipped, praise, degradation, strong language, their last names are used because i find it hot ok? don't judge me 😭

i'm going to hell

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

Price and Graves had virtually nothing in common. They butted heads on the scale of authority, and both had very different ideas on how to run successful missions.

But there was one thing they agreed on.

You.

And for some reason, by the grace of the universe, they ended up agreeing on that one thing very well.

One moment, you were in your bedroom, both your captain and commander entering to talk you through certain topics they said had been playing on their minds as of late. It turns out that those certain topics involved you being shared by both of them.

Completely naked, you lay on your bed with a thin sheen of sweat across your skin. Your upper body was propped up against Price's lap, who had one hand groping your breasts, twisting your nipples between his calloused fingers. His other hand cupped your jaw, his forefinger and middle finger in your mouth. Saliva dribbled from the corners, down your chin in glistening streams, as Price's fingers pressed down against your tongue. You murmured moans around his digits while your legs twitched, hiked over Graves' shoulders.

Graves was between your legs, two hands gripping the fat of your thighs, kneading the flesh as his tongue worked in and out of your sopping cunt. He grunted with each thrust of his tongue, his nose bumping against your puffy clit, the vibrations of his grunting making your legs tremble more.

Price shushed you gently. He was still in his boxers, but you could feel the outline of his hardened cock against your upper back. You arched your back at the feeling, and he squeezed at your tits harder, making you mewl around his fingers.

The reason Price had his fingers in your mouth was so that Graves couldn't hear how good he was making you feel. Jealously stirred inside his chest when you moaned loudly when the commander sucked your clit, his tongue between your folds making you babble his name so beautifully. Price used his position to his advantage and gagged you with his fingers, continuing to grope at your pretty tits.

That didn't deter Graves though– who continued lapping at your wet cunt, maintaining as much eye contact as he could. He held your gaze as he fucked his tongue in and out, dragging your orgasm closer and closer. You whined around Price's fingers, hips bucking, nudging Graves' face further into you. Graves moaned, the vibrations sending you over the edge.

You came, eyes rolling back in your head, thighs clamping around Graves' head. He licked you through it, tongue not leaving you until you were whimpering, thighs trembling in his hold. Price praised you gently, rubbing the mounds of your breasts gently as Graves pulled his face away from you.

The American, face glistening with your arousal, locked eyes with Price and licked his lips, a triumphant smirk on his face. Price grunted, removing his fingers from your mouth, before leaning over and kissing you.

You whimpered into the kiss as Price shoved his tongue past the seam of your lips, coaxing more and more little noises from your throat. He held your face to his, angling it so Graves could get a good look. Price opened his eyes, looking to the side and directly at Graves as he smoothed his tongue against yours, drawing more light moans from you.

"That's how you want to do it, huh?" Graves grunted at Price, gently removing your legs from his shoulders.

He rubbed his hands up and down your legs, massaging the muscles of your calves and thighs, then moving up to squeeze the flesh of your arse. You hummed contentedly into Price's mouth at the feeling of Graves' hands on you, pushing and pulling at your warm skin.

"S'that feel good, baby?" Graves asked, his hands beneath the curve of your arse, gripping the backs of your thighs. He leaned forward to press kisses to your tummy, sucking at the soft skin just below your navel.

Graves watched you try to pull out of the kiss to reply, but Price grumbled low in his throat, holding your jaw tightly and sliding your mouth back to his. You moaned into the kiss, but it was muffled, and Graves couldn't help but grow annoyed.

He sat back on his heels as Price kissed you, kneaded your breasts– that, for the record, were covered in Graves' spit from about ten minutes earlier. The American slowly spread your legs once more, moaning under his breath at the sight of your glistening cunt, all pretty and puffy after he'd made you come in his mouth. He licked his lips, still tasting you.

Graves pulled his boxers down, managing to kick them away while still kneeling on the bed. He gripped his hard cock, the tip red and beading with pre-cum. He hissed lowly, pumping himself, more pre-cum dribbling from his slit and down his length. He was so fucking hard it almost hurt.

Gently, he crawled back between your legs as you and Price made out. He had to admit, it was a pretty sight, but it'd be a whole lot prettier if he could just hear you.

So, of course, he had a plan.

Graves gripped his cock and guided the head to your cunt. He dragged the tip up through your slick folds, tapping it against your clit and smearing his pre over it.

His plan worked– you ripped yourself away from Price's eager mouth and moaned loudly, followed by whimpered mewls of Graves as the commander continued to rub his cock up and down your folds. Price tried to chase your mouth again, but you turned your head so you could watch Graves rut himself against your core.

"You're so wet, aren't you, baby? Yeah? You feel that?" Graves asked with a coy smile, circling the head of his cock against your swollen clit. Wet sounds elicited from your core, and it made you whimper out for him again. He hummed, pleased, dragging his cock down to press the head to your hole, circling that as well. You moaned, and Price had had enough of that.

"And who said you get to fuck her first, eh?" He challenged, threading his arms beneath your armpits and hoisting you further up the bed. You gasped out as he pulled you against him until you were sitting in his lap.

Graves grit his teeth, the warmth of your cunt literally dragged away from him. His cock, still fisted in his hand, glistened wet with your arousal. The sight made you wriggle in Price's lap, grinding his own erection against your arse. He hissed, dipping his head to attach his lips to your shoulder.

"I think the pretty girl can decide that for herself, can't she?" Graves quipped, and began moving up the bed again. He closed in on you where you sat all pretty and desperate in Price's lap. "Can't you, baby?" He whispered, then kissed you gently, lips moving slowly against yours. You could taste yourself when the tip of his tongue swiped along your lips.

You nodded carefully as Graves' kissed your mouth and Price kissed along the curve of your bare shoulder. Graves pulled back, eyes taking in every inch of your face.

"I want both." You whined out as Price sucked at the hot skin beneath your ear. He chuckled, and so did Graves, who leaned back towards you to brush his lips against yours, featherlight.

"Can't have both yet, pretty girl," he said. "Just gotta have one cock to stretch you out first, okay? An' you want me to do that? Want me to stretch out this pretty pussy, hm?"

Price removed his mouth from your neck. "She didn't say that, Graves, you fucking prick. Let her speak."

You all but ignored Price, moaning out at Graves' words. You leaned forward to kiss him, just as you felt two fingers weasel beneath your legs and prod at your dripping hole.

Price pushed two fingers inside you from where he had you sat in his lap. He grunted, the tight heat of your cunt sucking his fingers in as he sunk all the way to the knuckle. He placed kisses along your neck as he dragged his fingers in and out as Graves kissed you. Price could see him gripping tightly at the base of his cock.

"Mmmygodddd–" You whined into Graves' mouth as Price fucked you with his fingers, adding a third. His other hand moved over your leg this time, his middle finger collecting your arousal from your inner thighs and circling your clit.

He pinched it gently, and you sobbed into Graves' mouth, your lips going lax. Graves pulled back to see Price's fingers thrusting in and out of you. His jaw clenched.

"Who do you want first, sweetheart?" Price asked you, eyes flicking up to Graves, who was now fisting his cock, watching Price finger you.

"Mmm..." You hummed out, about to make an answer. Price curled his fingers inside you, pressing into your g-spot with just the right amount of pressure to have you crying out, head falling back against his shoulder. "Fuck, fuck– you, Price, please–"

Price smiled at Graves. Graves rolled his eyes.

Price kissed you one last time on the neck. "Want you to come 'round my fingers first."

You did– your orgasm rippling through you like static, making your whole body tremble against him. You came around his fingers, milking the digits tight and making Price groan out.

"Good girl, there you go..." He muttered, removing his fingers with a slick squelch, shining wet.

Cocky, he looked over at Graves and then held his three fingers towards him, crooking them in a come here motion. Graves bared his teeth in disapproval.

"Don't fucking push it." Graves hissed, but Price persisted, keeping his fingers held out towards the American's face. Graves sneered, but knowing just how good your pussy tasted on his tongue made his cock jump in his hand. He groaned, Price's glistening fingers directly in line with his mouth, tempting. Then, he gave in, opening his mouth for Price to shove his fingers in.

On any other day, it would have been absolutely demoralising for the commander. But, not only was the taste of you on Price's fingers enough for his stomach to twist with his looming orgasm, you released the prettiest sound he'd ever heard. You moaned, so breathy and desperate, as you watched Graves suck your arousal from Price's fingers.

Your core throbbed, the veil of overstimulation lifting. Your clit pulsed in time with your rapid heartbeat, and you found yourself grinding into Price's lap. Price nodded, pleased, at Graves, a subtle smile on his lips. Then, he yanked his fingers free and pet Graves on the cheek, saliva smearing across the scar on the Americans cheek. Graves sneered and slapped Price's hand away, but his pupils were blown wide, his cock leaking pearl after pearl of precum.

"Fuck you." Graves grit out, but Price ignored it. Instead, he shifted the scene– instructing Graves to the head of the bed and positioning you on your hands and knees. You sunk slightly into the mattress, but Price held you up, his hands on your hips as he positioned himself behind you.

He rid himself of his boxers as Graves settled you between his legs. The commander placed one hand on the back of your neck, the other guiding his cock to your lips. He smeared pre across your closed lips, and you stuck out your tongue to press it into his slit. Graves grumbled some praise before you were wrapping your lips around the reddened tip.

"Oh, fuck, there you go, good girl, baby," Graves praised, squeezing the back of your neck gently. "That's it, wrap that pretty mouth 'round my cock."

Meanwhile, Price was lining his cock up with your cunt, wet with your two orgasms, arousal dripping down your inner thighs. The sight made his brain short-circuit, and he found himself beginning to push into you with no warning. Your slick walls sucked him in so perfectly, making him groan lowly the entire time he pushed inside you.

You moaned around Graves' cock, eyes fluttering closed, your arse backing up in an attempt to make Price hurry up. But the captain continued his slow push in– dropping half of his body across yours, pressing warm kisses to your spine. Finally, with a leisurely snap of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, cock settled up against your cervix.

Again, you moaned around Graves' cock, whose hand on the back of your neck tightened further. That made you moan, too.

Price panted against your spine. "God, y'taking my cock so well, sweetheart."

You whimpered. Graves pressed you further down onto his cock until your nose pressed up against the light-coloured hair at the base. His tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag. Graves pulled you back, and then repeated the action a few more times, each time groaning your name for just the two of you to hear.

"Yeah, that's it, baby, suck your commander's cock," Graves whispered to you, other hand stroking the side of your face– so tender, so loving. Maybe that was the corruption kink talking. "You like gagging on your commander's cock, don't you? Naughty fucking thing."

For emphasis, his hips bucked again. You gagged, tears springing to your eyes. One fell, rolling down your cheek, but Graves caught it and wiped it away with his thumb. He continued to hold the back of your neck, guiding you up and down as you sucked his cock.

Price wasn't fucking you as slow anymore. Once he had passed the initial threshold of stretching you around him, he had simply pulled back out and then thrusted all the way back in. His hips slapped against you arse, forcing you forward and making you take more of the commander's cock down your throat. You gagged. Graves groaned.

You could hardly breathe, the pleasure coursing through you rendering you breathless.

Price fucked into you, deep and rough, abusing your cervix and making your eyes roll as light degradation fell from his lips. "Needy fucking whore, taking two cocks, eh? Needs her mouth and her tight cunt fucking stuffed to be happy. Dirty girl... fucking needy."

Graves guided you to suck his cock, gentle but firm, rubbing the tears from your cheeks with soft coos of praise. "You're doin' so well, baby, an' you look so fucking gorgeous, you know that? Lookin' so pretty takin' both our cocks, an' you're doin' so good, too. Fuck–"

God, the drawl of his accent was driving you insane. Price's gruff voice was doing much the same, and it had your cunt fluttering around his cock as your orgasm brewed heavy and rich in the base of your tummy.

Price groaned, pulling your hips back to meet his thrusts. "Can feel you fucking squeezing me. You wanna come?"

You hummed your reply with Graves' cock down your throat. Graves hissed out, the hand on your neck tightening again.

Price grumbled, happy and blissed-out. "Yeah, 'course you do. So fucking needy for it. Go on then. Come 'round my cock."

You tried to moan his name, but it was forced back down your throat by the head of Graves' cock. Instead, you just whined, mumbled and hoarse, as you came around Price. Your cunt squeezed him tight as you came, your thighs shaking– you would have probably collapsed onto the bed if he wasn't holding you up against him. Your arousal dripped down your thighs, fucked out of you by the girth of Price's cock, and you could feel the tiny streams reach the sides of your bent knees.

"So messy..." Price tutted, leaning back and admiring your backside as he fucked into your cunt.

Price's words made Graves grit his teeth, balls tightening and cock twitching deep in your mouth. He held you down against his pelvis, drool threatening to leak out past the corner of your lips again, as he whimpered above you.

"Gonna come, gonna come," he whispered, his whiny tone making your clit pulse. "Oh fucking hell, m'coming, baby–"

He pulled back just enough to release properly inside your mouth, rather than right down the back of your throat. His cum filled your mouth and you rounded your cheeks to take more as you felt him twitching against your tongue. He kept his semi-hard length inside your mouth and pressed a thumb to the corner of your lips.

"Don't swallow yet." He said, pushing a dribble of his spend back into your mouth.

Price wasn't far behind, either– with a guttural moan of your name, it took everything in him to pull out in time. He came across your arsecheeks and lower back, painting your skin white. Mouth full, you whimpered at the warm splatter across your backside.

"Fucking hell..." Price collapsed beside you on the bed, one arm resting across your lower back. He ran his fingers through his cum, smearing it against the fat of your arse and thighs.

But Graves wasn't close to being done. Quickly but gently, he pulled his cock out of your mouth and you kept your mouth closed as he manhandled you into a sitting position. He twisted you around so your back was pressed to his front, and he could tuck his chin against your shoulder, his cock already hardening against you.

"Don't tell me you're tired already, Price." Graves quipped as he slowly ground you down onto his lap, much like Price had done before. Except this time, you could feel his cock against your bare arse, and it made you shudder, cunt dripping against him.

Price grunted, then sat up. "Not a fucking chance." He positioned himself in front of you, and you felt hot with the way both men looked down at you, sandwiching you between them.

Just as you were wondering why you still had a mouth full of Graves' cum, you got your answer. Graves' cupped your jaw, thumb on one cheek, four fingers on the other cheek. He angled your face up to look Price in the eyes, and then he slowly, slowly applied pressure to your cheeks. You whined out quietly as your lips were pushed just slightly open and strings of his cum began leaking out.

Price's mouth dropped open as he watched, dribbles of white mixed in with your saliva pooling down your chin and dripping down your tits. He groaned, his cock twitching again. He gripped it and began pumping himself.

"Lick it off." Graves said simply, his dark tone making your eyelids droop and your stomach flutter. What made it even better was that he wasn't talking to you.

Price eyed Graves with dark, calculating eyes. You imagined Graves was giving him a similar challenging look.

Graves pressed his fingers harder into your cheeks, pushing more of his cum out of your mouth. As he did so, he was smoothly rubbing his cock through your sensitive folds.

Price didn't say anything, and didn't move.

Graves lifted you slightly and lined his cock up with your hole. Without breaking eye contact with the captain, he began placing wet, messy kisses along your neck.

"Lick it off while I stuff her with my cock." He whispered, then nipped at your earlobe, making you whine again.

Price conceded without more than a growl, leaning forward to run his tongue along the tops of your breasts. You moaned at the feeling. Graves removed his hand from your face, instead holding– not choking– your neck as he bucked his hips and shoved his cock inside you in one solid thrust.

You choked on a moan when the head of his cock hit the same place as Price's, knocking up against the plug of your womb. Price dragged his tongue away from your breasts and over your chin, his facial hair tickling your face. He licked up the mess on your lower face, before kissing you roughly. It was all teeth, tongue and spit. You could taste Graves and yourself still on Price's tongue.

"You think you can take two now, sweetheart?" Price asked you calmly once he pulled out of the kiss. He was spreading your legs further, getting a clear view of the way Graves rutted up into your hole. "You think this tight hole can take two cocks?"

You nodded deliriously, desperately. Price chuckled at your eagerness, then lined himself up alongside Graves. The American stopped, balls deep inside you as the head of Price's cock pressed to your entrance.

"Fuck, please, please, I need you, sir." You begged, and Price moaned loudly, ducking to kiss you again. He ran his hand along your inner thighs, collecting your arousal in his palm, before fisting his cock and spreading it. Cock slick, he slowly began easing into you.

"That's a good girl, call me sir when I'm filling this tight cunt." Price whispered, one hand on your thigh, the other on his cock as he fed more into your tight hole. Pushed up against Graves', his cock reached your womb.

You moaned loudly, probably the loudest of the night. You felt so full. They were both so deep inside you.

Both Graves and Price responded with their own grunts and groans of pleasure as everyone paused for a moment, adjusting to the fit.

"Fucking Christ you're tight." Price muttered. Graves didn't say anything. He just nosed at your pulse beneath your ear, breathing hard against your skin.

You were growing hot. And impatient.

You squirmed in their holds. "Please move."

They moved. It took a tense, testosterone-laced moment to get the rhythm right, but both men got it. Each time Price moved out, Graves was thrusting in and each time Graves moved out, Price was rutting into you. They worked like a well-oiled machine, never leaving your hole empty.

You were in heaven– dizzy off the pleasure, mind fuzzy and vision blurry. Your body was on fire, but in the best way possible, nerve-endings tingling as you were fucked by both men. You could feel them in your stomach.

Graves had one hand around your neck still, the other now on one of your breasts, rolling a peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He continued to kiss and lick at your sweat-slick skin, up and down your neck, whimpering against you with each thrust.

"You feel good, baby?" He asked.

You whined out a “yesssss–!”

"Mhm, yeah, feels good getting fucked by your commander and captain, don't it? Feels good getting this pretty pussy fucked by your bosses..." He finished his sentence with a moan into the curve of your neck, skimming his teeth against you.

Price, with both hands on your hips, moved one hand to press against the mound of your tummy, pressing deep enough to make you moan.

"Fucking you so deep, sweetheart," Price whispered, panting. "You feel that? You feel us both in this pretty tummy?"

Your answer was a high-pitched moan. You were already so close–

"Aw, you wanna come, pretty girl?" Graves asked the question, a whisper in your ear.

You nodded, one of each of your arms scrambling to hold onto them and keep yourself grounded.

“That’s it, ‘atta girl.” Graves said, with Price adding a deep, “Come ‘round our cocks, sweetheart.”

You came around their cocks with moans of both of their names, followed by babbling whimpers as the pleasure rolled over you in deep waves. You felt your own release gush out around them, drenching the bed covers, your body trembling unbearably hot.

Both Price and Graves groaned.

"Fuck, fuck, m'close..." Graves whimpered into your neck, rutting into you desperately.

Price was much the same, each of his thrusts becoming sloppier, his hands gripping your hips for balance, as to not topple over his orgasm too soon– not before Graves, anyway.

But Graves had other ideas.

"Fuck, m'gonna come first, fill you up first. How's that sound, baby?" He asked you, words slurred around his impending orgasm. "You want me to stuff this pretty pussy full'a my babies? Hm? Wanna make me proud? Wanna make me a daddy, baby?"

You mewled, biting your lip. "Graves, oh my god–"

Fuck that, Price thought.

"No, no, you want me, don't you, sweetheart? You want your captain to come deep in your tight cunt. Want your captain's babies in this pretty tummy."

You were so dizzy. "P-Price, fuck–"

Graves growled into your neck, and then came with a guttural groan of your name. He stuffed his cock deep inside you and came right up against your cervix, flooding your womb with his seed. He groaned and grunted against your neck, whispering your name over and over as he came.

Price, too high on pleasure to feel annoyed, thrust deeply once, twice more, then came inside you too. He shoved his cock in beside Graves, stretching you out and spilling into you. His head fell forward, onto the opposite shoulder to Graves, and he grunted your name through gritted teeth as he filled your womb.

You stuttered, whimpering at the sensation, feeling so warm and full. Your eyes closed, and you slumped against them, their cum trapped inside you. Neither of them made any attempt to move, just breathing hard against you.

"You alright, sweetheart?" Price asked as Graves pressed kisses to your neck, jaw and cheek.

"Yeah..." You breathed, heart calming. "Really good..."

"Good girl," Graves whispered, massaging your now sore breasts with tentative fingers. "Let me run you a bath. How's that sound?"

"Good..." You hummed. "After... after one more round."

Graves just groaned and Price chuckled against your shoulder. "Christ, sweetheart, you'll be the death of us, won't you?"

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happy october 1st whores

#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #captain john price #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #captain price #fem reader #captain john price x you #captain john price smut #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves #graves cod #phillip graves smut #cod smut

[assassinsblade]

Forget Me Not | 5

It is your turn to experience guilt and regret, while Azriel takes some time to himself.

WC: 4.4k

Warnings: TW: SA, brief mentions of suicidal thoughts/ideations!!! Please do not read if this is triggering for you. Angst, feelings, we are all sad but we are taking a turn for the better!

a/n: All of the comments and responses to Part 4 were seriously incredible. I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday tomorrow if they celebrate!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

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Azriel's shadows surrounded him before he could command them to do anything else. Darkness swallowed his vision, his chest, his heart, gods, he was dying wasn't he? Was this what dying felt like?

He felt like he couldn't breathe. Pain was searing through his chest as if a fiery sword was sticking from his ribcage, and he barely felt his knees crashing to the ground underneath him.

He didn't know where he had subconsciously winnowed to until he heard his brother's voice, filled with shock and confusion.

"Az?"

Hands were pushing his shoulders back, trying to get him to unfold from himself, to stop grasping his chest. His chest, his chest, his chest, it burned-

"Feyre, get Madja."

Azriel tried to shake his head, but he was so dizzy he couldn't tell if he made the movement or not. He vaguely heard Feyre's movements shuffle to a halt. Rhys must have stopped her at his attempt to say no.

"What happened?" Rhys questioned, voice strong despite the panic slowly making its way in.

Azriel was sobbing. He didn't know when he had started, but he knew he had broken. His own chokes and cries echoed in Rhys' office, his tears falling onto the cold marble floor beneath their knees. Pain laced across his skin from his fingernails digging into his own flesh, and he felt Rhys trying to pry the grip away.

"Kill me," Azriel sobbed. "Please, kill me. Do something, just make it stop-"

Rhys dove for his brother at the words, pulling him into a tight hug. The embrace did little to help with the overwhelming torture raging within the shadowsinger. He was going to die, he wanted to die.

He had never hated himself more, hated how it felt like his body was going to eat him alive if he took one more breath.

The constant memories shooting behind his eyes like poison: his mother mistreated by the Illyrian men while his hands burned, Mor left naked and alone in that forest with a sign punctured to her womb and him not arriving until hours into her pain, Rhys walking into a trap because he hadn’t seen it and hadn’t stopped it, Gwyn violated and tortured because he hadn’t been aware enough to spoil the plot or get there soon enough, and then you — your bloody body being carried in Cassian’s arms, clothes torn off, having been forgotten by him.

"Don't you dare say that." The male trying to keep him together spoke with such command, but the shadowsinger's pain persisted.

"I can't do this, Rhys. She-"

He couldn't stop crying, he couldn't stop hurting, he felt like he was screaming...

"Feyre," he heard Rhys call distantly. Everything was blurry, everything was awful. His head was pounding, his body was giving up on him, and then he felt delicate hands on his cheeks, a soothing feminine voice, and then nothing.

As darkness swallowed him whole, he saw only the glinting gold swimming inside his chest, reaching like a rope into darkness.

It was quiet for a bit. Safe, surrounded by nothing but shadows so much like his own, and the small golden light flickering inside of him. He would be content to stay there forever. To no longer live as the monster he’d become, to be able to pretend he was nothing, no one, just a fluid existence stretched through space. Like the embodiment of flying through the skies of Velaris, wings splayed wide and air crisp and free all around.

Unfortunately though, Azriel’s peace was short lived. Before he could truly bask in the quiet, he was being pulled out of his mind and back into the present.

Bright light hit his face, shining through the window of his bedroom at the House of Wind. His shadows immediately swarmed the opening, pulling at the curtains until he was once again draped in darkness.

He sighed and sat up, running his hands down his face. He felt overly fatigued, his entire body weighed down with guilt, self-hatred, and the words you had spoken to him.

He did let everyone he knew down. He already knew that, reminded himself of that every single day, but that didn't make it hurt any less coming from your lips.

Rhys, one of the many people he had failed, had not stopped staring at him. Azriel knew his brother was waiting for him to break the silence.

His voice sounded broken to his own ears, weak and cracking even when spoken in a low volume. “I don’t know what to say.”

He truly didn’t. What should he have said? Hey Rhys, thanks for tucking me in after I had a complete breakdown, you can leave now.

“You can start by explaining why you came to my office and begged me to kill you.”

Yeah, Rhys was not happy.

Azriel sighed, feeling his chest pinch at the memories. He wasn't happy either.

You’re no hero. You’re a joke.

Your hands are the ones hurting me.

That’s all you're good for: inflicting damage.

“Azriel.” Rhys interrupted his thoughts.

He swallowed, feeling himself tear up again. He hadn’t cried this much since Rhys went under the mountain.

“She’s my mate,” he finally spoke, voice quiet and chest cracking open at the confession.

Rhys didn’t even blink. Azriel couldn’t meet his gaze though.

“Who?”

Rhys knew who. Based on Azriel’s reaction to the information alone, he knew.

Azriel didn’t answer the question, knowing it was unnecessary. Instead, he gazed at his scarred hands resting in his lap and said, “I went to train, and she was already in there. The bond snapped before she even turned around.”

“Does she know?”

He shook his head, focusing on the sting in his arm. “She wouldn’t have missed if she did.”

He felt Rhys eyeing the slash against his bicep, already weaving itself back together. Then his friend studied the rest of Azriel's body language. The way his shoulders were curved in on himself, the way his fingers traced over the scars on his hands, the ghostly look in the male's hazel eyes despite them glistening with tears.

"What did she say?" Rhys ended up asking after his silent observations.

"Enough."

His brother didn't let Azriel brush him off though. "Whatever she said, she didn't mean it, Az."

Azriel scoffed. "Look into my mind, see how she looked at me, and then you try to tell me she didn't mean it."

"She is angry and grieving, and you are the only person available that she can blame and take it out on. Her anger," Rhys suddenly grabbed Azriel's arm, positioning it so he could nod to the reddened gash, "that anger, is because she cares. She's hurt because she loves you."

Azriel shook his arm out of his friend's grip. "It doesn't matter. I fucked up, and I can't take that back. The damage has been done, Rhys."

"I used to think that too." Violet eyes met his. "Feyre hated me, in case you forgot."

Azriel didn't budge, so Rhys continued. "I know what you're feeling right now. That it'd be alright if she hated you, as long as she's safe. But it still hurts, knowing she thinks poorly of you, and that feeling builds up. But your journey with her is not over. She is a forgiving person, you just need to give her grace while she heals. And you need to give yourself grace, because you're in a painful position too."

He nodded, letting a few tears fall. His palm automatically reached for his chest, rubbing it in an effort to soothe the ache there.

“How did you do it? How did you live with it hurting this bad? After Feyre said…”

Rhys sighed, letting out a small breathy laugh — a genuine one. “It wasn’t easy. I left for those days before Starfall, ignored her letters, sorted out my thoughts. Came to the conclusion that even if Feyre never loved me, I would always love her and I’d be happy to do so. And I have a family who I love dearly, who also loves me.”

The pointed look he gave Azriel was obvious, reminding him that his family was there and worried about him too. They had seen the way he’d turned into a shell of himself, barely sleeping in case you had a nightmare and needed him, barely eating or training, his entire reserve of energy being put into monitoring your safety and wellbeing. And he knew they cared, he really did.

Cassian had been trying to get Azriel back into the swing of training again, wanting him to express some of his heavy emotions in the ring, or at least talk to his brother while sparring and practicing. Instead, Azriel was seclusive and pulled the punches he threw the Illyrian’s way.

Rhys had given Azriel time off from his missions, delegating the work to those under the spymaster to take some weight off of Azriel’s shoulders for a bit. Azriel had at first refused but had given in when Rhys had pointed out that time and attention needed to be focused at home anyway, what with the Illyrians’ growing mistrust of Cassian, Azriel, and himself, the threat of an uprising ever present.

But now with what you had said…

“I think it’d be best if I went away for a bit.” His voice was quiet, resigned, lifeless to his own ears.

“By yourself?” Rhys asked, clearly not liking the idea.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just — I think some space from her would be good. You even said you needed that when Feyre had hurt you.”

His brother’s violet eyes softened with understanding. “You’re right. I did. But I do think this is a bit more complex. What if you went with Amren or Mor to see Jurian and Lucien? See what they have been up to for a bit? You can leave some of the work to them, but have something to distract you should you need it.”

Azriel was quiet as he considered, but Rhys cut in before he could agree too soon. “But you come back. And you come back within the month.”

Azriel nodded. “Okay,” he relented.

“Okay,” Rhys repeated. His hand clasped Azriel’s shoulder in support, giving his brother a meaningful look. “I know I sound like an asshole, but it will work out. I know it. You two are too special, in general and to each other for this not to work out.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the pain that came with his brother’s words.

He swallowed, composing himself before meeting his friend’s gaze with teary eyes of his own. “Tell Mor I’ll meet her on the border in an hour.”

-------------------------------------

You skipped training the next night, too emotionally drained to make it out of your room. Cassian hadn't come to find you, either. Maybe he had even heard of your argument with Azriel.

Instead of going to the training ring, you tried to read your books (pushing away the reminder that Azriel had gotten them for you), took some long baths, tried to write, and listened to music.

Nothing kept your mind distracted from what you had said to Azriel, though.

The instant relief that had coursed through your veins when the anger had seeped into the air, draining from where it had hardened in your chest and allowing you to feel lighter, changed over the course of the day into something just as volatile.

You felt guilty. So, insanely guilty.

You kept remembering the look on his face when you had mentioned Mor, Rhys, Gwyn, his mother…

The way his hands clenched and fiddled with themselves when you had told him you see them hurting you in your dreams.

The tears that streaked down his cheeks silently as you just kept on coming and coming, attacking and attacking.

And he had let you. He had stood there possibly from shock, guilt, care, and just let you tear into him without any retaliation.

You had never uttered words so cruel to someone.

And you hadn’t even meant them.

Sure, you had been so angry at him. You had felt so hurt and demeaned, that you wanted to do the same to him. But did you actually blame him for what had happened to his friends? Did he hold the responsibility for the entire world in his scarred hands?

Of course not. But you knew that he thought so. And you had used that against him.

Azriel had never meant for you to get hurt. You, on the other hand, had intentionally hurt him.

Did that not make you so much worse?

You cried yourself to sleep that next night, your actions sending you into a downward spiral of shame. Despite taking the tonic Madja had provided you for sleeping, you found yourself at the mercy of your guilt, your mind tormenting you with Azriel’s hurt and your own mistakes.

If you had known this dream would have taken a turn for the worse, creating a scenario that would haunt you even more than the memories of that night, you never would have closed your eyes.

It had started the same as the others: the snow, the alleyway, the blonde-haired male licking up your neck and reaching for your middle. This time though, when you brought the dagger down into the male’s neck, a familiar choking sound echoed into your ear.

Azriel.

The same noise that had escaped his lips after your weaponized words stabbed into him.

Then his hazel eyes met yours, the snow falling from Velaris’ night sky dusting his black hair. And there was so much pain, hurt, and betrayal in his gold and green irises that you felt sick.

“No-” you panicked, reaching out for him as the bright red blood poured down his neck and over your hands.

No, no, no. Not him. How could you have done this? You were hurting him, you were killing him.

Your hands moved quickly, pushing against the wound as sobs loudly slipped past your lips. "Azriel-" you started to say.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His eyes tried to get your attention, but he was already weak, slipping through your hands and falling onto the pavement below.

When the dagger fell from his neck, you saw the charcoal-colored aggressive waves adorning the top of the hilt and nearly collapsed.

You had killed Azriel with his own weapon. The weapon he had lent to help you, you had taken and stabbed him in return. His support, his offer to make amends, his kind-hearted generosity toward you, turned around to tear into his lifeline.

You killed him.

And hurting him did not feel as good as you had imagined in that training ring, both then and now, snow falling onto his tan skin in the alleyway.

As you stared into his empty eyes, somehow still sparkling with the stars of Velaris, you couldn’t help but scream.

Waking from the nightmare was nearly as difficult as wading through it in your sleep. Your ears were ringing, throat sore, and mouth dry. You were so nauseous, your stomach gurgled as if it was warning you its contents could come up at any time.

You didn’t go to the library to read or run yourself another bath in an attempt to relax. Instead, you found yourself throwing the blankets off of yourself, still trying to catch your breath, and making your way hastily to Azriel’s door.

It seemed so similar to that first week after the assault, when you had sought out Cassian before relying on Azriel for a night. Only this time, as you stumbled through the hall, your only thought was on passing Cassian’s door and finding yourself in front of Azriel’s.

You felt so scared, so anxious, and for the first time in months it wasn’t for your own safety.

Your heart pounded in your chest as your toes padded down the cold floor. But it completely stopped when you noticed the difference in the House of Wind.

Azriel’s door, always left cracked with the light on since your first nightmare after the incident, was now closed, with nothing but black on the other side.

You nearly caved into yourself.

Who could blame him? You had been a terrible person. And despite what he had done to you, it was understandable if he never wanted to see or talk to you again.

Just the thought of him being in pain because of you behind that door…

You hesitantly stepped closer, bringing your fist up to the wood.

“I’m sorry,” he had whispered in your dream.

You knocked softly, waiting a few moments before calling out his name. When no response came, you couldn’t help the anxiety that coursed through you, bringing scared tears to your eyes.

Shaking on your toes a bit, you knocked again. Blood flashed across your mind, his lifeless eyes, his look of betrayal.

"Please," you whispered, calling out to him gently.

But you couldn't wait any longer. Your hands slowly twisted the doorknob, your mind not even thinking of the consequences of entering a spymaster's room unsolicited.

You would just see that he was alright and safe, and then you would go back to your room. Plus, his shadows would let him know you were entering, they would warn him of your presence and could push you out if need be.

At this thought, you suddenly noticed the lone shadow that had trailed you for months was no longer at your side. The darkness behind his door swallowed you whole at the realization. He was gone, done, and you along with him.

You spiraled further, pushing into the room and daring to look around.

It was empty. Darkness shaded the clean room, but there was no shadowsinger, no living presence occupying the space.

Was he on a mission? Did he leave without telling anyone?

His choking noise permeated through your mind again, and you found yourself becoming dizzy with panic and anxiety, the guilt and regret spreading so far into your gut you were sure it was physically damaging you.

Stumbling over to his bed, you collapsed onto it, first sitting before bringing your knees up to your chest and allowing yourself to seek out his warmth and scent in the duvet and sheets. He was okay, you told yourself. He was always okay.

But the lack of your shadow friend spoke volumes. He was done with you. Done trying to prove himself, done trying to be your friend. And it hurt just as bad now when he actively decided to leave you compared to when he did it unintentionally.

Because despite it all, you did love him. You had just become so hurt and destructive that you ruined yourself further in the process, striking out at him as collateral.

You buried yourself deeper into his covers, not even caring when your tears soaked into his pillow. And maybe you imagined the footsteps you heard outside Azriel’s door, the way Cassian’s door had opened and closed and a presence had hesitated outside of the shadowsinger’s room as if they were listening and contemplating.

You surely imagined Azriel coming home and allowing you to speak with him, and in these hopes you understood how he felt this whole time. The silence, the darkness, the guilt and self-hatred. And the never-ending fear that you had done something you could never repair. That you weren’t good enough or redeemable enough to repair.

The last image that crossed through your mind before your swollen eyes succumbed to sleep was Azriel’s face when he had seen you that first day in the kitchen with Rhys. His nervous and devastated but hopeful expression.

You hated yourself.

-------------------------------------

In the morning, Feyre paid you a visit.

She did not comment on you leaving Azriel’s room, but the look she gave you was observant.

The conversation had started out small with her asking how you were doing, checking in on your training progress, if you had been reading anything good lately, if you had tried the meal Cassian made last night for dinner.

Then it was silent, and she hesitated before steeling herself like the High Lady she was.

“Azriel left the other night. Whatever you had said to him, whatever had happened two nights ago, I’m not sure he deserved it.”

You didn’t want to ask about the state she had seen him in. You didn’t want to know how deep the damage you had dealt went, because if you pictured his hurt expression one more time, you thought you might actually shatter.

You stared down at your hands in disappointment and shame, gritting your teeth to stop yourself from crying. You weren’t the victim this time around; you didn’t deserve to cry. And your eyes hurt so bad from crying so much.

“I think you two should talk. Your relationship has become so destructive I’m not sure either of you will come out at the end. Talk.” She demanded, her voice firm.

You nodded in agreement, swallowing the lump in your throat down before asking what you had been wondering since last night. “Where did he go?”

“To the mortal lands with Mor. He needed some time.”

Of course. Of course he needed time, and you would give him that. But you needed him to know that you were at least sorry, because you had no idea when he would be ready to return.

“If I were to give you a letter for him, would you make sure he receives it?”

Feyre sighed, thinking about the consequences of the action, before finally softening and nodding. She understood the need to reach out after such an incident, and you noticed her eyes flicker as she doubtlessly thought back to when Rhys left for a bit before Starfall and ignored her own letters.

“Sure. But you must be kind.”

You nodded again, that pang of disappointment and shame flaring to life again in your chest, and you thought of all the things you needed and wanted to say to Azriel.

But when you actually went to put pen to paper later that night, you found yourself second-guessing everything.

You had gone too far in punishing him — for something he was not even completely to blame for — and he probably didn’t want to hear from you. You should let him breathe, give him time to think and unwind without your existence constantly ruining him.

But then you thought of him standing in the training ring, hurt, crying, alone, and your hands were moving.

Azriel, you started the letter. I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but I think I would regret not sending this to you, not telling you everything you deserve to hear. And I don’t want to regret anything else.

First, I need to apologize. Profusely. You don’t need to forgive me or give me another second of your time, but I am begging you to know and understand that I did not mean a word I said the other night. I could name a thousand reasons why the words went past my lips, but they will never unspeak them. I will forever regret that night, more than any other night in my life.

Please know that even in the times when I am carried away by anger, when I am less than human, less than any of you deserve, I have always admired you. Sometimes I think that made the anger worse, twining together with the care I have for you until it became some kind of warped emotional weapon.

I do think you are a hero. And redeemable and brave and a savior. And I’m sorry for ever trying to put in your mind that you are anything but. You have saved me more times than I could mention in the size of this letter, just in the time I have known you. Please know that.

I have no right to ask, not after everything we have gone through the last few months, but when you are ready, I would really like to sit down and speak with you. About everything.

Maybe we can find a way forward. Or at least a way to exist together without any pain.

You don’t need to respond. I will be here, and I can wait as you’ve waited for me to be ready to talk.

Be safe. If not for me then for yourself and your family.

Then you stopped. Because how were you supposed to sign this off? You pictured his frown at reading the letter, at your words he no longer trusted or felt warmth from. You hated that frown, the sadness you had seen from him so much as of late.

In the meantime, you wrote, I will read the books you left me, continue to purchase those tart pastries from near the Rainbow, and find comfort in your bedroom light remaining on, if not just to remind me of your kindness.

I appreciate your help, even when you are not near. And then you signed your name.

You would wait for his response (or lack of) and for his return. And then you would have the chance to talk. You would be able to hear his own thoughts, emotions, apologies, and curses before letting out your own.

Strength was what you needed until then. The strength to self-reflect on the blame you had placed on him, the words you had thrown around so carelessly. Strength that would get you through the oncoming storm, the marching warriors coming for Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys. The Illyrians wishing to overthrow the high lord and his enforcers, coming to take them down in any way they could.

Their marching was coming, the stomps matching the pounding in your chest.

You’d be strong, and you would wait for him to return. You would hold your ground, dagger at your side and heart hesitantly ready to be displayed.

And maybe, if all went in your favor, you two could finally have that talk.

#acotar x reader #azriel angst #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fic

[riverfelloff]

ive seen so many people wondering how starkid makes such good straight couples (lautski, paulkins, etc), but i think we really need to talk about this.

in a lot of todays modern media, shows centered around straight couples are heavily focused on the sexuality of it. while they may take a few episodes to flesh out a small pining story, starkid takes that to a whole new level.

let's look at lautski for example; our first introduction (I KNOW HE WAS IN TGWDLM AND BF I DONT CARE HE WASN'T TRULY INTRODUCED UNTIL NMT) to pete and steph was nmt2's episode, 'abstinence camp'. sure, we know that sexuality played a big part in this episode, but if you pay close attention, you know that nothing ever actually happens between steph and pete, they get caught by lumberaxe and then boy jerry before they can do anything.

before then, though, we get a back story of them meeting, it's shown how steph likes him for his little quirks and oddities, and how pete is happy that someone took the time to get to know that about him. before they join showers, they talk for what feels like forever, going back and forth.

however, in nerdy prudes must die AND the guy who didn't like musicals BOTH, neither of the couples even kiss, they get close but they don't. even npmd which centers around two high school seniors over the course of a few months, not even a peck on the cheek. HOWEVER, in scenes like the summoning, we can see steph and pete both trying to hide the other behind themselves.

in tgwdlm, paul sends himself into the theater to go take down the meteor so emma has some hopes of a life.

while it's implied that they love the other in a romantic sense, it's never outright said, because you don't make romantic bonds in the situations they were in!! they made the romantic connections before the actual plot of the musical gets started!! they're so close and care so much because of the shit they went through together!!

the reason why we're so captivated by straight couples from starkid is that they don't have to be couples to show how close they are and how much they care, because at the end of the day the lang brothers know that a bond is deepest when it's pure. if you care for someone enough, you'd do anything to keep them happy, even if it isn't with you.

#nerdy prudes must die #starkid #team starkid #npmd #peter spankoffski #joey richter #npmd spoilers #stephanie lauter #mariah rose faith #lauren lopez #jon matteson #emma perkins #paul matthews #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #lautski #paulkins

[glorysbox]

syzoth x afab!reader no pronouns

wc: 0.7k

warnings: explicitly 18+, porn without plot, subby syzoth, soft top syzoth, drabble

Syzoth is cold.

But you. You’re warm.

It’s one of the most distinguishable traits about Zaterrans. They’re reptiles. Cold-blooded. Which means that they have to seek warmth in other ways. Most opt for warm clothes. Others choose to stay by a fire. Syzoth, though, prefers to be warmed by you.

You’re his favorite warm-blood. He loves burying his face in the crook of your neck—wrapping his arms around you as tight as you can handle and basking in the warmth of your skin. He savors it, in fact; skin to skin contact with you is something he’d do all day if he had no responsibilities. It’s number two on his list of favorite things to do with you.

Number one, though…

“So… warm.” Syzoth’s words come out as a hiss, his face wedged in the crook of your neck—inhaling your scent—as the head of his cock spreads you open. His arms are wrapped tightly around you; serving as a way to keep you in place while simultaneously siphoning the heat that radiates from your body. Syzoth's body weight is nearly fully pressed onto you—sealing your fate under him. It's not as if you'd want to be anywhere else.

The artificial warmth of clothing is nothing compared to being stuffed so deeply inside of you.

Your thighs are clenched tightly around his waist, leaving little to no distance between the both of you; Syzoth's arms locked around you and his cock buried deep inside of you—to the hilt—being enough evidence of your closeness. You can feel him shudder on top of you, his breaths shaky as his grip around your body tightens.

"Your arms," his voice is hoarse as he mutters in your ear, "Your arms—wrap them around me. Please." And you do. You wrap your arms around him, offering some more of the warmth that he's constantly clamoring for.

Syzoth is greedy. It's never enough for him; he needs all of your heat and he needs to feel all of you. The feeling of your soft skin wrapped around him leaves him hissing once more; his grip on you tightening—leaving finger-shaped indents where he grasps so tightly on your warm flesh. Your body is on fire under him, serving only to make him more needy for your heat. He doesn't bother to reach down and rub circles on your clit, either—he can't even think straight.

Just as much as Syzoth is greedy, he is sloppy. Uncoordinated—his hips rut into you, squelching noises of your wetness drowned out by the sound of his raspy whines in your ear. It's almost instinctual, the way that he moves. His thrusting into you is messy—his hips constantly shifting and twitching and struggling to keep up the deprived pace he's set for himself. Your slickness smears all over him—his haphazard thrusts only adding to the way that it leaks out of you. Somehow—knowing that he can't even control the way that he fucks into you makes it feel better.

He fucks into you like an animal. His hips rut and twitch and Syzoth is unsure if he'd even be able to pull out—just because of how good you feel. It's like he's on autopilot; he's not even thinking, really. Just feeling.

"More. Please, I need more..." Syzoth's voice is barely audible over his loud, strained breathing. As much as he wants to look at you, he can't. His mind is so fuzzy. He can't think or concentrate on anything that's not the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him like a vice—his arms squeeze around you harder, his hips pressing inside of you as tightly and as fast as they can go.

He ruts into you, hips stuttering as he buries his face further in the crook of your neck; needy noises slipping from his lips as he continuously rolls his hips into your slick sex. Syzoth squirms on top of you—and if you weren't being fucked into so quickly and depravedly, you'd be able to feel it. Feel the way his hips twitch with each thrust inside of you; feel the way they spasm with each particularly tight squeeze around his cock.

"Please," he whines again, voice all urgent and no patient. Syzoth's tongue drags along the pulse of your neck, leaving a wet trail in it's wake. You shiver—your walls tighten around him, clinging—and he whimpers. "Please. I can't take this."

It's evident that he can't be satiated by anything but you.

#will do the leon requests in my inbox next #i need a beta reader to check for typos. #nsydfw #mk #syzoth #syzoth smut #mortal kombat smut #reptile mk #reptile mk smut #mortal kombat 1 smut #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat #mk1 smut #mortal kombat x reader #syzoth x reader #mk1 #mk syzoth #writing

[wint3r-h3art]

His Sacrificial Offering | Namor

Summary: You were sent to be his, and his you shall be; both body and soul

Word count: 2.0K

Warnings: brain rotting smut ahead. Little plot, just thots. oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex. Breeding kink, cum dumping, slight mention of possessive behavior. Romance undertone if you squint.

18+ ONLY | Minors DNI

A/N: Tenoch Huerta be pulling me out of my writing slump, and here is the result. I hope you liked it. Little plot, but somewhat coherent (I hope). No beta either, so if I do miss anything, I apologize. If you enjoyed this little blurb, comment and reblog is greatly appreciated 💛

Part 2

*** Do not copy, repost, or translate anywhere else.

Your eyes fluttered close as a long shaky breath drew out of you. Pleasure clouded your judgment–perhaps you were too drunk of this ecstasy that at this exact moment you have forgotten that you were no more than his offering.

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips, imprinting his touch into your skin–burned to your very bone. Sweat trickled down your temples while your legs shook from the intensity of it all.

The desirous torture came to a close when Namor pushed his thick fingers inside your sopping pussy. Your body jolted, hips bucked forward as he pushed his digits all the way to his knuckle.

His name fell from your lips like an incantation–breathless and enamored by his touch. Your voice was desperate and eager, hoping it would be enough for him.

Namor’s breath wavered at the way you were squeezing his fingers–so tight, so eager, and oh so perfect for him. His little sacrificial offering.

His, he thought with a smirk etched on his lips, cracking his stern visage in that instant. His heart swelled with pride at the prospect, and suddenly his thought was replaced by his carnal instinct, and the thought of having you round, and heavy with his seeds excited him.

“Mine,” he muttered before his mouth latched onto your nipple. His velvety tongue flicked over the stiff bud. His cheeks hollowed as he was sucking on the soft mound. His eyes stared up at you again, and this time it felt more primal. It felt like you were burned alive while being doused by pure ecstasy all at once. You groaned as your body eagerly responded to his attention.

His lips moved to the valley between your breasts as he kissed his way southward. His tongue grazed on your skin, tasting the salt of your skin and marking you, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

His mouth continued to move southward until he settled in between your thighs. His palms smoothed over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. For a man his size, he was surprisingly gentle with you–perhaps, a bit too gentle.

Namor was trying to restrain himself not to be too rough with you. After all, mortals bruise and can get hurt easily. A part of him wanted to do more though, but his conscience said otherwise.

You sucked in your breath when you felt his mouth descend upon your throbbing core. All of your rationality flew right now as his warm, velvety tongue grazed over your swollen heat. It excited him how willing you were to be his.

His tongue swept over your swollen cleft again, this time he made sure to collect the slicked nectar on his tongue. A low moan reverberated from his chest, shooting right through your pussy. He glided his tongue over your opening, rimming it, pushing the tip into it that had you scrambled under his hold.

Namor kept you in place though by that strong, steely grip of his while he worked your swollen clit, reducing you to nothing more than a panting mess.

“My king…”

“Hmmm?” he asked as his mouth was still on your cunt, licking and fucking at your tight hole with shallow penetration.

“My king, please,” you gasped as your hips bucked forward to meet his mouth.

“Please what, my sweet?

You felt almost frustrated by the question, but you were in no position to be mad at him. You were his, and he was free to use you however he saw fit.

“Please let me come,” you pleaded almost pathetically as if he hadn’t let you do just that too many times over.

A gleam in his eyes made your heart shudder as he continued to lick at your fold and thrust his tongue into your tight hole that made you dig your heel into the soft bed. Your pussy was practically aching by the time you hit your first climax, but of course, the king wasn’t done with you yet.

Pulling back, Namor was now seated between your legs. His hand wiped off the gleaming remnant of your juice on his face. His hair was disheveled and messy. Some stuck to his forehead as perspiration dampened his skin. Raking his finger through his hair, he leaned forward and spoke.

“Bring your knees up to your chest. I won’t ask twice” he said in his deep timbre voice that sent a tremor straight through your glistening pussy. You were throbbing and aching to the point where you started clenching at the emptiness, wishing to have more of him. Even just a little bit of him was more than enough–it was more than you deserved.

Trembling, you complied. You felt so exposed and oh so vulnerable, holding your knees open for him. Uncertainty plagued your mind as many thoughts swam through your head, anticipating the treatment that awaited you.

Yet you trust him.

Every molecule in your body shivered with needs as you stared up to meet those beautiful, deep brown sapphire eyes–molten and warm like how he made you feel at the moment. You could have easily used you for his own pleasure–yet his touches had been nothing of that sort. You felt like you were meant to be his from the very beginning. It was expected that you would receive him and serve him as he sees fit, yet–

“Tell me who you belong to.”

It wasn’t a request. His voice was firm while his thick fingers traced your slippery folds. His eyes gleamed between your nether lips and your face. There was an underlying intensity behind his gaze, and it sent your nerves into a frenzy. Your body trembles again as he continues to stroke at your folds, coating them in your essence. You felt lewd in a way as you lay there, baring your most intimate part to him.

“You,” you mumbled as he crashed his lips into yours for the very first time, tasting yourself on his tongue. Your body strained beneath him as he worked you over with his fingers. You were so wet and so slick that he had no issue with adding his third digits. The man was dexterous and oh so talented with his hand that you felt another wave of an orgasm slowly slither its way up your spine.

Your legs shook as your wall fluttered around him as his pace quickened. He was fucking you so hard and so deep with his fingers that his chamber filled with nothing but the sound of your wet, squelching pussy being fucked relentlessly by the king himself.

A string of incoherent begging fell from your lips once more as you neared your release. In a fit of a throe of passion, you came with a shout.

His mouth covered you instantly, swallowing your sound. His tongue flicked over yours, licking and savoring your taste. His lips trailed down along your jawline, kissing whatever skin he found. 

With a swift motion, he entered you with a low grunt. A soft gasp slipped past your lips as he began to move, slowly at first. Your fingers dig into his back, feeling the way his muscles strained and cored from the movement.

You clung to him as if he was the only anchor that was holding you down. Your chest ached. Your body throbbed with a need that you’d never thought you had. Your body burns from the feverish pleasure, shattering all of your resolves.

Namor was trying to be gentle at first. Yet the more plunge himself inside your velvety heat, the more he felt like he was being intoxicated, and with every minute he spent inside you, he felt like all of his control and common sense were slowly eroded into nothingness. Every cell in his body screamed for you, and in turn, his movement became erratic. He was fucking you, rutting into you with a ferocity that made your mind scramble. 

No sounds came out of your mouth as if all the air had been fucked right out of you. You came with an uncontrollable rush. His name was the only thing you could utter because he didn’t stop. He was still fucking you relentlessly, driving himself into you.

His hands spread your legs wider, and his thick cock sank deeper. His grip on your wrist seemed to tighten, shoving you down into the plush bed. Drooled slipped out of your lips as he continued to pound into you.

Again and again, you came, sobbing with pleasure. You were practically begging him to finish you, to fill you up, and Namor did just that. It felt like hours later when he began to slow down as he rode out his release, pumping his lust into the depth of your body, emptying himself with a deep guttural groan that sounded like the sweetest sin.

You turned to look at him. Your lips parted, panting. Your hand fisted the sheet beneath you to the point where it was aching. Your legs shook as the remnant of his release sputtered out of you and onto the sheet below. 

Namor was slowly coming back to his senses. Every part of him was attuned to you as he stared down at your fragile form–so delicate compared to his, yet you were the only thing that somehow made him lose his mind. The fact that you have easily accepted your role as his offering was enough to drive him to the edge once again.

You woke up sometimes later to find him looking at you. 

You realized that it was the first time that you were looking at the king right in the eyes. Your face was warmed by the sudden rush of heat. Your eyes quickly averted, casting down to his broad chest. 

You knew it was stupid and childish, but the memory of what he had done to you was replaying again, and the distinct ache between your legs was proof of that. The slippery feeling between your thighs was also proof of what he had given you. You wouldn’t be surprised if the seeds had already taken root inside your womb by how frequently he had bedded you.

You’re not complaining though. To be in his good Grace was everything you’ve ever wanted. He had been nothing by spoiling you, adorning you with jewelry from head to toe, dressing you up in whatever fine things he thought would suit you. You were his to play with, you accepted this without any objection. 

“Are you afraid of me?”

The question puzzled you so that you found yourself frowning slightly. Namor fought the smile that threatened to form on his lips. 

“No, my king,” you answered. You realized how weak and hoarse your voice was.

Namor’s gaze softened upon the realization that perhaps you were slowly coming back to your senses. His calloused fingers traced over your soft, delicate skin, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You shivered, and he felt it. Namor pulled you closer. His heat and scent filled your head, making you feel at ease for the moment.

“Then why are you not looking at me?”

The question was a tease really. He was curious as to how you would react to him. He knew you were well pleased by how many times you had shouted his name, but there was this pleasure of hearing it from your mouth that made him eager to hear.

You chewed on your lips. How do you explain to a god that you were thoroughly fucked and thoroughly satisfied? Indeed such admission was a taboo thing to utter out loud.

“You weren’t too shy that long ago,” he added. Your eyes briefly met with his, and you could feel the heat now completely enveloping your face.

“My king, I–”

“No matter,” he smirked as slowly spread your legs apart again and settled himself between them. “I just have to make you talk.”

He watched you swallow the way you watched his cock come to life. All of your rationality wavered once more between needs and common sense. 

But you knew which one won on this one.

Namor took his time again to show you again that you were more than his sacrificial offering.

#namor x reader #namor x you #namor x y/n #namor #namor smut #tenoch huerta #namor fanfiction #namor imagine

[caraphernellie]

can u write ellie with dacryphillia

absolutely. i might be a little obsessed with dacryphilia m sorry (not) and i swear ellie would LOVE to see it. she would go crazy. also my first time posting smut with a strap somehow i haven't posted any yet. now bare with me ok. this was also kind of inspired by a video i saw on twitter that was like... sorta ellie coded. (anything involving a grey hoodie makes me think of her now) (oops)

cw: softdom! ellie at the start, mean dom! ellie, sub! brat! reader, kind of shy! reader, strap on sex (r!receiving), riding, missionary, rough sex, dacryphilia obvs, degrading, strap referred to as cock and dick, nicknames such as good girl, baby, babe, slut, straight up porn without plot xx

info: ok so... you know me. biggest softdom ellie truther. at least for jackson ellie. now i raise you: softdom ellie who has a gf in a bratty mood and she's starting to get annoyed by letting you have your way too often... so she basically jackhammers u until u get the point! she's in charge here <3

・wc: 1.2k

“kay, faster now.”

ellie’s order falls on deaf ears for the millionth time and she’s starting to reach a limit. she has been for some time now. she’s too soft, and who could blame her? her brain turns to mush the minute she’s got you this way.

dazzling green eyes focusing in on the way your body moves, the rippling of skin and contortions of your belly. her hands find home on the spaces between your ribs and your hips, thumbs rubbing circles as you bounce on her strap.

“hey,” ellie tries her best with you, putting on a stern tone now, and her hand weakly slaps one of your tits. she bites back a smirk of pride at your jolt. “do you hear me?”

you definitely do. but hearing isn’t the same as listening or even caring. not when the rhythmic circles your hips are moving in are scratching that itch so good. it’s satisfying the pit of warm need in your stomach that’s been waiting all day. the pit you begged and begged ellie to help you out with.

it’s how you ended up here, ellie still half dressed in her grey pullover and you on her lap with nothing but an unzipped hoodie on.

“aww, i thought you said you were desperate, baby,” ellie continues, “what’s this?”

a shiver runs down your spine, ellie’s hand moving over the expanse of skin on your stomach and squeezing your tit. she’s on two trains of thought, distracted by the way the soft ball of flesh fits in her hand, and trying to keep you in line. because what ellie can feel is her power slipping out of her grip no matter how hard she squeezes your body under her palms. 

“so you’re not even gonna talk to me?”

a fire ignites in ellie when you move slower, rolling your hips down onto her cock, the depth eliciting a drawn out and long moan from you.

“god, can you not be fuckin’ stupid for two seconds?” ellie asks, never genuine when she gets like this albeit it’s a rare occurrence for sure. she starts to buck her hips upward, fucking into you while forcing you to change your pace – her hands grip meaty thighs and begin bouncing you up and down. she revels in the way you mewl a little louder, the sight of your tits bouncing.

“like this. don’t let me tell you twice, baby. i mean it.” voice strained from the effort of her movements, ellie grunts and finally releases you. “you said you were desperate, so we’re making this quick, and i don’t wanna hear any complaints.”

i’m too nice to you sometimes, ellie thinks to herself. but she believes it pays off. she lives for the control, but she’s a more gentle lover. normally it’s enough to get you to listen just like it has right now, with you continuing at the pace she set. she watches with a satisfied smirk, her thumb reaching down languidly to flick at your clit.

“there she is, good girl.”

sometimes (most of the time), ellie gives in. she lets you do as you please. she never gets to hear you beg because she’s so weak for you, so eager to make her girl feel good, that she will give you exactly what you need when you ask. she will give up on trying to reign you in and do what she wants you to, only because the sight you are is already so convincing that ellie doesn’t mind. anything to see it, the furrow in your brows, your eyes rolling back. anything to see a happy, fucked out expression on your face.

so it’s no surprise ellie’s seeing a rise in bratty behaviour, she enables it. she shouldn’t complain, but she will anyway. it’s her fault and damn, she needs to do something about it before it gets worse. she’s had a busy week and doesn’t need this. because ellie hates her authority to be challenged by one of the only people she even has authority over. 

the fade of ellie’s smirk comes with the fade of speed. she hears the sweetest giggle escape your lips and she knows you’re treating this like some kind of joke now and she can’t have that. 

“we’re not doing this again, babe.” ellie’s voice is a low rasp by this point, the slightest bit of amusement present. what you expect might be another spank to the thigh before she inevitably gives in to you, but that’s not what comes your way.

this time it’s ellie chuckling. you yelp loudly as she flips you onto your back. she’s on top now, wasting no time, and she slides into you again.

everything happens too fast for you to fully process it, but she’s pounding into you now. the sounds of skin slapping, the squelching of ellie’s thrusts into your poor cunt, and your nonstop moans – it’s filthy. ellie can’t stop it now, grunts of effort made as she hooks your legs around her waist. if she didn’t know any better, she’d make some point about being able to see her cock poking and bulging out of your tummy, her thrusts deep and carnal.

hands balling the sleeves of your jacket into paws, you hide behind them, finding this to be one of the most intimate and closest experiences you’ve had. ellie’s caging your head between her arms, lip drawn between her teeth, eyes piercing down at you. she takes grip of your wrists and pins them down, laughing at you. “yeah, look at me, baby. look… who’s making you feel this good? who owns you?”

your eyes grow half-lidded and ellie’s face becomes a blur, tears clouding your vision whilst all you can do is halfheartedly moan her name in response. 

“poor baby,” ellie mocks, her voice a hoarse coo, as soft as she can manage. it’s a harsh comparison to the reckless power of her hips. as long as you will sing your pleasure to her, she won’t stop. “i thought you wanted it so bad, you wanted my dick so bad, so what’s your deal?”

“mm… n- noth–” you try, you try to speak, but things are getting fuzzy. there’s nothing to occupy your busy mind besides her. ellie, ellie, ellie.

you’re brought out of the fuzziness for a moment when ellie cups your face to wipe a tear off your cheek.

“you just needed me to do all the work for you, huh? so you can lay there cryin’ ‘cuz it just feels that good to get fucked like this?”

all you do is nod, pitiful moans and whimpers flooding ellie’s senses, egging her on just as much as the sight of her strap covered in your essence does.

“i try so hard to be nice to you, baby, feels like you just–” ellie takes one particularly hard thrust into your sopping cunt, “--take advantage of that like a slut…”

“m’sorry,” you squeak, hands wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her closer, closer, closer, nails digging into her back and eliciting a hiss. she’s getting sloppier now, tired and finding that the base of the strap is pressing too well into her clit, making her near delirious, like it’s her real dick she’s fucking you with.

“who’s in charge?” ellie demands to know, glaring down at you but with no malice, there’s nothing but lust and amazement as hot tears streak your cheeks. “who are you gonna obey next time?”

“you.”

“who?”

“ellie, ellie, ellie ellie ellie.”

“that’s right,” ellie scoffs with a nod. “good girl.”

shes so pretty and i need her really bad and um um um um

#ellie williams x reader #tlou2 x reader #ellie williams x fem reader #⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ fanfic #fem reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams #sub reader #sub!reader #bottom!reader #top!ellie #dom!ellie #softdom!ellie #tlou2 smut #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x yn #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x yn #⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ mail #petal’s requests <3 #anon <3

[mochimooon]

handsy - jean kirstein x reader 18+

Jean really likes to finger-fuck you. 'Nuff said. notes - established relationship. this came to me suddenly one morning and possessed me to write this on the fly. Zero plot, barely edited, minor POV switch, just filth :) warnings - explicit content, vaginal fingering, pervy! jean word count - 1800+

Jean is a handsy man. Or rather he’s a shameless perv – your words not his. 

Then again, it’s hard for Jean to deny that. He can’t help it, never with you, not with the body you have. Moreso, he loves touching you. 

The feel of your body, molding into his touch. The softness of your flesh, the roundness of your tits so fun to grope and pert nipples, too cute to not pinch. And then there’s that neck of yours, always adorned with a chain or necklace that calls his attention, a vampire that needs to sink his teeth into. He can’t forget those legs of yours. How they bend and stretch, looking so pretty wrapped around his waist and neck.

It's no secret, Jean loves to touch you in the most lewd ways. He calls it worship, you call it shameless. 

To-may-to, to-mah-to. Because despite your bravado, you enjoy being spoiled by him, fending him off with lighthearted attempts. 

But there is a line that you’ve been forced to draw, one that Jean crosses again and again and again. 

It’s just not fair, he thinks. Of course, he’s more than thrilled to have you in any way that he can, but he wants to draw his own line that crosses over yours. Because pray tell, why it’s such an issue that Jean, more than anything else, fucking loves to finger you. 

After you had swatted his hand away for the nth time during a dinner date, you demanded to know why he wanted to finger you constantly. 

It was the first time, Jean had to think about it. There’s just something so naughty about sneaking his hand where it shouldn’t go. It’s perverted, he acknowledges that, and that’s what makes it the most fun. Something everyone’s taught— keep your hands to yourself. Jean likes doing the opposite with you. 

The feel of your pussy pulsing around his digits, walls clamping down on his knuckles, it makes Jean delirious.

Jean’s a glutton for every single response you make. From the various ways you utter his name. 

With a surprised gasp, “Jean!”

An annoyed, click of your tongue. “Jean…”

A hushed tone. “Jean.”

When you’re cumming on his fingers, moaning out, “Jean!”

Annoyed, worried, aroused, Jean loved every bit of it. Seeing your face screwed with pleasure despite bad timing (again your words. There’s no such thing as bad timing for him), nothing you could say or do would deter him from not fingering you. 

The cycle never ends. He slides a hand up your skirt or dips his fingers into your jeans, and his touch makes itself at home in your wet pussy, all while you try to bat him away.

Today is no different. At a party with close friends, Jean had been extra touchy-feely with you, forecasting his habit. He managed to stave off for a few hours as you mingled with others, while he gave you some space only to resurface like an overactive puppy in desperate need of a walk. 

But midway through, he snatched you up the stairs and into Connie’s bedroom, hands lifting the end of your dress. 

You smack his chest. “Jean – no! Bad!”

He snorts, dropping his hands in feigned innocence. “Baby, I’m not a dog.”

“Yes, yes, you are. We’re at a party, just cool it for tonight or else.”

He dug his hands into his pockets, but you keep a close eye on them. “What do you mean or else?” His voice drips with curiosity, wiping away his impish grin. 

“Or else, no touching for a while. No sex.” Jean’s mouth drops, but you cut him off. “I’m not messing around. You can’t just finger me with other people around.”

“Why can’t I finger you here then?” He sways on his heels, looking around to indicate how it’s empty. “I was on my best behavior. Didn’t slip my hand up your dress once tonight.”

You scoff, folding your arms. “No, but you were very touchy. Didn’t you hear Sasha tell us to get a hotel?”

He steps forward, hands still buried in his pockets. He’s being cautious, you can tell because you step back. “What’s wrong with wanting to touch my girlfriend?”

You clench your jaw to stop you from repeating the same thing. It’s a strategy that has worn you down in the past. Jean will beg, ‘but why not?’ on loop, using that charming smile of his to pepper kisses along your face, and your vestige would melt every time. 

No, you tell yourself, watching him closely, ready to grab his hands when they leave his pockets. 

He looms closer, gaze spilling onto your face. “I just want to touch you. I mean, look at you.” Light brown eyes rake you up and down. “You deserve an orgasm looking that good. Are you saying you don’t want one?”

It’s not fair how weak you are to the look he gives you. And the simple words of wanting to spoil you twists in your mind and curls down to your stomach, lighting that familiar spark. 

No. You need to stand firm. This is good for the both of you. “It’s not going to work this time.”

“But – ”

“Uh-uh.” You shake your head. “It was cute the first couple of times, but I’m drawing a line.”

He pouts, a plea in his eyes. 

You avert his gaze, unable to trust yourself, and it takes more restraint when Jean steps closer, kissing your hairline. 

“Let me make you feel good. I just want my baby to relax.” He trails his lips to your forehead, down your nose in an innocent gesture, then finds your jaw. “C’mon. Say yes.”

You bite back a mewl, conflict only making you warmer. No matter how many times he’s touched you, Jean leaves you spellbound like the first time you met. 

“Say yes…” he purrs into your lips. 

The words steep into your mind, so close to reaching your tongue. But you catch the sound of others walking by, reminded of where you are. You blink, taking stock of the bedroom. Jean, however, doesn’t care about any of that, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

“Jean…”

“Uh-huh…” His voice trails towards victory. 

“Not here.”

He pulls back, throwing his head back with a deep sigh, a look of defeat. You bristle with regret, yet stunned that Jean actually relented. 

He lowers his head, a glimmer flashing in his gaze that sends a shudder down your spine. 

It’s too late to stop his hands; they’ve freed themselves from his pockets and grab hold of your hips. You expect to be thrown on the bed, only for the floor to jostle in your sights. 

Jean holds you securely over his shoulder, hooking an arm along the back of your knees. The other is on the move, lifting your dress and pulling your underwear off. 

“Jean – ” You wriggle, though afraid you’ll fall. 

Jean’s too strong to let that happen, even more determined to keep you in his clutches. Your panties are slipped past your ankles and tossed somewhere you can’t see. He pats your bare ass, giving the side a kiss. 

Without preamble, you feel the drag of his finger along your slit, whining out. 

“You’re soaking. You see, you just need an orgasm.” Jean’s tone is shadowed with lust. 

“Jean, wait – ” you gasp, unable to negotiate, cut off with the push of two fingers. Your pussy flutters, stretching with a sting that sculpts around his knuckles. “Ah –”

“I’ll make you feel good.” Jean’s fingers pump into you deeply, the pad of his thumb reaching for your clit. 

“Ah – ah – ” You’re already so dizzy, melting like clay at Jean’s deft fingers. It’s a first to be finger-fucked like this, but he’s skillful as always, you can’t blame this man for wanting to finger you. He’s a master at it. “Jean—”

He hums, pulling back his fingers until the tips tease your entrance. You miss the fullness of his touch already and you wriggle again, clutching onto the back of his shirt. “I’ll keep going, only if you say you love being fingered by me.”

You whimper, finding a way to grind down onto his fingers in the position you’re in. It feels impossible, only reaching the brush of his fingertips. 

“Say it,” Jean says, pressing onto your clit. “Say, ‘I love it when you finger me’.”

You don’t know what it is about this time that hits different. On his lap, on your back, on your feet, Jean never fails to make you come undone on his hand. But over his shoulder, reliant on his hold, your stomach burns, your pussy dripping. 

“Say it,” Jean repeats. “I want to touch you bad. But I want you tell me that you love getting fingered by me.”

You feel one finger plunge inside, nowhere near enough. “Jean, please, finger me.”

“Gladly, but that’s not what I want to hear. C’mon, don’t be stubborn. We don’t have all night. The party’s going to end in an hour, and Connie will need his bedroom at some point. Of course, I can always tell him that we’re busy.”

You scoff but it’s strained. Doing a sweep of your surroundings, you’re dizzy, voice lost.

“C’mon. You can do it. Just tell me you like how I finger you…” 

You moan at the press of his fingertips teasing your hole. The moment drags out and you ache for reprieve. “I – I love – when you finger me – ”

“That’s my girl.” Triumph laces Jean’s murmur and he rewards you with three fingers, thrusting into you while his thumb rubs at your center. “You deserve an orgasm now.”

Your fingers claw Jean’s shirt, toes-curling as you’re struck with ecstasy. You moan out, wrinkling Jean’s shirt to stabilize you. 

The moment passes, a crashing of a wave returning to the sleepy ocean. You fall limp, boneless and satisfied. 

Jean slides you to your feet, keeping you steady. You peer up behind a lidded gaze, gratitude in your smile. 

He strokes your face, taking his soaked fingers in his mouth. “I could finger-fuck you every second of every day.”

You smile weakly, leaning into his chest. The moment is short-lived. Your back sinks into the mattress with Jean crawling over your body, prying your thighs apart. 

You give him a dumbfounded look, slow to realize what he’s already had in store. 

He cups your pussy, teasing your entrance again. He flits a look up, mischief caught in his eyes. “Give me another one and I’ll keep my hands to myself for the rest of the night.” You’re too weak to argue, already bucking your hips at the renewed pleasure Jean pumps into you. His words evade you, as you and Jean both know that keeping his hands off you is a false promise. You swallow your pride, because he's not wrong, you wouldn't dream of him keeping his hands off you.

#snk #aot #jean #jean x reader #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschstein smut #jean kirstein smut #jean kirschtein smut #attack on titan #snk x reader #aot x reader #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirschstein #jean smut #reader insert aot #snk smut #aot smut #mochi-writings #mochimooon

[adorbzliz]

perfect little husband

CW Sub!Anakin x Reader

(Dom!ani at the very end)

⚠️warnings: pxrn with no plot, fluff at first then full on smut, degrading (both, mainly m receiving) and praise (both receiving), choking, teasing, humiliation, heavy overstimulation, breeding kink implied, handjob, p in v, brief blowjob, overuse of “baby” and “good boy”, use of Y/n. This is INTENSE (in my opinion) smut, PLEASE be warned!

A/n: i know most of you are waiting for a “family beach trip” pt 2 but i don’t have much inspo anymore (i will still post it soon i swear, it just might be slow due to lack of motivation!!) so I’m feeding you with this as i was thinking about it in the middle of class and there needs to be more subby Anakin content 🙏🙏😓 not proofread!!!

you’re taking care of your husband after he was shot in the stomach with a blaster, when things quickly start to get steamy.

"Hmph..." Anakin let out a small huff of air as Y/n tended to his wound, it was a small graze he got from some of the blaster fire. Nothing serious in his opinion.

"Stop looking at me like that." He mumbled under his breath, keeping it just loud enough for her to hear.

By now she would have scolded him for being reckless but instead she was just giving him the silent treatment—the silence was eerie to him. "I made it home alright, didn't I?"

Despite his obvious desperate words, she just rolled her eyes, continuing to roughly tend to his wound in frustration. she knew he hated silent treatment, but she didn’t care.

”You know you don't have to be this mad at me." He started. The silence still made his skin crawl. "It was just a graze." Anakin pouted, leaning into her touch slightly.

”Anakin there’s a fucking hole in your stomach!” she finally snaps, looking up at him with frustration.

”It's just a flesh wound!" Anakin tried to laugh it off, but the pain caused him to practically choke on his own words, coughing up a storm rather than chuckling.

”Fine... maybe it's not a graze." He muttered softly, still leaning into her touch.

”just.. lay down.” she sighed, placing her hands on his chest before pushing him back gently onto their bed. “if you’re going to heal you need to rest.”

He grunted slightly when she pushed him, but laid down on the bed as she had told him to. "Fine..." Anakin replied, quickly realizing how ‘stupid’ he sounded. He felt very insecure when his partner was being stern.

”You aren't actually upset about this are you?" Anakin asked, looking up at her with his puppy-dog eyes.

”i am, but i can’t stay mad at you when you look at me like that.” she sighs, putting away her first aid kit in a nearby cabinet.

Anakin smiled at the success. "You know I can’t help it, you're too pretty to stay mad at me for too long." He pouted softly before reaching out for her.

She walked over to him, placing his outstretched hands in hers before squeezing lightly. “yes, dear?” she tilted her head to the side, staring down at him with a light smile.

Anakin smiled at the term of endearment. He knew it wasn’t meant to be sarcastic when she used it. It was just her way. “I love it when you call me that.” He sighed contently, his eyes fluttering slightly. “Can you promise me something?”

“anything,” she nodded, one of her hands still entangled with his while the other gently brushed his wavy hair out of his face.

”That you'll never leave me?" Anakin whispered softly. He was asking something serious this time. His tone didn’t betray any emotions, and his eyes were straight ahead — the seriousness of this conversation was more difficult than any combat situation he had ever been in.

”never.” She smiled, leaning down to give him a loving and gentle kiss on his forehead.

Anakin sighed contently as she kissed him, the affection that he had missed so much was all there. “I love you.” He told her softly. An obvious statement, but one he wanted to make sure was clearly communicated constantly.

“i love you too ani.” she muttered against his skin, leaning back slightly with a content smile as she soaked up the comfortable silence.

“...will you ever grow to hate me?” He asked, breaking the peaceful quiet as he wanted everything he feared to be reassured.

It was evident that his dear wife’s reaction to the wound and or the close brush with death had gotten to him quite a bit.

“no. even if you betrayed me in the most vile ways possible, i could never hate you.” she told him, her words genuine.

Anakin breathed a sigh of relief. The confirmation felt much better than any physical relief, and his eyes fluttered lightly. He felt content in her embrace, knowing that her love wouldn’t falter.

“Even if I… did something really bad? Really bad, like… terrible?”

“you’re starting to scare me Anakin,” she chuckled in a amusement, her smile fading when his serious expression remained on his face. “..yes.” she nodded her head.

Anakin breathed out an audible sigh, one that would’ve turned into a sob had she not been there to comfort him. It was almost as if he could finally relax after hearing those words, as if some burden has been lifted from his shoulders. He tried not to cry as tears began to run down his cheeks. He was almost embarrassed by how pathetic he felt. He looked down and sniffled as he tried to regain his composure.

She wipes his tears, placing kisses on his face comfortingly. “why are you crying baby?”

Anakin sniffles softly in response, wiping away his tears as he smiled lightly. “I’m such a wreck.” He admitted. For a man who was a Jedi warrior that led a battalion of troops, he felt utterly and pathetically vulnerable in this moment. But he knew that he was safe in his wife’s arms. He couldn’t help but feel loved and protected.

In the midst of his thoughts she suddenly slaps his arm, her expression scolding. “don’t talk about yourself like that.” Anakin chuckled as she slapped him lightly. He felt a strange mixture of humbleness and affection at her actions.

“What? You don’t like sensitive men?” He asked, looking up at her with a sarcastic grin.

“no, i do. i love that you can show me your emotions, but i don’t like when you talk down on my husband.” she lectured.

Anakin laughed at the term she used, but he was too content and relieved to argue with her over small semantics. "You're right, you're right," he agreed. The way she said 'my' husband just made him melt inside.

“You know," Anakin started. "I never really thought I would marry. I was always told that it was the Jedi way not to." He let out a small sigh, reminiscing the strict values of the Jedi.

“and i never thought id have a husband,” she sighed. “but here i am, with the best husband i could ever ask for.”

Anakin smiled at her compliment, reaching out to touch her face. He was glad that she gave him a chance, as in her youth she had rejected practically any man who approached her.

“What made you see light in me?" He asked, not expecting such a serious conversation. Despite his attempts at humor it was clear he genuinely wanted to know the answer to the question.

“other men only spoke to me for my body or appearance and looked down on me, but you were so genuine. you always believed in me and your compliments were from the heart, not from.. anywhere else.” she joked, looking between his legs with a chuckle.

Anakin blushed slightly, trying to suppress a smile at the joke she made. He had always loved how candid she was about those sorts of things.

“Of course, every compliment I make is from the heart!" He protested. "I wouldn't want you getting the wrong idea." He joked.

“though, i did catch you slipping up when we first met.” She grinned.

“like when you were protecting me on that mission as a padawan with obi wan, i saw your eyes lingering on me a bit too long. plus you’d get all hot and red and have to excuse yourself from the room.” she laughed, remembering when they were both immature teens.

Anakin blushed profusely, his cheeks turning completely red. Her memory was sharper than he expected it to be.

“I was... a teenage boy... I... was having those thoughts..." he stuttered out. The idea of being attracted to her in that way was something he was already ashamed of admitting-despite them literally being married and having sex almost every night—and she seemed to have noticed.

He looked away from her as he continued to become increasingly flustered from shame.

“well i liked you too, y’know? way before we met again. i thought you were really cute, and charming too. but i kinda thought you hated me because you would always avoid me when in reality you were just too shy to talk to me.” she chuckled, her hands still tracing his face calmly.

Anakin let out a soft groan as your hands traced his cheek, the sensation feeling way too good to be innocent.

“You liked me?" He asked, sounding surprised. He had always avoided her as a teenager due to his own insecurities. He was too shy to approach her. But that wasn’t the only reason, she always seemed to be uninterested in any man that came her way—even the richest most powerful senators in the galaxy. He felt like he just didn’t fit the bill for her.

“a lot. i don’t think a single day went by when i didn’t think of you, even when we had no contact.” Anakin’s face was a complete shade of red at this point. He was taken aback by her revelation.

“You really… thought of me that much?” He asked, feeling overwhelmed at the idea.

“yup. but i never made a move because i thought you were too good for me.” she admits, her fingers now trialing up and down his biceps.

Anakin laughed softly, taking her hands in his own. "Too good for you?" He was starting to chuckle softly as he kept his eyes focused on hers.

“Dear... there is no one in this world... in this galaxy that is too good for you." he reassured her, his eyes full of admiration.

a smile spread on her lips, her cheeks going a bit pink. despite being married for two years now, she still got flustered by her husbands words.

Anakin smirked at her blush. It was almost too good to be true having a partner that he could still make blush after the years. His smirk turned into a full blown smile, and he gently began kissing her cheeks.

She giggled, her hands laying on his chest. “A-ani stop.!” she smiled, her words playful as childlike giggles escaped her lips.

"Stop what?" Anakin teased playfully, leaning his body towards hers slightly. He continued to kiss her everywhere, making his way towards her ear.

He would occasionally glance at her, teasing her in that same playful tone. The way she laughed and the way her cheeks turned red was something that made him feel so at ease.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in for a loving passionate kiss. And, of course, Anakin was far too willing to go along with her advances.

He had been more than eager to kiss her from the start. The fact that she was the first one to lean in just made it all the more addicting.

He pulled her closer to him as the kiss increased in intensity. She was always the most loving and passionate person he had ever known. Anakin loved that about how she approached physical intimacy.

Her teeth grazed over his bottom lip as she climbed into bed with him, her hands tracing his chest calmly. She felt his breathing slowly start to increase as she traced her hands along his toned chest rhythmically. Her touch was calming.

His hands gripped her waist tightly, pulling her towards him as he continued the kissing spree. It was almost as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

She pulled away from his lips, placing delicate kisses on his neck, jaw, and collarbone. “i love you, Anakin.”

Anakin gasped softly and moaned as she continued her tender kisses. His eyes were screwed closed and his breathing was heavy, her touch had the same effect on him that it had on the day they had met. It was calming, and arousing all at once.

“I love you too,” Anakin groaned softly, wrapping his arms tightly around her as his hips slightly buckled, rutting onto her leg.

She bit her lip at the sight, noticing the large tent in his pants before turning her attention back to him.

“be careful baby,” She hushed, leaning back a bit while glancing down at his not completely healed wound. “i wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

"Don't worry, dear," Anakin muttered softly. "It's almost completely healed by now." Even if it wasn't, he wouldn't care. This was far too important of a moment to think too much about a mere wound.

Anakin gently pulled her back in for another kiss, far more passionate than the last. There was nothing he wanted more in the moment than to be with her.

“whatever you say sweetheart,” she grinned, her lips finding his collarbone. He moaned softly at the feel of her lips on his collarbone, shivering slightly as they kept finding their way back there.

She never failed to arouse him with her touch. Her kisses had a way about them as if he was under a spell. Everything she did had him completely and utterly hooked.

her hands slid down his body, meeting his hands with a gentle squeeze as she held them lovingly in hers. her lips continued to graze his neck and collar bone as she hummed in satisfaction.

Her hands squeezing his made his heart start to race even faster than it already was. She always had this incredible effect on him, even with the smallest things such as holding his hands.

His breathing would steadily start to increase again as he was able to feel her soft lips caressing his collar bone so lovingly. He couldn't help letting out soft moans as it felt so good.

“you know i love you, right baby?” she smiles against his neck, knowing he loves the validation and reminder-her voice and touch smooth and gentle.

He had to stifle a loud moan from the feeling of her lips on his neck plus the loving words spilling from her lips, vibrating against his skin.

“Mhm…” he moaned softly. “I know, you tell me all the time. I love you too, dear.”

“do you now?” she raised an eyebrow with a grin, her fingers lightly tracing the veins up his arm until they land on his shoulders. she gives them a brief squeeze, easing the tension for a moment before her lips lazily graze over his.

Her fingers tracing up his arm and on his shoulders made me tingle all over. He hadn't even realized just how tense every fiber of his being had been until she eased that tension. The light squeeze of his shoulder also felt oddly comforting.

He groaned softly when she began trailing kisses across his neck again. Her lips were so soft, so gentle, he could just sit there and let her kiss his neck for eternity.

“you’re so cute Ani..” she coo’s in adoration, her lips placing open mouthed kisses on his jaw and upper neck.

He continued to feel his stomach flutter at the touch of her open mouth kisses on his skin, he was feeling incredibly aroused from her soft-touched caresses. His breathing and heart rate only continued to speed up, which resulted in me feeling an intense sensation of pleasure.

He needed some kind of friction to stimulate what he wanted her to touch the most, practically humping her leg like a dog in heat.

“I just love you so much,” He muttered, moans escaping his round lips, “I don’t think I can ever love anything as much as I do you, dear.”

“my sweet boy..” she smiles, her voice still maintaining the sweet tone. “you treat me too well baby. i want to make you feel so good, can i do that?”

The feeling of her calling him ‘my sweet boy’ made him feel his face go hot from the soft and intimate expression. He had to pause for a second to prevent himself from letting out a loud moan of pure ecstasy.

“Please do darling, I want to feel really good right now…” He responded softly. she grinned, nipping at the skin on his neck teasingly. “what do you want sweetheart?” she mutters against his neck, placing hot kisses and hickeys on it.

“I think you know what I want now…” he shuttered, “Just the thought of what you’re going to do is sending my body into a euphoric state.”

His body felt as if he was being swept away by her soft hands and lips. It was almost like he had fallen under some sort of spell and was being controlled by every subtle movement she made with her body.

Her light hickies on his neck made him shiver, his body trembling in excitement at the thought of what was going to come next.

“i want to treat you.” she sighed against his skin.“make you feel how you’ve made me feel every second of our marriage.” she hums, her lips trailing up to his before pulling him into a deep and hungry kiss. “my perfect little husband,” she cooes sweetly, her works full of admiration and love.

She pulled him in for a deep and passionate kiss, and his mind instantly shut off. It was as if he didn't have anymore thoughts in his head, he couldn't focus on anything more than the feeling of her lips pressing onto his. That hot and steamy kiss had him feeling like he was about to cum from the intense heat of passion alone.

Once the kiss ended, he opened his eyes again and looked at his wife with a look of total adoration. "My beautiful wife… My everything..."

“oh stop..” she giggled softly, her smile bright as she stared up at him. "No, I won't stop," he replied playfully, his smile bright and his eyes locked on her. "To me, you are perfection... Everything about you is just perfect."

He bent down and gently caressed the side of her face in his palm, his words of admiration and love still flowing from his mouth. "The color of your eyes... The way you smile... Your soft touch... It all makes you absolutely gorgeous."

“i could say the same about you dear,” she smiles, nuzzling into his warm touch. “i knew you’d be mine the second i saw you. you’re perfect.”

"I..." He mumbled, feeling his face become flushed as she complimented him. She was too kind to him, and that was another thing he loved about her.

“You've always accepted me, for who I am and what I do. I haven’t felt that level of approval and acceptance most other places, but you give me this sense of comfort and reassurance." He nuzzled her neck with his nose, wanting to give her a small taste of what she gave to him.

“why wouldn’t i? if i could, i would give you the world. I’m lovesick, crazy even. you’re everything in my eyes.” she whispers to him in a almost poetic manner, her words making him feel something he never thought he would.

He was still amazed to this day that he was loved and admired so much. he was always a lover boy, spilling his heart out to women—cough cough Padmé— when they would never feel the same. But Y/n, Y/n was the same way. they both loved unconditionally, and when they did, they loved hard. like nothing else in the world mattered.

He couldn't think of anything more poetic than the words that she used to express her love for him. They made him feel things he was never able to feel for other people. She made him feel secure like he had never been before, and her words made him feel complete.

He placed his hands behind her head and pulled her into his chest, making their bodies touch more. It felt so warm and comforting for him to hold her like this. “I still can’t believe that someone as beautiful as you could love me back the same way I love you.”

“and i can’t believe someone as perfect as you even looked my way.” she giggled gently, her hands exposing his body teasingly.

He felt his entire body shiver as her hands traced his body and exposed it to her. Her fingers moved with grace and care as he felt a light and warm tinge of pleasure that rose up in my body.

It felt like he was about to explode into a million pieces at the way in which she touched him. "Please, don't stop," He groaned passionately, "Do whatever you want to me, I'm completely lost in this moment."

(this is where it gets spicy spicy y’all 😛🌶️😏)

“aww my poor baby,” she frowned up at him teasingly, her big e/c eyes gazing into his. “you’re so sensitive and desperate for me to touch you huh?” she nodded, her hands sliding up and down his body.

He groaned softly again as her touch sent a chill down his spine. He felt as though he couldn't stop himself from saying all the things that he felt about her. She was the only one he had ever been this intimate with, and it felt so good to be this honest with how he felt.

"Yes... I’m so terribly sensitive and desperate for you," he admits meekly, "But you love that, don’t you… You like when you have complete control over me, don’t you…”

“you know i do pretty boy.” she patted his cheek with a small grin, her hand grazing over his clothed hard on.

That one touch made his entire body shiver, the touch of her hand grazing over his sensitive area was enough to make him moan like crazy. The way that she teased him was the thing that drove him most crazy about her, and the way she used it to make him desperate for her was like being wrapped around her finger.

"Please… I need it… I need you right now," Anakin shuddered, "I ne-need you." He groaned, throwing his head back as his hips began rutting into her palm.

“and you’ll get me baby, just be patient. you can do that for me right?” she spoke to him in a dumbed down way, knowing it made him feel more submissive while making her feel more in control. she gave his cock a sudden squeeze, her hands lingering on the waistband of his loose pants before tugging them and his boxers down.

His angry red cock sprung out, pre cum dripping down in large amounts as the veins were prominent. It slapped against his stomach, 7-9 inches long while also being very girthy. Despite them having done this multiple times over the course of 4 years, she would always be shocked on how pretty and big his dick was.

The moment he felt the cold air hit his sensitive member he shuddered with pleasure. She made it hard for him to stay patient with her teasing, it made him feel more submissive with every passing second.

He groaned softly and looked back up her, his body shivering in anticipation of her touch. "Yes dear... I can be a good boy for you..."

“oh you’re so perfect, Ani.” she groaned, her finger tracing up and down his cock while she stared up at him. “tell me how much you love it ok sweetheart?”

A loud moan escaped his lips as her hand began to tease him so agonizingly slow. His entire body shuddered with pleasure from every touch, it was something that he could never ever go without again.

He could feel my heart pound within the depths of his chest, and as she continued her teasing, his breaths got more and more shallow. “I love it... I love it so much... It makes me feel so good... Makes me feel s-so mmhm.... So close to you... Oh baby p-please.. I can't..." he blabbered, mind clouded by pleasure as she began stroking him at an easy pace.

“yes you can baby,” she hummed. “you’re my good boy remember? just keep it up for a little longer yeah?” she told him breathlessly, looking up at him with eyes full of lust as her hand sped up.

"Y-yes baby... I-I'm your good boy... I'll keep going.. I-I will keep being a good boy for you..." He gasped in short breaths, his thoughts all scrambled from the pleasure she was giving him. Every moment he was feeling hotter and hotter, he couldn't take her teasing for much longer.

“oh f-fuck..” she moaned softly, biting down on her lip. “you’re so pretty for me Ani. so pretty.” she coo’s, her hand wrapped around his throbbing member as she stroked him quickly, running her thumb over the tip occasionally.

"I-I can't stand the way your hands feel..." he shuttered, pornographic moans slipping from his pretty lips.

That one moment where she bit down on her lip was enough to push him over the edge, causing his body to shiver and his cock to pulse in her hand. "Y-yes I'm you're pretty boy... You're t-too perfect... A-and you h-hurt s-so good..." he groaned in pure ecstasy.

With little to no warning she slid off her shorts before turning him over, sinking onto his dick with a groan, throwing her head back slightly. it slid in easily, her wet and warm walls sucking him in greedily.

“s-shit Anakin..” she shivered, her pace still quick. “do i feel good baby? h-hmm?” she grinned with lust, small moans escaping her lips.

He felt himself moan loudly as the heat in his body escalated rapidly. He was getting to the point where he was about to explode with sheer pleasure, the way that she was able to make him feel this way was like an addiction. Her touch made him feel so helpless and vulnerable.

And the way she looked at him while she was this intimate with him made him feel something he never felt before with anyone else. "You feel amazing baby... Just like Heaven..."

“ooh how sweet..” she hums, one hand on his chest while the other traces his jaw and caresses his cheek. “you’re so good to me Ani.. too good..” she smiles, beginning to slowly ride him.

The moment that he felt her hand caress his cheek was the moment that he felt his entire body heat up even more than before. It was such a soft touch that sent waves of pleasure through his body, and it only added to the sensation of pleasure which she was creating in a different way.

His breath was shallow and his moans were getting louder. There was a small bead of sweat on his forehead, and his body was becoming more and more vulnerable to her. "Oh darling... Please... I'll do anything for you... Your touch is divine..."

“just being in your presence is divine, it’s the least i could do.” she coo’s, kissing all over his face in appreciation. her speed switches between agonizingly slow to painfully quick, bouncing up and down on him.

Her kisses scattered across his face was enough to make him smile and laugh from pleasure. Her speed was almost too much for him to handle, and she knew this. Every moment she teased him was an opportunity to make him beg for relief, which he always did.

He moaned softly once more, the feeling of her wrapped around him becoming unbearable. "Please... Please darling... I need... I-I'm...I-It's too much..."

“you can take it baby, i know you can. you can do it f’me can’t you pretty boy?” she encourages him, her breath heavy as she down at him with lustful e/c eyes.

"I'd do anything for you baby... I'll keep going... Just please... Please don't go any faster... I'm so close..." If there was a moment that the word begging was appropriate, it was now. He was starting to lose his voice from all the screaming begging and moaning, his body shaking with pure pleasure and desire to be released from this teasing.

“what was that? did you say go faster?” she grinned, her words teasing as she began to ride him the quickest she had been so far, the only sounds were their heavy moans of pleasure and the sound of their skin slapping against one another.

she buried her face in the crook of his neck, peppering kisses and bites along it. Those extra kisses and bits of teasing she added to the mix along with her bouncing on his cock at such a quick pace was all it took to make him lose control of how much pleasure he could handle

“Oh darling... I... Please... S-stop... F-faster... Yes... O-Oh..." He groaned loudly, his breath shallow and his voice begging for relief.

she aggressively slapped her hand over his mouth, gripping it harshly as she glared down into his eyes. “do you want everyone in the temple to find out how much of a slut their precious little chosen one is? huh?” she spat, speeding up.

The moment that she slapped her hand over his mouth, his breathing slowed dramatically. He was surprised by her sudden action, but it was a welcomed surprise. He was starting to get more and more comfortable with her dominant nature, and the way that she took control over him was something he wanted more of.

"I'm... I'm so... close to... Hnghhh..." He groaned, his body shaking hard from the pleasure. Her words filled him with more excitement, and he was begging for release.

“you’re pathetic. dirty. imagine if the council saw you like this, begging to a mere unarmed woman as one of the most powerful men in the galaxy.” she growled, her other hand wrapping around his neck firmly. “but you’d like that too much hm? the shame, everyone knowing you belong to me. how weak you are under my touch.” she grinned almost evilly, her speed still rapid.

The moment she wrapped her other hand around his neck, the way he responded would have made him shocked if he was a third party viewer. But even as the one being put into such a position, his response was as submissive as possible. Her words filled him with so much shame, and he was begging for more.

“Oh my... Y-yes darling... Y-You've truly... s-subjugated me... M-Make me s-shake from your touch... I want you to own me... I-I'm yours... I beg of you.!.." he practically yelled out, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he weakly bucked his hips up into her.

She sped up, her hand tightening around his neck as she braced herself, moans and groans escaping her lips as she sunk down onto him as deep as possible, stretching her in the most delightful way.

By the time she sped up, he could feel himself about to explode into pleasure. Her words, her touch, it was all so perfect. Every bit of resistance he could have possibly put up was gone, and his body was left totally vulnerable to her.

A moan that was just close to a scream of pure pleasure escaped Anakin’s lips as he pushed himself deeper inside, her breath escaping her enough to fill him with arousal and excitement.

“f-fuck Anakin!” She practically screamed as he pushed himself deep, her fingernails clawing at his flesh as she threw her head back.

The moment she screamed was the exact moment that he was pushed over the edge , shooting hot loads into her cunt as he squeezed her down onto it. She was full, a small bump in her stomach as Anakin’s heavy cock sat inside, pulsating and twitching with pleasure. The sensations of heat that shot through his body made him moan so sharp that his voice and body were shaking uncontrollably, his entire body was drenched in sweat.

Despite his release, she continued her brutal speed, fucking his cum into her as she overstimulated him to the max— his entire body twitching like crazy.

Her speed was too much for Anakin, and he shook involuntarily as his entire body was forced to twitch and spasm. The sounds of his breathing on top of the lewd and wet sounds coming from her pussy was too much, and his breath had become so shallow that he could barely get words out. He was begging for a chance to recover.

“Darling please... I-I... I'm going to h-hurt myself... P-please..."

“i don’t fucking care.” she growled, grabbing his jaw harshly before slamming his lips into hers. She knew he was enjoying it, as they both had a safe word he would have yelled if he was truly in unbearable pain. She felt his dick harden and swell again as the speed picked up, Anakin feeling tears stream down his cheeks. He didn’t know if it was from pain or pleasure, but the feeling was somehow addicting.

He was sobbing hard as both pain and pleasure went through his entire body. He felt each tear run down his cheeks and trickle down his jaw, but the pleasure was so intense that he could barely focus on the pain. It felt like he was being ripped in two, and he couldn’t decide whether he wanted it to stop or keep going.

His body fell limp as his wife continued to brutally ride him, holding his face in her hands roughly. Hot tears streamed down his face as he yelled out, his cock throbbing from the overstimulation.

“You okay baby?” She whispered sweetly, despite her dominant behavior, she still made sure he was enjoying himself.

After several minutes of sobbing and groaning in a mixture of pleasure and pain, he was finally able to collect himself enough to respond. “Oh darling... It hurts so much... It hurts so good... It’s like being ripped in two, I-I…” His words trailed off as he continued to cry and moan from the mixture of the intensity of the pleasure and the fact that he couldn’t handle much more.

“Just one more time sweetheart.” She hushed, her mouth finding his as she continued the painful speed. “you can do it one more time for me can’t you Ani?”

This last time was different. The previous times where he had let out tears was because the pain was so intense and pleasurable his body was trying to handle it. But this time, when he was sobbing in her arms, it was because the feeling of being torn apart was too much to handle.

He could feel myself shaking hard, and his breath was so shallow that he could barely speak. “D- darling… I- I... I c-can’t… p-please... Y-you d-don’t.. understand…

“Please baby,” She moaned, her hands on his shoulders as she sped up. “I-i can’t stop.. feels too good..” she babbled, cockdrunk.

The moment he felt her hands on his shoulders, he felt a rush of heat shoot through his body. The rush of heat mixed with the intensity of the pleasure and the pain made his eyes water, and his body shake uncontrollably.

Then... a thought occurred to him. The pain and pleasure was getting too much... But the reason why it was getting so unbearable was because she was on top.

(dom Anakin 😍)

In a matter of seconds, he flipped them both over so that she was now on her back, letting him take control.

She gasped, her demeanor completely shifting as she stared up at him. He maintained the speed as he harshly thrusted into her, loud guttural moans escaping her lips.

"S-stay still... fuck...j-just feel my touch darling... This should feel so good baby... " He continued to maintain the speed, hitting her g spot with every thrust. The heat and intensity he was creating, especially combined with his dominance over her was something that he found incredibly pleasurable.

He couldn't help but smile with some hint of sadistic joy as he saw the way she was reacting to his touch.

“O-oh.. so f-full.. oh my - g-god..f-fuck..!” she moaned out lewdly as her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her jaw slightly agape.

"Oh my God-... You're enjoying this way too much..." he whined in a teasing and condescending tone. He saw that he was pushing her body to its limits, and he was enjoying every second of it. The moment he said those words, he decided to add on extra speed just to make it even more intense.

“I-I hate you Anakin..” she moaned, them both knowing her words were far from the truth. “..m-more...” she begged quietly, clawing at his back.

The moment he thought she was going to ask him to stop, the exact opposite happened. Instead, her words only pushed him further to make this experience the best it could be for her.

“Aww sweetheart... Who's so desperate for more... Such a needy little girl..." he teased her with a smile, pounding her poor little pussy into the bed, pushing her body past its limits. He was determined to make this experience the most incredible one she’d ever felt.

“O-oh-.. oh my god.. I’m about to- oh f-fuck..!” she groaned out, practically drooling from the feeling of his pulsating cock inside her.

The moment she started drooling, he began chuckling quietly to himself. "Oh dear... You seem much too eager... But who am I to deprive you hm?"

He started getting even more aroused from the sounds of pleasure coming out of you, and he was feeling more and more motivated to make this even more intense for you. His speed increased once more.

She came on his dick, screaming and moaning as she threw her head back, Anakin pushing his cock further in her causing his release from earlier to travel even deeper.

She expected him to pull out, but he didn’t. In fact, he sped up the pace, his hands on the headboard as he shamelessly fucked into her as fast as possible.

She practically screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks prettily as she batted her lashes. “A-Ani.! Too much.!-“

The fact that the sensation was too much for her was enough to give him satisfaction. He couldn't help but laugh a bit, and he took a moment to get his bearings.

“T-Too much for you dear-?" He asked in between gasps for air, his breath shaking and his entire body shaking with excitement. “F-fuck you’re so tight around me..” he groaned in delight, the slapping noises of skin on skin loud in the room.

She sobbed, jaw clenched as he relentlessly stretched her bruised walls, his mouth finding her chest before pulling the top down with his teeth —causing her boobs to spill out.

He dived in, leaving hickeys and bruisers all over them. She was close to cumming again, her moans loud as her hips rutted into his.

“O-oh sweet girl.. you about to cum? Hm?” Anakin asked breathlessly, the headboard almost snapping under his grip.

She blabbed out some words he couldn’t understand due to her pornographic moans, but she nodded her head signaling she was about to cum.

“Mmm I’m gonna fill this pretty pussy so well..” he moaned, his thrusts getting sloppier as he too was close to his realese. When he said that, he felt her walls clamp down on him, making them both moan in sync.

“You like that pretty girl? You like that you’re gonna be full of my cum?” He cooed mockingly, his hand gripping her hair as he forced her to look at him.

“Y-yes.! Oh god Anakin yes, please..!” She yelled, her hands gripping at his shoulders before he sped up his thrust.

They both moaned in sync, the lewd noises so loud they were sure the rooms next to his could clearly hear the two. He thrusted into her, taking her lips in his before spilling his seed inside her as she spilled her release on him, a mess in between their sweaty body’s.

Anakin collapsed onto the bed next to her as she did the same. He pushed down on the bump in her stomach in a amused manner, watching the cum ooze our as he got his fingers and plugged the cum back inside, licking the residue off his fingers before pulling her into a deep and passionate kiss.

When she regained some slight strength, she snaked her way down the bed, taking Anakin’s throbbing red member—still covered in their shared juices—before she began sucking him off, looking up at him with pretty doe eyes.

Anakin gasped, quickly grabbing her head with shocked moans. She licked his dick clean, slapping it to her face before deepthroating it once again. “S-shit Angel! N-no more..! I can’t..!” He yelped, tears returning to his face as his brows were upturned in pain and pleasure.

After a minute or two he came all over her face, completely empty as he began to fall asleep.

She cuddled into him, falling asleep in the mess they had made—waking up and hour or two later before taking a sweet shower together.

A/n: idk what possessed me to write this but I hope it’s good because I’ve literally never written smut before.. 😭 i apologize if you’re traumatized from this 😁💞😛

#hayden christiansen x you #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker #anakin x you #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin fanfiction #star wars anakin #clone wars anakin #clone wars #smut #sub anakin #subby boys #starwars #star wars #fanfic #character x reader #character x you

[frenziedfireworks]

Bad Decisions

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary : You get a bit tipsy and seek out the company of the infamous fuckboy, Draco Malfoy.

CW : SMUT, 18+ Characters, Praise/Degrading kink, spitting in mouth, creampie/breeding kink, a few slaps, drunk!draco & reader, it's smut with a tiny bit of plot LMFAO, typical draco ego as well

masterlist

The lights blared as you chugged another drink. Your face felt hot and your blurry vision skimmed the crowd for white hair. You knew it was wrong and yet you had still came in hopes of seducing him. You knew his reputation and yet you really could care less.

Your eyes landed upon the infamous Slytherin and you practically drooled. His suit clung to his form and his grin made your heart flutter. He had to be yours tonight and you would stop at nothing to make that come true. Your feet walked over to him before your mind could even process.

“Draco..” You whispered and his cool eyes met yours. His friends seemed to have an amused smile as they pushed him away and continued the conversation by themselves.

“Y/N, I didn’t take you for a party-goer.” Draco’s speech slurred and you just shrugged. “Maybe I had a reason.” Draco’s eyebrow raised at the comment and his fingers came to trace your arm.

“Care to enlighten me?” His face was desperately close to yours now and you could smell the fire whiskey.

“How about I show you instead?” You gripped at his wrist and leaned in for a kiss. Draco was quick to respond, his hands yanking at your waist and the other trailing the bottom of your shirt. 

“You know I won’t be able to stop.” His grunts filled your ears as you grinded up against his erection. Your hips were sure to be bruised tomorrow with the pressure of his grip. 

“Then don’t stop.” You whispered and Draco all but groaned. He pulled you along through the crowd and out of the party. Before you knew it you were being thrown against his dorm bed.

You watched in awe as he whipped the door locked and slowly took off his shirt. His eyes never left yours as his hand messed with the zipper of his pants and he smirked.

“Tell me what you want.” You all but moaned as his trousers hit the floor and your mind fluttered with even more sinful thoughts. “I don’t have all day princess. Use your words.” Draco’s hand trailer across the bottom of your leg and you bit your lip. This is what you wanted after all.

“You.” 

Your simple words seemed to work because Draco was everywhere at once. His lips trailed down your neck as he frantically rid you of your clothes. Your hands gripped at his hair as his tongue circled your pert nipples and he smirked.

“You like that? You want more?” He bit at the flesh of your breasts as his fingers traced the hem of your panties. You were well aware of the wet spot growing and how bad you needed him in you. You bucked your hips into him and pleas started to leave your mouth.

“Draco.. Draco please. I need you so bad.” Your hands clawed at his boxers and he all but shook his head.

“So desperate. I knew you’d come to me sooner or later.” Usually his egotistical comments would rub you the wrong way but you couldn’t even care in the moment. The only thing your fuzzy brain could think about was getting railed by the man on top of you.

“J-just fuck me!” You rasped and his chuckles filled the air. He didn’t need to say anything because he actions spoke louder than any words. You felt your panties being ripped off you and watched as his cock slapped against his stomach. His eyes devoured your nude form before leaning closer. His shaft rubbed through your folds and your head flew back. You couldn’t take his teasing.

“Dray-“

“Be quiet before I shove my cock down your throat.” Draco’s hand slapped at your thigh and his tip prodded into your entrance. You felt your eyes widen as he pushed fully in, bottoming out in a delicious fashion. Your walls clenched and Draco moaned.

“Keep that up and I won’t last five minutes.” His voice was hoarse as he slowly began to pull in and out. Your body jolted as his pace got more rough and desperate and you felt any thoughts you had slipping away.

“Fuckkk.. Take it. Take it like a good girl. Knew you’d love my cock.” Draco’s hand gripped at your jaw, opening your mouth. You watched as he spat and forcibly closed your lips. “Swallow.” You did as he said, moaning as he slapped your hip and smirked. “Good fucking whore.” 

You felt the string in your stomach get tighter and tighter with each thrust. Draco’s pace became more sloppy and you knew both of you were on the verge.

“Fuck darling. C-can I cum in you?” Draco all but whispered as he chased his own high. You nodded quickly and clung to his body as his fingers rubbed at your sensitive nub. “F-fuck. I’m cumming. Take it..” Draco’s pace faltered and you felt his warm ropes of white fill you, your body finally reaching its euphoria. 

Your body relaxed against the bed and you turned to get comfortable in the sheets. Draco slid in next to you and pulled the curtains around the bed for your privacy. 

“Thanks darling. We should do that more often.” Draco’s voice cut through the silence. You rolled your eyes as you yawned. Tonight was not your best decision but you weren’t exactly denying the thought of another round. 

“I’ll think about it Malfoy.”

“I’m sure you will.”

#draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x reader smut #draco malfoy x you smut #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines

[jamdoughnutmagician]

All The Man That I Need (18+)

Beefy!Bucky x Female Reader

Warnings:18+, Smut, Size Kink, Oral Sex (F Receiving), Squirting, Missionary Position, Kissing. If I've missed anything that you want tagged just let me know!

Authour's Note: There's literally no plot here whatsoever, just shameless smut. I haven't written for bucky in a while so I wanted to try writing for him again, but honestly writing this was a bit of a struggle so it may not be my best work.

Word Count:1,524

Masterlist Bucky Barnes Masterlist

There was no shred of doubt about it, Bucky was big. In every sense of the word. Tall, broad and deliciously thick. His hair falling down along his chiselled, strong jaw in soft chocolate tresses. 

There was only one word that came to mind when you laid your eyes on your Bucky. 

Beefy.

Bucky was also immensely strong, with powerful muscles padding along the length of his arms, both human and metal alike. His legs were long, his thighs just as powerful as his arms, with sturdy muscles running the length of them.

Never have you ever felt more safe than when you’re held in the comforting warmth of his embrace, resting your head on the well-defined muscle of his chest. His arms circling you to bring you close to him, just where he always wanted you to be.

Bucky also never misses the opportunity to show off to you his super-soldier size and strength. Every inch of his six foot tall frame towered over you, but never once did he ever make you feel intimidated.

His size and strength also came into play in the bedroom. Easily picking you up in his arms as if you weigh next to nothing, carrying you to the bed with a gentleness that others may have assumed he wasn't capable of, but you knew that wasn't true.

He caged you beneath him, stroking his thumb over your cheek tenderly. before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss that was full of passion.

"You're so beautiful, Doll."  His steely grey-blue eyes sparkle in the moonlit-glow streaming in through the window, illuminating the otherwise dark room.

His lips descend lower, kissing his way down the column of your throat, occasionally stopping to nibble and suck hickeys into the crook of your neck. 

His lips trail further downwards, kissing his way across your collarbones and over the plump swell of your breasts. Taking the time to shower each of your breasts with its equal share of gentle kisses.

His tongue darts out from between his pink lips, swirling around one of your nipples, teasing the bud into a hardened peak. Whilst his human hand works to tease your other nipple, pinching and rolling it between the rough pads of his fingertips. 

His kisses continue to trail down your body, kissing in-between the valley of your breasts, moving down to kiss over the soft skin of your stomach, before laying a sweet kiss amongst the small thatch of hair between your legs.

Bucky wastes no time in raising your hips up and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up to him.

He leans down to your core, the tip of his nose nudging at your clit as he begins to lick his way through your folds. His tongue flattens against you as he takes one long sweep from the bottom of your slit to the very top, using the tip of his tongue to quickly flick against your clit. He sucks your clit between his plump pink lips, before letting go with a wet pop.

With a desperate whine you find your hands tangling into the lengths of his shaggy brown hair, your chest rising and falling with shuddering breaths.

He listens and takes your desperate whines of pleasure as a sign that you needed a little more from him.

“You want one of my fingers, huh Doll?” he asks, drawing back from you to look you deep in the eyes.

“Please..” your voice rasps out.

“Which one do you want, hm? You want this one?” he asks as the chill of his cold metal hand softly squeezes the plump flesh of your thigh. 

You shake your head. 

“No?” his deep rumbling voices teases.

“Want your other hand…please…just wanna feel you..please” you plead, desperate to feel the warm touch of his human hand.

“Well since you asked so nicely..” he smirks before slowly easing one of his thick fingers into your tight wet heat. 

He begins to slowly draw his finger in and out, making sure to press against that spot deep inside you that has your hips wriggling against the mattress. His metal hand is held over your stomach, providing you with a gentle pressure that makes everything he's doing feel so much more intense. You're fighting the urge to arch your back from the pleasure, but the chill of his metal hand against the heated flush of your skin keeps you right where he wants you to be.

“Oh you need it real bad don’t you Doll?” he’s relentless in his teasing. He always is. Always knowing just the right things to say that will have you wordlessly nodding your head for more.

His finger brushes against the spot inside you that has you rolling your hips.

His lips are on you once more, working in tandem with his finger, as he tastes you with an unabashed confidence.

“Tastes so fuckin’ sweet baby..Know you’re close, I can feel you squeezing my finger..” he mumbles against you as tongue continues to flick against your clit.

“Come for me, Doll…” he pleads as he watches how your heaving breaths of pleasure turn into desperate whines.

With one more thrust of his finger inside you and the flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit, you felt your orgasm rush over you. Your tight cunt pulsing with a wet gush as you squirt out your release. 

You hear a deep rumbling laugh as you look down between your thighs to see Bucky pull back for a moment, only to see his face glistening with the evidence of your orgasm. His tongue is immediately darting out to savour your taste on his lips, never missing out on the opportunity to drink down every last drop of you.

Leaning back on his haunches you see him slowly stroke his hand up and down his cock, teasing the head by swiping a thumb through the pooling mess of pre-cum glistening at his tip.

“See what eating your pussy does to me baby? Swear nothing makes me harder than getting to taste your sweetness on my tongue, Doll.”

With his cock held firmly in his hand he lays the length of him down against your lower stomach, almost as if he’s sizing you up. His tip coming up to rest just below your belly button, leaving a stick smear of pre-cum as he taps his heavy dick against your skin.

You were all too aware of Bucky's impressively sizable length, but seeing him line himself up against you like that makes you realise just how big he is, and how much he fills you up.

He lines himself up with your entrance, pushing his hips forward slowly with a groan. Filling you up inch by inch with his thick cock. Working himself until he is fully settled inside you.

He gives you a moment to adjust to the stretch, knowing that you always need a quick moment to gather yourself when he fills you so completely. 

He feels your heels digging into his back and that's all the go-ahead he needs before he's drawing his hips back and thrusting himself into your tight wet cunt.

He rolls his hips experimentally before he feels your nails digging into his shoulder bringing him close as you whisper in his ear.

“Want it hard…please..” you whine, placing a sweet kiss below his ear.

Bucky immediately pulls you close to him, his metal hand squeezing into the plump curve of your hips as he begins to fuck his hips into you with sharp precise thrusts.

The feeling of his thick cock stretching you out straddles the thin line between pain and pleasure, with each thrust into you he satisfies you more than anyone had ever done before.

“Look at you, Doll…Look so pretty underneath me like this…fuck..take my cock so well..” he groans, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss.

His other hand snakes down to rub circles around your clit with practised ease, knowing your body as well as he did, he knew exactly the right way to touch you that would have you falling apart under his touch.

He continues to work your body, the feeling of him deep inside you and his fingers rubbing you so perfectly has you rolling your eyes back as your orgasm rushed over you.

“That’s it, pretty girl…come for me…wanna feel you squeezing me..” he moans in his deep raspy voice.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he buries his length inside you as deep as he can before he’s filling you up with rope after rope of his release, swallowing your moans in a deep kiss.

Taking a moment to gather himself with a steadying breath he slowly pulls out of you, his eyes never leaving you as he watches the flow of him drip out of you.

Laying down beside you in the bed he pulls you into his strong arms, once again keeping you safe in his embrace. He places a loving and tender kiss into the crown of your hair.

"My perfect Doll…I love you so much.."

tags @itsfreakingbats @sidepartskinnyjeans @buckgasms

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x female reader smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #marvel fanfiction

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Finally

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Spy!Reader

Plot: Bucky and you have a hard time staying away from each other. And though you try to push him away, every time he finds you again, the universe finds a new way to pull you apart.

Warnings: 18+. Smut, fluff and angst.

Words: 9,1OO

A/N: Recently I’ve been trying to understand what it is people want to read of my works and I have no idea, so here is my brain in scrambled pieces. I'm so sorry it’s so long, I swear it's worth it!

Romania.

It isn’t often you agree to such an extensive trip to meet up with one of your clients, but apparently this particular one can’t be seen in the more supervised countries. Besides, you’ve never been to Bucharest before, so you’re quite enjoying your drink at the small picturesque café.

You’ve done your research and know damn well who you’re meeting up with. A small part of you is screaming at you not to agree to do business with him or back out now, but your curiosity overrules any common sense. Last you heard, Hydra had lost their favourite asset and you can confidently say you were relieved to hear it. It had been a few too many times that specific organisation had made your job more difficult than it had to be.

A many number of things could have happened to the Winter Soldier. He could’ve been killed, corrupted by another organisation, fled to live as a hermit– You really want to know. It’s the spy in you that enjoys knowing the ins and outs of the criminal world. He’d tried not to mention who he is, but you had a few offers on the table, he needed some leverage to get you to agree to meet him. Safe to say, you were surprised he’d told you he was the Winter Soldier. Big chance you will now be the only person to know about the asset’s current whereabouts. That is, if you live to tell it of course…

Every hair in your neck stands up straight, despite the comfortable weather and the easy going crowd roaming the street. The sudden change in atmosphere has your spy senses stand on alert. Your spine stiffens and you causally look around, slightly discouraged at the way your body has never responded to anything in this particular manner.

You cross your legs and turn to look behind you, scanning every face in the crowd. When you turn back, the seat next to yours is taken, only a rickety metal table separating you from the large man sat in the other chair. Your breath halts in your throat and you look him up and down, instantly recognising the buff man as the Winter Soldier. How? You’re not sure, you’d never really seen a picture.

You check his hands. Gloves. With this weather? To cover up. You check his build and take a particularly long time to do so, because God, this man is broad. He’s all sturdy flesh and muscle, firm and casual. His thighs look like tree trunks and you know the man is fast, despite his build. You force the deliberate sweep of your eyes over his body to appear more nonchalant and confident than you feel.

Then your eyes reach his face and the breath gets knocked out of you. There is nothing in that face that hints towards a stone cold killer. Dark blue, deep set eyes, freckles pattered over his nose and cheeks, lips bitten raw from contemplation and an expression on his face that almost looks like… Nerves?

“Hello,” you start carefully, unable to keep your surprise from your tone, but sounding relatively cool to your own relief.

“Hi,” he says and the tone of his voice is deep, but rough, like he hasn’t spoken in ages. You think that maybe he hasn’t.

“Should I refer to you as the Winter Soldier?” you ask, composing your cool nature entirely now. “Or would you say that is a bit on the nose?”

He huffs a laugh and you smile, feeling the overwhelming urge to make him do that again. “James will do, thanks.”

“Alright James,” you say, taking your time to let your mouth get acquainted with his name, “what is it you need my services for?”

“I hear you’re a spy,” he starts and searches your face. “A good one– the best one.”

“Well now, I’d hate to disappoint,” you purr. “What do you need?”

“It’s not so much a document or one piece of information,” he mumbles and his face hardens as he collects himself. You sit upright and frown as you study him. “I need you as a partner for an assignment.”

You instantly shake your head, “Absolutely not. I’m not working for Hydra, that organisation is–”

“Not Hydra,” he quickly cuts in. “Just me. It’s a personal assignment.”

You wait for him to continue, not appreciating his vague communication if he wants to become partners on whatever this is.

He sighs, “I– I have a lot of… gaps. Things I don’t remember, things I can’t quite place. Years of information. The things I did for Hydra– I wasn’t there for most of it. Neither were a lot of people. So I need someone with access to some dark shit to help me figure it out.”

Chewing your lip, you process the information he gives you and empathy clenches your heart together. James gives you the time you need to put the pieces together. You’d heard of Hydra’s experiments with brainwashing and had already sort of assumed some of their soldiers had only worked for them because of that reason, had stayed far away from the organisation’s shit to steer clear from that danger.

But it’s so different to see it in real life, or what is left of it, you suppose. Many things aren’t quite clear to you just yet. However, you slowly start nodding your head. Your brain starts running a million miles an hour, all the gears turning to form a plan, the way you always do before you agree to a job.

“Can you pay me for the service?” you ask, already wondering to yourself if you’d help the clearly hopeless and damaged man for free, and to be honest, just for kicks. The things you’d dig up from everything he’ll give you– Selfishly, you’d kill for it. Anyone would kill for it.

He gives you a tight-lipped, apologetic smile, “Not that much. But I can save up more.”

You think. Your gut tells you he won’t kill you after he gets what he wants, even though he could. And though you will always keep a close eye on him and everything he’s capable of, your gut feeling has never disappointed you.

So you sigh and shake your head. “That’s okay. I’ll do all of it for free, and you can pay me what little you have to insure that I stay quiet. Sound fair?”

His eyes narrow with a twinkle that you hadn’t expected from a man like him and he says, “Deal.”

“Alright,” you say and finish your coffee before clearing your throat. “First order of business: tell me your full name.”

He shakes his head with a faint smile, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

Oh shit.

You do know him.

Germany.

Relief seeps into your bones as you cross the threshold of your building and you slip into your routine of coming home. Tired feet drag you through your building and to your apartment, and muscle memory unlocks your door. After the week you’ve had, you are ready to turn off your brain and settle down.

You enjoy being this tired though, revel in it. Exhausting yourself with a normal person job and the way it puts your usually restless body to sleep at night is exactly what you wanted for your life.

One step into your own hallway, however, makes your daydream of a quiet night in crumble to your feet. Something is off. You can blame your trained senses for being so instantly on edge, but the apartment you just stepped into isn’t a place that has been vacated for the past nine hours. This apartment isn’t empty.

An even older routine settles into your bones this time and you creep into your home on light feet. The air is warm and the space is completely quiet. You’ve been alive long enough, seen enough, to know quiet is never good.

You don’t turn on any lights and let your eyes adjust to the dark. Ears perked and muscles at the ready to spring into action, you slowly make your way further into your home. And when you slip around the corner and look into your darkened living room, you let out a frustrated sigh at the dark figure lounging on your couch.

“How did you find me here,” you grumble and it is hardly a question.

You can feel him sit up and tune in to your presence. You couldn’t explain it if your life depended on it, but you instantly knew who it was. The dark figure in the dark apartment, waiting patiently for someone to catch him. After all, he will deny it until his dying day, but he does have an awful lot of dramatic flair for someone so stoic.

“Better question is: why are you here?” he counters and you drop your bag onto one of your dining chairs, shooting him an unimpressed glare. “Trying to stay off the radar, are you?”

“And failing, clearly,” you say before he can say it for you. “How did you find me here, James?”

Your eyes are finally fully adjusted and you see the smirk forming on his face. You haven’t seen that smirk in five years. “I have my ways,” he says and pushes off the couch, adjusting his leather jacket. “Now, what are you doing in this abandoned town?”

“It’s not abandoned,” you counter and slip off your coat, deciding to just go about your old routine and ignore his presence as much as you can. Maybe then he’ll go away.

“It’s a shit town and you know it.” He cocks his head at you, eyes tracking all of your movements.

You notice his puzzled look. He’s genuinely wondering what is left of his old ally and you can’t quite blame him. Perhaps he can easily see your lame attempt at finding a normal life for yourself. He has probably tried a thousand times himself to escape the roaring life of saving the world, has probably failed every time, too. But you’re determined to make it work – make yourself normal and live a full life.

And that is all you were to him anyway, just an ally. The entire time, you’d felt that he paid a little too much attention to you, but you supplied critical information and occasionally wiped someone off the map. A spy. Nothing more, nothing less. However, for the infamous Winter Soldier to need your alliance again, you cannot help but feel wary.

After the first time he approached you, you’d spent months together. It was an effort not to grow too close – too much effort. Because you had. It was impossible not to, helping someone literally piece their life together through intimate and awful memories. Digging through protective walls and coping mechanisms to help him rebuild some of his life again. With a lot of reluctance from both of you.

Yes, you’d grown close then. Grown close enough that you fell asleep slumped over the kitchen counter in his awful Romanian apartment, your face sticking to the countless research papers. You’d woken up hours later on his poorly constructed bed on the floor with a blanket thrown over your frame. Close enough that you’d eventually asked him to assist you on your missions. Ones that required a different skillset than your own. Close enough that you cooked for each other, sometimes shared clothes, roasted one another for the mental health issues that lead you both to your current occupations.

After a while, you couldn’t describe your relation to Barnes in any other way than a partnership. Partners. Who had kissed once. Maybe twice. After some bad Vodka.

You sigh and turn to him, “Why are you here, James?”

“I need to lay low for a while.” A wider smirk, his eyes narrowing at you. “I remembered I know someone who is very good at that.”

“Careful,” you warn and roll your eyes. “You just gave me a compliment.”

His smirk turns to a smile and he shrugs off his own jacket, instantly making himself at home in your apartment. A strange thing when it comes to Bucky, since you don’t recall that man feeling at home anywhere. Then, he did always have this incessant cocky streak around you and he is awfully good at getting on your nerves, so he probably sees the perfect opportunity to be a pain in the ass.

“If you so much as sneeze on anything, I swear–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, his tone unimpressed. “You’ll skin me alive. You’re always so weird about your stuff.”

You give him a tiny proud smile and decide to make yourself something quick to eat, only to feel him peer at you from the edge of your kitchen. He’s met with a confused frown before you raise your brows at him to make him spit it out.

“What’s the catch?” he asks warily.

You smile and look down at the sandwich you’re making. “Nothing. Just fix your shit and get out of my hair as quickly as possible.”

He winces slightly and you turn to him fully now, slowly taking a bite.

“What.”

Bucky sucks in a short breath and gives you an apologetic look before he speaks, “It might be a while…”

Your brows drop, “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I–”

“Bucky.” You cut him another look, one shaped by many, many instances of working together. “What. Did. You. Do.”

“It’s not important. I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You open your mouth to continue arguing with him, but decide against it, already done with his shit. Yes, he is doing better and supposedly now qualifies as a good person. But you know the man before you and the soldier cannot stop himself from lying about pretty much everything. He has damaged tendencies. Give him an inch and he will take a mile, show him a weakness and he will exploit it. You genuinely think he doesn’t know how to be different, how to not abuse those effortless skills he trained all those years working for Hydra and surviving it.

“It’s my weekend off,” you tell him instead. “If you get between me and my plans, I will change the locks.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You think I can’t get through a simple lock?”

Another glare is his answer and he raises his hands in surrender. You walk around him and toe off your own shoes, grabbing everything to take a shower as you shove the rest of your sandwich in your mouth. Bucky slowly strolls through your place and examines everything that belongs to you.

“Can you not pretend like you haven’t completely scanned the place already before I got home?” you ask him as you make way for the bathroom.

“It can’t hurt to have a second look,” he mumbles, but you have already closed the door and move take the shower you’ve been looking forward to the entire day.

You should probably work harder to get him out, should probably make an escape plan and move somewhere else. But you know arguing with him is futile and the best approach with him is to patiently wait for him to move on. Bucky doesn’t get attached and doesn’t nest, so he’ll be gone soon enough.

As the scolding water trickles down your scalp and spine, you realise how much more alert you should have been when you noticed someone was in your home. Especially with all of those loose ends and enemies you have scattered across this planet (and others). Yet, somehow you think your body knew it was Bucky waiting for you. After all, it isn’t the first time he’s pulled this shit, waiting up for you. Usually because you kept something from him, he found out and would start ambushing you to fess up.

And even though technically, you haven’t exactly kept anything from him this time, you can’t ignore the dreadful feeling that explaining your current situation will be the hardest thing to ever speak up about. How pathetic, to try and live a normal life when you’re ‘extraordinary’. Ugh, you hate that word. You’re trained well and you refuse to be anything but good at what you put your mind at.

Now, Bucky. He is extraordinary. He has potential to make a difference. You have always felt that. Hated working with him because of that. Not because of him – he never made you feel less than him at all. But–

The water turns cold and you groan audibly, time having slipped away from you as you got lost in thought. Stepping out and drying yourself off, you get ready to walk out of the bathroom. You’re met with Bucky sitting on your couch, reading one of your books.

“Let me guess, warm water’s gone?” he asks, not looking up from the book.

You walk to your bedroom and shrug, “Cold showers are good for you, I heard.”

“I suppose I’ll take the couch then?” he asks, finally looking up from the book.

You turn back and peek through your doorway at him. “You can take the floor if that’s more comfortable for you.”

“We’ve shared a bed before.”

“Not by choice.”

He smirks, “You liked it.”

“You snore.”

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.” He grins at you.

You make to get to bed when you pause and turn back to him once more with a slight frown. “Why are you so cheerful? Aren’t there people after you?”

“Well,” he says, casual as always, “these may very well be my last days, so I might as well be in a good mood.”

You find yourself swallowing hard and desperately search his face for any intel on how true his statement is, without giving away that you might just care a little bit about his well-being. But his grin stays firm in place and he raises his brows in wait for you to call it a night.

Without another word, you close the door between you and crawl into your comfortable bed. And you wonder why it is that you can’t quite get comfortable this time.

…

A powerful jolt rips through your body as you lift out of layers of sleep. You’re too tired for whatever made you wake up so suddenly. It’s too goddamn late for this shit.

But as you gain more and more of your consciousness, your senses start perking up and you realise you might very well be in danger. The gentle and calm voice calling your name with a warm stroke of a hand down your arm, confirms that for you. That specific type of calm in Bucky’s voice sends your body into overdrive.

“We’ve got to go, sweetheart,” he murmurs and is already throwing clothes onto your bed. “Now.”

You sit up and rub your eyes and it dawns on you after a week of Bucky staying at your place. This man wasn’t going to leave you until he got chased out of your apartment. And that day has come.

“Bucky,” you start with a hoarse voice as you climb out of your warm bed and quickly throw on the clothes he picked for you, “who the fuck is after you?”

He takes his time to answer, pulling two fully packed backpacks from the corner of your room that you surprisingly didn’t know he hid there. Oh, this man is going to get an ear full about this bullshit.

“Some weird underground cartel that deals in tech or something,” he grumbles and throws you a pack. You are nearly too slow to catch it before you sling it onto your back. You gape at him after his answer and his face stays solemn as he pushes a hand gun into your hands. “Let’s go.”

“Bucky.”

He stops and turns to you fully. “It’s bad, okay? I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.”

He groans out your name, peeking outside while he impatiently chews on his lip. “Don’t do this right now. You can be pissed at me later!”

“I will be pissed at you now,” you seethe, “and later. How about that?!”

He sighs and then grabs your arm, giving you a boyish grin before shooting two bullets through your window, breaking the glass, slinging an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him and jumping out of the fucking window with you clinging to him. It’s only when you fly about five stories down, that you realise the two of you are attached to a bungee rope that eases your descent. His feet touch the ground first, yours following. He cuts the rope and grabs your hand before he starts running towards the parking lot beneath your building.

“Bucky, you piece of shit!” you yell at him as you run, hearing the faint sound of gun fire behind you over the sound of your ragged breathing.

“I’ll make it up to you!” he simply yells back.

You can hear the smile in his voice. And the worst thing? You feel yourself smiling as well when you realise how easily you’ve slipped back into being his partner in crime.

…

Bucky checks one more time, his gleaming metal hand pulling the sheer curtain aside to peer out onto the dark streets. You hear some shouting coming from outside and still feel your heart pounding, even when you know you have definitely outrun those people coming after you. You hate how out of practice you are. And how much you missed the adrenaline of being on the run with Bucky.

He turns back to you and finds you with your arms crossed, glaring at him. Oh, you know the perfect way to let out this adrenaline. There might be actual steam coming out of your ears.

Bucky cringes and slowly strolls over, already reaching out his hands to use his irresistible charm on you. Like the time he dropped the cake you made one afternoon and tried to make it up to you. Or that time he left some very important documents in one of the buildings he set on fire. Or the time he accidentally deleted your recordings off the TV when you had been looking forward to watching the next episode for two weeks.

However, your burning eyes stop him dead in his tracks and he opens his mouth to say something, then decides against it and closes his mouth again. A second later, he tries again, “Okay. Give it to me.”

You give him a satisfied, albeit sadistic smile, at his willingness to take your scolding and then, you start yelling. You have no idea what words specifically are rolling off your tongue, but your speech starts somewhere during that first meeting in Bucharest, drifts to your entire time together as partners, how you drifted apart, only for him to show up whenever he pleased, and you continue to how he stood at your door a little over a week ago, to him terrorising your happy little life in Germany… To now.

Your voice rises with every instance you tell him about, fire burning in your core and hands flailing to give your story that much more power (even though you couldn’t stop your conviction if you tried). As the grin on his face grows through your rambling, a metal hand pressing to his lips to stop it from showing too much, you burn even brighter with fury.

Then you stop, breathing heavily. You give him a withering look to get him to start speaking up, because let’s be honest, all the two of you really needed was only just a look.

His shoulders slowly stop shaking and he drops his hand, eyes sparkling like a glass of Prosecco in the light. Devious asshole. “I just– I haven’t seen you this alive in a while. It looks fantastic on you.”

You gape at him like a fish and you wonder if the warmth in your face still belongs to your anger. Though you fear it belongs to quite the opposite. Either way, this man certainly knows how to make you passionate. And you realise he knows what you have been trying to do with your fake little life here in Germany.

“I don’t think you–”

“I’m sorry,” he says and steps forward, his large hands cupping your face as he looks down at you with earnest eyes. “I’m sorry for making your life so goddamn miserable. So tell me how to make it up to you.”

And for all the world, you can tell he means it. Can tell that he will do anything to make it up to you. You can almost feel the squeeze of pain in your own heart when you see the disappointment in his eyes after he realises you didn’t enjoy this as much as he had.

But the worst part is, is that you did. You’ve never felt more alive than with him. Never felt more like you. You wouldn’t necessarily call him an adventurer, maybe he is just a magnet for trouble. But whenever you’re with Bucky, you’ll drop anything for him and you’ll burn like an inferno doing so. He makes you into the best version of yourself and he makes you love the parts about yourself that you have been conditioned to feel guilty about.

You sigh, “I don’t know. Never mind.”

He doesn’t let go though and searches your eyes, his own narrowing in suspicion. “I’m going to make it up to you, you know.”

You cross your arms and give him an unimpressed look. “Yeah? How?”

He smirks and your knees weaken. “I could kiss it better.”

“Shameless flirt,” you huff and roll your eyes as an excuse to break his intense stare on you.

“You’re just too proud to admit that my kisses would make you forgive me,” he prods and your eyes snap back to his. He’s right, that is pride surging in your chest to lunge at him.

“You’ve grown too cocky for your own good,” you sneer at him.

“You like it.”

“I assure you, I don’t.”

“Liar.”

“Manipulator.”

He feigns hurt, “Ouch.”

You huff a laugh with a roll of your eyes, “Such a fragile ego.”

He smirks again and you swallow as you fight to look at his lips. So close to your own. “Now you have to kiss me for forgiveness.”

You can’t help but truly laugh this time, your face still safely tucked in his palms and his brows raise with intrigue at the sound of your laughter.

You tell him, “You are so full of shit.”

His smile fades, his eyes large with earnest and all of a sudden, it’s the man standing before you that sat next to you in that Romanian café. Stripped down, bare, rough, and perhaps a bit vulnerable.

“Let me kiss you,” he says in merely a whisper now.

You fight for your life not to falter to that genuine request and the way he said it. “It won’t make me forgive you,” you say softly, but barely hear your own voice over the increased pounding of your heart in your throat.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs. “Just want to kiss you.”

He doesn’t wait for your permission either, because quite frankly, you most likely gave him a look of permission instantly at that request. His soft lips slot over yours and you could’ve never predicted the depraved moan that resounded in the back of your throat as your mouths meet. Your hands instantly slip into his hair as Bucky’s hands slide around your waist to pull you closer, fingers digging into your flesh possessively.

The kiss deepens when his tongue meets yours and he lets out a groan of his own, a sound so addicting that you instinctively tug on his hair to hear it again. The laugh against your lips is rough as he hauls you closer and changes the kiss. Something more desperate and impatient. Something hot and sweaty and slightly messy. You might be walking as Bucky finds something to press you up against or lay you down on, and you almost squawk in surprise as you fall back onto the double, motel bed.

Though before you can say anything else, Bucky is on you again, his mouth demanding and greedy against yours. His hands feel and grab and squeeze every inch of you and you grind your hips upward for his weight. You want his heaviness between your hips and on your stomach and against your chest.

Growing impatient, convinced that Bucky’s brain might no longer be working, you lock your ankles around his hips and pull him down between your legs, sighing a groan of relief at the feeling of him tucked against you so warmly.

“God dammit,” he grunts and gives one luxurious roll of his hips against yours, making you whine as your pulse hammers down in your core.

His mouth grazes against your neck now and you can hardly breathe, panting as if you’ve run a marathon. The pressure between your hips leaves as he moves further down and you buck your hips at the ache he leaves.

“Bucky,” you whimper and look down, heart slamming in your throat at the sight of him. He messily yet gently makes his way down your body. Hands roughly pushing up your shirt as his lips find the plane of your stomach, kissing from your bra, down to your hips that you can’t seem to keep still.

Your body feels so heavy, yet so light without him on top of you and you can’t remember any moment before this kiss. Before five minutes ago. Everything is solidified. Your entire history with him. And Bucky presses a kiss just below your navel that confirms that feeling, his hands peeling off your jeans. That is until he speaks.

“Listen to me,” he orders and you freeze at the sound of him. He’s only sounded like that during missions where either of you might die. So serious and detrimental. “Don’t ever try to build a life without me again.”

“Bucky–”

“No,” he snaps and you close your mouth. “Don’t ever pretend like we don’t exist. Like you and I aren’t supposed to do this shit together, like you are better off without me, like I am better off without you. That’s bullshit.” You give him a questioning look. Where is this coming from? “I’m going to kiss you and you are going to forgive me. And then I am going to kiss you some more.”

He waits then. For you to answer, to process what it is he is saying exactly. It’s a lot of words with a lot of meaning, yet you’re not sure if this is the declaration you didn’t know you were waiting for.

So you speak from your gut and let out a breath, “Finally.”

Bucky smiles at that and surges upward, clearly happy with that intuitive answer. His lips claim yours once again and then you feel his fingers inching up your thigh.

You whine softly against his lips and you feel him smile as his fingers reach your drenched core. Two fingers slip through your folds to explore your wetness and Bucky drops his head into the crook of you neck.

“Finally indeed,” he breathes and slips his middle finger into you, making you whimper and buck your hips.

The stretch against your swollen walls sends an ache through your abdomen that cries out for more. You cannot explain the desperation to have him, to have every empty pit of you filled with his essence. His finger curls up and you throw your head back, making Bucky raise his own head to look at you.

“There?”

You nod frantically and Bucky pushes in another finger, making you tense up around him. He curls that one too and you don’t recognise the sound spilling from your lips. You’re already so fucking full.

As Bucky teasingly darts his thumb over your swollen clit, he traces his tongue over your mouth and you gasp for air at the sensation.

“Bucky, fuck!” you cry and he pushes his mouth to yours in a claiming kiss, his fingers moving faster as his thumb rotates over your clit. You can barely kiss him back, overtaken by pleasure as he pumps his fingers over and over until you can hear your wetness surround his sinful fingers.

It is by far the hottest thing you have ever experienced. So much time has passed and now this beast of a man who tries everything to make you blush with his flirty persona, is bent over you with his fingers peeling your pleasure to the surface like his own fucking release depends on it.

His chest is heaving from watching you, brows pulled together, eyes dark as they rake over you hungrily, muscles flexing as his hand disappears between your legs.

His leg slips beneath your knee and pulls your leg up to finger you in a different angle and your nails bury themselves in the muscles of Bucky’s neck, abdomen flexing at the wave of pleasure that courses through you. “More. Oh my God, more!”

“I know, I can feel it,” he grunts and slows his fingers. “But I’ve waited ages for this. I refuse to let it be over so soon.”

Your brain is nothing but cinders and you shake your head violently, “No! No, please. You can have everything, just let me come. Please.”

Bucky pecks your lips. Once. Twice.

“You want to come all over my hand, pretty girl?” he murmurs in your ear and you can only gasp at the press of his fingers against your spot. “Can I lick you up after?”

You clench around him like a vice, his low voice making you drip onto his palm, his words incinerating what is left of your pride. You can only nod, so you do. And his hand starts moving again. Faster, deeper, more thorough. You keep nodding, your moans raising, your pleasure retreating like a snake ready to strike. Oh God, oh God, oh God–

“Come.”

Your hips fly to the ceiling when you come, thighs trembling and closing around his hand. Bucky keeps moving and thrusting and curling until he has wrung all of your pleasure from your body and you feel like you’re made of jelly. Your voice is hoarse from yelling your release and the sheets below are drenched with your desire.

Soft kisses are pressed to your face and that is how you return from whatever plane of existence you went to. His gentle laugh makes you shiver and you open your eyes to find him licking his fingers like there is caramel dripping from them. You swallow hard and zero in on that action, making his eyes sparkle.

But something changes when you reach up to stroke his hair and his eyes flutter. Your eyes rove over his face in admiration and your entire soul sighs at the sight of him. Bucky looks down at you curiously and cocks his head.

“What is it?” he asks and you chew your lip, trying to find the words.

“You and me, huh?” you murmur with something like wonder in your voice. Bucky can only nod. You continue, “Who would’ve thought…”

Bucky leans down and kisses you. Soft, slow, deep. It makes your body sing. And he shuffles back to make himself at home between your legs. Though as he does that, he remains his focus on kissing you. Deeper, more, desperate. Depraved. He moans and breathes and you swear you hear him whimper, his hips grinding over your oversensitive cunt as he gets lost in kissing you.

Raking your nails over his scalp, you once again wrap your legs around his hips and pull him down. And if Bucky hadn’t snapped his leash just yet, this does it. He turns wild and passionate and heavy. One hand of his and one hand of your own both reach down, messily working together to get rid of his jeans. He shimmies out of them, not bothering to get rid of them entirely, but bothering to at least take off his shirt.

Your fingers drag down his pecks and abdomen, trying to memorise every curve and edge with what little brain capacity you have left. You feel like no more than a flame, no more than passion and want and need. And when Bucky slides his bare cock through your folds to slicken himself, you shudder so violently, your breath shudders with it.

“Woman, you are going to kill me,” he breathes and nips at your lips.

You almost growl with impatience, “Then fuck me and die already.”

He laughs, bold and happy, before thrusting into you in a long stroke. Home. Oh fuck, he’s home. Both of you freeze, taking in the moment of being fused together before he slowly pulls out and out and out. And sliding back in with an agonizing thrust.

Something in you clicks. Something so vital, so necessary. And Bucky feels it too.

“Yes,” he groans and presses another kiss to your lips, like he can’t get enough. “This is it.”

You nod and close your eyes in pleasure. In relief. You shudder with emotion and clamp onto him. Bucky keeps pressing kisses to your skin. Your neck, your lips, your cheek, temple, forehead.

“This is it,” you choke out and Bucky smiles. “You’re it.”

Bucky breathes a sigh, as if he’s been waiting ages for you to admit it. “Finally.”

Infinity War.

Biting your lip and bouncing your leg, you try to let the rumble of the swift jet calm your nerves. Your eyes search the cabin and go over the confusing screens for the thousandth time.

“Nervous?” Natasha’s sensual voice sounds next to you and you force a smile.

“Why would I be nervous?” you ask and smirk at her. “We’re only stepping into a war with the probability of us winning being like…” Zero? Less than zero? You sigh, “I don’t want to think about that.”

She bites back her own smirk and raises her eyebrows. “Wasn’t talking about the war. Are you nervous about seeing him?”

Bucky.

You glare at her after quickly glancing around to see if anyone heard her, making Natasha try even harder to hold back a smile.

Yes, you were nervous to see him. So much had happened. So many aspects of your spy work had suddenly intermingled and now you are fighting along with the Avengers. Even after you were sure they had torn themselves apart over Bucky. Being caught in the middle of that had put you and Bucky’s relationship –if you could even call it that– so far to the back of both your minds, you barely had time to mention it to anyone until Steve shipped him off to Wakanda to get some real help.

You and Bucky were over before it even started and you think that maybe it’s for the better. Neither you nor Bucky are any good at that relationship shit anyway. It showed over and over.

Luckily enough, you’d found plenty of distraction being on the run with Sam, Natasha and Steve. No Bucky in sight, but knowing he was safe and taken care of. Private mission after mission with other people you cared about, people who didn’t know about you and Bucky, one of them eager to forget about Bucky himself.

You barely gave it any thought.

Except you thought of Bucky every day.

And now you get to see him again. However, if any time would make you reconsider any commitment at all, it would be now.

“No,” you answer and then turn serious. “I mean, I was. But now I’m just preparing myself for either grief, or death.”

“Are those our only options?” she asks with a displeased frown. “Why not prepare for victory or somethin’?”

Giving her a long and hard stare, you sigh deeply. “Yeah. You’re right. If I die, I might as well die hopeful.”

“That’s my girl,” she grins and you bump her shoulder with yours, finding your own smile breaking through.

That’s when Steve gives Sam the coordinates to fly through a barrier and show you the hidden – and beautiful – kingdom of Wakanda. So you ignore every jittery feeling you have in your stomach at possibly seeing Barnes again, and you channel it all into hope.

…

Natasha strokes her hand over your shoulder as you walk up to king T’Challa, who’s flanked by his closest guard and a palace that screams to get you on your knees to worship. You barely hear the conversation the king has with Steve, partly because you’re still in awe of the beautiful place around you.

Now this, this is a refuge.

“How are we lookin’?” Natasha asks from next to you and that’s when you start to pay attention. You’d need a hell of a lot of man-power to win this.

“You will have my Kings Guard,” T’Challa starts, “the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and…”

“A semi-stable hundred-year-old man,” finishes a voice that makes your entire system dysregulate. Oh God, it’s been so long since you’ve heard the warm timber of that voice.

You notice your hands have started shaking and clutch them behind your back, squeezing courage out of them to face your past, as Bucky Barnes walks up to hug Captain America.

“How’ve you been, Buck?” Steve asks and Bucky answers with a heart-stopping smile.

“Uh, not bad,” he answers, “for the end of the world.”

They share another warm look before Steve turns to everyone behind him and then to the king, “Should we prepare?”

A few minutes later, you’re following the king inside with all of his closest guards and your own team, which now includes Bucky. Focusing your eyes on everything around you, you barely notice the large hand slipping around your elbow and pulling you into another hallway.

You know better than to scream for help and you use the momentum to swing the person around and pin them to the nearest wall with a knife to their throat. But the air rushes from you when you stand face to face with Bucky.

“There she is,” he grins and slowly raises his hands in surrender.

You back away slowly and look at him like a gaping fish, your insides pounding and swirling and thrashing as your body heats with adrenaline. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

“New arm?” you ask him, your voice coming out surprisingly steady, and he glances at the appendage, flexing his hand between your faces.

“Yeah, you like it?” he asks and he almost sounds like a young boy, genuinely interested in what you think of it, of him.

And you calm. Everything inside of you settles and the heat turns to warmth. Your insides seem to melt with relief and you throw your arms around his neck, almost tipping over until Bucky’s arms automatically slide around your waist to pull your pliant body tightly against his. He’s so big and strong and warm.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he laughs softly and one hand starts to stroke your hair gently as you huff out a sob into his neck. “Oh, sweet girl. You’ve never been sad to see me before.”

You finally pull back and cup his face as he lets you survey him closely, him grinning widely at the worry in your every feature. You breathe, “You’re good. You’re safe.”

He nods and takes your hands, pressing a kiss to your palm. “So are you,” he whispers and you nod.

“Not for long,” you add, deflated.

He gives you a sad smile. “Now, who would we be if we didn’t go down fighting, hm?”

You smile slightly at that. “Back on the same team.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips and the planet stops turning.

“Finally.”

The Blip.

Another knock sounds and you roll your eyes, throwing on a quick cardigan as you hop over to your door. Unusual, for your quiet, lonely evenings to get interrupted like this. You’re ready to cash in what you can only assume is some complaining neighbour or your awful land lord when you open the door and are met with a familiar face that makes your heart squeeze together.

“Steve,” you breathe.

“Hey.”

You step aside to let him in and take a deep breath.

“Want something to drink?” you ask as you close the door behind him and let him venture into your home. Or, whatever you have tried to turn into your home. It had never been more than the latest home trends and some empty picture frames.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I found you?” he asks and you get a feeling of déjà vu.

But you shake your head with a forced smile, “I left a trace for Natasha to track for emergencies. I know how you found me.” You give him a pointed look and Steve actually has the decency to look slightly apologetic.

That look tells you enough about how much of an emergency this is and you wonder what prompted Natasha to decipher your code and hand your location to the Captain. Maybe he was the one breaking and could use a familiar face. Maybe something turned him awfully worried about you. Maybe-

No.

“Aren’t you mad that Natasha told me?” he asks unsurely and you give him a tight-lipped smile, taking a seat in one of your dining table chairs and ushering for him to do so as well.

“Would you believe me if I said that it’s actually quite nice to see a familiar face after five pretty lonely years?” you refute and he gives you a warm smile.

“It’s good to see you, too, Kid.”

A comfortable silence settles between you two and you fidget with your hands, staring at them intently before raising your face back to Steve. “Why are you here, Cap?”

He lets out a long sigh. “Ever since the Blip,” he starts and you can feel him debating whether to continue, “I never– I didn’t get to tell you how sorry I am about Bucky.”

You freeze and slowly turn your gaze to him. “Okay. Now I am pissed at her.”

“Natasha didn’t tell me,” he quickly assures and you raise a brow at him. “He did.”

You fall quiet at that. “Bucky told you about…”

“What,” he laughs. “Didn’t think you two were serious enough for him to tell his best friend about it?”

You reply with a humourless laugh of your own. “He um– He wasn’t a very committing guy. And I don’t blame him. Why commit to something if you might lose everything all over again?”

The pity in Steve’s gaze feels burning to your skin. “Well, if you’re that scared of losing something, it might be worth committing to,” he says and you find yourself agreeing with the wise bastard.

“Well, I committed and look where I am now,” you huff. “Turns out, he was right all along.”

“Kid–”

“Why are you here, Cap?” you try again, all of a sudden too eager to get rid of him.

It takes a while for him to answer and dread settles low in your belly. When he starts talking, you’ve already started shaking your head. “We have found a way to bring them all back.”

You still. And you stay like that. Seconds. Minutes. Maybe another five years have passed.

“Did you hear what I said?” he tries.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. We figured out a way. Time travel.”

You bark a laugh and give him a pointed glare. However, your vision is already slightly impaired by the tears pooling at your waterline. “Don’t,” you stop him before he continues elaborating. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about this in the past five years? That you, or Nat, or even Tony fucking Stark himself would stand at my door and tell me we figured it out? About a million times, Cap. And the more normal this delusional scenario became in my head, the more absurd it seemed to be. And now, you expect me to just believe that nearly five years on the dot, you have figured out a way to return everything to normal?!”

Steve can take it, the sudden outburst of your disbelief. He has definitely encountered a whole lot more scepticism in his life. But his heart breaks a little for you. Bucky had tried to be so casual when he finally told Steve about you, but Steve had caught the sparkle in those hundred-year-old eyes and he couldn’t describe the relief of Bucky having found someone, let alone you.

But now, to see you so far removed from Bucky – from hope. He hates it.

“I waited,” he almost whispers. “Until I was completely sure. We need you for this.”

You blink away your tears and one rolls down your cheek. Steve quickly reaches to catch it and cups your face. A touch normally so very unwelcome, but now you cannot help but bury your face in his palm.

“You’re sure?” you ask, voice breaking.

Steve pulls you in and up to his chest, engulfing you in a tight hug. “Time to bring our best friend back, Kid.”

Time Travel.

You cannot help but smile when you see the handsome brainiac hunched over a laptop near some high-tech stage that you can’t seem to look at too long without talking yourself out of this.

“Hey, Tony,” you say quietly as you walk up and his brown eyes light up when he hears your voice. Stepping away from the screen, he opens his arms wide and pulls you into a tight hug. Another comfortable embrace that you can only breathe in and cherish.

“My favourite spy,” he murmurs and pulls back.

“How are you doing?” you ask him.

He gives you a knowing look. “Oh, you know. Good. Until he showed up,” he sneers with a pointed look at Steve, who simply rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he has a way of interrupting peace.”

Tony snorts. “Now that, is what I call a paradox.”

You laugh and pat his shoulder, “Pepper and Morgan?”

“They’re wonderful.” He grins, but you can see the fear shining in his eyes and you give his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Thank you for doing this, Tony.”

He smirks in answer. “I swear, if you and Barnes don’t openly kiss after all I am about to sacrifice, I will find the stones and undo both of your existences.”

You shoot a thunderous glare to Steve, and to Natasha who is walking up behind the Captain. But Tony stops you before you can scold them on their horrible secret-keeping skills, “Pepper told me.”

You grit your teeth.

The Avengers are a bunch of gossips.

The Endgame.

You stumble backward, your sprained ankle and broken ribs somehow only a faint ache over the sight before you. You almost trip over debris, or a body, or just air and you keep blinking to see better or to make it all go away, you don’t know.

He did it. Tony did it. You’re sure you can still feel the snap of his fingers vibrate through your spine. And there he is. Slumped against more debris, half of his face cracked like burnt coal, his suit barely reflecting its original colours. The blue light at the centre of his chest is fading, shuttering and then… it goes dark. With Pepper’s hand over it.

Your own hand barely muffles the sob trying to break through and you stumble over and over again as you back away from that horrible, awful reality. He did it. But at what cost?

You turn around and start jogging. How? You’re not sure. Your body is in no state to hurry. But it’s incomplete. You were barely strong or extraordinary enough to be of any help during the fight, but you tried your best. Helping people in the field, some war medic patching up gushing wounds. You’d cashed some punches and kicks yourself. Dealt them, too.

It was all because you needed to be there. Because you needed to stay alive. Needed to stick around to see him again. And now… Now… You barely survived this, barely made it through. And Tony died. Tony Stark. The chance of him still being out there-

You start running faster. Hobbling and grunting from the pain.

“Bucky,” you voice is raw and frantic, it’s barely a sound as you cry out for him. “Bucky! Bucky!”

Head swinging from side to side, you hope the soldier reveals himself from behind one of the plumes of smoke. Further and further away, you flee from the horrifying scene of whatever is left after Thanos. You need to find him, but you can’t identify anything on this war ground.

If he’s dead. If Bucky is dead–

Your head whips around so fast, your neck might crack, when you’re sure you hear your name. Everything about you goes quiet and you hold your breath like it will make any difference. Slowly, you walk in the direction where you assume the sound came from, but you almost cringe at the idea that you might just be going insane. After all those explosions, your hearing can’t possibly be this sharp.

Though perhaps intuition is at play here, because you’ve always been able to feel him. Always knew it when it was him waiting up for you, or looking for you, or needing you.

“Bucky,” you croak again.

“Here…” It’s so quiet. But you hear it over everything else and follow the echo of the sound.

“Bucky,” you rasp out. “I’m coming!”

And there he is. On hands and knees, struggling to get up. You can only describe your approach as a dive, as you clash onto your wobbly knees and wrap your arms around him. His body instantly stops struggling and falls into your rib cage.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.

“Yeah,” he groans. “’M right here.”

You had no idea you were sobbing it to him, but you don’t care as your hands grapple for a better hold of him. He does the same until both of you are kneeling in front of each other, cupping each others’ faces to check for injuries.

“You look pretty all roughed up,” he mutters and you smile through your tears.

“You look awful,” you reply and he chuckles before pulling you into his chest. “But you’re home.”

He shudders and you might actually hear him let out a sob of his own as he tightens his grip on you.

“Finally.”

#SLOW BURNNNN #I looove their dynamic okay #lots of dialogue which we all love #some action and fluff and passion adn efgedksbf i love them ok?! #PLease tell me what you think and if this is maybe too long... #it's a bit intimidating i get that but it's an easy read i promise #ok i love you guys #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #writing #bucky barnes fluff