#(again. could just be because I’m a girl)

[cumironi]

HII!!! the fic where they realize you like praise is TOOOO good! i was wondering if you could do a sort of part two but where they realize you like being degraded instead of praised? 🫶🫶

ARE YOU A FILTHY GIRL? jjk men.

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

summary. “he calls you his good girl, then his whore.” seems like your boyfriend couldn’t even decide what you really are, no? even after they know about you and the whole degrading things? will they ruin your life after that discovery? oh, definitely.

warning. non-sorcerer! jjk au, college au!, 23 you & 31 them, degrading kink, praise kink, filthy, some of them are so meannn, hair-pulling,

GOJO SATORU

the sheets are a mess. the air is thick with heat, musk, and the obscene sound of skin slapping skin. you can’t even tell what time it is anymore — not that it matters. satoru’s late-night visits always have a way of warping time, bending reality until the only thing that exists is you beneath him, delirious, overstimulated, and stupidly in love.

he’s still in his dress shirt, unbuttoned just enough for you to see the tattoo on his chest (it’s stupid. it says limitless, because of course it does). the tie is hanging off his neck like it’s purely ornamental, swinging as he fucks into you like he’s trying to make you forget your name.

"mmh—look at you, baby," he pants, eyes bright with sweat and sin, his lips wet from where he kissed down your stomach just minutes ago. "so pretty when you’re ruined like this. my sweet college girl, letting her old man fuck her brains out between classes.”

“you’re not old,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back. “just—just a pervert—”

“correction,” he huffs a laugh. “i’m your pervert. certified, licensed, and addicted to the way you moan my name like it’s your fucking major.”

his pace slows for just a moment, giving you that signature smirk. the one that always gets you in trouble. the one that says i know something you don’t.

“god,” he groans, rolling his hips deeper, letting your whimper melt into the air. “you’re so fucking good like this. eyes all glassy, mouth open, like a good little—”

you moan, louder than you meant to.

he freezes.

“…wait.”

your breath hitches.

he blinks. leans in real close.

“do that again,” he whispers. “what did you just react to, sweetheart?”

your face burns. “i—I didn’t—”

"no no no," he grins like a shark with a credit score of 850. "don’t get shy on me now. that sound you made? the whiny little oh satoru please ruin me noise? yeah, that wasn’t just because of the angle, was it?"

“satoru—”

he pulls his cock out.

you make a noise of protest — a whimper, a whine, a borderline sob — and he raises a perfect white brow.

“look at you. desperate already?” he hums. “and here i thought you liked being treated like my precious little angel. but now…”

he runs two fingers down your spit-slick chin, thumbing your bottom lip as his tone drops to something dark and thrilling.

“…now i’m wondering if my baby likes being treated like a dumb little fucktoy instead.”

your thighs twitch. your eyes roll back just slightly.

he laughs. oh, he fucking laughs.

“no way.”

“shut up—”

“no fucking way. you’re telling me…” he leans down, pressing a filthy kiss to your lips, “…you’ve been getting off on me being a little mean to you this whole time?”

his voice is pure sin now. a low rasp in your ear as he slides his cock back in, slow and deep and deliberate.

“you like when i call you a dumb slut, huh? when i make fun of you for being all brain-dead and cockdrunk on a school night?” he groans, moving faster again. “fuck. no wonder you tighten up every time i tease you. you’ve been hiding this from me?”

you nod, barely able to think, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“god, that’s why you blush so hard when i tell you to shut up and drool. i thought you were just shy—no, you were getting off on it.”

he presses his forehead to yours, eyes wild and affectionate and unhinged.

“baby,” he whispers sweetly. “you’re so fucked in the head. and i love that for us.”

you whimper his name, breath hitching, and he slams into you harder, making the headboard crack against the wall.

“you’re my stupid baby, aren’t you?” he groans. “my filthy girl with her brain between her legs—”

your whole body trembles. he can feel it.

"oh fuck, you came on that?" he groans. “jesus. i didn’t know i was dating such a nasty girl. i’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

and yet — for all the filth and teasing and dirty, obscene words — he kisses you like you’re made of stars. he holds you close like you’re the most important thing in the world.

“my dumb little angel,” he murmurs against your lips, heart hammering against yours. “mine. only mine. gonna keep you all fucked out and smiling forever.”

GETO SUGURU

“look at you,” he sneers above you, hand fisted in your hair, making you arch back. “acting like a needy little bitch in heat the second i call you a slut.”

you’re moaning, gasping, incoherent — barely hanging on to the frayed edge of your sanity. and he’s not even giving you a break. not slowing down, not letting up, not giving you one second to recover.

because he knows now.

he knows.

you like it when he’s mean.

“so that’s what gets you off,” he growls, slapping your cheek with a sharp little tap, just enough to make you blink and whimper. “not my sweet words, not the nice shit i say to make you feel loved. no. you wanna be put in your fucking place, don’t you?”

he laughs. it’s low. cruel.

“you’re disgusting.”

his cock slams back in. deep. hard. like he’s trying to make you feel it in your throat.

you sob, a broken moan twisting into something animal.

“you like this,” he bites out, hand gripping your jaw to force you to look at him. “fuck. you’re dripping down your thighs, making a goddamn mess of my sheets. and for what? getting called a dumb little fucktoy?”

you nod. you nod. you’re too far gone to pretend anymore.

“you’re unbelievable,” he groans, voice rough with heat and hunger. “i’ve been treating you like a fucking goddess. and the whole time? this is what you wanted? to be used? to be broken down and ruined?”

he slaps your thigh, grinning when you jolt.

“go on, tell me what you are.”

you hesitate, panting, teary-eyed. and that pisses him off.

“say it.”

his hand wraps around your throat, his hips never missing a beat. he’s fucking you fast now — brutal, relentless, like he wants you hoarse and mindless by the end of this.

“say it, or i’ll stop right now.”

“i’m your—your dumb little whore,” you sob out. “fuck, suguru—i’m your fucktoy—!”

he moans. actually moans. like he just got handed the key to his own personal heaven.

“that’s right. my dumb little slut. no thoughts in that pretty head except cock and cum. pathetic.”

he spits on your chest. drags two fingers through it, then shoves them in your mouth.

“suck. maybe if you’re good, i’ll let you come.”

you do. immediately. desperate. like the perfect little pet he just unlocked.

he watches you with dark, gleaming eyes, like he’s thrilled by the monster he’s unleashed.

“you think i’m ever gonna be gentle with you again?” he breathes, mouth brushing your ear. “you think i’m gonna let you forget this?”

another thrust, hard enough to knock the wind from your lungs.

“nah, baby. you’re fucked now. you just told me exactly what you are.”

he grabs your face, forces your eyes up to his.

“and now you’re mine to break.”

NANAMI KENTO

“you were so proud of yourself earlier.”

his voice is calm. deadly calm. too calm for the way he’s got you bent over his kitchen counter, pants bunched at your knees, panties torn and hanging off one thigh. his belt’s undone, hanging from one hand. his other hand? buried in your hair, gripping tight.

“you walked in here all smug, all talk—acting like you’re some well-behaved little student who knows everything.”

he yanks your head back just a little, just enough to make your back arch.

“and now look at you.”

he slaps your ass once, loud and sharp, just to hear the sound of it echo off the marble.

you moan.

and that’s when he knows.

“…you liked that.”

you freeze.

and nanami, ever the gentleman, laughs—slow and dangerous.

“oh. i see now.” he tsks, voice low, amused and cruel. “so that’s what this is. you pretend to be my sweet, smart girl—taking notes, asking questions, playing innocent. but the moment i get you alone, all you want is to be treated like a brainless fuckdoll.”

your cheeks burn. you try to shake your head, to explain—but your mouth won’t work.

nanami chuckles.

“don’t try to deny it. i’ve been fucking you for almost a year. and not once have you sounded like this.”

he leans in, presses his lips to your ear.

“you want me to talk down to you. degrade you.”

he grabs your jaw, turns your face to look at him over your shoulder.

“say it.”

you squirm, gasping, dripping onto his cock that’s barely pressed between your thighs.

“s-say what—?”

his grip tightens. “say what you are.”

“i’m—” you hesitate. but he waits, patient and devastating.

“i’m your dumb little fucktoy,” you whisper.

he groans, low and broken. “god. you really are disgusting.”

his cock slides in without warning, thick and deep, and you cry out so loud it makes your knees buckle.

“is this what you wanted?” he snarls against your neck. “to be bent over like a filthy little whore, drooling on my counter, so cockdrunk you can’t even remember your own name?”

you’re sobbing. nodding. cumming—maybe. you don’t even know anymore.

“pathetic,” he breathes, thrusting into you harder, faster, one hand on your hip, the other around your throat. “all that education, all that ambition—and this is what you really want. to be treated like trash. like nothing more than a wet, willing hole for me to use.”

you moan at every word. filthy. desperate.

and then he softens. just a little. lips brushing your temple, his voice like velvet over razors.

“don’t worry, darling.”

he kisses your cheek. tender. almost cruel in its contrast.

“if that’s what you want…”

he pulls your head back again, growling against your jaw.

“then that’s what i’ll give you.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“fuckin’ knew it,” toji laughs, dragging your panties down your thighs with one hand while the other shoves you down flat into his mattress. “knew from the second you started giving me attitude you were all bark and no bite. nothin’ but a needy little slut underneath.”

he watches you struggle — watches you try to act tough while your legs shake and your soaked cunt practically begs for his cock. he’s grinning like the smug bastard he is.

“mm? where’s that sass now, princess?”

you whimper.

wrong answer.

he slaps your ass, hard, making your whole body jerk forward.

“use your words.”

“i-i’m your slut,” you gasp, voice trembling. “please—”

he cuts you off with a sharp tug of your hair, dragging your head back to make you look at him. “oh, no. no, no, no. don’t go beggin’ now. you’ve been mouthing off for weeks. actin’ like you’re too good for me.”

he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, slow, teasing, not pushing in just yet.

“but you dress like that around me? bend over every chance you get? call me ‘mr. fushiguro’ in that sweet little voice like you don’t know exactly what you’re doin’?”

he slaps your ass again.

“you wanted this, didn’t you?”

you nod, choking on a sob. “yes, sir—”

he fucking moans.

“ohh. sir, huh? god, you’re disgusting.”

he finally pushes in. one deep, thick stroke that makes your whole world shatter. and then another. and another. ruthless. like he’s trying to fuck the brat right out of you.

“you hear yourself?” he grits out, fucking you hard enough to bounce the bed. “making all these pathetic little sounds like a dog in heat. bet your professors would love to hear what kind of slut their top student really is.”

you sob into the sheets.

“don’t cry now,” he smirks, leaning in close to growl against your ear. “you wanted to be used, right? wanted me to ruin you?”

his hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

“wanted to be nothing but a dumb little hole for me to fuck whenever i want.”

he’s grinning. cruel, condescending, eyes gleaming with heat.

“well, sweetheart—congrats.”

another brutal thrust.

“you got it.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

“you like that?”

his voice is low. dark. teasing.

you’re on your knees, drool smeared down your chin, eyes glassy, lip trembling as you look up at him. your clothes are somewhere behind you, discarded in the haze of him manhandling you onto the bed like a toy. his cock is resting against your cheek, thick and twitching, the skin flushed. and you’re already a mess.

but that grin—

that wicked, sharp-toothed, smug fucking grin stretches across his face when he sees the way your thighs press together from just that one sentence.

“ohhh,” he laughs, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. “so that’s what it is.”

you flinch.

he grips your chin, hard, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“all this time, you acted like you were scared of me. like you were just some shy little college girl who didn’t know what she was doing.”

he leans in, mouth by your ear.

“but deep down—you’re just a filthy, depraved little fucktoy, aren’t you?”

you whimper. your thighs tremble.

his smile widens. cruel.

“look at you. shaking. moaning. fuck—your cunt’s probably soaked already, isn’t it?”

he shoves you backward without warning, watches you fall against the bed, spread out and breathless. he drags his cock along your folds, not even pushing in, just letting it sit there—heavy and taunting.

“you like being talked down to? degraded? used like a worthless little hole?”

you nod quickly, like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

“then open your fucking mouth and beg for it.”

your lips part—eager, desperate.

but he pauses.

“no. wait. i changed my mind.”

you blink, confused, until you hear him laugh again, darker this time.

“i’m not gonna fuck your mouth, princess. not yet.”

his cock slams into you in one brutal thrust and your scream is instant.

“i want you to feel it when i ruin you.”

his pace is unrelenting. his grip on your hips? bruising. and his words?

they never stop.

“you really thought someone like me would take it easy on you? someone like you? you’re nothing but a dumb little plaything. just a wet hole for me to use whenever i feel like it.”

he leans over you, one hand around your throat, the other pressing your knees up against your chest.

“say thank you.”

you’re barely coherent. moaning. gasping. totally gone.

he slaps your thigh. “i said say it.”

“t-thank you—thank you, sukuna—!”

he laughs, proud and cruel, kissing your temple with mock sweetness.

“that’s my good little fuckdoll.”

SHIU KONG

you’re bent over his desk, face pressed against cold wood, wrists pinned behind your back with one of his silk ties.

your thighs are trembling. lips parted. eyes glazed.

his cock is buried inside you, deep and slow, dragging along every sensitive inch until you’re whimpering from just the stretch.

and he’s still dressed.

not even a button undone.

just his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened—like this is just another part of his shift.

“you’re lucky i’m even touching you,” he says coolly, glancing down at the wet ring your cunt’s leaving on his cock. “filthy little dropout like you.”

you whimper. he laughs—mean.

“you think any real man would keep you? spoiled brat with a mouth that won’t shut and a cunt that clenches when i call her a fucking toy?”

he leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“that’s what you are. a toy.”

his hips roll, slow and grinding, and your moan catches in your throat.

“a warm, wet, stupid little thing i use between meetings.”

his hand slips down, fingers flicking over your clit once—twice—and you sob, hips twitching.

“oh?” he coos mockingly. “are you close already? pathetic. i’ve barely done anything.”

and you’re gasping, begging under your breath, “please, please, please—”

he cuts you off with a sharp slap to your ass.

“what did i say about whining in my office?”

you go quiet, biting your lip.

“good girl.”

he slams into you—once, twice, hard—and you wail.

“you should be grateful,” he growls. “i could’ve left you dripping and untouched. instead, i’m wasting my time fucking you through the desk like some cheap little fuckdoll.”

he leans back just enough to see your reflection in the glass cabinet ahead. the way your mascara’s smudging, your mouth falling open with every thrust, your body wrecked and desperate and completely his.

he grabs your face, turns it toward your own reflection.

“look at yourself.”

you do—and you whimper.

“look at what i’ve turned you into.”

he grins, low and dangerous.

“and say thank you.”

you moan. “thank you, shiu—thank you—!”

his breath hitches.

“that’s right.”

his hand closes over your throat again.

“now take it.”

and he fucks you so deep, so rough, you’ll be limping back to campus in his spare dress shirt because your clothes are ripped to shreds.

HIGURUMA HIROMI

he’s always been so polite.

held your hand across the table, remembered your coffee order, adjusted your jacket when it slipped off your shoulder. he’s older, calm, grounded—your quiet man in the storm of your busy, chaotic little college life.

but not now.

not when he has you sprawled out on the soft leather couch in his office, legs over his shoulders, face flushed, breath ragged, hands trembling as you cling to the lapels of his suit jacket—like you can hold on to any sense of composure when he’s pounding into you.

“what did you say?” he asks, breathless, low, eyes burning into yours.

you can’t even remember what you said. everything’s fuzzy. everything’s hot.

he slows, hips dragging back, his cock sliding against every hypersensitive inch of your soaked, fluttering cunt.

“you said you were nothing, didn’t you?”

you flinch.

“that you like being talked to like you’re beneath me?”

your lips part—barely a nod—and his jaw clenches.

“fuck.”

his pace shifts, rougher now. mean. and it’s like something in him shatters—all that calm gone, replaced by low, filthy groans and sharp thrusts that make you scream.

“you want to be treated like a good girl?” he pants, hand curling under your thigh, keeping you wide open.

you nod, whining.

“then why are you dripping like a whore when i call you worthless?”

your whole body jerks at that word. he notices.

and now you’re done for.

his grip tightens. his voice drops to a gravelly whisper against your ear:

“you like that? being called a whore?”

you gasp, clutching his sleeves.

“my sweet little honors student,” he snarls. “always so smart. so well-behaved. and yet here you are, soaking my cock just because i called you fucking pathetic.”

his hand snakes down, fingers circling your clit.

“you’re disgusting.”

you clench around him and he groans.

“god. you really like that. my perfect little doll’s a filthy, degrading-obsessed slut.”

he leans in close, mouth hovering over yours.

“say it.”

you blink up at him, dazed.

“say what you are.”

you whisper it, shameful, breathless.

“…i’m a slut.”

he smiles—mean, but affectionate. a kiss drops to your cheek.

“good girl.”

and then?

he ruins you.

[cathnospam]

Showers with Katsuki are almost always domestic until it’s not and it’s your fault.

Your blondie is actually very comfortable in his skin with you, he doesn’t mind walking around in your room naked even if it’s to grab the towel he definitely left on your bed on purpose in front of you.

You’ve seen his dick so much you could practically draw it from memory.

But the main reason you’ve seen him naked so many times is because you and him almost always take a shower together.

“C’mon.” Is all he says when he takes your hand into the misty bathroom, shower already on scalding hot just how you both love it.

It’s giggling and scrubbing until it’s your turn to scrub him.

“Turn around, boo.” You tap his shoulder, he does so, trying to relax his body, but also flexing in the process. His back was such a sight to see.

He’s gotten so much bigger since graduating and his just can’t get any smaller, you can’t help but your bite your lips when your eyes lock onto his body.

Especially his very cute ass you really wanna poke, but you’d probably get cussed out in German.

Almost worth it.

Instead you scrub him, humming and throwing up compliments that makes him blush everytime.

“Shut up.”

“What I’m just saying…I’m happy you’re all mine. A girl can’t appreciate her man?”

“Yeah yeah. Right here too.” He points at his other shoulder blade, you get in your tippy toes to reach and leave a kiss on his ear, your cold soft lips dragged a chill down his spine, it was practically a warning sign for what’s to be asked next of him.

And he didn’t mind it even if he acted like he did.

“C’mon…” His voice has no bark in it, almost as if he’s being sarcastic, “We have to be up in the morning, N/N.”

“I know i just…” You puncture every other word with a kiss, your slippery soapy hands exploring his abs from the front, “Wanna make you feel good.”

Your words dripping with lust like honey, your hands do most of the speaking when you take hold of his soft shaft and stroke up to under his tip to down to cup his balls. You knew he was sensitive there, you giggle a kiss on his back again when he grunts.

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“Uh huh.” Brushing his comment off, you already knew you had him, so you pick up the pace, one hand on his dick the other massaging his balls made him lean in the cold tile shower wall with one arm, “Baby—ugh— Y/N!”

Bakugo hates calling you anything other than your name or nickname, but it sometimes slips off the tongue when he’s completely getting lost in your touch, “Ganna—-fucking cum dammit—!”

“Then…” Letting go of him you firmly turn him around to have his back on the wall and he looks down at your figure on your knees, “Do it in my mouth.”

Words could not describe how much he wanted to fuck you silly right now. For you to turn him on this much when he just wanted to take a simple shower and then cuddle in bed with you and talk about your day because he missed you, you just had to turn it into something else.

And he still loved you for it.

You take it slow, holding your breath to slide all 7.5 inches down your mouth, he wasn’t also long, but girthy too. He knew this which is why he didn’t always let you suck his dick, your pretty little mouth shouldn’t be sore because of him…even if it was hot to see your eyes prickle with tears to take him all in.

“Shit.” He threw his hand on his face, the temperature of the water suddenly got hotter and steamier, his hair was down, but reverting back to its natural wavy state feeling how warm and tight your mouth was around him, it was ALMOST as good as fucking you.

Almost.

You felt yourself get more aroused hearing your blondie surprise his moans and whimpers terribly, he hated hearing himself, but you couldn’t get enough, he felt a knot forming in his tummy. Throwing his hand on your scalp he bucks his hips with caution back at you and you let him have at you and take full control.

When he notices you were giving him full access to use you he still never did. He never enjoyed the thought of just using you like a fuck toy even if his body was showing something completely different, he thrusted quickly inside your throat until he held you still, groaning and moaning your name while your hands clawed his thighs, “Fuck!—-“

Bakugo lets go to catch his breath and help you up to kiss you, it was hungry and sloppy, you didn’t even completely finish swallowing all of his semen when he swallowed some of it himself while sucking on your tongue, he didn��t fucking care he just needed to show his appreciation.

And he did when he lifted your legs around his waist, you always seem to be so shocked when your man can pick you up with ease, no matter your weight, and he didn’t mind proving his strength from how he fucked you with hot steamy water hitting your chest and in the bed.

You love showering with Bakugo <3

[all-with-angel]

"𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?"

Summary: In which he says No to you buying something, but it backfires badly (request!)

Including: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna

Content: crack, hurt/comfort, gn!reader

w.c. 500ish each || Masterlist || MDNI.

“Could we get that?”

He followed your gaze, eyes skimming the display before flicking back to you. And then he did something you should've expected.

He shrugged. “Nah.”

Your heart stuttered. “Oh,” you said, blinking once. “Okay. Sorry.” You dropped his hand before continuing to walk forward, not once looking back at display or him, for that matter, as both guilt and shame built up in your chest.

❥ SATORU GOJO

The moment he realized you were actually upset over it, he felt his heart drop out of his ass. He stood there, dumbfounded as he stared at your retreating figure that slumped slightly forward. The sight reminded him of something that he swore would never let happen again- No, he won’t get left behind again.

He raced over to your side. “No, wait- baby, wait, heyheyheyyyy-” His voice pitched up, breathless and rushed. “It was a joke! A prank! I was kidding! Of course we can get it, are you kidding me? You want the whole shelf? I’ll buy the whole store if you want it!”

His heart went wild. His hands fumbled for yours again, touch feather-light like he was afraid you’d pull away for good. He cranked the dramatics to eleven. If he had to dig himself out of this hole with the fluffiest, most excessive display of affection in human history, then so be it.

He spun you towards him, before literally dropping to his knees. In the middle of the mall, in broad daylight, by the way.

“I have made a terrible mistake,” he cried, throwing his arms around your waist and pressing his face into your stomach and sobbing like a man who had just lost everything. “I’M SORRYYYY- PLEASE forgive me. I was blinded by hubris. My arrogance has cost me the love of my life.”

He cried dramatically, much to your horror. You smacked him, panic and embarrassment replacing the insecurity in your chest.

It didn’t stop him though, he continued whining and apologizing- Promising to buy you the entire mall and then some more, which terrified you, because he could. At some point, you just tried walking off in an attempt to get him off of you. It failed, and backfired. Because as you attempted to walk away, he was just dragged across the floor with his arms still wrapped tight around you. He never stopped apologizing, promising grander and grander things every other second.

In the end, you ended up consoling him. You had to reassure him that you were okay now, and that you’d continue to ask him for things again and again. All the while he laid his head on your lap after you two got a very expensive spa date.

“Promise?” He sniffed.

“Yes, Satoru. I promise to ask you for things even if I barely want or need them,” You recited, memorizing the words after repeating them a hundred times over already. “-And I won’t feel bad for spending money with your black card.” The thought of doing that sent a pang of guilt through you, but it didn’t compare to the exasperation you felt after saying it over and over again. Maybe getting spoiled once in a while all the time wasn’t so bad.

❥ SUGURU GETO

He hadn’t expected it to hit you like that- he really hadn’t. It was a joke, a stupid little prank the girls had convinced him to do. They were giggling and nodding along and he couldn’t say no to his girls, now could he? Like a fool.

And his stomach twisted as he watched your expression drop. Suguru wanted to say something, his mouth opening but the words were caught in his throat as he watched you walk away.

“Daaad,” Nanako complained, tugging at his sleeve.

“You made them sad,” Mimiko whispered, her lip jutting out as she stared after you. “That wasn’t funny.”

Suguru blinked, looking down at both of them. Weren’t they the ones who suggested this? “And you didn’t even say it right,” Nanako added dramatically, arms crossed. “You were too serious.”

“Yeah,” Mimiko nodded. “Now you have to fix it.”

Both girls had already rushed ahead to walk beside you, gripping the edge of your coat and pouting up at you like you were the sun and they were clouds desperate to stay close. Little traitors. Now they were talking about how Mean Suguru was and how he’d make up for it.

What further broke his heart was how you reassured the girls, saying that it was fine and you shouldn’t ask for such expensive things so randomly like that. That made the girls pout, glaring back at him as if he put that idea in your head. Okay, maybe he deserved that though. Suguru hated that way of thinking of yours. Hated that for a split second, you thought you had to apologize for wanting something so small.

Luckily, the girls had shown their mercy towards him and started dragging you towards the display you were pointing at, saying that they wanted it too- And that you should match with them.

Suguru had made sure to pay for it immediately, taking your hand in his as he apologized. “You shouldn’t have had to apologize,” he said simply. “I’m sorry, it was a stupid prank.” He glanced towards the girls, who looked away to definitely look at other displays.

His eyes were on yours again, offering a soft but guilty smile. “You never have to earn anything from me. Not affection, not gifts, not a yes. You ask, and if it makes you smile, it’s already mine to give.”

By the end of the day, you were tired. You had walked around the mall for nearly 3 hours straight as the girls dragged you from one shop to the next, each time coming out with more bags than ever. 

None of them were held by you, Suguru had made sure of that. He was carrying a comical amount of bags and whenever you’d try to say something about it- About anything about this being too much, something you didn’t deserve, he’d gently shut it down and he nudged you towards the girls who were already looking at some cute plushies you’d like.

❥ KENTO NANAMI

Nanami realized the mistake the moment your fingers slipped from his.

He hadn’t expected you to let go so easily. Or for your voice to drop so small. He thought you’d laugh- roll your eyes and nudge him, maybe pout a little and say, “C’mon, don’t be stingy.” That’s what he’d expected. What he hadn’t expected was the way your expression shuttered, the way your shoulders stiffened like you were preparing for disappointment.

It had been a joke. A dry one, maybe poorly delivered, but harmless in intent. Just a shrug, a simple “nah” meant to be followed by a small chuckle.

God.

He hated himself a little, right then.

He caught up to you silently, his long strides swallowing the distance in seconds. He called your name softly, gently grabbing your wrist. When you turned to look at him, your face was schooled into something polite and a little too distant. The edges of your mouth tried to rise into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I was joking, darling,” he said softly, finally. “I didn’t mean it.”

Still, you didn’t fully relax. You just gave a small shrug, like it didn’t matter. “It’s fine, I didn’t need it anyway.”

He exhaled, frowning deeply now, before tugging you into the direction the two of you came from. Your eyes widened in panic, immediately repeating that it was fine, that he didn’t need to, that you seriously didn’t need it. It didn’t stop him though, he continued on with you in tow and bought it. When he handed it to you, his gaze softened.

“You never have to apologize for asking for something, especially not with me. I want to give you things. I want you to feel safe asking.”

Before you could open your mouth to go against him, he continued. “You deserve to be spoiled,” He let the item rest in your hands. “I’ll do better next time.”

“It’s yours,” he said, offering it to you without fanfare, but with the quiet weight of sincerity. “And I want you to enjoy it. No guilt. No apologies.”

You sighed, relaxing and holding what you wanted in your hands, wrapped in a paper bag.

Kento Nanami - 1, Your insecurity - 0.

❥ TOJI FUSHIGURO

Toji had done it as a joke. Hell, he’d been messing around with you like this for as long as he could remember, teasing, pulling pranks that always ended with laughter and you rolling your eyes at him. But this? This wasn’t what he’d expected.

He fucked up. He rubbed a hand over his face, cursing under his breath. 

It only took him a moment to catch up with you, his long stride easily closing the gap, but when he reached you, he hesitated. He could tell you weren’t looking for an apology, not really—that would probably only make things worse. You were too polite for that, too considerate to make a big deal out of something like this.

But Toji was never one to let something slide. Not when it involved you.

So now, you found yourself being held hostage cuddled with one arm as Toji scrolled through your favorite online shops. You were snug in the crook of his arm, your legs tossed over his lap, cheek pressed against his chest. His fingers curled possessively around your waist. You had stopped struggling half an hour ago, knowing he wouldn’t budge.

“Toji- ” you started, voice soft.

“Shhh.” He continued scrolling on the phone, angling it so it was in your view. “Pick.”

“Toji, I don’t want anything-” You tried again- yes, he had been doing this for almost an hour. Making you pick out at a minimum of 5 things from every online shop he knew you liked.

“You heard me,” he said, voice low and firm. “Or I’ll pick everything out for you.”

“No!” You shouted, groaning as you slumped further into him. “It wasn’t even a big deal, I shouldn’t have-”

“It was a big deal,” he said, interrupting, his hand rubbing up and down your back with slow pressure. “I was joking, you took it seriously. Yknow I’d do anything for you, right?”

You swallowed thickly, biting your lip.

“I was tryna be funny,” he went on, quieter now. “But I didn’t realize I fucked it up that bad.”

“You didn’t- ”

“I did.” His tone left no room for argument. “And you felt bad for feelin’ bad. That ain’t right either.”

You sighed. “I just overreacted.”

“I don’t care if you cried in the middle of the damn store, I still would’ve been wrong.” He nudged your cheek with his chin. “Now pick your shit or I’ll do it for you.”

“...Fine.”

❥ SUKUNA RYOUMEN

Sukuna watched you walk ahead, your hand slipping from his like it had never belonged there in the first place. His hand twitched, flexing as if readying to cut someone up on instinct. He felt angry, but not exactly at you. Maybe at your brain, how you thought.

What the hell was that?- The hell do you mean, sorry?

Sukuna’s jaw ticked, crimson eyes narrowing as he tried to process what just happened. He could still see the display in the corner of his vision—the thing you wanted, whatever the hell it was. He hadn’t even looked properly. Just heard the tone in your voice, that soft, hopeful question, and thought, yeah, this’ll be funny.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. He didn’t speak much. Not because he was mad—but because he didn’t know what the fuck to say. He kept stealing glances at you. Watching you act like nothing happened. Quiet. Polite. Distant. Like you were doing your best not to take up space.

Sukuna hated it.

The next morning, you woke up to something absurd.

It started with a faint rustle beside the bed. You blinked your eyes open, brow furrowing, the sunlight just beginning to spill through the window. You groaned and turned over, feeling for your husband- Who was uncharacteristically not sleeping and warm beside you.

Instead, your eyes widened when you saw what was on the bedside. Not just the thing you wanted from the store yesterday.

But that plus a mountain of other gifts. Carefully stacked, painstakingly arranged—clothes, snacks, trinkets, plushies, books you’d mentioned offhandedly. Stuff that couldn’t have been pulled together overnight unless someone went on a tear through every store within ten miles and burned through money like it was paper.

Sitting beside it all, arms crossed, lip curled in a dramatic scowl… was Sukuna. He was tapping his foot impatiently.

You sat up, letting the blanket fall from your shoulders, mouth agape. “Sukuna…”

“It’s not a big deal,” he growled, red eyes darting away like they were allergic to your expression. “You wanted that dumb thing. So I got it. And the rest was- was just there. It was all on sale, probably. I didn’t check.”

Your gaze swept over the pile again. Some of it was very obviously not on sale. Limited edition. Imported. Things you’d only mentioned once while scrolling late at night. You looked back at him—and found him staring at the floor now, like he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes.

“Sukuna,” you said again, softer this time.

He let out a slow breath, tension sagging from his shoulders. “I didn’t mean it.” He grumbled. “Sorry.”

You swallowed. “Sukuna, it’s fine, this-” you motioned towards the pile of gifts. “This is too much for me! I didn’t mean to upset you, I overreacted anyway-”

He clicked his tongue. “You didn’t.” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I did. But it’s not like you were bein’ dramatic or anything. You just… looked like I kicked your damn puppy.”

“I wasn’t mad.”

“That’s worse!” he snapped, gesturing at you like you’d committed some unspeakable offense. “You weren’t mad. You were just-” hurt. He didn’t like it. “...Not happy.”

Your gaze softened. “You could’ve just said something there.”

He grunted. “Whatever.” He nudged one of the boxes towards you with his foot, it was wrapped in a pretty pink bow. “Open them.”

A.N. 😼😼😼 I enjoyed this one too much, thankyou for the request moonie ml <3

[flwrstqr]

SWEET ✶ WHEN YOU ASK THEM TO KISS YOU MORE

𝖶𝖧𝒾𝖲𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖲────𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝖺𝗋, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍

【 𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒 】 𝑙’ enhypen x fem ! rea 7OO established relationship fluff 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. kissing, skinship, petnames ˊᯅˋ ｡｡ daily clicks

다니⠀⦂⠀double post today.. i am activeeeee :0 hope you guys enjoy a lot

LEE HEESEUNG

his smile is lazy, lips already brushing yours before you can finish whispering, “more kisses.” — he whispers “more?” his hand at your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek, and he leans in again, impossibly close. “anything for you, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, and then he’s kissing you like he wants to memorize every sigh you make. his other hand finds your waist, tugging you flush against him with a low hum. “can’t get enough of you,” he says in between kisses. “you’re gonna kill me, y’know that?” he grins, pulling back just enough to look at you, thumb now brushing your bottom lip. “but at least i’ll die happy.”

PARK JAY

"more?" you ask, barely above a whisper, already leaning into his warmth, and jay doesn’t hesitate—he kisses you once, then again,  then again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the way your lips move with his. “as many as you want, my love,” he says gently, brushing your hair behind your ear with such care it makes your heart ache. his hand cups your cheek as he places another kiss on the corner of your mouth. “you ask so sweetly, how could i ever say no to my princess?” he whispers, pulling you close like you’re his whole world. his lips graze your forehead as he adds, “you never have to ask, baby. it’s yours. i’m yours.”

SIM JAKE

he blinks, lips still against yours when you say, “kiss me more, baby.” his brows lift, stunned, and then he lets out this breathy laugh. “say that again,” he mumbles, already leaning closer, like he needs to hear it in your voice one more time to make sure he didn’t dream it. your fingers brush along his jaw, and he melts into your touch, eyes full of stars. “baby,” he breathes, almost giddy, “you want another kiss? like—my pretty girl wants me to kiss her again?” his hands are on your waist now, pulling you gently into his lap. “you can have as many as you want, sweetheart,” he grins like an idiot, lips brushing yours again and again. “fuck, i love you.”

PARK SUNGHOON

you barely get the words out—“kiss me more"—but he hears you. of course he does. sunghoon doesn’t say a word, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink and before you can ask again, his lips are on yours like he knew exactly what you needed. he kisses you once. twice, a little longer this time, until your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie and your breath hitches. no teasing smile, no “really?”—just him kissing you like it's obvious, like it's always been his job to make sure you feel wanted. “mm,” he hums against your lips eventually, finally pulling back just enough to whisper, “you don’t gotta ask, baby.” then he’s back at it, like he never plans on stopping.

KIM SUNOO

you whisper, “kiss me more,” and sunoo literally freezes—like you just hit pause on his entire body. his hand stays suspended halfway through fixing your hair, eyes blinking wide. “huh?” he squeaks, but not because he didn’t hear you—no, he definitely did—his cheeks are already pink. “you—” he starts, then just melts, absolutely crumbles into this shy smile that always makes your heart explode. “you want me to kiss you more?” he repeats, like he’s trying not to scream. “baby… oh my god.” and then he’s cupping your face with both hands, and he kisses you. “i’ll kiss you a million times,” he mumbles against your lips, giggling. “don’t tempt me.”

YANG JUNGWON

“kiss me more on the lips,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded, and jungwon just smiles, already leaning in. he doesn’t answer, doesn’t rush. instead, he presses a slow kiss to your jaw, then your cheek. then the tip of your nose, and his thumb brushing over your chin like you’re something fragile. “jungwon,” you pout, breath catching, “i said my lips.” he laughs under his breath, that boyish grin lighting up his whole face like he just knew you’d say that. “i know, baby,” he hums, “i was getting there.” and then finally—finally—his lips meet yours. his hands cradle your face like you’re his whole world, and when he pulls back just a little, foreheads touching.

NISHIMURA RIKI

"kiss you more?" riki hums, cocking a brow as a mischievous smile pulls at his lips. "hmm, i don’t know… do you deserve more kisses?" he drawls. before you can even pout, he leans in and gives you the tiniest peck on your lips—soft, barely there—then pulls back with a smug look, arms folding behind his head like he’s proud. "that’s all you get," he grins, watching your expression twist into disbelief. "what? you wanted more, baby?" he coos, tilting his head with mock innocence. you swat at him, but he just laughs. "fine," he murmurs against your cheek, breath warm, "i’ll think about it... if you ask really nicely and buy me dinner." "riki."

[thedevilsoftruth]

Ok ok ok hear me out - feral Bucky who is exhausted and grumpy and mad at everyone and can only be soothed by his mouth on your tits and his dick in your pussy…and it starts with just cockwarming but he cums and then he cums again and AGAIN cause super soldier and ohhhhh extra fat bonus points if he REALLY wants to put a baby inside you with all that super soldier cum

(I’m so sorry, I’m ovulating😭)

Ough anon I am OBSESSED with this request. I'm pretty sure I'm like... The guy you go to when you want breeding Bucky fics. Idk I just write them a lot and idk why lmao. Funny you mention this because I am ALSO ovulating. I'm an absolute freak, I hear the words 'bucky' and 'breeding' and 'breast play' in the same sentence and I cum running faster than the fastest man on earth. But here you go, baby. I got a little carried away when writing it (sorry I made it congressman bucky btw I'm not sure how on board you are with that being apart of it)🤭 enjoy!!!

Stress relief

Congressman! J. B. Barnes x Afab! reader.

Sum: Bucky had a tough day at work. So what does he do to help with the stress? Give his pretty girl a baby. 💜

Smut tags: light impact play kink, cock warming, heavy breast play, breeding kink, degrading, name calling (slut) overstimulation, mentions of reader ovulating, squirting, the theme is cum. (Restrain me please) Not beta read!!

W/c - 1.6k

Song recommended: Cherry Pie (I need a freak) by Insane Clown Posse.

I do not consent to my work being reposted or translated on ANY website. Reblog and comments are always appreciated and encouraged, however.

MDNI!!! I am NOT responsible for what you find on the internet!!

[ my request box is open. PLEASE see my pinned post for more information regarding my request rules. ]

He'd been so angry all day. He'd been stomping around and huffing like he was an angry toddler who has just been denied their favorite treat. Everyone and everything was pissing him off. You could it was bad when he had yelled at an aide that morning. But now, he had his only down time until he had to work again stupid ass early in the morning. His way of relieving his stress? Calling you to his study to keep him warm while he signs paperwork he's supposed to get turned in the next morning. It started out simple; just you sitting on his cock and keeping your mouth shut so he could focus like he asked. Until he started rutting into you like a caveman with his hands on your hips and his mouth on your tits.

You were wearing one of the tank tops you normally wore to bed, expect this one was baby pink and was worn thin, so brushing his hand over your breasts felt like he was touching your actual skin. He wasn't one for pink, but fuck, it looked so good on you. How he could complain when it felt so good to suck your pretty pink, swollen nipple into his mouth while he came into you for the second time in the past thirty minutes.

You were squirming on his lap, his hands gripping bruises into your skin as his lips pulled on your nipple. Little tiny whimpers left your mouth as his tongue flicked up your bud, the thick, milky hot cum from his last load dripping from your over-stuff cunt. His mouth left your breast with a wet pop, and he brought his flesh hand up to take your flesh into his hand, his pussy-drunken eyes admiring the way you spill out in his hand. You moaned loud as he dipped his head back down and licked a thick strip up your other breast with his fat tongue. His beard was brushing your skin in the most perfect way possible, and the sensations just got even better when two thick vibranium fingers began circling your throbbing clit. A loud gasp left your mouth, and your back arched into his mouth as if begging for more.

"Sensitive?" He asks as if the answer isn't directly in front of him. You nod weakly, and press your hand into his chest, your fingers brushing his red wine tie.

"Baby," you whine, your voice pitched and making his cock twitch inside you. "Can't take anymore. Too much."

He looks at you like you just said the stupidest fucking thing he'd ever heard.

"Don't care." He grunts, big hands moving to cup your ass as he stands up and pulls you with him. Your mind short circuits and you panic as he begins heading towards the door.

"You told me you were ovulating just two seconds ago. You don't get to back out of things like that. Not after I've had the day I'm having." He tells you, throwing you down onto the bed, his hands already scrambling to tear your tank top off your body. He's crowding you into the headboard, barley giving you any space to breathe as he's instructing you to put your arms up. The tiny thing slips off your body easily, and Bucky's face twists into a sick, twitched sadistic smile as your tits bounce free.

"Spread your fuckin' legs." He says, leaning down to suck on your neck eagerly. You gasp and your hands fly to his chest.

"Bucky..." You breath. He slaps your breast with a metal hand, the impact of it leaving you gasping and shocked. Your skin quickly reddens where he struck you, and a beautiful light sting prickles up your flesh.

"Open." He says darkly and low, tapping your thigh. You gulp hard and obey, shaky legs hesitantly spreading open in front of your perfect lover. He growls when you do so, looking down between your bodies. He sits up and gives his angry red cock a few pumps with his fist. Your thighs nearly clench together at the sight, but you know better than to disobey him.

"Such a good fucking girl." He growls slapping his cock against your messy cunt, making you whimper. He runs his already leaky cockhead up and down your aching clit a few times before he finally sinks himself into you, all with a loud, gutteral groan that makes your pussy flutter.

"Always take me so good like the perfect little slut you are for me." He mutters through gritted teeth, pulling his hips back a bit before he slowly sunk into you. When he bottomed out, it was with a very loud moan that could be heard from the outside of the house.

"You gonna take it? Hmm?" He grunts, pushing so deep into you that you swear it makes you black out for a moment. "Gonna let me fill you up and breed this sloppy, pathetic little cunt?" His pace quickens, his hips snapping into yours at a perfect rate and precision that has your eyes fluttering shut and your hands gripping his forearms like you need it to survive.

"With the amounts of times you've cum in me, I'm sure you already have me bred." You spit under your breath, almost angrily and out of spite. He smack your breasts again and you yelp.

"What was that?" He inquired, his voice low in that tone that told you he was mad and feeling mean. You gulp and scramble, shaking your head.

"N-nothing." Is all you say, your eyes widening at him in fear. He laughs at you, cold and dark.

"That's what I thought."

He grips the headboard then slams into you, his cock brushing and kissing against every single part of your pretty pussy that makes you squirm. You put your hand on his chest, your back arching and your mouth falling open in a silent 'o' shape. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him into you impossibly deeper and making the both of you moan.

He leans down and takes a pebbled nipple into his mouth once more, and your body cannot stop the way your legs shake around his hips or the loud cries and whines that leave your mouth.

"Bucky," you whine, wrapping your arms around his back and clawing at his skin with long fingernails. He groans into your skin as he kisses the peak of your breast, his eyes rolling back in pleasure at the sensation. "Dont stop, baby. Please--oh fuck, feels so good."

He looks up at you and pulls his cock out of you a few Inches before he slams back into you.

"Yeah?" He pulls back from your breasts and taps your clit with a metal finger before he rubs harsh circles into it. Your legs fly into the air Instinctively before they fall back down onto his waist. Your fingernails dig deeper into his back. He rubs harder, and the walls of your pussy squeeze him hard.

"Ohohoho." He laughs cruelly. "That's the spot, inn'it, sweet girl?" He continues circling it, going faster by the second--all along with his cock fucking into so deep, and you swear you see god for a minute.

"Yeah, yeah. Gonna fuck--cum--ah!! Shit!" You nod along, but right as you're telling him about your impending orgasm, you cut yourself off as you come crashing onto him hard and fast. The walls of your cunt clamp down on him like they're scared he's going to run away, and hot cum comes spurring out of you wildly. The milky liquid squirts onto your lovers pelvis, and he moans like he was the one cumming.

"Holy fucking shit, babydoll." He groans, his head lulling back as he slowly, deliberately starts thrusting into you again. He slaps your pretty pussy a few times with his flesh hand before he really starts picking up speed again.

"Gotta fucking fill you up again after that one." He says, giving you one harsh thrusts that hits your cervix. You scream and your eyes roll into the back of your head your hips shaking uncontrollably at the overstimulation. He holds you down with a metal arm.

"Nuh-uh. You stay right fucking there, slut." He slurps messy kiss from the back of your ear to the crook of your neck. "Pretty pussy needs to be rewarded with a warm, thick load after cumming all over me like that, don't you agree?"

You whine, your pussy making pathetic little squelching sounds as he pumps sloppy, fast thrusts into you. The wet, lewd noises have your head spinning and your pussy fluttering at how fucking obscure it is. All you can do is nod along to whatever he says, though you're too fucked out to even know what you're agreeing too.

"Good fucking girl." He praises, his cock slamming into you hard. "Gonna get you so nice and round and--fuck!" He cuts himself off when his cock twitched sweetly before thick, hot ropes of his seed start flooding into you. His hands shoot down to the backs of your thighs, and he lifts your your legs a little so he could watch himself drip into you.

"Good god," he swears under his breath, his mind going blank at the milky ring forming at the base of his cock. "If only you could see this." He chuckles, nudging his hips forward and making you whine loud.

"Bucky---"

"Shh, baby, let me fuck it into you. Gotta make sure it sticks." He hushes you, leaning down to kiss you hard as he slowly rolls his hips forward, fucking his cum up and into you deeply.

[muffinpink02]

Pottery

A quick one shot. Alexia and R in a pottery class. Thank you anon, I don’t know if it was really a prompt but I liked your description 😂

Warnings - smutty not smut 18 wc - 1573

You’re staring. You know you are, but you can’t help it. 

She’s doing it on purpose.

You didn't think it was physically possible to get wet during a pottery class. Well, you weren't sure anyone could get wet during a pottery class, but here you are defying the odds. Sitting in a pair of damp knickers all because of Alexia. 

No, she hadn’t touched you, kissed you, hugged you, talked dirty to you, she hadn’t even looked at you. She was just simply using her hands.

But in your defence, you were just a girl, a girl who was obsessed with her girlfriends hands. 

A girl who clearly couldn’t control her hornyness because her stupidly sexy, smart and pretty girlfriend was fingering clay like she was part of some weird underground sex show somewhere in the red light district for people who were into that kind of thing. 

Maybe you were ‘people’.

You watch as she gently caresses the wet clay, her large hands cupping the moist material as it leisurely spins round on the plate. You watch the way the watery mud sticks to her fingers, seeping into the groves of her knuckles. Your own fingers twitch from muscle memory, memory on how those very same fingers feel on your body. And in your body. 

It’s a fucking pottery class and she makes it look pornagraphic. 

“Amor, you’re doing it again.”

You jump in your stall, like you've been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“What?” You grunt.

“You’re staring.” 

There's no accusation in her voice, she actually sounds amused.

“I’m not.” You close your eyes in frustration when you hear the slight strain in your own voice.

You catch the slight smirk at the curve of her lips. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of her clay, too engrossed with her own art. Though, smut is what you'd call it. Most countries would even call it public indecency. 

“I can feel you staring.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not. I’m just watching your technique.”

You were never a good liar.

“Hmm. Is that all?” She smiles. She smiles because she knows what she's doing to you. 

“Of course.” You breathe through your nose as you squirm in your seat. 

You train your eyes back to your own mess of clay, it's completely lost whatever shape it had. If you ever had one. The pottery teacher walks by and gives you a pitiful look.

“Are you struggling?” She smiles sympathetically as she approaches you.

‘Yeah, I’m struggling, struggling while I watch my girlfriend finger clay like she’s trying to get it to squirt for her. And I think she might actually do it.’

Is what you want to say.

“Yeah, I just can’t get it to hold.” You huff.

“Oh, your clays looking a little dry. Maybe add some more water, get it a little more moist. Remember, the wetter the better.” She nods encouragingly before she walks off to look at the other students.

You nearly laugh. 

You spot Alexia biting her lip as she holds in her own laugh. Bitch.

“Oh, this is lovely! You’re a natural with your hands. Well done!” The teacher praises Alexia as she walks by.

“Thank you.” The blonde beams with pride. 

You wait until the teacher’s out of earshot.

“Thank you.” You mimic your girlfriend in the most childish way you can muster.

“Hey! What have I done to get that?” She pouts. 

“Nothing, sorry. I’m just a little frustrated.” 

“Why?” She raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Because…” You nod your head towards her clay. Her hands.

She slowly looks down at the clay, she genuinely looks confused. Scrunching her brows as she looks back at you.

“Què?”

Oh god. Maybe she wasn't doing it on purpose. Maybe you’re just a sex crazed maniac that can’t go an hour without making the most innocent of tasks sexual.

“Nothing. Ignore me.” You force a smile. 

You try to put your pent up frustrations into your clay, but you only make the mud look sadder. If that's even possible.

After a couple of minutes of frustrated grunts and a stupid amount of tuts, Alexia has enough.

“Here, let me help. What are you trying to make?” The blonde stands next to your table like a clay making superhero. 

You smile up at her. “A bowl. But I can’t get it right.” You slump your shoulders dramatically. 

The Spaniard rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the smile that pulls at her lips. 

“Let me get it ready for you, then you can take over, sí?”

“Yeah, I can work with that. Thank you, baby” 

You move from your stall to allow Alexia to sit. 

Alexia frowns as she looks at the mess you've made. “She’s right, your clay does need a lot more water. You can’t shape it like this.” 

“One class and you think you’re Michelangalo.” You mumble to yourself. 

“Hmm?” 

“Nothing.” You save yourself as you kiss the side of her cheek.

Alexia begins to mold your clay. You watch as she dips her long fingers into the water bowl, grabbing the small sponge and holds it over your clay, squeezing until water escapes, moistening the grey mud. She repeated the process until the clay turns into a smooth and shiny substance that she can easily mold to her will. 

You’re completely captivated by the way her hands move, how her fingers knead and press into the clay. Pushing and pulling, gripping and thrusting. You shouldn't be too shocked that she’s such a natural. It’s second nature to her, making things move the way she wants. Bending and forcing things to her liking. Like she does with you in the best way.

You’re not just horny now, you’re actually impressed. Impressed and turned on.  

Come on, get a grip of yourself. You can’t be getting this riled up over an innocent task.

But, you don't even notice the way your tongue sweeps at your lips as you catch her veins bulging under her skin. You know the way they feel, the way they tense under your touch. Your eyes travel up from her hands to her biceps, you can see her firm muscles as they slightly flex under her t-shirt. You continue to watch on, staring at her as if she’s your own personal show. Like it's just you and her and not 10 other randoms in the room. Like you paid a front row ticket to that show in Amsterdam. 

The sound of a cupboard door closing brings you back to the present, you take a quick glance around the room, hoping no one notices the utter mess you’ve become. 

But then Alexia makes it just that little bit harder. Because of course she does.

Your breath catches as she gently but firmly slaps the mud with her large palm. You don't even realise you're biting your lip until you feel a slight sting. 

“Oh, come on!” You mumble to yourself.

It shouldn't make you blush, but the sound of the slaps take you right back to yours and Alexia’s activities last night. 

And It really shouldn't make you wetter. But you’re just a girl.

You’re fucked. 

“Okay, I think you’re good to go. It was a bowl you’re making, sí?” Alexia turns to you. 

“W-what?” You blink a few times, staring at the girl who just officially ruined your underwear without even touching you.

Alexia smirks, that all knowing smirk “A bowl, amor. You want to make a bowl, sí?” 

You nod your head, but no words come out.

“Let me just…” 

And that's when you watch Alexia gently push two long thick fingers into your wet clay.

“Oh, my god.” 

Alexia doesn't answer you, she slowly parts her fingers, forcing the clay to open up for her. The sound that comes from her movement is filth, it squelches between her parted fingers, you swear you almost hear a faint moan from the lifeless object. Or maybe that was you. 

“Ale…”

She slowly pulls her fingers out, making sure to curve her digits just right. Spreading the clay like she does this everyday. 

You guess in some ways she kind of does use her fingers that exact same way most days.

You’re well aware your nipples are straining at your shirt now. You look around the room once more as you try to control your breathing, but then Alexia turns to you. A mischievous smile spreads across her face. You notice a small smudge of dry clay sitting on her cheek. A few strands of her hair have fallen out of her bun and she gives you that all knowing look. 

It's a sight to see.

“You okay, cariño?” She smirks.

You nod your head, but once again you're lost for words. You look down at her wet fingers, still dripping from the clay. You can feel your clit twitching, aching to have the same treatment as the clay. 

You watch as her eyes roam your chest, spotting the way your nipples strain. She arches an eyebrow, like she’s proud. Her smirk turns devilish and you feel you cunt clench on nothing. 

“Toilet. I need the toilet.” You blurt out.

And before Alexia can say anything you’re gone. Tripping over stalls you swore wasn't there a second ago, but still apoologising to the inanimate object like a true Brit.

Alexia shakes her head as she chuckles to herself. “I think I like pottery.”

[firelilyfox]

Some girls think it's cute

Thunderbolts: Bob x Female Reader

Summary: Bob has a HUGE crush on you and no talent in talking (shy king)

Warnings: none really. sfw. fluff overload. passionate kissing.

Words: 2k

Like always: leave a heart if you like or a comment or ideas :) all is welcome!

_____________________________

The sun rises over the skyline bringing New York to life again. 

Bob is already standing in the kitchen making coffee to survive the upcoming challenges for today: don’t break anything while training with Bucky, staying awake through the boring lectures by Yelena and most importantly… not having a stroke as soon as he sees Y/N. 

Multiple times this week Bob had severe problems to even breathe when you would enter the room or - god help him - standing within an arm length away. Every time you laid eyes on his nervous face he was already looking at you and the way you smiled because of it … he felt his heart skipped a beat. Or five. 

Worst of all: the others noticed. 

„Mornin’ Bob“, Bucky grumbles from across the huge kitchen slash dining hall. 

Bob looked up and sighted in relief (or disappointment). „Good Morning.“ 

„I bet you wish I had lovely curves and longer hair. Don’t ya?“ He said mockingly. And the pale skin in Bobs face turned instantly red. Bucky barks out a laugh. 

„Jesus this is too easy.“ He grabs himself a cup with his metal hand and poured some coffee in it. „You seriously have to work on your pokerface if you plan to keep this a secret.“ 

„I don’t know what you’re talking about“, Bob mumbles ashamed. 

Before Bucky could say anything else the elevator makes a soft ping sound and Yelena stepped inside the kitchen. One step behind her … there where you. 

„Hey Boys what’s up!“, Yelena shouts with a big smile. „Ready for some training with your favorite sparringpartners?“ 

„C´mon Yelena give me at least five minutes to enjoy my coffee before I’m going to kick your ass off the mat“, Bucky mocks. 

Bob couldn’t even hear the half of the conversation the two soldiers were having because he was way to focused on you standing there right in front of him. And now he sucked up every move you body was making while coming over to him. 

„Good morning Bob“, you said with a little rasp in your voice wich made it obviously that Yelena had just pulled you out of bed. „I’m so tired. No clue how they have so much energy at this time of the day.“ 

Bob swallows hard. Your hand lays right next to his while resting on the kitchen counter. „I-I… Yeah no clue.“ He wants to sink into the ground. 

For a second you just look at him, trying to figure him out, then you hit him with a shy smile. „You look good this morning … I mean you uhm - you look well rested.“ 

Bob froze solid in place to stare at you. He wasn’t able to move at all but his powers were totally going nuts. Heat sizzled beneath his skin and without noticing he mirrored it to Buckys full cup of coffee. Wich was bubbling now. He put the cup down, smiling knowingly and gave Bob a brotherly pat on his shoulder. 

„We will be down in a minute. You girls go ahead and we will meet you at the sparring halls.“ With a meaningful look Bucky gives Yelena a sign to not ask anymore questions. She smirked and grabs Y/N by the elbow to drag her away from Bob. 

After the girls had left the room Bob blinks multiple times to make sure he didn’t just dreamed that. 

„Well, I know for sure that you didn’t cook my coffee because of Yelena so … yeah. Work on that pokerface or tell her that you like her.“ 

Bob runs his hand through his hair. No point in denying it any longer. „I tried but every time I- I just … i go tongue-tied.“ 

„Some girls think it’s cute.“ 

Bob sighs. „I don’t want her to think I’m cute.“ 

**Downstairs**

It was even harder for Bob to focus while he is being forced to sparr against you. The rule is to not use any powers (especially for him because … well he could blow this entire building up within a heartbeat) so his only chance not to completely collapse as soon as he blocks some of your kicks was pure self control. 

After hours of hard training Yelena and Bucky decided that it’s enough for one day and made their way up to the quarters again. You and Bob stayed. 

„You are getting better and better each day Bob. Hard for me to keep up.“ The amusement in your voice sends a warm feeling right in his heart and fills his stomach with butterflies. 

„I just copy what I see. You have … you are … uhm I mean“, Bob stutters. Cursing himself for sounding like a damn toddler not being able to form a whole damn sentence. „You are amazing.“ The words escaped is mouth before he could think twice. 

You give him a thankful smile. „That is very sweet of you to say.“ 

Bob doesn't know how to respond to that so he stays silent. Wrenching his fingers nervously, trying to make eye contact without starring at you. 

„I - uhm“, Y/N starts. „I should go up and take a shower. But would you like to watch a movie later?“ 

A wide smile appears on his face. „Yes! I mean uh yeah sure. The others wanted to watch this uhm historic drama I think … I dunno how its called … but yeah if you want we can sit there together. I mean …“ His tongue gets all tied up again while trying to sound not to exited. 

Y/N giggles. „No that’s not what I meant. I don’t want to watch this historic thingy with the others. I wanted to ask if you would like to watch a different movie with me.“ 

Maybe the coffee were never able to stop a stroke from happening. Did he really just hear what he think you said? You wanted to watch a movie with him … alone? 

„But … there is only one home theater?“ 

„Yeah. But we could watch it in my quarters … if you like to come over?“ Your voice gets a silent as if you weren’t sure if Bob would like the idea. 

He swallows. Blinks. Then swallows again. „Y-Yeah. I would like that.“ 

**Later that day**

He flexed both of his hands before he finds the strength to knock at your door. With one last quick look at the corner of his eye he sees the entire Thunderbolts standing at the end of the long hallway pointing their thumbs up and smiling. Bob gestures to make them go away but that’s when the door swung open and suddenly he forgets about the nosy roommates. 

You were wearing a oversized shirt of a band he never heard of and one of your shoulders was showing. Your legs were covered in a tight black leggings, wich does not leave much for the imagination. With your hair tied up in a wild bun you looked very comfy.

„You look stunning“, he said with a scratchy voice. Bob could see that Yelena clutches a hand over her mouth and Bucky modding in approval. Ava and Walker trying everything in their power to keep Alexei from making any sound and he wanted to disappear in thin air. It was like having you parents watch you talking to a girl for the first time. 

Basically its exactly what was happening right now. He was thankful that you couldn’t see them from your position. That would make this even more awkward. 

A soft pink appears on your cheeks. „Thank you. Come in.“ 

Bob follows you inside and scans the room with one long look. It felt cozy and warm. In every corner was a plant and books were lying around on the different surfaces. The Tv were the only source of light wich made it even more … private. 

He catches you looking at him. „I like it. It looks like you.“ 

„I look like a room?“, you ask in confusion. 

„Pretty.“ He says, surprised by his own confidence. Never had he felt so brave talking to you but standing here in the middle of the room, that belongs to the girl he adores … makes him feel safer than ever. 

The two of you decide to watch a movie about something funny. Then you choose to watch another movie about something with much action scenes and fast cars. After that you decide to watch another movie wich you totally forgot what it was about because while being all cuddled up on the bed, you are getting closer with each passing minute. By the time the third movie was playing, your legs were laying across his lap and Bob has managed to almost naturally lay his arm around your shoulder, touching the small of your back softly. 

„I think that you are pretty too“, you whisper so silent that he almost missed it. 

„What?“ 

You raise your head from his shoulder to look at him. „You called me pretty earlier. And I think you are pretty too.“ 

„You were thinking of this for the last couple of hours?“ Bob asks in disbelieve. 

You nod. „I think about you quiet often.“ Your eyes dart down to his lips when they part in surprise. Bob notices not sure what it means. 

„Why?“, he finally whispers. „Why would you do that?“ 

You look away while clearing your throat. „Oh uhm - I - ignore what I just said. Sometimes I just say weird stuff.“ A nervous chuckle escaping your mouth, trying to cover up the embarrassment. 

Bob wants to slap himself across the face. Why couldn’t he have said something more ... well something more intelligent maybe? For fucks sake he were lying in a bed with the girl he was into head over heals and she told him hat she thinks about him and all he had to say to that was; Why?!  

Work on your pokerface or tell her that you like her. Buckys voice ringing in his ears with what he said earlier that day. He had to choose between them. 

But Bob didn't choose, because there is only one right answer. 

And he never wanted to have a pokerface. 

He gathers all his courage and hooks one finger under your chin. Gently forcing you to look at him. „I think … about you too. Quiet often Y/N.“ 

His thumb brushes over the soft skin of your bottom lip. „You do?“ Your voice was nothing more than a whisper asking him that. And he nods. 

Painfully slow his palm cups your cheek, long fingers touching the spot right beneath your ear, pulling you closer. „I have trouble to think about anything else.“ His lips brushes yours soft like a feather as if he was asking for permission. You lean into the kiss to deepen it and all of the hesitation falls of Bobs shoulders. His hand on your back holding you close to him and the other on find its way to your throat. Not to squeeze it, but to worship the sensitive skin. His lips calming yours. Your hands wander over his chest into his hair. 

The kiss wasn’t wild. It felt soft and gentle and passionate. You felt like falling and flying all at the same time. And he felt like he could finally breath again without trouble. Like you were the air he needs to stay alive. 

A sudden crack interrupts the intimate kissing. The window to your left is now having a huge dark line wich stretches all from the bottom left to the top right corner. 

„Was that …?“, you ask a little breathless. Bobs head falls back and he closes his eyes shut out of embarrassment. This cannot be happening. „Robert Reynolds, did you just crack my window?“ The amusement in your voice was unmistakable. 

„I’m afraid so.“ He sighs. „I’m sorry.“ 

You shake your head. „I think its cute.“ 

His eyes fly open in disbelieve. „You think I’m cute?“ 

„It’s not a bad thing“, you say and kiss him again. „I think it’s cute that I can make you loose control a little bit.“ 

He never saw it this way. He thought that being seen as cute meant to be weak and that he would never had a chance to get out of the friend zone. But apparently being cute is not at all a bad thing. So if the girl in his arms - and out of his dreams- thinks he is cute… then he wants to be cute for her. 

[heartyluv]

Plz give the girls a full fwb!caleb fic ur little ficlet was so good like it had my cootamunk QUIVERING ‼️

Note: I just want you to know that cootamunk has had me in tears since yesterday. Literally couldn’t stop laughing and now I can’t stop saying it. You’re a hilarious genius and I luv you. This is for you, babe. Enjoy!

Creds to @/anitalenia and @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Rating: Explicit - !!Minors DO NOT Interact!!

Warning: Smut, Caleb is a little controlling and rough.

Word Count: 2,251

Summary: Caleb finds out that you’re trying to go on a date and shuts that shit down.

Jealous&FriendsWithBenefits!Caleb/Reader

Hey. You up?

The notification that appears at the top of your phone screen stops your doom scrolling. You smile just a little to see that familiar message with the name accompanying it. You look at the time, not surprised that it’s almost two in the morning. You never go to bed at the time you intend to, unintentionally looking and reading through a whole bunch of things from your roulette of consistently used apps.

You open your messages, twiddling your thumbs before you get ready to answer. Tonight could go one of two ways: You’re either about to be put to bed with sex or you’re about be up for another hour or two watching something you’ve already seen before until you and Caleb pass out on the couch.

When Caleb proposed being your first after you shared your fears of giving yourself to someone who didn’t deserve it, you thought he was joking. But when he looked at you with those serious eyes you’ve grown to be able to identify so well, you knew that you were about to tread into some dangerous territory. But you let it happen, and you were convinced that if you ever had sex again, it wouldn’t be what Caleb showed you, what he did to you.

You’ll never forget his gentleness, his praise and respect. The way he put you and your needs above his own. Your thighs always press together just thinking about how you watched him slide on a condom and look into your eyes before he began to slip inside. You worried about pain, but Caleb had prepared you so well, gotten you so wet, that it was nothing but blissful pleasure.

“You’re doing so good for me. I got you, pretty.”

“It’s okay, hold onto me. I’ll make sure it feels good.”

“If you need me to stop, don’t hesitate to tell me. This is about you.”

You were addicted. And you were scared that your newfound desire for consistent sex was because it was Caleb who made you feel so good. You tried convincing yourself that you just wanted to feel that full and taken care of again, but you knew better.

No other man would do what he did—would feel like he did. So when you vented to Caleb about how much you enjoyed yourself, you played it off and said that it was going to be scary showing yourself like this again to a stranger. But, then he said what you would’ve never had the guts to.

“We can still have sex if you want. I mean, neither of us are dating or anything. Friends with benefits, you know? It doesn’t hurt to just feel good and we trust each other enough.”

You didn’t hesitate to accept and it’s been history ever since. He comes over all the time and you still operate like friends, but when he’s hard and you’re wet, you two fuck like a couple madly in love.

He always comes over at some point when he has a break or you go to his place. If he’s up for it—he always is—he’ll make the drive to your apartment when it’s past midnight because he tends to get off work late. Tonight is no different. Finally, you start to write your reply.

Hey. Yeah, everything okay?

Yeah. I’m outside. Open up?

Your eyebrows raise in shock. He’s outside already? That’s a first.

Your oversized shirts falls mid thigh when you stand and you walk to your front door, not needing any light to see since the moon is so bright that it casts a gentle light into your open floored space. When you open the door, Caleb looks at you with a tight smile.

“You sure you’re okay? You texted me like you weren’t here, yet you were standing outside this whole time,” you chuckle. But Caleb doesn’t laugh, he just holds that expression that you can’t read.

He steps inside when you move over and you shut the door behind him, locking it while looking at him take off his sweater.

“Caleb—” you start, but he’s cupping the side of your face and kissing you with so much intensity. You accept it, melting into his hold as your hands snake into his hair, pressing your body close to his as your tongue licks at his mouth.

It must be one of those nights where we talk after, you think. He’s done this before and so have you, where you’re so overwhelmed with something that you need to release physically before you can do it verbally.

He’s eager in his urge to pull your clothes off, tickling your skin with his fingertips as he grabs the hem of your shirt to lift it over your head. You’re just as grabby, pulling his shirt off and tugging at his pants to get them down. You kiss your way to the couch and he falls backwards when you gently push him.

You can see him, but just barely. You don’t feel like cutting a light on, so the moon illuminating through your windows will have to do. You slide your panties off and your pussy squeezes around nothing when you hear how ragged his breathing is and the wet noises that you know is him stroking his cock.

You crawl onto his lap, bracing your knees on both sides of him as you raise your hips. You put one hand on his shoulder and use the other to grip his length to put him where you both need.

“Caleb…Oh my god…” you whine as your body takes him inside, making you two become one.

You feel him twitch inside your walls as you start to move just a little bit, rubbing your breast against your palm as you hold onto him.

“I’m in love with you,” he finally speaks for the first time since his arrival and you nearly freeze, but he doesn’t let you. He keeps your hips moving, keeps thrusting into you from beneath as you choke on your breath from his words and actions.

“The thought of you letting anyone but me get the privilege to see you like this makes me fucking nauseous.” He kisses your shoulder as he moves snugly within your warm cunt, and all you can do is listen to him because he’s not giving you a second to speak.

“Could you deal with me killing a man for you? Because if you ever let him experience this, I wouldn’t hesitate. Tell me what you need from me and I’ll become that and more to fulfill your every desire.”

You whimper as he grabs your ass tightly, keeping you moving so that you take him ass deep as you can.

“Caleb, what are you—What happened?” you say breathlessly, confused and thrown off by his confession. Every time you try to stop moving, he won’t allow it.

Caleb doesn’t want you to stop because if you stop feeling how good he makes you feel, you’ll try and find a way to bullshit him.

“You think I’m going to let you leave me?” he groans when you squeeze him. “I know about your little date. Remember what you told me when we started this?”

You never told him anything, but you’re not surprised that he was able to find this out. Caleb always finds his ways and you’ve never understood how. The date was harmless, setup by a coworker of yours after she told you the guy liked you and he didn’t seem bad, so you figured—why not? Well now, you know you made a terrible mistake.

You do remember what you said, and it replays in your mind like a voice recording.

“If either of us start dating or anything, we have to cut this off. There won’t be anymore sex, but we could still be friends. But if someone can’t deal with that, it’s healthy for us to just cut ties entirely.”

“Yeah, you remember,” he licks your neck. “I never agreed, I just let you try and ignore your feelings because you said you weren’t ready for a relationship. But now?” he abruptly stands with him seated inside of you to the brim.

“It looks like I have to make the right decision for both of us.”

He walks through your dark apartment into your room with your small lamp on. You turned it on before you got up to answer the door and you’re glad you did, because you can see him so clearly now. And he looks hurt—hurt and angry.

“Caleb I didn’t mean—”

He roughly throws you down into the bed, still pulsing inside. You don’t even understand how he’s this fucking strong, but it’s turning you on so much that you know his cock is soaked with your slick.

“What?” he growls, cutting you off, grabbing your hands and placing them above your head as he starts to pound into you so hard that you can’t breathe. Your bed physically moves, you hear the frame grate against the floor.

“To hurt me, huh? To make me have to think that you were going to choose someone else over me? Over us?” He spreads your legs, spearing into you over and over while your breasts bounce in his face. He roughly takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking the peaked nub. He starts to suck on your breasts, leaving red marks that he intends to keep on you so you’ll always look in the mirror and know who owns you.

He angles himself, sitting on his knees and you don’t know how he’s able to make you so flexible right now, but you’ve never been so spread in your life. His hand comes to your throat, not putting pressure but it’s telling you what you two are without it needing to be said.

“Caleb…” you hiccup. “I can’t..I’m gonna—”

You’re going dizzy at how hard he’s fucking you, how he’s punishing your cervix with each brutally delicious thrust. His head falls to your neck while he keeps your throat in his palm, and when you hear him sniffle, you damn near cry yourself. You move your hands from above your head where he put them, tugging on his hair and tracing his back while his hips never lose their momentum.

“I’ll make you see. I’ll make you realize how much I belong to you. I want to live in your body, I want to stay a part of you forever. I’ll do everything in my power, baby. Please take me, please, please don’t make me have to know what it’s like without you.”

“I’ll never do that you,” you whine as he circles his hips to make you feel every thick inch. “I’m sorry…I’m here..”

“Show me how sorry,” you feel wetness of what you believe is a tear drop on your neck as he continues to hide his face in it. “I’m not pulling out. Let me put my cum inside you. I want you to feel it. You’ll let me, won’t you? Please tell me yes, baby… I’m so fucking close..”

“Yes,” you affirm, your own orgasm impending. “Give it to me, Caleb…”

And when he whimpers as he slams into you just a few more times, his heavy load floods your fertile pussy as his cock fucks it into you deep. Even when you cry out from how hard you finished, he’s still slowly rocking his hips, making you and him both feel that mix of pleasure and pain from overstimulation.

You feel the cum start to spill out, falling down and pooling beneath your ass. It sticks to your skin and stains your sheets but you don’t care. If you could stay like this forever, you would.

He finally pulls back to look at you and even if his eyes aren’t red, his face is flushed and you can see the wetness on his long eyelashes. Gently, you take your thumbs to his eyes to wipe his tears. You pull him down, kissing him so sloppily that you don’t care how messy it is. He follows your lead without hesitation, sticking his tongue down your throat and making you both pour the rest of yourselves into one another.

He bucks his hips, his cock slightly moving inside of you as a reminder that he’s still there—that he’ll always be. He’s not giving you a choice but to let him. And you can’t stop clenching, you can’t stop your hole from wanting to bring him deeper, to keep him there.

“Caleb,” you say softly when you two are forced to pull away to catch your breath.

He just stares down at you, his eyes dancing across your face as his breath becomes steady.

“I’m in love with you too.”

He smiles hard, holding you tight as you wrap your arms around him. He’s more than happy that the feeling was mutual, that you want him just as much. Because he wasn’t exaggerating about killing a man for even daring to think that he could have you. He wasn’t playing when he said that you’d never leave him.

But hopefully, you’ll never have to find out how far he’ll go. A man like Caleb in love is a man who has no shame or fear, other than losing you. And he’ll go great lengths to prove that.

“Forever,” he mumbles. “You’re never leaving me.”

“Never,” you kiss his neck. “I promise.”

And he intends to make sure you keep it.

[mommyslittlebird]

Mama

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

Summary: After a few months of staying with Wanda, she decides to take you on a vacation, but overwhelming feeling boil to the surface and get in the way.

CW: Stepmother/stepdaughter, unrequited love, mommy issues

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Happy Mother's Day! This took me forever, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it. Thank you to @wandamaximoffsbadgirl for the help while I was trying to finish this up.

Chapter 1 of Mama

Before Wanda, the term “Mama” had always been a sore spot for you. It was a word that sort of seemed to highlight a wound, a gaping hole inside of you. “Mama” was an absence: not only a thing you could not have, but also a thing you could not know. Even in your mind, which had grown so used to mothering itself, you could not conceptualize a Mama.

You could only glue together bits and pieces of women you had admired throughout your life. You liked the way the after school lady braided your hair. You liked that your neighbor let you pick flowers from her garden. You liked your friend's mom’s muffin recipe. You liked your 11th grade English teacher’s soothing voice and soft smile. 

But the flimsy fragments of kind women could not fill the mama shaped hole in your chest. Because, at the end of the day, there were still no soft arms to run into. There were still no gentle hands patching up your scraped knees or neatly folded notes in the bottom of your lunchbox. 

That is, until there was Wanda. 

Suddenly, “mama” had a meaning again. It was no longer a word of absence or distant fantasies. It was a word of admiration and love and the absolute certainty that you were safe and cared for. 

You sat on Wanda’s lap, anxiously fidgeting with her rings. You were allowed to do things like this with Wanda, sit in her lap and play with her rings like a nervous child. It wasn’t frowned upon or chided as a child’s habit. Instead, Wanda gently wrapped her arm around your waist, splaying the hand you weren’t playing with across your stomach. “What’s wrong, angel?”

You shrugged. “I’m nervous. For our trip tomorrow.” You and Wanda had decided on what she called a “girl’s weekend” this week. You hadn’t done a lot of travelling with Wanda. You hadn’t done a lot of travelling, period. But Wanda had planned a trip special for the two of you in… Pennsylvania? She promised to make it a low pressure trip. It was just over a three day weekend, so you didn’t want to do anything too energy intensive. You did have to go back to class on Monday. 

She pulled you back against her chest and kissed the crown of your head. “There’s nothing to worry about, baby. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I know. But…” you stammered, turning back to face her. “what if��� I don’t know… you know that sometimes I get to not feeling good, and I’m not always up for going out….” You had a really sensitive and unpredictable stomach. You had a tendency to get sick from eating random things, or even nothing at all. It had always been the bane of your existence when it came to plans like this. You dreaded having to drop out of things at the last minute because you started to feel sick all of the sudden. Everyone, even the people who acknowledged you couldn’t help it, was always so annoyed with you when it happened. You could hardly blame them, though, it was terribly inconvenient to have your well thought out plans so consistently wrecked by the same issue over and over again. Wanda hadn’t gotten annoyed with it yet, but you were sure that it would only be a matter of time. 

She sighed empathically. She was more than familiar with your health issues and your insecurities around them. She also knew there was nothing exactly she could tell you to make them go away. All she could do was show up again and again, every time you felt sick and needed her. She pressed another kiss to your head. “Then we’ll curl up in bed and watch Full House reruns until you feel better,” she reassured softly. “I know I wanted to surprise you, but…” she crooned, leaning forward and resting her chin on your shoulder, draping her arms around your waist, “I’d like to remind you I planned this trip with you in mind. I know you well enough to know that a weekend full of grand plans and action packed adventure isn’t really your speed.” She rubbed your forearms, gently caressing them up and down. “I’m not taking you to Pennsylvania because I just love Pennsylvania. I’m taking you on a trip because I want to spend a weekend with you, even if that’s just in a hotel bed.” 

You took both of her hands in yours and leaned your head back onto her shoulder. “Thank you,” you swallowed quietly. You turned your head to nuzzle her cheek. You weren’t used to someone going so far out of their way to customize something special just for you. 

“Of course, baby,” she smiled. “Anything for my special girl.” She kissed your temple and whispered in your ear. “Bring a bathing suit.”

***********

The “hotel” Wanda mentioned actually turned out to be more of a resort. It was right up your alley with a mixture of genuinely nice, elegant features and kitschy, over the top opulence. It was technically a couple’s resort that went really overboard with the Valentine’s Day-esque theme. The lobby and halls all had bright red carpet with gold accents. There were hearts everywhere, from the carpet to the curly trim leading up to the ceiling. It was just absurd enough to be funny rather than an odd place for your stepmother to take you on a trip. 

The kitschy opulence only increased as you made your way to your room. The room was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. In fact, “room” wasn’t even the word you’d use to describe it. You walked into a sort of small lounge area with a loveseat, an armchair, and a small tv. But the most notable feature was the wall directly across from the door. It was made entirely of mirrors aside from what appeared to be a giant coupe glass. There was a small doorway behind the mirror that led to a staircase up to the top of the glass. You stepped into the center of the glass, which was about the size of a hot tub. You were shocked to see it had a drain and a faucet. 

“Is this a bathtub?” you gasped excitedly. 

Wanda giggled and nodded, looking up at you from the lounge. “A jacuzzi. But yes, it is.” 

Continuing down the hallway, you found the bedroom. It was a massive, circular bed with a mirror on the ceiling. The white sheets were littered with red and pink rose petals. You jumped on to the bed, sending the rose petals flying. Wanda laughed from the doorway. 

“So? What do you think?” she asked, a slight nervous lilt in her voice. She realized how odd it may seem, to bring her stepdaughter to a couple’s resort, but it seemed like the perfect place to take you. It would have more than enough entertainment for the next two days, but it didn’t require you to go out and do things that may drain you. Most of the entertainment was localized to the resort, if not in the room itself. There was a rooftop bar, a few restaurants, a small arcade, a big pool, and even a putt putt course.  

“I love it!” you giggled. 

Wanda smiled, pointing to the glass door on the other side of the bedroom. “You haven’t even seen the best part.”

You walked over to the door, opening it to reveal a room made almost entirely of glass, overlooking the beautiful forest that surrounded the resort. The room was relatively small, but in the center there was a small, heart-shaped pool. 

You gasped. “Is this just ours?”

She nodded. “Just for you and me.”

You threw yourself into her, smiling dopily. “Thank you, mama. Truly, this is… magnificent. Exceeding all expectations.”

She squeezed you tight and kissed the top of your head. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your coconut shampoo. “Anything for you, my darling,” she said with a smile. 

You walked to the window, looking out over the beautiful resort property. There was a small forest, a lake, and a larger outdoor pool. You put your hand to the window, gasping in awe. Wanda came up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist. She trailed her hand up your arm, drawing your hand back to your own waist. She rested her chin on your shoulder. “I was thinking we do seafood tonight?” she suggested. You loved seafood. “We could doordash it. Have it brought straight to the room.”

You cupped her cheek, nuzzling her face against yours. “That sounds lovely,” you hummed pleasantly. 

She kissed your temple. “You want to wash up? Then we can spend the evening in our pajamas, and watch something on the television. You can pick out something on Netflix or youtube.”

You giggled. “You know me so well.”

It didn’t surprise you to find the shower was just as spacious and luxurious as the rest of the hotel room. It had three shower heads so two people could shower at the same time without leaving anyone out of the water. It made for a heavenly showering experience, even just for one person.  

You put on your favorite silky pajamas, drying out your hair and clearing out of the bathroom so Wanda could shower.

You laid prone on the giant bed, staring up at the ceiling mirror while you waited on Wanda. You couldn’t stop smiling, still giddy about the absurdly fancy room and the carefully chosen resort. Your preference for more relaxed activities was frequently overlooked when it came to vacations. It’s a large part of the reason you hated traveling. You hated feeling like dead weight in groups of high energy people who wanted to explore and do as much as they could possibly squeeze into a short period of time. It made it so trips were a thing of over exhaustion and stretching yourself too thin rather than a source of joy.  

But Wanda didn’t put your preferences and needs in a secondary category that she had to work around. She took them in stride, working with them rather than around them. She wanted to prove that it was completely possible to have a good vacation that catered to your easy going nature. And she succeeded. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked, getting out of the shower and drying her hair with a towel in the doorway. She threw the towel in the hamper and came to sit on the bed next to you. 

You scooted closer to her, resting your head on her lower stomach “I’m just… happy. Grateful. You did an excellent job to find this place.”

She smiled down at you, carding her fingers through your hair. “I’m really glad you like it,” she said in a low voice. “I was a little nervous, honestly. I know a couples resort is an… odd pick. But I know you like it best when it’s just the two of us. And, well, there’s really no better place for two people to be alone together. Plenty of… privacy.” 

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, I guess they don’t make a lot of self-contained resorts for mothers and daughters to hang out alone, huh?”

She chuckled. “That they do not.”

“It’s okay. I think we can handle a couple rose petals and shoddy sex jokes,” you joked and shifted to lay next to her. 

She giggled, tucking your hair behind your ear while she admired your giddy smile. She rubbed your chin. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” 

There was a long moment of silence while the two of you stared at each other with wide smiles. You had so much joy and love in your heart. And then, something in your brain short circuited. 

There were supposed to be categories in my mind that differentiated between different types of love. The way you loved your family is different from the way you loved your friends, which is different from the way you loved your romantic partner and so on. You loved Wanda as a mother, but you didn’t exactly know how to love a mother. There wasn’t a category for this thing you were feeling. There was just love. So you did what you knew how to do when you loved someone. You leaned forward and kissed her. 

And she kissed you back, for a moment. It was more out of shock than anything. But the moment her mind registered what was happening, she pulled away, pushing gently against your sternum. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. There was a long moment before she started again. “Honey… we… I…” she stammered, unsure of what to say or where to start. 

You didn’t let her sit in the discomfort long, though. As soon as the paralyzing shock of what’d you’d done wore away, you shot upwards and out of the bed, making a b line for the door.

“Sweetheart… wait…” she said, sitting up to try and stop you. Grab you before you get away. Anything to keep you from leaving. But she wasn’t fast enough. By the time she was on her feet, you were already through the door.

You didn’t know where you were going. The hallways of the hotel were disorienting without any clear signage or direction. The walls, previously hilarious and gaudy, were now overwhelming and suffocating. The red and gold patterned carpet seemed to stretch on infinitely, repeating over and over again with the same diamond shapes under your feet no matter how fast or far you ran. You finally found a stairwell, one that was clearly not meant for guest use, and you rushed down the stairs. Unlike the highly stylized hallways and elevators, the stairwell was a poorly-lit, echoey cement chamber that twisted downwards further than you could see. You only stopped when you hit a dead end: a locked door that presumably led into the basement. You scrambled under the final flight of stairs, tucked your knees to your chest, and sobbed. 

You ruined it. You ruined everything. You’d spent your entire life searching for something to fill the mom-shaped hole in your heart, and you just happened to find the greatest woman in the entire world. She’d given you everything you could ever want and more, made you feel whole in ways you’d never dreamed of, and you repaid her with a paraphilic, pseudo-incestous kiss. 

You heard the door click open from the top floor, the sound echoing like a gunshot down the stairwell. Then, her voice: “Y/N? Y/N are you in here?” She sounded panicked, out of breath like she’d run through every corridor in the building looking for you. 

You would have stayed silent, if you could have, but the flat concrete walls of the stairwell amplified every choked cry by 10. You could already hear her running down the steps. She found you tucked in the back corner under the last flight of stairs, trembling and shaking with the effort of staying quiet.

“Oh baby,” she sighed, kneeling down beside you and wiping the hair from your wet cheeks. “Come here.” She sat cross legged against the wall next to you and pulled you into her lap, gathering your quivering body up into her arms. She kissed your head, resting her chin on top of it while she rocked you back and forth. 

You wanted to protest: tell her to go away and wait for you back in the room, but you couldn’t. You just cried harder and harder until your body was heaving with the effort. “I’m sorry,” you sobbed, muffled by the fabric of her pajama shirt. “I’m so so sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby,” she soothed, running her hand up and down your spine. “It’s okay. I understand it was just an accident. It happens sometimes. Our bodies get confused and our feelings spill out in ways we don’t mean. I understand, angel. I know that’s not how you feel about me.”

You swallowed, choking down a sob. It didn’t come as a surprise that Wanda forgave you so easily, but her words twisted up your insides. Maybe because you didn’t think you deserved them, or worse. Maybe you knew, somewhere deep inside of yourself, that they weren’t true. What you had done wasn’t some knee jerk reaction that held no meaning or reflected nothing about how you felt towards her. No. You didn’t kiss her by mistake. You kissed her because you wanted to. Because you loved her.

“And what if…” you stammered, too upset to stop yourself. “What if it is? What if that is how I feel about you?”

Wanda’s hand froze on your back, and she stopped rocking. Her entire body went taut like a bow string about to snap. Then she sighed, relaxing and continuing her movements. She kissed your head again, swallowing hard before whispering into your hair. “Then we’ll figure that out too,” she said finally. “We’ll figure that out too.” 

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

fool for you

fratboy!Johnny x f!reader

summary: Johnny has decided that enough is enough! He can’t stop thinking about you and he needs to do something about it! Well… it’s so much easier said than done

word count: 4.4k

warnings: profanity

a/n: fic is set in our new and beloved, fratboy!Johnny universe and will chronologically follow after this post! and oh my gosh yes! stop pestering me! I did name this after linger by the cranberries!

divider creds to roseraris <3

taglist! @severeanxietyissues @neozon3nha @bluedbliss @lovesuhng @wishpid @myfavoritedelusion @onlyrosyjohnny @soonnypeach @noname9392 @sunghoonsgfreal @mmjhh1998 @thedaisyarchive @ohwowzersthatscool @greenyweirdo @127jfam

Johnny wasn’t sure that he’d ever felt this restless in his whole life. How is it that his life had gone from normal, boring, standard, to a complete mess simply because he’d talked to you? You, the girl he hadn’t so much as spoken more than two minutes with him in the years that he first saw you and now you lived in his head! He couldn’t stop thinking about you, he constantly hoped he’d see you again on campus, he wished you’d come to the house again. 

He didn’t think he’d ever been this infatuated before. He felt like a kid with a crush all over again. He wasn’t like any of the stereotypical frat guys who jumped from girl to girl. No, Johnny was more of a boyfriend kid of guy and he hadn’t had a relationship since he and his high school girlfriend ended things before going to opposite end of the country for college. Was it so bad that he wanted a timeless love like his parents? Was it so bad that he wanted to find his other half? The person who would know him better than anyone else and love him for who he was.

Less than an hour spent together and you had completely taken over his thoughts. When would he see you again? What was your favorite color? What was your favorite class? Did you like him as much as he liked you? He sure hoped you did.

He laid in bed, staring at his ceiling while he tried and failed to fall asleep. Why was his brain even so focused on memories of you in the class you shared during his second semester? He could remember vivid images of you, or more, the back of your head. His mind thought back to one specific moment where the class had been tasked with some kind of whole class, lazy activity. The professor, who looked worse for wear, had kicked his feet up on his desk, displayed the instructions on the projector screen and knocked out for the entirety of the class. 

Johnny remembered walking around the auditorium, filling out his worksheet with only one space left to fill out. Nobody that he’d spoken to knew the answer, since none of them had read the last chapter like they were supposed to. He knew he should have done his homework, he probably could have been out of class already, but he’d gotten caught up in frat stuff. Johnny perked his head up, making his way down the stairs and toward the row that was just two rows away from his own row, right to where you were sitting alone and diligently filling out the worksheet with your head ducked down. 

Slowly, Johnny lowered himself into the seat beside you so as to not startle you, “hey.”

Still, you jumped in your seat, having completely missed how his tall frame slipped beside you so seamlessly and quietly. He watches as your hand spreads over your chest in your shock. Your cheeks bloom with warmth and he smiles softly, you’re really pretty. Seeing you up close and not in passing, not from the back, he feels a part of him fall hard for you. 

Your voice is prettier than any song he’s ever heard, even as you laugh shyly, “you scared me.”

He chokes on his words, is that his heart pounding in his ears or is someone banging on the door? Are everyone’s eyes as gorgeous as yours? He clears his throat, blinking a few times to refocus himself, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just uh, I need some help answering the last question on the worksheet. I asked a bunch of people and no one knows the answer. Can you help me?”

“Oh, yeah! That question was hidden somewhere in the last few pages of the chapter, but I actually happened to make a note of it…” you tell Johnny as you flip through your notebook to find the page. 

He can only watch and admire your dedication to passing this class, even if it is a general requirements class. You slide your notebook over to him and he admires your neat scrawl and organized notes. “Here it is,” you tell him softly as you point out the line with the information he needs. 

Johnny copies down the information and smiles at you gratefully, “thank you so much. I’m usually so on top of my assignments, but I guess I got carried away with all the frat stuff I have going on.”

You cock your head to the side with a soft furrow in your brows, “I’m not judging you at all. It’s okay to be busy with things. The homework wasn’t even homework anyway so it’s really no bother at all.”

His body is reacting in that weird way again, but worse than usual. Probably because he’s doing more than just looking at you this time. He’s actually talking to you! A real conversation! His heart is thumping hard and fast in his chest as he forces his brain to remember to breathe! He chuckles softly, “well, I appreciate the help anyway.”

You nod as you pack up your things and stand from your seat with your backpack over our shoulder. “It’s no problem. Have a good one,” you tell him before you walk away from him to leave the lecture hall. 

The memory brings a smile onto Johnny’s face as he drifts off to sleep with thoughts of you on his mind. 

The next time he sees you, it’s not even planned. He’s just come back from a run when he walks past Mark on his way out of the door. Johnny looks at Mark in confusion, “what’s up? I thought you didn’t have class on Thursdays.”

Mark sighs, “I don’t but you guys are up my ass about going to my tutoring sessions so…”

Johnny lets out a laugh, “I think you mean that we’re up your ass about succeeding. Nu Chi doesn't keep idiots around.”

“That’s debatable,” Mark replies with a laugh, “I’m off to the library so I won’t be late. I’ve kept my tutor waiting for too many sessions already. See you later, bro.”

The door shuts and Johnny stands in the entryway for less than a second before he’s sprinting up the stairs, taking them three at a time. He pushes someone out of his way with a shout of “sorry!” He rushes into the bathroom and forces himself into an ice cold shower to wash the sweat and stink off his body. 

He knows he’s dripping water all down the hall as he runs to his room to get dressed. He knows he’s yelled at his brothers for this before, but he has a very limited amount of time to meet you at the library! You wouldn’t be tutoring Mark forever!

He finds one of his nicer t-shirts hanging in the closet, a clean pair of jeans and tucks his wet hair under a backwards cap before slipping on his shoes and making his way out of the house. He’s hustling across campus trying not to sweat while practicing what he’s going to say to you. He feels like a total idiot right now. He’s never been the kind of person to be nervous about meeting anyone. He’s always confident and charismatic, even though you’re his social opposite, he finds that he’s not himself. It’s kind of a fun feeling to experience again. 

He slows his stroll as he walks through the library, trying to look casual as he peeks into every study room, examines every table on the first floor, on the second floor, and finally, the third floor. He peeks his head to take a look in what was, of course, the last study room on this floor. He finds you and Mark looking at your laptop and taking notes. 

Johnny takes a deep breath and straightens out his clothes before freezing. Shit, what was his excuse for being here even going to be? ‘Hey there, I was just casually prowling the third floor of the library, mind if I join?’ No way! He pulls a random notebook from his backpack before knocking on the glass door with a friendly smile. He pushes the door open, “hey, sorry to interrupt. Mark, you left your notebook at the house, I wasn’t sure if you needed it.”

You look over at Mark with a confused look on your face and Mark looks at Johnny with a matching look of confusion, “I have my notebooks. That’s not mine.”

“Oh, well…” Johnny gulps nervously with sweaty palms, “I just wanted to be safe. I want you to do your best Markie.”

Mark’s face twists into a look of disgust, “since when have you ever called me Marki-”

Johnny coughs, cutting Mark off, “well, since I’m here. You guy’s don't mind if I just stay, do you? I’ll be quiet and I’ve got some studying to do of my own anyway.”

“That’s fine,” you nod slowly, returning to Mark.

Johnny spends about an hour sitting on the opposite end of the table from you, pretending to study. Really, his mind is busy working out the conversation he wants to have with you when your session with Mark is done. 

“So I guess, when in doubt, just add as many details about this time period as you can. I think your professor is likely to focus on the areas we covered today for the essay question, but don’t hold me to it. Do you have any questions before we wrap up?” Johnny hears you ask Mark.

Mark laughs as he packs his things up, “yo, I’m actually feeling really good about this test! Thank you, dude.”

Your laugh makes Johnny’s heart skip a beat as you help Mark gather his things and smile up at him, “It’s my job Mark, it’s really no problem. Good luck on your test and let me know how it goes.”

Mark leaves the study room, but not without a look of pure and utter suspicion thrown in Johnny’s direction before he leaves the two of you alone in the study room. Johnny clears his throat, “hey, so are you- you doing anything after-”

Someone clears their throat and Johnny turns to find a girl waiting in the doorway. Johnny’s eyes flit over to you to find that you’re already looking at him with wide eyes, “I’m sorry Johnny, I have another tutoring session right now.”

Johnny’s mouth snaps shut and he nods awkwardly, grabbing his backpack and making his way past the girl quickly. In an hour he’s going to feel like a major idiot for trying and failing to ask you out. He should have just spit it out! ‘Hey! Please go out with me! Please! I will beg!’ But he didn’t and somehow he didn’t feel like a loser quite yet… Mostly because, well, this was going to make him sound like a total dweeb, but you said his name! Was it possible to have two new favorite sounds upon the first time hearing them? Your laugh and his name on your lips.

If he’d have looked over his shoulder while he was leaving the room, he’d have seen you staring at his back as he left. He’d have seen how your eyes were wide and tracked his form until he was completely out of sight. Then consequently seen your next student bumping your arm and teasing you while you hid your face in your hands.

He walks back to the frat house with an extra pep in his step, though as soon as he opens the door, there’s Mark with a smug look on his face, “dude, you are so fucking lame. Really? ‘You forgot your notebook Markie.’” Mark’s face twists into an unimpressed smirk while he holds up the same notebook that Johnny had used as an excuse. A notebook that clearly read ‘JOHNNY’ in Yuta’s signature tag style. Johnny swallows as his cheeks get hot, “you didn’t show her that did you?”

Mark chuckles, “nah, you were smart enough to only show the back of the notebook. She’s not hard to talk to, you know?”

Johnny drags a hand down his face, “she is to me. Only God knows why.”

“You got it bad, bro. Pull yourself together,” Mark laughs brightly as he shakes Johnny by the shoulders.

Very rarely does Johnny like to admit that Mark is correct, but Mark is right this time. He does have it bad, so incredibly horrendously bad for you. He’s no longer keeping an eye out for you, no, he’s “casually” walking across campus to the humanities and social science buildings because that’s where your classes are more likely to be held. 

It’s a Monday when he sees you again. A whole two and a half weeks since he last tried to ask you out. His classes have already finished for the day, but he finds himself making the familiar walk across campus toward the humanities building. The sky is warm and the sun feels nice on his skin as he strolls and swipes through his phone. In the blink of an eye his phone is falling to the floor as his body collides with another. 

“Oh shoot, I am so sorry,” he hears the other person say. Not just any other person, you. He gulps, falling to his knees beside you as you gather all your papers and books back into a neat pile. He can hear your nervous rambling, “I’m really sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going. I’m just running late on my way to the library and— Johnny? What are you doing on this side of campus?”

Johnny isn’t even thinking of a response because while he was listening to you speak, he wasn't listening to what you were really saying. His brain was too busy memorizing the timbre and tone of your voice to focus on any words. It takes his brain a whole minute to process your question all while he stares at you blankly. He clears his throat, right, what was he doing over here, “I… the… I like that bathrooms over here…” What the hell, John?! The bathrooms?!

You giggle softly, “the bathrooms? Surely, the engineering building would have the nicest bathrooms since that building is the newest.”

Oh. You actually bought that flimsy excuse. He coughs softly, “are you… are you doing anything right now?” Wait a second, did your fingers just brush against his? Why was a simple brush of your fingers against making his heart race? What the heck was up with him?

“Yeah, actually, I’m on my way to another tutoring session,” you answer as you pile all your things into your arms before standing. 

Johnny stands up slowly, looking down at you as his eyes trace over every small detail on your face, every curve and every edge. His eyes drag over the curve of your lips, the lashes that line your eyes, and the way your cheeks round as you smile up at him. He blinks slowly, once, twice… what was it about you that made him act like such a fool? Why didn’t his brain work how it was supposed to around you? “Right,” he shakes his head with a smile, “of course. I’m sorry for making you later.”

Your brows furrow just slightly before you smile up at him in such a sweet way that he might just feel his pupils turning into hearts. Your hand comes up to squeeze his forearm. Great, now he’s a puddle from a simple squeeze of your hand. “You get this really faraway look in your eye when you look at me. We’ll have to talk about that next time we see each other,” you tell him in the sweetest voice he’s ever heard before hustling away like you always do. 

He doesn’t even care if you see him if you choose to turn away, but he hunches over, one hand gripping his t-shirt as he tries to catch his breath. Fuck, this was the best feeling in the world, being around you, looking at you, talking to you. And was it just his imagination or did your hand actually linger when you squeezed his arm? 

His train of thought is interrupted when someone coughs, “dude, are you having an asthma attack or something?”

“Something better,” Johnny breathes out.

The person shakes their head, “dude, you’re strange.”

Johnny has been practicing asking people out for a week now. Not only in the mirror, when he showers, before bed, to his pillow, his teammates, and also to every frat brother in the house. It helps him to develop a more well-rounded proposal since he gets so many types of feedback. When Mark and Haechan tell him it’s perfect, he goes to Taeyong to really get it the best it can be. What do those losers know anyway?

He’s thinking about you every second of the day and for some reason, manifesting your presence hasn’t worked like it has these last few times. He still walks around your class building, he keeps an eye out for Mark heading out for tutoring, and even walks around the library for a couple hours a few days. Nothing. Where could you have disappeared to? 

He knows that you’re probably busy with his own classes and tests, but.. he just misses you. It’s not even like the two of you have had any real conversations of substance, but the way you make him feel? It’s addicting. Not in a crazy way, but in a way that makes his heart beat a whole lot faster than running a few laps around the basketball court and feels a hell of a lot better. This must be the kind of feeling he remembers his dad explaining to him when he was a kid. 

Back when Johnny was a tween he’d gone to school with a bouquet of flowers to confess his crush on a girl from his science class. She had turned him down, kept the flowers, and shamelessly asked if his friend was looking for a girlfriend. Johnny had faked a stomach ache, not letting a single tear fall until he was at home and in his dad’s arms. 

“The right person for you won’t make you feel like this, Son,” his dad says soothingly as he rubs a calming hand up and down Johnny’s back, “Look, when I met your mom I felt like I was going crazy. Every time I saw her my heart would beat like crazy, I thought about her all the time, and every time she so much as looked at me I felt like I was on top of the world. When you find the right person you’ll feel all these things and more and they’ll feel the same way. This is just one of life’s lessons. I know it hurts now, but when the real thing comes along, it will feel so much better.”

Johnny’s been thinking about this conversation a lot. He wonders if, once again, he’s throwing himself into the fire to be burned. He wonders if this will just be another learning lesson on the journey to finding The One, and he starts to get really insecure. This is a feeling that Johnny rarely ever experiences, but when he really thinks about it… have you even shown him any romantic interest or just basic kindness? Did your touch linger? Did you stare a little too long? Did you even actually blush the first time you both made conversation? Whatever. He pushes the thought out of his head and instead forces himself to focus on his upcoming basketball game. He can’t distract himself with these thoughts when he needs to be in his basketball mindset. There’s no room in his head to be insecure or to overthink things. He’s not usually the kind of person to think this anxiously so he takes a deep breath and moves on.

There’s just a couple minutes left of the game, Johnny’s standing at the free throw line, exhaling to calm his nerves while he spins the ball in his hands. The feel of the textured rubber, the smell of the gym, the sight of his teammates and competitors has a familiar excitement bubbling in his stomach. His eyes flicker to the crowd on the left, then the right, and back to the hoop-- but wait, did he see that right? Yeah his frat brothers are there, he sees some people from his classes, but who is that sitting next to Mark? He blinks hard, squinting as he sees Mark pointing at the court and saying something to… you! 

You’re at his game, you’re watching him play, you’re here! It’s a complete shock to see you here. This is the last place he’d expect to see you, but Johnny smiles to himself and feels a whole new sense of confidence when he hears the referee blow his whistle. Johnny sinks not one, not two, but all three free throws with just a few seconds of the game to go. He’s playing better than he’s ever played and he’s already one of the best players on the team. Is it a little embarrassing to admit that it’s because you’re watching? Yeah, but he’s not going to admit it. 

The game ends with a victory by a small margin, but it’s a win nonetheless. His teammates immediately go to their water bottles, coach or girlfriends, but Johnny’s heading over to you. He’s making his way through the crowds accepting congratulations and claps on the back with a grateful smile before he’s walking right up the bleachers and right over to you. His frat brothers have mischievous smiles on their faces and thankfully have the decency to disperse not too far away while Johnny stops just a foot away from you. 

“You-you’re here!” Johnny smiles brightly.

You tuck your hair behind your ear, smiling as you drop your gaze to your feet, “yeah, I figured it was time to branch out of my comfort zone.”

“Well, did you have a good time? You caught me on a good day, heard coach say it was the best I’ve ever played,” Johnny tells you earnestly. 

You look up and Johnny tries to keep his breathing normal at the smile on your face. You’re just so pretty up close. He finds himself distractedly counting every beauty mark on your face and each variation of color in your pupils. You’re breathtaking. He blinks hard, forcing himself to listen to your melodic voice, “I have I admit, I don’t know a whole lot about basketball so Mark had to explain a lot of it to me. He said you did a good job and I know enough to know that you scored most of the points… so congrats!”

He licks his lips, feeling his heartbeat pounding right in the base of his neck. What better moment will there be than now? “Hey, do you want to go out with me? Like on a date… please,” Johnny manages to breathe out. 

Your eyes widen, jaw falling open the slightest bit, “you like me back?”

Johnny chokes, “you like me?!”

“I thought I was being obvious,” you murmur shyly, once again dropping your gaze to look at your feet. 

Johnny laughs a breathy laugh. It’s not malicious or teasing but it’s a laugh of relief. He reaches out and cups your cheeks, guiding your face up to meet his gaze. “I have been pining over you since the first time I talked to you. I feel like I’ve been going crazy every day and acting like a total fool— an idiot! All my stupidity just to find out that you’ve liked me back.”

“Honestly,” you tell him quietly, “I had a feeling you liked me.”

“How?!” Johnny asks, his thumb caressing the high point of your cheek.

You laugh softly and Johnny feels his heart skip a beat, “the humanities building doesn’t have bathrooms, John.”

He feels his face blush bright red as he staggers back and plants himself in a seat. He drags his hands through his hair and down his face with an embarrassed groan, “and you didn’t tell me? I really am an idiot!”

You giggle as you sit beside him, rubbing his upper arm which really doesn't help the blush on his cheeks but is something that he very quickly learns he really likes. You sigh, bumping his shoulder with your own playfully, “if it helps, I feel like an idiot too because my flirting wasn’t enough either. Clearly. We were both somewhat clueless.”

“What flirting?” Johnny asks with his brows furrowed softly.

“I looked at you a lot, I touched your arm that one time— twice actually, I came to your basketball game…” you list off as if these are the most obvious acts to have ever been done.

“Oh, Honey,” Johnny chuckles with a shake of his head, “luckily, with me you’ll get plenty of opportunities to work on that flirting of yours.”

You hide your face behind your hands as you whine embarrassingly. He catches your wrist gently and pulls your hand away just far enough to press a kiss to your cheek, “so, was that a yes? You’ll go on a date with me?”

Your voice is quiet but it’s loud enough to have Johnny standing from his seat and cheering when you murmur, “yes I want to go on date with you.”

“Yes!” You hear the guys around you cheer. You glance behind Johnny and find Mark fist pumping. You laugh quietly and lean into Johnny so your head rests on his shoulder and your arm is pressed up against his.

“Don’t take this the wrong way at all,” Johnny tells you, “but I am not worthy to have you pressed up against me right now. I am dripping with sweat, I smell, and I don’t even look good right now.”

“I’d argue that you actually look very good right now,” you reply before clapping a hand over your mouth in embarrassment.

Johnny’s head snaps in your direction with his eyes widened in shock, “now that’s flirting! Yes!”

a/n: feedback is appreciated and I'm adding the first date fic to my to do list!

[wosospacegirl]

Legally binding - Part 2

Summary: Alexia Putellas didn’t plan to become anyone’s legal guardian. But a very determined 12-year-old with a forged Barça contract has other ideas — and she’s already moved in.

Warnings: Alexia doesn't know how to tuck anyone is, and Y/n is proudly offering five euros to help with groceries.

Word count: 4.6k

Part 1 here

..

Alexia never realised just how big her dining room was until she sat across from a twelve-year-old stranger in it.

She rarely ate here. 

Usually, dinner was something balanced and boring, grilled fish and roasted vegetables, eaten cross-legged on the sofa while half-watching a sports talk show. 

But tonight, with the girl here… it felt wrong, somehow, to eat in silence in front of the TV. So, she set two plates down on the dining table like a proper adult and tried not to feel weird about it.

Now, she just watched, fork halfway to her mouth, as the girl absolutely inhaled her food. 

She was nearly finished already, only a few broccoli left on her plate, while Alexia had barely made it through her third bite.

And she was eating everything. Even the vegetables.

“Aren’t kids supposed to hate that kind of thing?” Alexia asked.

The girl looked up, cheeks full. She looked like a squirrel. 

Alexia resisted the urge to sigh. “So…” she said instead, reaching for her orange juice, “what’s your name?”

The girl shovelled another forkful of pasta into her mouth. “Uhgmm,” she said through it.

Alexia grimaced. “Sorry?”

The girl swallowed, wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, and shrugged. 

“Not telling you.”

“I’m sorry–what?” Alexia said, completely confused.

“I’m not telling you,” the girl said again, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ll just give me back if you know.”

Alexia stared at her, genuinely baffled. “Give you back?”

“To the orphanage,” the girl said simply. “Obviously.”

Alexia’s mouth opened, then closed again. 

Because… she wasn’t wrong. 

Alexia had wanted to know her name so she could pass it to her lawyer, have someone contact the authorities, figure out how to send her back, and if she was going to have to sign other documents cancelling the guardianship.

“I already know where you came from,” Alexia said slowly. “I don’t need your name to find the orphanage, I know it’s the Santa Clara one”

The girl froze, eyes wide, the fork halfway to her mouth again. Her confidence flickered for just a second.

“You can’t give me back,” she said quickly, too quickly. “You’re my legal guardian now. You signed a document.”

Alexia shot her a look. “A document you forged. In a way, I still don’t even understand.”

The girl set her utensils down and folded her hands over the table. The way she leaned forward, her elbows planted, chin tilted, expression serious, made her look like she was about to do business. 

“Look,” she said, “I don’t want a mom. Or a dad. Okay? That’s not what this is.”

Alexia didn’t answer. She just waited.

“I want to be a footballer,” the girl continued. “Like you.”

Alexia stared.

“I don’t need you to parent me or whatever,” the girl went on, as if that part was obvious. “I just need a place to stay. And for you to get me into La Masia. You don’t even need to pay–I’ve got some money.”

She dug into her hoodie pocket and pulled out a handful of wrinkled bills, proudly laying them across the table like she was negotiating a player transfer. 

Twenties, tens, even a crumpled fifty. Where she got them, Alexia didn’t want to know.

“See?” the girl said brightly. “I can cover the monthly tuition.”

Alexia looked down at the cash, barely enough to buy a pair of shin guards, let alone support a training program, and then back at her.

“You know this wouldn’t even buy one boot, right?”

The girl tilted her head, clearly processing that. “No? Oh….well, that’s okay, I’ll get a job!”

Alexia nearly choked. “You’re not getting a job. You’re a kid.”

“But I can cook! Well, not really. But I can wash dishes!”

“That’s not—” Alexia ran a hand down her face. “That’s not how this works. You can’t just… move in with someone and say you’re gonna get a job in exchange for becoming a professional footballer.”

“Why not?” the girl asked earnestly. “I’ve got a plan. All you have to do is not ruin it.”

Alexia stared at her.

This kid had broken into her house, eaten her dinner, forged a legal document, and now had the audacity to ask her not to ruin her plan.

She took a deep breath, leaned back in her chair, and looked at the girl, who still didn’t have a name. Who looked up at her like this was all normal. 

She forced her own adoption, and she thought it was completely casual.

It should’ve been infuriating.

But instead, Alexia just felt… tired. She had a long day.

She had woken up that morning thinking her biggest worry was the upcoming game. Tactics. Opponent formations. Whether her knee would hold.

Now, she was sitting at her dining table. An unfamiliar setting in itself, thinking about how the kid sitting across from her wouldn’t have clothes for the winter.

Alexia leaned back slightly in her chair, eyes drifting down to the empty plate across from her.

“Do you want more?” she asked, her voice calm.

The kid, who up until now had spoken with nothing but confidence, seemed to wilt a little. 

Her shoulders hunched in just the smallest way, and she looked down at her lap like the question embarrassed her.

“No, thank you,” she said, quiet and polite in a way that felt… off.

Alexia frowned. The plate had been licked clean–well, not literally, but close. 

The kid had eaten her food like someone who didn’t know when her next meal was coming. And now, she was suddenly… demure? 

Yeah. No way was she actually full.

Without saying anything, Alexia reached across the table and took the plate. 

The girl flinched–just a little, a small tightening of the jaw–but said nothing. Alexia turned toward the kitchen, refilled the plate with more pasta, and scooped on an extra spoonful of broccoli, since this one apparently liked it a lot.

Then she returned.

Alexia placed it in front of the girl with a quiet thunk of ceramic on wood.

The kid stared. Then blinked. 

Then looked up at her with eyes too big, too round, too unsure.

“Are you sure?” she asked, voice tentative.

“Sí,” Alexia said, nodding once.

There was a beat of silence. The girl’s fingers crept toward the tablecloth, rubbing the edge between her thumb and index finger. Her brows knit together.

“Won’t it, like…” she hesitated, glancing at the plate again. “Won’t there be like… a shortage of food or something?”

Alexia’s stomach dropped.

“No,” she said gently. “There’s plenty in the pantry. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But your freezer looked empty.”

Alexia flushed. “I haven’t done the groceries yet,” she admitted.

“Oh.” The girl nodded again, like that made sense. 

And then she reached into the pocket of her hoodie. Fingers fumbling a little, she pulled out more crumpled bills.

She took a single five-euro note, smoothed it against her palm, and then, with all the dignity in the world, slid it across the table with one finger.

“To help pay for the food,” she said.

Alexia stared at the note.

 The table felt too big again. 

The kid too small.

 And suddenly, the game or dinner was the least of her worries.

..

When dinner was done, every last bit of pasta and broccoli scraped off the plates, the kid jumped up with unexpected energy.

“I’ll do the dishes!” she declared, already reaching for the sink.

Alexia frowned, rising to her feet. “You don’t have to.--”

“I like touching water,” the girl interrupted, dead serious, like it was a totally normal reason.

Alexia blinked. “Okay then.”

So while the girl stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, Alexia hovered nearby. She dried the plates and set them on the rack, letting the girl have her moment.

She looked comically small next to the counter. The sponge was almost too big for her hand, and she kept having to stretch to reach the faucet.

Alexia cleared her throat, trying to make conversation. “You’re twelve, right?”

“Yes!” the girl said proudly, chin lifted. “Almost thirteen.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes! My birthday is like… in eight months.”

Alexia paused. “Oh. Yeah. Definitely close.”

The girl nodded seriously, as if that settled it. She returned to scrubbing a fork, very concentrated.

Alexia opened her mouth, trying to think of something–anything–she could ask the girl. 

But no question would be enough. None of them could really help her make sense of what had happened two hours ago.

That morning, she was just Alexia Putellas. Barcelona’s captain. Leaving the house with her kit bag slung over her shoulder and her mind focused on training drills.

By the evening? She was… Guardian Alexia Putellas, apparently. Cooking dinner for a twelve-year-old girl who might, technically, be her legal responsibility.

This was insane. Completely insane.

And yet, the girl didn’t look insane. She looked… harmless. Small. 

Too small and far too thin for a twelve-year-old. But also too clever for her own good, too quick with her words, too sharp-eyed. 

And Alexia still didn’t even know her name.

She shivered, recalling how the girl had just… barged in. Walked straight into her living room. Maybe it was time to finally take her mother and Alba’s advice: alarms on the windows, a digital lock on the door. Something that needed a code to open. 

They had begged her to upgrade the security for years, but she had always brushed them off.

Now? Knowing a pre-teen had managed to scale her building and just walk inside?

Yeah. That needed to change.

Her thoughts spiralled further, carried by a chill that ran down her spine.

What would have happened if the girl had chosen a different house? 

What if she’d climbed into the wrong apartment? Found someone who wasn’t kind, who wasn’t safe? Someone with bad intentions?

Alexia’s stomach twisted.

It was obvious no one was looking out for this kid. 

The way she had spoken, so confident, rehearsed, utterly convinced of the legality of her claim, told Alexia that this wasn’t just a prank. 

Something real had happened. Something official enough for the girl to believe it.

And if the orphanage had really let her leave like that…

She rubbed a hand down her face, exhaling slowly. Tomorrow, she was going to call Pedro. Her lawyer would know what to do—he would get the facts straight. 

He could find out who this girl was, where she came from, and what kind of orphanage allowed a child to walk around Barcelona with nothing but a backpack and a forged contract claiming a new parent.

Because right now, Alexia wasn’t even sure what kind of situation she’d gotten herself into.

But one thing was clear: this girl had nowhere else to go.

..

"Okay, everything is done here," Alexia said, sliding the last plate into the cupboard.

The kid, however, wasn’t done. She was hunched over the sink with that same determined energy, scrubbing the basin like it owed her something. 

Her fingers moved fast, precise, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

“I don’t think it looks clean enough,” the girl muttered to herself, scrubbing harder. “I like cleaning. It’s like... when something gets shiny, you feel like you fixed something, even if it’s small.”

Alexia tilted her head, trying to spot whatever the girl was obsessing over. From where she stood, the kitchen practically sparkled. 

Not a speck of food, not a smear of sauce. It looked better than it had in weeks.

“Hm… no, it’s good–come on,” Alexia said, reaching for the sponge.

The girl rolled her eyes in response.

Oh. So this was what her mother had felt all those years, when she and Alba would roll their eyes over homework or chores. 

It was infuriating.

“It’s clearly not clean. Don’t you see this?” The kid jabbed at the sink with her sponge, pointing at what Alexia could only describe as a microscopic speck of tomato sauce, dried and clinging stubbornly to the metal.

Alexia squinted. “It’s just tomato sauce…It’s been there for two weeks.”

“Exactly.”

“This is the last thing you’re cleaning,” Alexia declared, watching the wall clock. Ten p.m. already. It was late for a kid. It was late for her, and she hadn’t even changed out of her training clothes yet. “After this, you’re not touching another sponge again.”

The girl nodded, satisfied with her mission. She hummed as she scrubbed, making up a ridiculous song under her breath: “Sauce, sauce, go away, come back never again.”

Alexia blinked. The kid was weird.

When she tried sneaking over to the counter to keep cleaning, Alexia snatched the sponge from her hand.

“Hey!” the kid protested.

“I told you, no more cleaning.” Alexia pointed dramatically toward the living room. “Out. Let’s get you sorted.”

The girl huffed but obeyed, shoulders slouched like she was being exiled from her kingdom.

As they walked into the living room, Alexia tried to figure out what exactly “sorting her out” meant. 

Maybe… just continuing her own routine and bringing the kid along? That seemed like a reasonable plan.

The girl paused in front of the television, standing still like she had stumbled across a secret relic. Her eyes locked on the blank black screen, her expression puzzled.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do–” Alexia began, adopting her classic on-pitch captain voice, ready to lay down a game plan. “We’re going to take a bath, then go to bed, and tomorrow we’ll–”

“What is this?” the girl asked, cutting her off completely. She pointed at the television.

Alexia blinked. “What?”

“This. What is this?”

“It’s a television.”

The girl looked at her like she’d just spoken another language. “What is a television?”

Alexia stared. “A TV. You know… televisión?”

Still no reaction. The girl tilted her head.

“It shows things,” Alexia tried again, gesturing vaguely. “Movies, cartoons, serious stuff like the news… and football games. The best kind of content.”

The kid squinted at the screen, unmoved. “I don’t know what any of that means.”

Alexia let out a stunned little breath. “You… you are Spanish, right?”

“Sí,” the girl replied easily. “I just never… I don’t know what that is.”

Alexia swallowed. “Okay. I’ll explain it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Sí. Now come, let me show you the bathroom.”

The girl picked up her backpack, cradling the adoption folder tightly against her chest like it was something fragile.

 She followed Alexia down the hall. 

The apartment wasn’t large—just two bedrooms with en suites, a guest bathroom, a kitchen, dining area, and living room. 

Cosy enough. 

Functional. 

Alexia had been meaning to buy a proper house, but right now that felt a lifetime away.

She opened the door to the guest room and stepped aside, letting the kid walk in first.

It was a decent space. Queen-size bed, full-length mirror, desk, and a set of drawers. Only her mom or Alba ever stayed in it.

“You can leave your things there,” Alexia said, pointing toward the corner.

The girl turned, her figure suddenly looking too small for the room.

“Is this your room?” she asked.

“No,” Alexia said. “Mine’s down the hall, to the left.”

“So what is this room?”

“It’s the guest room. You’ll sleep here tonight.”

Alexia crossed the room and started fluffing the pillows, trying to make the bed look more inviting. 

She had no idea what she was doing, but it felt like the right thing. Domestic. Caring. Sort of.

The girl stared at the bed.

“I’ve never had one of those,” she said quietly.

Alexia froze. “What?”

“A bed.”

Alexia’s hands fell from the duvet. 

Her chest tightened as she turned around slowly. 

“Oh… no. Really?”

“Gotcha!” The girl grinned, dropping onto the mattress. Her legs dangled above the floor, nowhere near touching it. “You should’ve seen your face! Of course, I’ve had a bed.”

Alexia deadpanned. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

Por Dios.

“So what exactly do you have in there?” Alexia asked, nodding toward the girl’s backpack.

The girl looked at her with a vague grin, clearly proud of the mystery. 

“Oh, just some stuff,” she said, dragging the zipper open with a dramatic flair and flipping the contents onto the mattress.

A modest pile tumbled out.

Some clothing, only enough for two days. One sock–just one. A toothbrush way too old. 

A few crumpled pieces of paper with what seemed to be drawings on them, and some small photographs–clearly of the girl herself, but younger. 

Maybe five or six.

Alexia’s hand hovered over the photos for a second, curiosity tugging at her, but she stopped herself. It felt too personal.

“This is all my stuff,” the girl announced, smiling proudly. “I’ve worked really hard for them!”

Alexia didn’t answer immediately. 

She was going to enjoy this moment where the girl didn’t seem to focus on cleaning the oven, or was too scared to get sent away to ask some questions.

Alexia turned toward the en suite bathroom attached to the guest room, opening a drawer and casually pulling out a few towels. 

She added a face towel, then grabbed a spare toothbrush, some soap, and the small bottles of shampoo she kept around for guests.

“So… worked for them? What do you mean?” Alexia asked, while keeping her voice very casual, as if she didn’t really want to know.

The girl sat on the edge of the bed, legs swinging. “Yes. Work. We had to clean the orphanage to get stuff.”

Alexia paused, shampoo bottle still in her hand.

Ah.

That explained the obsession with the spotless sink.

She gave a quiet nod and resumed laying the towels neatly on the bathroom counter. 

“Oh…I see.”

The girl didn't seem bothered. In fact, she was proud. 

Not ashamed or bitter–just explaining the rules of the world she had grown up in. Alexia's chest tightened.

When she returned to the room, the girl was organising her tiny pile of belongings into the drawers like it was a personal treasure chest.

Alexia cleared her throat.

“The bathroom’s ready. I left you everything you might need, but you can tell me if something’s missing.”

The girl nodded solemnly, folding her single sock neatly.

“You good?” Alexia asked.

“Sí.”

The bathroom door clicked shut with a soft thud. It wasn’t loud–but somehow, it echoed.

Alexia stood there for a moment, her hand half-raised like she might knock on the bathroom door, but for what reason? She didn't know. 

So she let it drop and looked around.

This was her guest room.

Except… it didn’t quite like hers anymore.

Something about it had shifted, like the room itself had changed and adapted the moment that kid stepped in. 

The light even looked different now….warmer maybe, softer. Or maybe that was just in her head.

Alexia’s eyes caught on the small drawer she had opened earlier to grab a towel. 

It was closed again now, but she knew what was inside: one sock. 

Not a pair. 

Just one. 

Ridiculous. 

One sock shouldn’t change the shape of a room. But it did. She sat down on the edge of the bed–hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to anymore. 

The mattress dipped slightly beneath her weight. She stared at the floor.

Should she stay? Or leave?

Give the girl privacy? But what if she needed something? What if she didn’t know how the water heater worked? What if the pressure changed suddenly? What if she…slipped?

Alexia didn’t even know what kind of soap the kid liked. Did she have a skin condition? Allergies? Was she scared of something? Of being alone?

There was a whole person behind that door…a whole history that Alexia didn’t know about. 

Alexia let herself fall onto the bed, arms splayed out, staring at the ceiling. 

The fan rotated slowly above her, barely moving the air.

She hadn’t felt like this in her own space since… maybe ever. 

Not when her mom visited. Not when Olga stayed over for weeks during her injury. Not even when the team came over for dinners and spilt wine on her rug.

This whole situation was a mess. 

It was scary.

Alexia didn’t know how to care for someone in any way. 

Her romantic life was just sad at this point…she couldn’t remember the last time someone flirted with her without also asking for match tickets.

Her family had to remind her to call because she would get too caught up in football…and now a kid? A whole living-breathing kid?

Alexia swore up and down during her teenage years that she didn’t have any maternal bones in her body, but minutes later, when the girl showed up on the bathroom door with a pyjama that barely reached her wrists, she couldn’t help but feel something tugging inside her chest.

The shirt was too snug around her middle. The pants clung to her calves like leggings, stretched out and faded with wear. 

The fabric had once been pink, maybe. Now it was somewhere between peach and grey.

The kid didn't seem to mind how her belly and calves were showing, though, as if it was normal, how it was meant to be worn.

Still, the girl beamed.

“Oh, so… that’s your pyjama?” Alexia asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yes!” the girl chirped. “I got it on my ninth birthday!”

Alexia hesitated. Did the math. 

“Oh,” she said. “It looks a bit… tight, don’t you think?”

The girl frowned, her eyebrows pulling together like storm clouds.

“No.”

Alexia shifted her weight. “What if you change it? I can lend you one of my shirts or something–”

“No.”

“I just don’t think you’ll sleep comfortably in that,” Alexia said, gentler now, trying not to push.

“I like it. It’s mine.”

That last word hit harder than it should have. Mine.

Alexia shut her mouth. Because what was she going to say? That it didn’t fit? That the sleeves pinch? That it wasn’t warm enough?

It didn’t matter. It was hers. 

One of the few things in the world the girl could claim. And maybe that was more important than being warm or comfortable.

Alexia nodded slowly, almost apologetically. “Okay, sorry. You can keep it.”

The girl didn’t smile now.

She just moved to the bed and sat down cross-legged, fingers picking at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt.

Alexia stood up slowly, legs stiff from sitting too long on the edge of the bed. The girl watched her, still picking at the thread on her too-tight pyjamas.

Alexia hovered for a second, unsure, then stepped to the side of the bed. She reached down, took the edge of the duvet in her hands, and lifted it.

“You can get in,” she said, voice gentler than she expected.

The girl blinked at her. Like the gesture didn’t quite compute. Like she was waiting for something else.

Still, she obeyed. Slipped under the covers slowly, limbs careful and unsure, as if waiting to be told she wasn’t allowed after all. Her head landed on the pillow.

Alexia pulled the duvet up, tucked it lightly around her shoulders. Not too tight. Just enough. She didn’t know what she was doing, but it felt like the right thing.

Neither of them said anything.

She had never tucked anyone in before.

And the girl… looked like she’d never been tucked in either.

So it was a first for both of them.

Alexia hovered again, hands awkwardly at her sides, standing like she was posing for a team photo. The girl just looked at her, face soft and eyes half-lidded with sleep. 

Alexia thought about saying goodnight, or sleep well, or I’ll be just in the next room, but the words caught in her throat.

The girl’s eyes fluttered shut. Her breath evened out, slower. Softer. And then, in the smallest, sleepiest voice

“Please don’t send me back.”

Alexia didn’t answer.

She just stood there for a beat longer, then backed away slowly. Reached for the light switch. The room dimmed into a comforting dusk. 

She hesitated at the door.

Looked one last time.

Then she closed it.

Not all the way. Just enough.

..

In her own room, Alexia grabbed her phone off the charger with hands that felt too shaky for someone who regularly captained national finals.

She opened her messages, scrolled until she found Pedro, her lawyer.

Alexia: Hello, I have an emergency. Please call me

Three dots danced on screen for a while.

Then Pedro finally responded:

Pedro: What happened, Alexia? Something with the contract?

She sighed, fingers flying across the screen.

Alexia: Well, yes. A kid, she somehow got her hands on the contract, slipped a guardianship clause in there, and she came to my house, backpack and everything, saying I’m her legal guardian, she had some documents with her.

The phone started buzzing.

Alexia picked up on the first ring.

“Pedro.”

“You have a what?” he said, voice high and incredulous–nothing like the calm, measured tone she was used to hearing from him.

“I don’t know her name,” Alexia said, running a hand through her hair. “She’s one of the orphans from Santa Clara. You know, that orphanage Barcelona partnered with last month.”

Silence. Then the faint sound of frantic typing.

“Oh God,” Pedro muttered. “Hold on, let me check the system.”

Alexia waited, the only sound on the line the rapid clack of keys.

“Dios mío,” Pedro said at last. “It’s real. It’s all here. You’re listed as her full legal guardian. Signed and everything. The orphanage has already taken her off their records.”

Alexia squeezed her eyes shut. “How the hell did she manage to forge that?”

“No idea,” Pedro said, still sounding awestruck. “But it’s clean. Official. Like it went through the proper channels.”

“I’m so tired,” Alexia whispered, pressing her fingers hard into her eyes.

There was a beat of quiet.

“If you want to reverse it, we can start the paperwork,” Pedro said gently. “It’ll take a few months, but we can make a case for immediate annulment.”

Alexia didn’t answer right away. She stared up at the ceiling, letting the silence drag.

“…Yes. Please.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

“Okay,” Pedro said, just as softly. 

“I’ll start tomorrow morning. But until it’s processed, you’ll still be her legal guardian. That means enrolling her in school, getting her on your health plan, and making sure she’s safe and cared for. If we want the court to undo this, you have to show you were responsible in the meantime.”

“Fuck.” Alexia let out a long breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll take care of her.”

“Good,” Pedro said. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I have something.”

“Wait,” Alexia said quickly. “Do you have her name?”

There was a short pause, then some more typing.

“Y/N,” he said. Twelve years old. Born April second. No siblings in the system. Her mother gave her up–claimed she couldn’t afford to raise her. No ID listed for the mom.”

Alexia nodded slowly, though Pedro couldn’t see her.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Y/n.

Okay.

Alexia hung up. Put the phone down on the nightstand. 

She sat there for a while, staring at the wall. She couldn’t remember the last time she had worried about something that didn’t involve a match or a muscle strain.

Not a press conference. Not a lineup.

Just… a kid.

Maybe that was what scared her the most. Not the responsibility. Not even the legal mess. But the fact that part of her already cared. And it had nothing to do with football.

Alexia allowed her eyes to close on their one.

She dreamt of a sock, folded neatly in a drawer. And a kid with a too-small pyjama, curled under a duvet that didn’t quite belong to either of them.

..

a/n: I’m not sure where this story is going yet, so consider this an open canvas! I’m hoping we can build the plot together, and I’d love to hear any thoughts, suggestions, or ideas you have along the way! <3

Tag list: @edensbreeze @silentwolfsstuff, @goodloe-e @mccabeskcc @blaugranafairy @footy-lover264 @the-fandom-ness @wosofavfanfics

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 18

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, angst Wordcount: 4.3K A/C: hey everybody! this will be the last part of the before london section - think of it as book 1. thank you everyone who’s read all of this and been supporting me, i appreciate you endlessly! please send me your thoughts on the chapter or live reactions because i LOVE those so much <333 also thank you for being so patient with me, if you didn’t know my charger broke so i had to write this chapter on my phone lmao. i’m gonna take a teeny break from so it goes to write something else and then get back to it :) i love you guys, thank you for everything <3 i’ve really poured my blood and sweat into this series

-

Before London

Her world comes crashing down. I can tell because she’s clutching to me as if the past three weeks never happened, hyperventilating. Her face is pressed into my shoulder, my hands holding her like no time ever passed. It took the world ending for her to come back to me. I just wish it didn’t take that much.

“Breathe Izzie,” I comfort her, my own panic subsiding to comfort the girl in my arms. Seeing her fall apart made me want to hold it together. Like I wanted to be the strong one for her.

“Remember, in and out with me,” I whisper, my chest expanding against her as I inhale slowly. She copies me, her breathing more ragged and shaky. Eventually, I feel her calm down. Good. There wasn’t much time to waste.

Pulling back I’m shocked to see how horrified she looks. There’s a tingling on my skin from where she pressed against me. She buries her face into her hands, sighing. “What am I going to do?” She murmurs.

“Hey, not you. We,” I remind her, watching the video one more time before putting my phone down. There was no way to twist this. It’s clearly me and Izara - and according to the comments, everyone else figured it out too.

Yoooooo knew they were together since may nooooo my wife paige come home Omg! Paige is gay?

Izzie is pacing in a small circle, heels clicking against the concrete floor. She’s freaking out. I had never seen her like this - Izzie always had solutions to everyone’s problems. She always knew what to do. It wasn’t easy seeing her this way. I had to figure this out for her sake.

”What are you doing?” She asks teary eyed as I lift my phone to my ear, shushing her gently. I listen to the rhythmic slow beep until a familiar voice answers. My PR agent.

”Hey, sorry to call you outta nowhere. I’m in a bit of a situation.”

”What are you doing?” She whispers, her voice trembling. I simply raise my hand, silencing her. I would never do that normally, but in this situation she allows it.

In a hushed voice I explain the situation to my PR agent while Izzie paces around me, hands thrown over her head. I couldn’t even let myself feel ecstatic over getting her to talk to me again. It was all because this was more serious than I could comprehend.

”What did she say?” Iz asks before I’ve even had the chance to fully hang up.

Taking a deep breath, I meet her gaze. ”She said we gotta assume everyone here has seen it,” I say. Her face twists and her eyes begin to well up. ”Everybody except Linda. We gotta make sure no one tells her.”

”There’s no point she’s probably already seen it,” Iz sighs.

”Linda? On social media in the middle of a work day? Ion think so.”

The girl thinks, looking at the low ceilings of the hallways for a while. ”I guess but what about when she gets home.”

”Ok maybe I’m wrong but Linda doesn’t seem like the type to scroll on TikTok or stan Twitter,” I chuckle hoping to earn at least a smile from her. I don’t.

”I don’t know Paige,” she says. Hearing my name from her lips feels ecstatic. Like I could’ve died right then. ”It’s risky.”

”It’s the only chance you got,” I whisper. I wish it wasn’t true. And I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for all this. I had been in a mood that day. I should’ve been more clear-headed, less drunk, more sensible. What were we thinking kissing out in the open like that?

”My PR team is gonna get that video down. Even if others are posting it, they’ll make sure we don’t end up on TMZ or something,” I comfort the girl. But she’s barely listening.

”But what about all the people that are reposting that shit?”

”All we can do is report and hope for the best Iz.”

Goosebumps rise on her skin when I say her name. But it doesn’t matter, because she’s nearly hyperventilating again.

”Fuck. Holy fuck,” she whispers more to herself, turning her back on me and pushing her dark waves back anxiously. 

”Iz,” I mumble, touching her arm cautiously. She pulls back, turning to me.

”This is all your fault you know,” she says harshly, her voice trembling. ”You were a mess that day. I was just trying to calm you down.”

”Bro,” I chuckle dryly, shaking my head. She hates when I call her that. I’m immediately defensive, the guilt underneath gnawing at me. ”Now maybe I misremember but I’m pretty sure you kissed me.”

”Because you were acting like a bloody lunatic!” She shouts. I hush her, praying to God no one heard the way it echoes around the desolate halls. Izara quiets down, burying her face into her hands again. What are we doing? I know she’s fighting me because she’s completely freaked out.

”We gotta stop screaming and make a plan,” I tell her calmly. She stands there quietly defiant until she realises I’m right. ”I’ll talk to my people, you talk to the media team.”

”What if they don’t listen?” She asks me, a hint of vulnerability shining through her exterior.

”Why wouldn’t they?” I reply, placing a hand on her shoulder. She lets me, despite still avoiding my gaze.

”Everybody loves you Iz, and I mean that. Never heard anyone say a bad thing about you.” It’s true. Every word. She had people on her side so easily.

Finally her green eyes stop scanning the room, landing on mine. They’re still the same, even behind the glossiness of a few tears. Reminiscent of Connecticut. Of the overwhelming vibrancy that I sometimes missed here in Dallas. The feeling when you glanced outside in the summer and your eyes were met with such intense greenery of the trees and the grass that you couldn’t bear to look away. What made it even more beautiful was knowing in only a few months it would all be gone, the view turning from orange to yellow as everything that lived dies, reminding you that everything that was alive and flourishing is there only for a fleeting moment until the pure white cover of snow buries everything that’s dead underneath it. That’s what her eyes were - that short moment, a little piece of home.

”Hey,” I whisper softly. ”Don’t give up just yet.”

Izzie nods slowly, looking straight at me. ”Okay.”

-

“Hey, Rike,” I call as I jog over, my mind stuck on how Izara’s holding up.

I had been circling around College Park for what felt like hours - though it hadn’t even been 40 minutes. Izzie had taken a cab to the office to explain our situation to the marketing team, and anyone we hadn’t thought of. I hadn’t heard of her ever since she left, which was making me nervous, on top of the uncomfortable bubbling in my stomach. 

”I was just looking for you,” Arike replies as her eyes widen.

”Me too. Hey uh, to ask but,” I mumble, scratching the back of my head.  I hated asking for favors. ”Could you talk to the team-”

”Already done,” she says. ”And the practice player, coaching staff too.”

I always knew Arike had my back. But not like this. She had truly become my sister, and this was proof.

”They all love you two. No one’s gonna say shit,” she comforts me, patting my shoulder. 

”Thanks bro,” I smile, letting out a sigh of relief. Maybe we could pull this off. No one’s gonna tell.

”Course,” she shrugs easily. ”You know I got you. You’re family, both of y’all.”

-

My heart’s pounding in my chest, each beat like something trying to claw itself out of me. slamming my sternum painfully. Deep breaths, slow down, I remind myself, imagining the weight of Paige pressed against me. It felt almost good enough to make me forget about everything, almost.

I tie my hair up clumsily, my waves overstimulating me. The office seems eerily desolate, having me walk around for a while until I run into Ava, her blonde hair recognisable anywhere.

”Ava,” I sigh, relieved, hurrying to her. I wish I hadn’t worn heels today, my feet already aching. I hadn’t anticipated all this running around.

”Zari! I thought you were in College Park-”

”Can we sit down? Please?” I ask abruptly, interrupting her. She’s surprised by the seriousness in my voice and it shows in her face.

”Of course, what’s up?”

I lead us into an empty office room, pulling out a chair for her. I’m far too nervous to sit down myself.

”Have you seen it?” I ask carefully, looking at the carpeted floor. I can’t believe I was in this situation. Of all people. The sensible, careful Izara. I swear I’ll never be careless again.

There’s a confused look on Ava’s freckled face. ”Seen what?”

Shit. Sighing I dig my phone out of my purse, my ears burning with embarrassment. I look for shock or surprise but to my confusion, Ava watches the video, expressionless.

”Caleb owes me 20 bucks,” she chuckles, handing the phone back.

”Huh?”

She giggles. ”We had a bet, I knew there was something going on with y’all.”

Of course. Like it was ever really a secret. I feel so stupid. Who was I kidding thinking we could keep this on the low.

”Right well,” I mumble, my cheeks turning hot. ”Well it’s everywhere. And I really, really can not let this get to-”

”- Linda,”  Ava finishes my sentence, picking up on my concern.

”Yeah,” I nod. ”I just, I know it doesn’t make it better but it’s not just messing around. I really care about her and I know I’m asking for a lot but-”

”Zari. I’m not telling nobody,” she comforts me. ”And I’ll make sure no one else does. If it’s up to me Linda will never see that, okay?”

I nod, relieved. 

”I’ll also make sure those posts of the video get taken down okay?” Ava smiles, wrapping an arm around me and patting my back. She’s the one managing the algorithms and viewership so her help will be everything.

”Oh my goodness you’re shaking,” she comforts me. I notice the trembling of my legs that are indeed weak, barely holding me upright.

”It’s pretty stressful,” I chuckle coldly, my eyes burning as I hold back tears. Suddenly, the sound of my phone vibrating against the table makes me jump. It’s Paige.

“Hey,” I answer. The rumbling of traffic comes through before her voice.

“Hey, I’m driving over. All good at College Park.”

“Here too,” I say, smiling bye to Ava as she leaves me to talk with the blond. “Just gotta wait for the PR team to get out of their meeting.”

“You tell Trey yet?” She asks. Oh shit. Trey. 

“I haven’t seen him,” I admit. A moment of silence falls upon us.

“I’mma be there in like 10 minutes okay?”

“Paige,” I start, feeling a throbbing ache in my shoulder. “It’s okay, you don’t need to come here.”

The line goes silent, the quiet hum of the road and traffic coming through. 

“You don’t want me to?”

Reaching over to my neck I massage the tension but it doesn’t go away. Is that really what I want? Why is it so hard to figure it out?

“No, I need you here,” I finally accept. Despite the tension and the mess between us it was clear that I needed her. That her presence made everything better. That’s just what Paige is like. She brings the sun with her wherever she goes.

-

I’m picking at my skin when the blonde emerges into the empty office lobby, holding two cups. She looks surprisingly serene considering - though it wasn’t her job that was on the line.

“What’s this?” I ask as she hands one of the cups to me. It feels warm against my skin.

“Coffee, black,” she says absentmindedly, taking a seat in the chair next to mine, taking a sip of the frappucino she got for herself.

I do the same, feeling the warm bitter taste fill my mouth. It’s just how I liked it. My heart throbs. Mind overflowing with the memories of our little habit. Of Paige getting up half an hour earlier than she needed just to go pick up some coffee for me on the way to work.

”Better?” Paige asks, sprawled comfortably next to me. I can feel the heat of her thigh tingling against mine but I can’t be bothered to move, or to pretend like I didn’t need her. I felt myself fantasizing about some reality where Linda would understand. Where me and the blonde could just be together. No complications, no excuses, no goddamn hiding. It would be so much easier to let myself fall in love with her in a reality like that.

”Much better,” I mumble. ”Thanks.”

”It’s just a coffee Iz,” she murmurs, shrugging it off.

”No,” I shake my head. ”You don’t have to be doing this. You could easily just leave me to handle it myself. But you didn’t.”

My eyes meet hers, blue and vibrant like the ocean. 

She shakes her head, brows furrowing gently. ”I wouldn’t do that,” she whispers. ”It’s half my fault… Okay a lil more than a half.”

She chuckles a little looking at her feet. ”For what it’s worth I am sorry for that night.”

Paige looks regretful, playing with her bracelet. 

”Me too.”

A throbbing ache runs along my spine to my shoulderblades, the tightness making it hard to breathe. Absent-mindedly my hand shoots to my neck, pressing and rubbing. Paige glances at me.

”Your shoulders again?” She asks. Honestly the only time in my life they hadn’t bothered me was probably when Paige would give me daily massages. Something about her got me to finally relax.

”Again,” I chuckle awkwardly. Without hesitation Paige’s warm and familiar hands replace mine, massaging the knot out of my shoulderblade. My body melts, the tension easing in my face and neck.

”Thank you,” I hum, letting my eyelids close. Pretending just for a moment that we were us again.

”That’s funny,” Paige says smiling, ”You sound more British again.”

I smile too, her fingers now pressing down on the nape of my neck. ”I suppose. It’s probably because I haven’t been around you.”

Sounds of steps stop us, Paige pulling away as two people from marketing walk by, smiling at us knowingly as they greet us. Sighing, I lean back in the chair and rub my forehead.

”It’s like everyone’s watching us,” I mumble quietly.

”Guess I’m used to it,” Paige replies. She’s right, it’s only new to me. Somehow she’s been handling this since high school.

”Did you um, get the chocolate?” She asks, fiddling with the hem of her black shorts.

”Yeah,” I hum, thinking of the note attached to it. I felt completely stuck between two roads, not sure which one to take. On the other hand nothing about us made sense. But still I wanted her more than anything. I couldn’t imagine ever being able to want anyone like I want her. 

It was like my entire life had been split into two - the time before Paige and the time after. Everything before felt irrelevant. She had come into my life with a crash, when I most needed her but didn’t know I did. She had irrevocably changed me. I don’t know how I could go back to before.

”It was amazing, I can’t believe you remembered,” I continue.

”Course I did,” she huffs, leaning her head on the wall behind us, cracking her knuckles. Terror washes over me. I realise how badly I need our plan to work. Because if it doesn’t I’ll lose her forever.

Paige opens her mouth before closing it, and opening it again.

”I meant what I said, y’know.”

I lift my gaze from my crossed ankles to her, to find her already looking over. She seems hesitant, gathering courage.

”In that note,” she adds, cheeks red. ”I’m not going anywhere.”

I can feel it in the way my heart throbs, the way my eyes burn, the way my eyes are glued on her angular face, the way my slender fingers slide between her’s like a habit I could never break and the way her touch send shivers up my spine - I love her. I do.

Paige’s breathing is shallow, glancing downward to our hands that are locked together. Neither of us have to say it. We both feel it.

The moment I wish would go on forever is cruelly interrupted by the buzzing emerging from the pocket of her shorts. With one hand she digs the phone out, reading the screen grip remaining on mine.

”Shit, I got practice,” she whispers, as to not disrupt the moment. Her voice is hoarse and vulnerable. I wanted to listen to it forever.

”Okay,” I hum, standing up with her. ”I’ll wait for Trey here.”

Paige looks at me once more before enveloping me into her arms, nose buried into my hair and inhaling unashamedly. I do it too, allowing myself to breathe her in. Sandalwood and musk and deodorant.

”It’s all gonna be okay,” she whispers. And I believe her.

Paige kisses my forehead before pulling back, letting go of my hand. Her touch leaves my skin burning. Even before she goes, I already miss her.

”I’ll call you Paige,” I hum softly.

”Okay. I’ll see you later Iz.”

And she walks away, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I’m nearly nodding off in my chair, head lulling back as my eyelids grow heavy. I glance at my phone once more. No text, no call. Just the sent receipt under the tens of texts I had sent Trey. Our one missing link to get this all to be over.

Standing up, I roam around the office, finding Caleb and Ava editing a video for Youtube.

”Hey, have you seen Trey?” I ask, rubbing my face tiredly.

”You lost me 20 bucks,” Caleb jokes, having bet against me and Paige being romantically involved. Ava chuckles.

”It’s not on her if you’re completely blind.”

I wish I had it in me to find this as fun as they did, but I just wanted to finish this and go home.

”Trey? You seen him?” I ask again, ignoring their jokes.

”I think he’s upstairs,” Caleb answers. ”Some sorta meeting.”

Finally. ”Thank you.”

In a rush, I hurry to the elevator, impatiently spamming the button to the upper floor. 

“C’mon,” I mutter to myself, ready to get this over with.

Finally the doors slide open. Stepping out into the new floor, I begin to hurry along the corridors when from around a corner Trey emerges, his face buried into his phone nearly bumping into me.

“Trey!” I say with relief. “I’ve been looking for you!”

He looks uneasy, avoiding my gaze. Much like he had ever since I rejected him.

“You know I’ve been texting you too,” I huff lightheartedly, poking his phone.

“I saw,” he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically low and quiet. I chase his gaze, finally catching his brown eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” I say more seriously. Trey bites down on his lower lip, shutting his eyelids and rubbing his face.

“I’m in a hurry okay?”

“It won’t take long,” I tell him, placing a hand on his forearm so he won’t walk away.

“Zari, I gotta go,” he spits, pushing past me. Wow, I knew I hurt him when I rejected his kiss but I didn’t realise his ego was that fragile.

“Seriously?” I ask, annoyed now. “Trey, it's been weeks. Let it go.”

He turns, growing irritated. “Nah, I’m sick of you and your little mind games.”

“Mind games?!” I hiss condescendingly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You been toying with me and Paige ever since you moved here!”

He knows? I glance around before shushing him, praying to God nobody heard. Of course he knows.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” I whisper angrily.

“I saw your little video.”

Shit. Heart throbbing in my chest I swallow, wanting to crawl into my skin and disappear. Kissing my teeth I look down trying to find the words.

“Look, Trey-“

“Save it. Can’t wait for you to be back in London.”

Hold on. “What?”

I take a step closer to Trey, who’s looking at me heavy lidded.

“You broke the rules Izara,” he says with a low voice.

The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks. No fucking way. Of course. My stomach drops. My pulse thunders in my ears.

“You told her,” I whisper, waves of anger washing over me. It took a lot for me to be enraged - but right now I was livid. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, nearly drawing bloos.

Trey looks uneasy, eyes flickering away from me. “Rules are rules Izara.”

Tears fill my eyes, welling up by my bottom lashes. I should’ve listened to everyone who hated Trey. Because they were right. He’s disgusting. I truly hate him.

“Don’t act like you care about rules. You did this because you couldn’t handle the fact that I do not have feelings for you,” I hiss, pointing a finger at him. “You’re disgusting.”

The ringing of my phone breaks off my voice, like a bad omen. Trey grins. I want to kill him.

“Must be Linda,” he says before turning and disappearing into the elevator.

My hands shake as I grab my phone - the screen lit up, proving Trey right.

-

Paige,

Remember that roadtrip we took? Driving with no plan or destination with the windows down, being stuck in that gross hotel, the storm, the night we spent together? I think about that all the time. With anyone else I would’ve been terrified. I’m no good without a plan (Lord knows). But with you I never cared about a plan. You’re so sure, so certain, so comfortable and steady it made it safe to feel out of control sometimes. That’s a gift I’ll carry with me forever. I never had that with anyone.

I never thought this is how my time in Dallas would turn out. Deep inside I want to blame someone. I want to blame Trey, and maybe when you hear about what happened you will too. But we shouldn’t. Because there’s no one to blame but me. I’ve been smart all my life. I should’ve been smarter. But something about you makes it impossible to be smart.

Still, despite everything that happened I don’t regret any of it. This summer has been the best of my life. Getting to know you has been the greatest blessing. I’d never say it to your face, but you’ve taught me more about myself than anyone.  I’ve never been loved so well, and I’ll never forget that. But my past is still haunting me. It’s just not our time.

I’m sorry it turned out this way. I know you’ll find someone and make her the happiest girl in the world, like you did me. And I’ll always regret not doing more to make us work. For not telling you how I love you. And I’ll have to live with that.

I hope you find your person who can love you how you deserve. Just know there are no hard feelings with you and me. I think no matter what it wasn’t meant to work. I don’t belong in Texas… but then again does anyone?

I’m sorry. I told you I’m not good at goodbyes.

Yours, Izzie

Reading through the letter one more time, I fold it in half and slide it into Paige’s apartment through the mail slot. For a moment I lean my forehead against the wood panels on the door, as if it’s Paige. But it’s not. And I’ll never lean my forehead on her again. I’ll never look into the blue of her eyes, I’ll never taste her lips.

A tear falls down my cheeks as the elevator takes me to the ground floor for one last time. I bite down on my lower lip to stop it from trembling, watching the driver lift my bags into the trunk. 

The cab drives through Dallas, through the neighbourhoods that had once been unfamiliar. Now I know the streets and the weather and the drive-thru barbeque place that has the best ribs. But London was calling me home. There was nothing left for me here anymore.

My heart aches, thinking about the disappointment in Linda’s voice, telling me she had no chance but to let me go. That she expected more of me. 

But the ache is nothing compared to what I feel when I think about Paige. My sweet, funny American girl. Her laughter echoes in my head, and I let her linger. My nails dig into my seat, like they did into Paige’s skin. 

I wouldn’t forget the summer I spent with Paige Bueckers until the day I die, that I know for certain. She would haunt me for the rest of my life, pieces of her existing in every person I meet. But no one will ever measure up, no one will ever be her. And maybe in another life we’ll grow old and grey together. And that’s the only thought comforting me as the clouds part, the plane circling above Thames, the London Eye and Buckingham Palace when we approach Heathrow.

-

taglist: @wbbgetsmewetter@thaatdigitaldiary@pb524830@bueckersfive@lupinqs@sierrale8ne@d3arapril@lovegalor333@avvwritesstufff@rosemariiaa@bueckers22@taylynbueckers44@unadulteratedcyclepaper@rizzlerbuckets@wosolipa@bridgetloveswomen@paiges-1vur@slut4uconnwbb@xxloveralways14@bueckersbitch@janaelalfysblunt@omg-imtumbling@angryflowerwitch@ohbueckers @enchantingesme @ohmybueckers @potatobears-world @st4yyyy @wnbawag @maryjanewatsons @naeswrrldd @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @paigebaby5 @gayflygirl @saverdelrey @xoxosierralane @katemartinsfuturewife @nicebellee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @cowboybueckers

[lov3lycosmos]

The Love We Thought We Lost — H.H 𐙚

Genre: Angst/Smut

Pairings: non idol!hyunjin x fem!reader

Summary: after some rumors from a girl who likes hyunjin spread around the school that you were using him for money, he let you go only to realize he needed you.

Warnings: pet names, fingering, crying during sex (emotional), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it!), creampie, lots or praise, dirty talk (a little), and I think that's it?

Cosmos note: I saw a c.ai bot of a prompt similar to this (i wish i could find it again to link it) and thought I'd write something similar >.<

my library! (NOT PROOFREAD!!)

The first time Hwang Hyunjin saw you, he was sitting in the back of his private driver’s car, scrolling through his phone like his life didn’t belong to him. He’d just bombed another exam, fought with his dad over his future, and wanted to disappear. Then he looked up. And there you were—walking home with tangled headphones, hair windblown, nose red from the cold, balancing a chipped coffee cup and humming like life hadn’t crushed you yet.

You were nothing like his world.

And that was exactly why he needed you.

Everyone knew who Hyunjin was. He had that golden aura—money, face, reputation. Even his uniform looked expensive, like it’d been tailored. Everyone wanted a piece of him, and he gave none of it away.

Except to you.

You didn’t chase him. You didn’t try to impress him. You looked him in the eye when he passed you in the hall, unbothered and clear. It scared him. It hooked him.

One day he sat beside you on the bleachers during lunch and didn’t say a word. You offered him a bite of your sandwich.

That was it. He was yours.

What started as hushed texts turned into holding hands under cafeteria tables, stolen kisses behind stairwells, sketching in the art room with music playing low. It was quiet and precious and real.

He wasn’t your prince. He was your Hyunjin.

Until he wasn’t.

“I think you were just with me for the money.”

You still remember how the words landed. Not like a slap—more like a knife slipping through your ribs, quiet and fatal.

You stood there, stunned. You hadn’t even asked for anything from him. That bracelet? He bought it on a whim. The rides home? He offered. You never wanted his wallet.

You wanted him.

But he didn’t believe you.

He didn’t even let you speak.

You remember him walking away. You remember not chasing him.

What you don’t remember is how you got home that night. Or how long you cried after the door closed behind you.

You just remember seeing a photo of him with Sooah a week later. Her lipgloss on his collar. Her smile tucked under his chin.

That’s when you deleted his contact.

That’s when you started trying to forget.

Five months later, and your phone lights up with his name.

Your body still reacts before your brain does. That stupid skip in your chest. The sharp breath. The urge to throw the phone against the wall.

Your thumb hovers.

And then you pick up.

“…Hello?”

“Hey.”

The sound of him cracks something old and aching in your chest. He sounds winded. Softer than you remember. Like he’s been waiting hours for this.

You say nothing.

He exhales. “I—I know I’m the last person you want to hear from. But I had to call. I need to say it.”

Say what?

“I miss you.”

Your throat tightens. Your grip on the phone hardens.

“I didn’t believe her because I stopped loving you,” he says quickly. “I believed her because I thought you were too good for me. Because I was scared.”

“You were scared?” you whisper. “That’s your excuse?”

“No. There’s no excuse. I just—” He sucks in a breath. “You were the first person who ever looked at me like I was a person. Not a paycheck. Not a perfect image. Just me. And I still fucked it all up.”

You’re trembling. “You didn’t just fuck up, Hyunjin. You broke my heart.”

“I know,” he chokes. “I know, angel. And I’m sorry. I’ve been sorry every second since.”

A beat.

“I left her,” he adds. “Months ago. When I found out the truth.”

“…Why are you calling me now?”

“Because it’s eating me alive.”

The silence after that is deafening.

Then you whisper, “I can’t do this with you again.”

“I need to see you.”

“No.”

“I’m already on my way.”

“Hyunjin—”

The call ends.

Across town, soaked in rain and regret, Hyunjin stands outside your window wondering if he’s already too late.

The truth is… he never meant to let you go.

But five months ago, it didn’t feel like he had a choice.

Back then, his world was spiraling. His grades were slipping. His father—cold, ruthless, CEO of too much—had started threatening to ship him off to a boarding school in Tokyo if he didn’t “straighten out.” His mother stopped coming home. His friends weren’t friends; they were shadows who only laughed when he paid.

And you?

You were his one good thing.

Which is exactly why he thought he didn’t deserve you.

So when Sooah—a girl with fake lashes and a sharp tongue—came up to him after class and said, “She’s using you, you know. Everyone sees it but you,” something cracked in him. She said she overheard you talking to your friend. That you were tired of pretending to care. That you were just waiting for his next gift, his next ride, his next use.

He didn’t want to believe her.

But it planted a seed in his chest—a rotting, twisted doubt—and he let it grow.

Because it was easier to believe you’d break his heart eventually than to wait for the day it happened.

So he did it first.

He cornered you in the hallway. Picked a fight over nothing. Watched your face fall in real time when he said the words: “I think you were just with me for the money.”

He didn’t mean it.

He just needed an excuse.

He needed a way to push you away before you could leave him.

But what he didn’t realize until weeks later—when he found out Sooah had lied, when he saw you walking alone, headphones in, eyes red from crying—was that by trying to protect himself, he had destroyed the only person who ever saw him.

Not Hyunjin the golden boy.

Not the rich kid with the perfect face.

Just… Hyunjin.

And by the time he realized that, it was already too late.

You were gone.

But not anymore.

He can’t carry it anymore—the guilt, the weight of your absence, the sound of your voice in dreams. So he’s here. Now. Soaked and shivering and praying you’ll let him in, just long enough to say it right this time.

You stare at your phone like it might dissolve in your hand. The storm outside has picked up, rain ticking against the glass. You wrap your arms around yourself, heart punching your ribs.

You should block his number again.

You should slam the door in his face.

But twenty minutes later, when the sound of knuckles tapping against glass cuts through the storm, you're already standing at the window.

You peel back the curtain—and stop breathing.

Hyunjin.

Soaked. Hoodie clinging to his chest. Hair dripping in strands over his forehead. And those eyes… wrecked, wide, locked on you.

You crack the window an inch. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I had to see you.”

“You’re drenched.”

“I don’t care.”

“Go home.”

“I can’t.”

Your fingers tighten on the sill. “Hyunjin, you hurt me.”

“I know.” His voice breaks. “But I need to fix it. Please.”

You should slam it shut.

You should scream.

Instead… you open the window wider.

And he climbs in.

The second his feet hit the floor, the air in the room shifts. Rain drips from his sleeves. His chest is heaving. Neither of you speaks.

Then:

“You look the same,” he murmurs. “Except sadder.”

Your chin wobbles.

“I didn’t come to make you cry,” he says. “I just needed to tell you the truth.”

“Then tell me.”

“I was a coward,” he whispers. “You were the only real thing in my life, and I pushed you away. I thought if I ended it first, it wouldn’t hurt as bad when you left.”

You blink at him, heart pounding.

“I thought you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth it,” he says. “And I hated that you had that power. So when Sooah said those things, I let myself believe them.”

Tears slip hot down your cheeks. You shake your head.

“I didn’t even ask you,” he chokes. “I didn’t even look at you and know the truth.”

You laugh bitterly. “You were supposed to know me, Hyunjin.”

“I know,” he whispers. “And I hate myself for it.”

Silence. Heavy. Raw.

Then he steps forward slowly, eyes on yours. “I’d do anything to take it back.”

Your breath catches.

His hand reaches for yours—and you let him take it.

“I’ve been lost without you,” he says. “Every second. I can’t sleep. I see you everywhere.”

You bite your lip. Your fingers are trembling in his.

“I miss your laugh. Your voice. The way you tug on my sleeve when you’re shy. I miss you, baby.”

He presses your joined hands to his chest, just over his heart.

And then he whispers, “I still love you.”

That breaks you.

A sob escapes your throat, and your knees give—but he catches you, arms pulling you against him fast, tight, like you might disappear if he lets go.

You cling to his hoodie, face buried in his chest, the smell of rain and regret and Hyunjin overwhelming you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m so fucking sorry, angel. I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

You don’t speak.

You just let him hold you while your heart slowly starts to ache in a different way.

A softer one.

A hopeful one.

You don’t know how long you stand there—how long you let Hyunjin cradle you like he’s terrified to lose you all over again.

It could’ve been seconds. Hours. A lifetime.

The quiet of your room is broken only by your breathing and the rhythm of his heartbeat under your cheek.

When you finally look up at him, the porch light from outside casts shadows over his face—his sharp cheekbones, the wet strands of hair clinging to his skin, the way his lips part like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

Your voice is soft, but raw. "Why did you believe her?"

His face crumples.

"Because I was scared," he admits. "Because I’ve never loved anyone like I loved you. And she said—she said things I was already scared of. That maybe I was just a convenience. That maybe someone like me couldn’t be loved for who I am."

You flinch, pulling back slightly. He doesn’t let you go.

"That’s not fair," you whisper. "You didn’t even ask me. You just... left."

His hands tighten on your waist.

"I know," he chokes. "I didn’t deserve you then. But God, I never stopped wanting you. I saw your number in my phone tonight and I—I couldn’t not try."

You swallow, eyes burning again. "And her?"

"Over," he says instantly. "She never meant anything. Not like you."

You breathe out, shaky. "It’s been five months, Hyunjin."

"Five months of hell. Five months of waking up with her and wishing it was you. Five months of trying to fill a space no one else fits."

The silence stretches again, thick with everything unsaid.

Until your voice cracks around the question you swore you’d never ask.

"Do you still love me?"

His answer comes like a confession. Like worship.

"I never stopped."

He leans in then—slow, careful, eyes locked on yours. And you don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t speak—because your body already knows.

Your lips meet his like a spark catching fire. Slow at first—gentle, searching. And then all at once: messy, desperate, teeth and tongue and the taste of tears.

His hands slide to your cheeks, his thumbs brushing over your skin, grounding you. You feel the tremble in his fingers.

When you break for air, he doesn’t pull back far.

"Let me stay," he breathes. "Just tonight. Let me show you what you meant to me. What you still mean."

You don’t answer with words.

You just nod.

And he kisses you again, this time slower, deeper—like a promise.

He leads you backward with gentle steps, never breaking the kiss, until the back of your knees hit the edge of your bed. His hands are warm on your waist, eyes searching yours like he needs to be sure.

"Tell me to stop. If this is too fast, or—"

You cut him off by pulling him closer.

"Hyunjin," you whisper. "Just kiss me."

And he does. Slower this time. Deeper. Like he wants to memorize every second.

He eases you down onto the mattress, his hand cradling the back of your head as your spine meets the sheets. He hovers over you, breath shaky, eyes full of something raw and reverent.

His touch is tentative at first—fingers ghosting over your sides, your arms, the curve of your hip. Like he's rediscovering you.

But you don’t feel like glass.

You feel like fire.

And he wants to burn with you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, his lips trailing down the side of your neck. He presses kisses along your collarbone, each one tender and filled with apology. His hands inch upward, slipping your shirt over your head before discarding it somewhere on the floor. His eyes darken as he takes you in.

“I missed you,” he says, almost like a confession. He dips down again, his mouth closing around one of your nipples while his hand gently cups the other. You arch into him, a gasp slipping past your lips, and his hips grind against yours reflexively.

You can feel him. Hard. Hot. And still fully clothed.

“Hyunjin,” you breathe, and your voice is enough to break whatever restraint he had left.

He sits back on his knees, stripping his hoodie and shirt in one fluid motion. You let your eyes drink him in—the lean muscle, the soft trail of hair leading downward, the bruises blooming where he’d been gripping himself too hard in frustration.

He undoes his jeans, but then pauses, eyes searching yours.

“I need to see all of you,” he says, voice low. “Please, angel.”

You nod, and he peels off the last of your clothes slowly, like he’s unwrapping a gift. When you’re bare beneath him, he exhales like he’s seen the sun for the first time in weeks.

Then he kisses you again, harder this time. Deeper. Like he’s claiming you all over again. One hand braces beside your head while the other moves between your legs, fingers dipping down to stroke you. You’re already wet, soaking, and he groans into your mouth when he realizes it.

“All for me,” he whispers. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

His fingers circle your clit slowly, deliberately, until your hips begin to buck. When he slides two fingers into you, curling them just right, you cry out, clinging to his shoulders.

He watches your face the whole time, his eyes dark with lust, but soft with something deeper—adoration. Like you're the most precious thing he's ever touched.

When he finally lines himself up at your entrance, he pauses. Leans in. Kisses your cheek, your jaw, your throat.

“I love you,” he whispers. “No matter how long it takes... no matter what we go through. It’s always you.”

He slides in slowly, watching every flicker of emotion on your face. The stretch burns at first, but it’s good—so good—because it’s him. And when he bottoms out, fully seated inside you, you both let out shaky breaths.

He doesn’t move right away. Just holds you, buried deep, his lips pressed to your temple.

“You feel like home,” he murmurs.

Then he begins to thrust. Deep, measured strokes that make you cling to him like he’s your lifeline. His hands cradle your hips, guiding you to move with him. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, along with his soft moans, and the broken gasps you let out beneath him.

“You’re mine,” he says between thrusts. “Always mine. I don’t care what happens. No one’s ever going to love you like I do.”

You sob his name, pleasure cresting with every movement. He’s hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl, your eyes roll back.

His pace picks up, hips snapping harder now, but never cruel—just aching, desperate, hungry. One hand snakes between you to rub circles on your clit again, and your body clamps around him like a vice.

“That’s it, angel,” he pants, his own rhythm starting to falter. “Cum for me. Please, baby. I need to feel you.”

You break with a cry, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, stealing the breath from your lungs. He groans, fucking you through it, eyes locked on your face like it’s the only thing grounding him.

“Fuck… I’m close… I—I love you… I’m so sorry,” he chokes, whimpering now. “I’m sorry, angel… I’m sorry…”

He spills into you with a desperate moan, his face buried in your neck, murmuring apologies and sweet nothings as he rides out his high, trembling in your arms.

You hold him, fingers threading through his hair, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. Not from sadness this time, but from the overwhelming fullness in your chest.

Love. Forgiveness. Him.

He lifts his head slowly, brushing your hair back. His eyes are red. His lips kiss your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, over and over.

“I love you,” he whispers again. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for the ways I hurt you.”

And you believe him.

Because tonight, you were made whole again.

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[riddlesdove]

boyfriend!mattheo discovers the polaroids you slipped into his lunch whilst at work

c/w: 18+. phone sex, fem masturbation, slight hint of possessive mattheo

You’re engrossed in a book when the sharp ring of your phone cuts through the silence.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Baby.”

Mattheo’s voice is a rough purr, dangerous and lethal, curling into your ear and making your pulse tick faster, your hands sweat. It’s the way he talks when he’s thinking about how to punish you.

“Hey, Matty.” You breathe. “Is everything okay? How's work?"

He chuckles dark and the sound goes straight between your thighs, a low hum of electricity crackling in the depths of your belly.

"You’ve been a bad girl, haven't you?” He taunts. “Sneaking those pictures in my lunch. Anyone could have seen them, could have seen what's mine.”

You gulp as possessiveness creeps into his tone, clinging to his heat singed words.

You can see him in your mind’s eye. Hunched over his desk, his phone crushed in the tight grip of one of his hands whilst the other secretly palms at the heavy bulge of his cock as his eyes, blown black, rake over the photos you’d stored away in surprise for him.

Photos of you spread out across your shared bed, the curves of your breasts and apex of your thighs barely covered by delicate silken material, nipples stiff against the flimsy cups. There’s raw need sparkling in your eyes, a stoked flame captured on camera whilst you’d imagined Mattheo’s reaction to your gift.

He doesn’t disappoint.

“Just look at you - holy shit." His growl crackles through the line. "You’re fucking gorgeous. Filthy little thing making me fucking hard as a rock whilst I’m at work.”

It’s hot hearing how worked up he’s got over the pictures, pride and desire making your body tingle.

“That was kind of the plan.” You laugh throatily, fingers skating over your body, catching your pebbled nipples and pulling an airy sigh from your throat.

You hear the ragged bite of your name, suddenly deeper, rougher. There’s a moment of silence before his next words twist your gut.

“Are you touching yourself, pretty girl?”

You don’t mean to, didn’t realise you would get all hot and bothered like this.

You’re squirming on the couch, feeling wetness seep from within you as your hips buck into thin air. He’s waiting for your response and it’s not like you can lie, not when your fingers are slipping beneath your shorts because fuck it - Mattheo's voice is pure sin and you want to hear it break as you fuck your fingers to it.

He hears your pants of affirmation, the lewd squelch of your slick folds if he listens hard enough ripping a feral snarl from his chest as his hand slams down the nearest surface, loud enough to make you jump.

“I’m going to ruin you tonight for being such a little fucking tease." He bites out, making you shudder and gush around your curling fingers from the intensity of it. "Wait until I get my hands on you, I'm gonna keep you on my cock for hours, gonna stuff that desperate little pussy full until you’re a sobbing mess."

"I couldn’t help it, Matty– oh god– you just sound so fucking hot when you’re all worked up.” You whimper, words muffled by the tight clench of your teeth in the plumpness of your lip.

This isn’t what you’d expected, you thought he’d be the desperate one, that maybe he’d beg for you to come and relieve the pressure and you’d let it stew into a delicious burn until he pleaded for you to fuck him the second he got through the door.

“Is that so? You going to cum for me? Let me hear it.” He murmurs, voice pitched low and silky. “Make it a good one baby, because once I get home you won’t be cumming again until I say so.”

And with the lingering threat he coaxes you through a shattering orgasm, murmuring wicked praise as your back arches and you whimper his name like a wrecked chant, doesn’t let up until your shifting lazily into a seated position with the sticky feel of release glazing your thighs.

“Jesus christ, Mattheo.” You gasp.

"That was just the beginning.” He promises darkly. “I’ll see you tonight."

[ilovemarvel97]

Craving What We Shouldn’t - Part 2

Wanda Maximoff x G!P Reader

Summary: Senior year. What could happen? School troubles? Suspended? Or becoming step-sisters with the girl you are in love with?

Word Count: 6,022

Warnings: High school AU, Fluff, forbidden romance, step-siblings, reader has a penis, mutual pining, secret relationship, emotionally charged

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Wanda stiffened at the sound of footsteps outside the hallway.

They both froze, breath tangled, lips parted but no longer touching, their foreheads pressed together like that small point of contact could hold back the storm of reality knocking just outside her bedroom door.

The footsteps passed. Neither of them moved.

Y/N finally exhaled. “We should stop.”

“Yeah,” Wanda whispered, though she didn’t let go. Her fingers were still tangled in Y/N’s shirt, her thumb absently rubbing against the soft fabric like she couldn’t help it. “We should.”

But neither of them did.

Instead, Y/N slowly lifted her head, just enough to look her in the eyes. “I meant what I said.”

Wanda swallowed hard. “About being in love with me?”

Y/N nodded. “I didn’t want to be. I tried not to be. God, Wanda, I tried.”

A flicker of pain crossed her face. “Me too.”

There was a long pause. Wanda’s eyes shone in the low light, vulnerable and aching. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.”

Y/N hesitated. Then, carefully, she brought her hand up and brushed a strand of hair behind Wanda’s ear. “Me neither.”

“But I can’t go back to pretending this is nothing,” Wanda whispered.

“You think I can?” Y/N’s voice cracked, bitter and soft. “Every morning I wake up and you’re there in the kitchen, in your stupid cheer uniform, and I can’t even look at you without wanting things I’m not supposed to want.”

Wanda’s lips twitched, but there was no humor in her smile. “I hate how right this feels.”

Y/N nodded, silent. Her fingers brushed Wanda’s cheek again, tracing the skin she wasn’t supposed to know this well.

“I should go,” Wanda said after a moment. Her voice didn’t sound like she meant it.

Y/N nodded slowly, like it hurt. “Okay.”

Wanda turn toward the door, hand on the knob.

But before she opened it, she turned, and in two quick steps, Wanda was there again, her hands cupping Y/N’s face as she pulled Y/N down into one more kiss—slow, aching, full of everything they still couldn’t say.

This time, Y/N kissed her back like she couldn’t live without it.

Like she didn’t care what it meant, or what it would cost.

Because in that moment, nothing mattered except that Wanda wanted her too.

And for tonight, that was enough.

---

The next morning was filled with the scent of coffee and tension.

Y/N’s mom had left early for her shift, and Wanda’s dad had scribbled a quick note about a morning meeting, stuck haphazardly on the fridge with a magnet. The house was quiet, too quiet, and breakfast was painfully awkward.

Y/N sat at the kitchen table, barely chewing her toast. Wanda stood near the counter with a cup of tea cradled in her hands, eyes on everything but Y/N.

Pietro strolled in, grabbed a granola bar, and flashed them both a cheeky grin.

“I’m picking up my girl for school,” he announced, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Y/N, be a gem and drive Wanda, yeah?”

Y/N just nodded once, not looking up. Wanda gave Pietro a tight smile.

“Cool,” he said, already halfway out the door. “Don’t kill each other!”

The front door slammed shut.

The silence returned immediately, heavier now. The clock ticked. Wanda sipped her tea. Y/N stared at the last bite of toast, her mind racing with all the things she wanted to say and all the ways she’d already messed this up.

She waited five more minutes, heart pounding louder than the ticking clock.

Then she turned her head slightly, looking at Wanda for the first time that morning.

Gently, she said, “Come here.”

Her hand lifted from her lap, reaching out toward Wanda, fingers open, palm up.

Wanda froze for a moment, still holding her cup like a shield. Then, slowly, like she couldn’t help herself, she set the mug down and took a hesitant step closer.

Y/N’s eyes softened as she watched her. “Please,” she whispered, hand still raised. “Just for a second.”

Wanda finally closed the distance, placing her hand in Y/N’s. It fit too perfectly. Her fingers trembled slightly.

Y/N pulled her gently, guiding Wanda to sit beside her on the bench, closer than necessary. Neither said anything for a long moment. Y/N just kept holding her hand, her thumb brushing softly over Wanda’s knuckles.

“I missed you,” Y/N admitted, voice low, like a secret she wasn’t supposed to tell.

Wanda looked down at their joined hands, then up at Y/N. “Then don’t ignore me anymore.”

Y/N looked into her eyes, visibly torn, visibly aching. “I don’t want to.”

Wanda swallowed. “Then don’t.”

Y/N didn’t reply with words. She just leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Wanda’s, breathing her in like she hadn’t been able to for days.

Wanda didn’t move away when Y/N pressed their foreheads together. Instead, her eyes fluttered closed, and she breathed out slowly, as if she’d been holding it all in for too long.

“I’m tired of pretending with you,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Me too,” Wanda replied, and for the first time in days, it didn’t feel like either of them was lying.

They didn’t kiss. Not this time.

But they sat there in silence, forehead to forehead, hands intertwined, letting themselves feel what they’d been trying so hard to bury. It wasn’t a confession, or a promise, or a solution—but it was real. It was them.

Eventually, Wanda leaned back just enough to see Y/N’s face.

“We should go,” she said quietly. “Don’t want to be late.”

Y/N nodded, but she didn’t let go of Wanda’s hand right away. When she finally did, it was with a lingering touch, like she didn’t want to lose the warmth.

The car ride to school was different. Quiet, but not cold. Wanda leaned against the window, hiding her small smile behind her hair. Y/N glanced at her every now and then when she thought Wanda wasn’t looking—but she was.

At school, the moment they stepped out of the car, it changed again.

They didn’t touch. They didn’t look at each other too long. Wanda walked ahead to meet her friends, and Y/N stayed behind to grab her bag from the backseat. They didn’t say goodbye.

But in the hallways, they glanced at each other when no one was looking.

In class, Wanda passed Y/N a note instead of a text.

“I liked today.”

Y/N wrote back.

“Me too. You looked beautiful this morning.”

There was a new understanding between them. At home, their eyes lingered longer, their hands brushed a little more, and they no longer pretended it wasn’t happening—at least not with each other.

But at school, around others, they still wore the masks. Pretending to be just two step-siblings getting along better for their parents.

Even if every look they shared said otherwise.

---

Classes dragged on, but the weight between them didn’t.

It was lighter now. Still complicated, still full of glances and unsaid things, but lighter.

At lunch, Wanda sat with her usual group. Monica was showing her something on her phone, and Pepper was gossiping about someone’s disastrous weekend party—but Wanda wasn’t really listening.

Her eyes kept drifting across the quad.

Y/N sat with Nat and Clint, half-heartedly picking at her sandwich. Wanda watched as Nat leaned closer to Y/N, whispering something in her ear. Y/N let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head at whatever Nat had said.

Wanda’s stomach tightened.

She knew Nat was one of Y/N’s closest friends. She knew there was nothing to worry about.

And yet—she hated how close Nat leaned in. How comfortably Y/N smiled at her. How she didn’t flinch away from Nat’s hand briefly brushing her arm.

“Wanda,” Pepper said sharply, dragging her back. “You good?”

Wanda blinked. “Yeah. Just spaced out.”

Monica narrowed her eyes a little, following her gaze. “Staring at the emo trio again?”

Wanda forced a light laugh. “What? No.”

But she didn’t look back again.

---

Later, in the car on the drive home, Wanda was unusually quiet. Y/N noticed it right away.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, keeping her eyes on the road.

Wanda shrugged. “Fine.”

“You’ve said a total of five words since lunch.”

Y/N glanced at her. Wanda was staring out the window.

“Is this about something I did?”

Wanda hesitated before saying, “What was she whispering to you?”

Y/N looked surprised. “Who?”

“Nat,” Wanda said, her tone sharper than intended.

Y/N blinked. “She was making fun of Clint’s broken shoelace. Why?”

Wanda didn’t answer. She just kept looking out the window.

Y/N gave a short laugh under her breath. “Were you… jealous?”

Silence.

Then Wanda turned her head slowly to meet Y/N’s gaze. “Would it be that crazy if I was?”

Y/N pulled into the driveway, cut the engine, and turned to face her.

“No,” she said quietly. “Not crazy at all.”

---

The house was quiet when they stepped inside. Their parents wouldn’t be home for hours.

Wanda dropped her bag by the stairs while Y/N toed off her shoes. Neither of them said anything at first. There was a quiet tension still lingering in the air—charged but no longer sharp.

Y/N headed into the kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing two sodas. She held one out to Wanda without a word. Wanda took it, brushing her fingers against Y/N’s hand a little longer than necessary.

They sat side by side on the couch, a few inches apart, the silence between them humming with unspoken things.

After a moment, Y/N exhaled. “You really were jealous.”

Wanda looked down at the soda in her hands. “I didn’t like how close she was to you.”

“She’s just my friend,” Y/N said gently, turning her body more toward Wanda. “You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”

Wanda’s lips parted slightly, and she finally looked at her. “Like what?”

“Like I’m burning from the inside out,” Y/N whispered.

Wanda didn’t say anything—just leaned in, slowly. Y/N met her halfway.

The kiss was soft this time. Not rushed or heated. It lingered. Wanda’s hand found Y/N’s cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over her skin. Y/N’s fingers slid into Wanda’s hair.

They kissed again, slower. Like they had all the time in the world.

When they finally pulled apart, Wanda rested her forehead against Y/N’s and murmured, “We really suck at pretending, don’t we?”

Y/N smiled. “Only when it’s just us.”

They sat like that for a while, fingers laced, breathing the same quiet air, no longer needing to hide—at least not from each other.

Wanda was still close, their foreheads touching, breaths mingling. Then Y/N slipped her arms around Wanda’s waist, pulling her gently, but firmly, into her lap. Wanda let out the softest breath, eyes fluttering as her hands settled on Y/N’s shoulders for balance.

Y/N held her there, arms wrapped fully around Wanda’s waist now, like she couldn’t stand the thought of letting go. Wanda’s knees were on either side of her, and for a moment, neither of them moved—they just stayed wrapped up in each other, feeling the way their bodies fit together.

“You’re dangerous,” Y/N said softly, eyes lifting to meet Wanda’s.

Wanda’s lips curled into a small smile, her voice barely above a whisper. “You make it impossible not to want more.”

Y/N’s thumbs moved in slow, absent circles against Wanda’s back. “I want it all,” she said. “Even if we have to pretend around everyone else.”

Wanda leaned in again, her lips brushing lightly over Y/N’s. “We won’t have to forever.”

Y/N kissed her again, deeper this time, as if to seal that promise.

And for the rest of the afternoon, they stayed like that—wrapped up in quiet touches, in soft kisses and whispered promises they didn’t dare say too loud. Because for now, this was their world. Just them. Just love.

---

The next morning, Y/N drove them both to school like the day before. The silence in the car was warm, charged with glances that lingered, soft smiles neither of them could help. Wanda’s pinky brushed against Y/N’s on the gear shift, and Y/N took her hand, bringing to Wanda’s lap.

They didn’t speak much, but they didn’t need to.

The parking lot came into view too quickly, and Y/N slowed the car to a stop, but neither made a move to get out right away. Wanda kept their hands intertwined on her lap, her thumb stroking gently over Y/N’s knuckles.

“I hate pretending,” she murmured after a beat, eyes still on their joined hands.

Y/N turned her head, studying her. “I know.”

Wanda finally looked up. “But I’ll do it. For you. For us.”

That made something ache in Y/N’s chest—both a painful twist and a swell of affection so deep it nearly took her breath. She leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to Wanda’s forehead, lingering there.

“We’ll figure it out,” she whispered. “I promise.”

They stepped out of the car after a few seconds, the school day already buzzing around them. By the time they reached the front doors, their hands had slipped apart. Y/N put a little space between them, the practiced ease of two people with something to hide.

But Wanda still glanced sideways at her as they walked, a secret tucked behind her smile. Y/N returned it, heart lighter despite everything.

They didn’t speak much.

But they didn’t need to.

---

At the end of the day, Y/N waits for Wanda at her car and when Wanda join after saying good bye to Pepper and Monica, they get in the car in silence, pretending.

The engine hummed softly as Y/N pulled away from the school parking lot, her jaw set in calm concentration. Wanda glanced at the familiar streets slipping by, expecting the usual route—but it became clear after a few turns that they weren’t heading home.

She turned toward Y/N, puzzled. “Where are we going?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached across the center console and gently took Wanda’s hand. Her thumb ran softly along Wanda’s skin, and when she glanced over, she gave her the kind of smile that made Wanda’s heart trip over itself—sweet, a little shy, but full of intent.

“Trust me,” Y/N said softly.

Wanda’s breath caught. She didn’t ask again. Just nodded, eyes fixed on their joined hands, her chest fluttering with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

Y/N drove them to a quiet overlook on the edge of town. The sky was turning gold with the sunset, casting everything in a warm, hazy glow. There were no houses, no people—just the open view, the sound of wind through the trees, and the charged silence between them.

Y/N killed the engine but didn’t move to get out. She kept holding Wanda’s hand, now resting on the gear shift, both of them bathed in amber light.

“I wanted to be somewhere we didn’t have to pretend,” Y/N said, barely above a whisper.

Wanda looked at her then, really looked—her profile soft in the dying sun, her lashes low, lips slightly parted. Her heart was beating so fast it almost hurt.

Y/N pushes her seat back “come here” she takes Wanda’s hand.

Wanda hesitated only a second before unclipping her seatbelt, heart thudding in her chest as she shifted across the console. Y/N pulled her gently into her lap, and Wanda straddled her without a word, knees on either side of Y/N’s thighs, their faces inches apart.

The air between them was thick with everything unsaid, every look that lingered too long, every touch they’d stolen beneath dinner tables and in quiet hallways. Y/N’s hands settled on Wanda’s hips, grounding them both.

Wanda brushed a strand of hair away from Y/N’s face, her touch feather-light. “You scare me,” she whispered.

Y/N looked up at her, something aching behind her eyes. “I know. You scare me too.”

For a moment, they just breathed each other in—quiet, nervous, full of want. And then Wanda leaned in slowly, giving Y/N time to pull away if she needed to—but Y/N didn’t move. Their lips met again, soft at first, careful. But it didn’t stay that way.

The kiss deepened, hungry with all the restraint they’d carried through stolen glances and silent car rides. Y/N’s hands slid up Wanda’s back, pulling her closer, and Wanda kissed her harder in return, fingers curling into Y/N’s hair.

They kissed like they had time, like the world beyond the car didn’t exist—because here, in this moment, it didn’t.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths were shallow, lips barely a breath away. Wanda’s eyes were still closed, her forehead resting lightly against Y/N’s, like if she moved too fast, the moment might vanish.

Y/N’s thumb grazed her cheek, her voice low and warm against Wanda’s lips. “What would you say… if I brought you to a date?”

Wanda’s breath hitched, and a slow smile curved her lips, eyes fluttering open to meet Y/N’s.

Y/N’s heart clenched a little at the way Wanda looked at her—like she was something fragile and precious all at once.

Wanda’s fingers rose to caress her cheek, soft and slow, her touch full of affection. She brushed Y/N’s hair back from her face, once, twice, as if memorizing the way it fell, the way it felt beneath her fingertips.

Her smile was small but real, tinged with a hint of nerves and something heavier—truth.

“We might get caught…” Wanda murmured, her thumb grazing just below Y/N’s eye, a flicker of fear beneath her warmth.

Y/N leaned into the touch, her eyes never leaving Wanda’s. “Not where I��m taking you.”

Wanda blinked. “What?”

Y/N smiled then, that sweet, almost smug kind of smile that made Wanda’s stomach flip. “Next town over. No one we know. Just us.”

Wanda’s lips parted slightly, surprise softening into something deeper, something aching.

“You really thought this through…” she whispered.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Y/N said, brushing her nose lightly against Wanda’s. “A place where we don’t have to look over our shoulders. Where I can hold your hand. Kiss you. Be yours—and let the world see.”

Wanda’s breath caught again, her hands sliding around Y/N’s shoulders as she leaned in, resting her forehead against hers once more.

“I want that,” she whispered. “I want that so much.”

“Friday,” Y/N promised, her voice full of something tender and electric. “After school”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the future didn’t feel so terrifying. Just full of possibility—burning bright between them.

Wanda nodded softly, her arms still wrapped around Y/N, her face tucked close like she didn’t want to let go. Her eyes shimmered when she looked at her again—not with tears, but with something just as fragile. Hope.

“Friday,” she echoed, and then a soft laugh slipped from her lips, almost breathless. “I don’t think I’ll survive the week.”

Y/N grinned, resting her hand on Wanda’s thigh, squeezing gently. “I’ll keep you distracted until then.”

They sat like that for a while longer, the sun dipping lower, casting the sky in streaks of purple and gold. The quiet wasn’t awkward—it was full. Full of everything they hadn’t said out loud, full of everything they were still discovering between them.

Eventually, Y/N started the car again, neither of them ready to let go, but knowing they had to return before anyone noticed.

As they drove back, Wanda didn’t let go of Y/N’s hand the whole ride home—and Y/N didn’t stop smiling.

Friday was only a few days away. But now they had something to count down to. Something just for them.

Something real.

---

The rest of the week passed slowly, but with a quiet kind of intensity that neither of them could fully hide anymore.

Tuesday, they moved around each other like magnets in the house—close, always aware. When Wanda passed behind Y/N at the counter, her fingers brushed her back just slightly. When Y/N reached for a mug, Wanda’s hand came up at the same time, and their fingers touched—both girls pausing in place, breath catching, eyes locking for a single charged heartbeat before Pietro’s voice from upstairs broke it. They pulled away with quiet smiles, hearts racing.

At school, they wore the mask well. They laughed with friends, nodded during class, made it look easy. But in those brief hallway moments—when Y/N passed Wanda a folded note instead of a glance, or when Wanda purposely walked a little slower so their arms brushed—it all felt louder than words.

Wednesday, they sat together at the kitchen table late at night, both pretending to study. Y/N doodled in the corner of her notebook—a tiny sketch of Wanda’s necklace—while Wanda watched her with a crooked smile, twirling her pen but not turning a single page. Y/N finally glanced up and muttered, “You’re staring.” Wanda shrugged, smug. “You like it.” She wasn’t wrong.

Thursday was the hardest. Every look lingered longer. Every touch meant more. After school, they sat on the couch watching a movie Pietro had left on, but neither paid attention. Y/N’s hand slipped beneath the throw blanket, finding Wanda’s and holding it tight. Wanda rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder. The world felt quiet there.

That night, as they passed in the hallway toward their rooms, Wanda paused at Y/N’s door. “Are you nervous?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Y/N leaned against the frame, half-smiling. “A little.”

Wanda stepped closer, so close they shared the same breath. “Me too.”

And then—nothing more. No kiss, no touch. Just that quiet confession exchanged in the dark, charged and sweet.

Friday morning, they met at the car in silence. The sky was soft with clouds, the day already heavy with promise. Wanda looked radiant, her makeup just a little more careful, her outfit chosen with thought. Y/N’s breath caught when she saw her.

Y/N was wearing usual clothes for school.

She opened the car door without a word and waited.

Wanda smiled as she got in. Her hand reached for Y/N’s without hesitation this time. Fingers entwined, they drove to school.

“You look stunning” Y/N says with a hint of pink on her cheeks.

Wanda glanced over, a slow smile curling her lips as their fingers tightened together. “You’re one to talk,” she murmured, eyes shining. “You look handsome.”

Y/N huffed a soft laugh, glancing at her quickly before returning her focus to the road. “Yeah, well… I wasn’t even trying today.”

“You never have to,” Wanda whispered, more to herself than to Y/N—but Y/N heard it.

Their hands stayed linked all the way to school. They didn’t speak much more—there wasn’t time, and the parking lot was already filling up. But when Y/N parked, neither of them made a move to get out right away.

Wanda looked down at their hands. “After school… how should I meet you?”

“I’ll pick you up like always,” Y/N said, voice soft. “Just… don’t make plans with Pepper or Monica, okay?”

Wanda nodded, heart racing again like it had been all week. “Okay.”

Y/N finally let go of her hand, but not before brushing her knuckles with her thumb once more. “We’ll be okay,” she said quietly.

Wanda gave her a quick, brave smile before opening the door. “See you after school.”

And with that, they slipped back into the world—pretending again, just for a little longer.

Wanda hadn’t expected the extra attention—but she should have known. The moment she stepped into school that morning with her soft curls tucked behind one ear, her eyeliner sharp, and her lips tinted rose, eyes started turning.

By lunch, at least three different boys had complimented her, asking if she was going to the game that night, if she was free after school, if she’d like to study together sometime. Wanda smiled politely, brushing it off. She wasn’t interested. Not in them. Not when her thoughts were wrapped around someone else the entire time.

But Y/N noticed. Every passing glance. Every boy leaning just a little too close.

She watched from her usual spot with Natasha and Clint, a dark look in her eyes she tried to mask with her usual calm, but it gnawed at her. Every time a guy made Wanda laugh—even politely—Y/N’s stomach twisted.

Then came Vision.

He leaned down at Wanda’s table in the courtyard, polite as ever, but just a bit too hopeful in his voice. “Are you doing anything after school?”

Wanda’s smile dropped slightly. “Yeah,” she said coolly. “I’ve got plans.”

“Oh.” Vision looked surprised. “With Pepper?”

“No. And I’m not available.” She didn't even try to sugarcoat it.

Y/N had been watching from a distance, pretending to sip her soda. But when Wanda shut Vision down, Y/N pulled out her phone and typed without thinking.

\[1:27 PM – Y/N]: Science room. Now.

Wanda’s brows lifted at the text. Her heart skipped. She didn’t reply—just stood up, grabbed her bag, and quietly slipped away from Monica and Pepper, who barely noticed with their own conversation going.

The science room was dim and empty when Wanda entered. Y/N was already there, sitting on the edge of a lab table, arms crossed, her gaze soft but intense. She watched Wanda enter, a small sigh escaping her lips.

Wanda closed the door behind her, still unsure of the tension that had grown between them, but her heart beat faster when she saw Y/N’s expression.

“You okay?” Wanda asked, stepping closer.

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stood and pulled Wanda gently toward her, guiding her to stand between her legs as she sat on the table. The sudden proximity made Wanda’s pulse quicken. Y/N wrapped her arms around Wanda’s waist, pulling her close.

“I want to punch all the boys who talked to you today,” Y/N pouted, her voice low but playful, her lips curling into a small, almost jealous grin.

Wanda raised an eyebrow, her fingers lightly brushing through Y/N’s hair. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

Y/N leaned her forehead against Wanda’s, closing her eyes. “Maybe a little,” she admitted softly, but there was no bite in her tone, just a hint of affection.

Wanda smiled, leaning in just enough to brush her lips against Y/N’s in a soft kiss. “You have nothing to worry about,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N smiled back, pulling Wanda in just a little tighter. “I know. But I still want to punch them.”

Wanda chuckled softly at Y/N’s words, brushing her thumb over Y/N’s cheek. “You’re cute when you’re jealous,” she teased, her voice light but warm, as if she couldn’t help but smile at the softness of Y/N’s feelings.

Y/N pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Wanda’s eyes. “I know I’m being ridiculous,” she admitted, her tone a little sheepish, “but I can’t help it when I see other people looking at you like that.”

Wanda’s heart softened at the vulnerability in Y/N’s voice. She gently cupped Y/N’s face, bringing her in for a soft, lingering kiss, reassuring and tender.

“You don’t need to worry,” Wanda whispered against her lips, pulling back just enough to catch her breath. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N smiled at her words, her hands sliding down Wanda’s back to rest at her waist. She leaned her forehead against Wanda’s once again, eyes closing in contentment. “Good,” Y/N murmured, her voice a little hoarse.

For a long moment, the world outside the science room didn’t matter. There was only the quiet hum of their shared connection, the warmth of their closeness, the trust that had been growing between them over the past weeks.

Wanda rested her chin on Y/N’s shoulder, her breath evening out. “So, when does this date of yours start?” she asked, her words playful but full of anticipation.

Y/N grinned, her hands slipping lower on Wanda’s waist, pulling her even closer. “Right after school. I wait for you at the back of school.”

Wanda’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of their plans. She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching Y/N’s, the anticipation growing between them. “The back of the school?” she asked, her voice a little breathless. “That sounds... mysterious.”

Y/N smirked, her fingers tracing small circles on Wanda’s waist. “You’ll love it, I promise. Just trust me,” she said, her voice low and full of warmth. “I’ve got everything planned.”

Wanda smiled, the spark of excitement in her chest growing stronger. “I’m looking forward to it,” she whispered, then leaned in to press a quick kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “But until then, we should probably get to class, right?”

Y/N nodded, reluctantly pulling away but still holding onto Wanda’s waist, not ready to let go just yet. “Yeah,” she said with a soft sigh, and she leans forward to peck her lips “see you later” 

Wanda’s heart fluttered at the soft kiss, the sweetness of it lingering on her lips even after Y/N pulled away. She met Y/N’s eyes, her own smile bright and warm, full of promise.

“See you later,” Wanda echoed, her voice low but full of affection. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment as she turned to walk toward the door. But before she left, she glanced back one more time.

Y/N was standing there, her expression soft, her eyes watching her intently, and Wanda knew, in that moment, how much she meant to Y/N. How much they meant to each other.

With one last smile, Wanda stepped out of the science room and into the bustling hallway, the anticipation of their date filling her with energy.

---

The rest of the day dragged on, each minute slipping by slower than the last. Wanda found it hard to focus on anything other than the fact that later that evening, it would be just the two of them—no masks, no hiding, just them, in a place where they could be free.

Y/N sat in her car, tapping her fingers nervously against the steering wheel as she glanced at the time. The minutes seemed to stretch on, each one a little longer than the last. She had changed into something more casual, a simple outfit that made her feel comfortable, but still special enough for their date. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

She kept glancing at the rearview mirror, hoping to catch sight of Wanda. She couldn’t wait to see her. After what felt like an eternity, she finally spotted Wanda in the distance, walking toward the back of the school, her eyes scanning the area. As she got closer, Y/N’s heart skipped a beat.

Wanda was dressed in a simple, yet effortlessly stunning outfit, her hair loose around her shoulders, a soft glow in her face that made Y/N’s breath hitch. She was everything Y/N had been thinking about all day.

Y/N quickly opened the passenger door, leaning against the frame with a playful smile. “Hey there, beautiful,” she called out, her voice soft, but full of warmth.

Wanda’s lips lifted into a smile at the sound of Y/N’s voice, her steps quickening as she approached. She climbed into the car, their eyes locking for just a moment before Y/N leaned in to give her a quick, soft kiss on the lips, just enough to make Wanda’s heart race.

She slaps Y/N arm, “Someone might see us!” But the smile on her face said everything.

Y/N give her a grin and ask, “Ready for our date?” her voice full of excitement and affection.

Wanda nodded, her smile growing as she settled into the seat beside Y/N. “More than ready,” she replied, her voice low and soft. She glanced at Y/N, feeling her pulse quicken as their fingers brushed together, and she squeezed Y/N’s hand.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. "Let’s go then."

Y/N drove with one hand on the wheel and the other loosely holding Wanda’s fingers, their hands resting between them on the seat. The road stretched out ahead, leading them away from everything familiar—away from school halls full of eyes, away from whispered rumors and watchful friends.

Wanda talked happily the whole way there.

The next town wasn’t far, but it felt like another world. It was quieter, a little older, with cobblestone sidewalks and twinkling lights strung between quaint buildings. Y/N parked on a quiet street near a small cinema with a glowing marquee.

Wanda’s eyes lit up as she took it in. “You brought me to the movies?” she asked, smiling.

Y/N shrugged, grinning. “You always said you liked the idea of holding hands during a cheesy film. Thought I’d give you that.”

They walked in side by side, and for once, they didn’t have to think twice before letting their hands stay linked. The movie was something light—a romantic comedy with ridiculous dialogue and a happy ending—but neither of them really paid attention. Wanda rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder halfway through, and Y/N pressed a soft kiss to her temple. The world around them faded.

After the film, they walked down the street to a little diner with red booths and a jukebox in the corner. They sat across from each other, sharing milkshakes and fries, giggling over nothing and stealing glances that lingered.

At one point, Wanda leaned across the table, her voice low. “This feels amazing.”

Y/N’s hand found hers instantly. “You make it amazing.”

When they left the diner, the sky was a rich violet, stars just beginning to peek through. Y/N pulled Wanda close as they walked slowly back to the car, their steps unhurried, like neither wanted the night to end.

“Want to go sit somewhere before heading back?” Y/N asked, tucking a strand of hair behind Wanda’s ear.

Wanda nodded. “Yeah. Let’s.”

They found a quiet hill just outside of town, overlooking the lights. Y/N pulled out a blanket from the backseat and spread it out. They laid back side by side, gazing at the stars.

Wanda turned her head toward Y/N. “This might be my favorite night ever.”

Y/N smiled softly, reaching over to intertwine their fingers again. “Mine too.”

The night was theirs. For once, there was no pretending—just the soft sound of wind, quiet laughter, and the kind of peace that only came from being exactly where they wanted to be—with each other.

---

That night, after the house had quieted and everyone had gone to bed, Y/N stood in front of her mirror, brushing her teeth with sleep already tugging at her limbs. The glow from her bedside lamp was soft, casting a warm light across her room as she slipped into a worn t-shirt and shorts, ready to crawl under the covers.

She had just turned off the light and was about to pull the blankets up when her door creaked open—so soft she almost thought she imagined it.

But then she saw her.

Wanda, barefoot and glowing faintly in the hallway light, stepped in with that unmistakable grin—mischievous, sweet, and just a little wicked. Her hair was a mess of soft waves from the night, and she wore a hoodie over her pajama shorts, looking both innocent and guilty.

Y/N barely had time to sit up before Wanda crossed the room and climbed onto the bed on her knees.

“You’re sneaky,” Y/N whispered, her heart already pounding.

“I know,” Wanda whispered back, grinning wider.

Then—without hesitation—she leaned in and kissed her.

It was soft, slow, full of something unspoken but loud. Her lips moved gently with Y/N’s, her hands on either side of her face, like she’d been waiting all day to do exactly this.

When she pulled back, Wanda giggled quietly, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Good night,” she said, her voice barely above a breath.

Then she slipped off the bed and padded out of the room just as quickly as she came, glancing back once like a little kid who’d stolen candy.

Y/N lay frozen in place for a second, then flopped back against her pillows, covering her face with both hands, a stupidly huge smile spreading across her lips.

Her heart was still thudding like a drum.

She was completely gone for her.

---

To be continued...😁

[inseobts]

Pretty please could I request a scenario/imagine with Ace where the reader is from Drum Island and lost someone or something during Blackbeards raid and the reader swore vengeance vengeance on the guy.

So when she's tracking Blackbeard down, she keeps running into Ace and it grows into a friendly rivalry to see who's gonna get Blackbeard first and they compare notes and information

How this all ends on Banaro id leave up to you, I'm not pressed on a happy or angsty ending and I'd like to see your spin on this! I like your writing a lot.

Chasing Fire and Shadows

portgas d. ace x fem!reader

a/n: the islands I name are random tho lmao loved writing this so much btw

words count: 4.6k

tags: slow burn, enemies to allies, shared revenge, adventure, angst/drama, light humor

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Snow falls hard on Drum Island the night Blackbeard attacks.

You remember the fire, the screams, and the way the cold didn’t matter because rage kept you warm. Blackbeard’s crew swept through the town like wolves through a sheep pen, lighting homes, laughing through gunfire. No mercy. No reason.

Your brother had gone to help put out the flames. He never came back.

All they found was part of his coat. Burnt at the edge. Blood at the seam.

That night, in the silent wreckage of your village, you dug your hands into the snow and swore two things:

You would find Marshall D. Teach.

You would kill him yourself.

After all that.

“Vengeance won’t keep you alive.”

That’s what Dr. Kureha says the morning you tell her your plan.

You stand in the snow, fists clenched, scarf whipping in the wind “Then I’ll make sure strength does.”

Kureha narrows her eyes “Strength without control is just chaos. What are you gonna do? Run around with a kitchen knife screaming his name?”

“No,” you say “I’m going to train.”

And you do train, for months, you fight your own limits. Early mornings. Weighted runs in deep snow. Hand-to-hand combat with heavy gloves. You work under the mountain monks for endurance, under ex-hunters for reflex, and under Wapol’s leftovers for grit.

One of the monks, old and blind, says something you never forget “Pain will make you sharper, girl. But only love will keep you human.”

You don’t know how to feel about that.

Six months into your training, you find something in the wreckage of a smuggler's den near the coast. A Devil Fruit. Rotating, pale silver with jagged navy streaks, looking like a storm frozen mid-sky. You remember your breath catching, your hands shaking.

You don’t know its name. No one does.

But you eat it anyway.

It tastes like battery acid and regret.

Three days later, lightning shoots from your fingertips during a sparring match. You black out. Nearly burn down a hut. But you feel the power, deep and electric, coiled in your blood like a storm waiting for a trigger.

They start calling you the Thunderborn after that.

You learn to control it, piece by piece:

Charging your body to move faster than the eye.

Electrocuting your punches for impact.

Using static fields to sense motion behind you.

Eventually, you learn to “blink” short-range lightning jumps.

Now — Alabasta

You walk into the Nanohana bar in a sand-stained cloak, hair still carrying bits of static.

And there he is again.

Portgas D. Ace.

At the counter. Shirt open, freckles out, drinking like he owns the damn place.

He doesn’t see you at first, but you don’t say anything.

You just sit beside him and order something cheap.

Then he turns “Well, well, if it isn’t Drum Island’s sparkplug.”

You smirk “If you call me that again, I’ll fry your eyebrows off.”

Ace laughs “You’ve gotten funnier. And sparky. Did I hear lightning outside earlier?”

You sip your drink “Might’ve been me.”

“Figured. You light up when you’re mad.”

You glance sideways “Why are you always ahead of me?”

“Because I don’t stop to make dramatic entrances.”

“Jerk.”

“Aw, come on. You missed me.”

You roll your eyes “Only thing I miss is good intel. Got any?”

Ace shrugs “He’s headed west. Some say Jaya. Others say farther.”

You slam your notebook on the counter.

He lifts a brow “Still writing everything down?”

You flip through pages of hand-drawn maps, bounties, and coded rumors “Unlike you, I don’t rely on luck.”

Ace grins “I rely on fire.”

“You rely on being reckless.”

“You rely on overthinking.”

The two of you stare at each other. Then both laugh just a little.

There’s something about him you can’t hate, no matter how frustrating he is.

He taps your notebook “We should compare notes.”

You raise an eyebrow “Are we teaming up now?”

He smirks “Nah. Just wanna beat you to him fair and square.”

You lean in “Then good luck keeping up, Hothead. I’m faster now.”

Ace tilts his head “I like a challenge.”

He finishes his drink, drops some coins, and walks away, but then he pauses at the door.

“I’ll see you at the next dead end, Lightning Bug.”

“Say that again and I’ll roast you.”

He laughs and disappears into the heat.

You stare after him, heart thudding like thunder in your chest.

You're not here to cause trouble. You're just passing through Scorpio Island, a busy port with cheap food and a decent information network.

It’s humid. Loud. Smells like salted fish and sweet rice. You’ve just finished questioning a dockworker who “might’ve seen a man with a weird black beard” which isn’t helpful at all.

Then the air shifts.

You pause mid-step. Hair lifts slightly from your skin. Not from your powers but from instinct.

You’re being watched.

When you look up, Marines start stepping out from the alleys. One, two, six, then ten. Boots clinking. Guns half-drawn.

You blink.

“What…?”

The nearest officer, a man with a square jaw and too many medals, steps forward.

“Y/N, right?” he says like he already knows “You’re coming with us.”

You take a step back, palms up “I don’t want any trouble. I’m not a pirate or anything—”

He tosses something at you.

A bounty poster.

It floats through the air and lands at your feet, face-up.

Your face. Your name. Wanted: 82,000,000 Berries. Alive or dead.

“What the—?” You crouch to pick it up. Your fingers spark from the shock of touching your own damn bounty “This has to be a mistake. I didn’t do anything.”

“You took down the Captain of the Blackjaw Pirates in Loguetown. Witnesses saw lightning. Saw you.”

Your jaw drops “I wasn’t—! That was self-defense! He tried to rob a ship I was on!”

“You blew a hole in the harbor.”

You groan “He exploded first! I exploded back! It wasn’t like I was trying to—!”

“Doesn’t matter. You attacked a pirate with a bounty. You fought on public ground. That makes you a threat.”

You clench your fists. Static dances around your knuckles.

“I don’t want to fight you,” you say again, slower, sharper “I’m not your enemy.”

But they don’t listen.

They raise rifles. They step forward.

And you flinch, not from fear, but from frustration.

“DAMN it,” you mutter “Why is everyone so STUPID—”

Suddenly, there’s a gust of hot wind and a blur of orange and freckles.

“Oi” says a voice you recognize, just before your feet leave the ground.

“What the—!”

You're lifted off the street in a flash of fire, bridal style, and the world tilts.

Portgas D. Ace is grinning, even as flames flicker at his shoulders.

“She said she doesn’t want a fight,” he calls to the stunned Marines, like he’s announcing a party “So back off.”

And then he’s like flying. No, blasting forward in a burst of flame, carrying you over rooftops, streets, and screaming civilians until the port becomes a blur beneath you.

After making sure you got far enough, he sets you down gently. Too gently.

You slap his arm.

“What the hell, Ace?”

“Ow.”

“You could’ve dropped me!”

“Sure, but then I’d have to carry you again. This way saves time.”

You glare. Sparks flicker from your hands “I had that under control!”

“Yeah, I saw,” he says, flopping onto a patch of dry grass like this was a walk in the park “Totally calm. Not shouting at all.”

You kick a rock “They’re saying I’m some kind of threat now. I didn’t even mean to take that guy down! He attacked me!”

Ace lifts a brow “Big guy, metal jaw, kinda ugly?”

“That’s the one.”

“You melted his sword.”

“It was instinct!”

Ace whistles low “That’s why your bounty’s that high. Not many people take down a guy like that without trying.”

You fold your arms, seething “This is so stupid.”

Ace looks at you for a long moment “You okay?”

You sit beside him “No. I’m not. I’m not even close.”

“...You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

You shove his shoulder “I will electrocute you.”

He laughs “There she is.”

You look out toward the ocean, your anger slowly cracking “I didn’t sign up for all this. I just wanted to find Blackbeard.”

Ace’s smile fades “Yeah. Me too.”

You don’t say anything for a while. The wind brushes past, carrying sand and silence.

Finally, you ask, “So. What now?”

Ace stretches his arms behind his head “We keep chasing. And maybe next time, I’ll let you save me for a change.”

You side-eye him “...You just want to get carried.”

“I’m just saying it’s only fair.”

It’s late afternoon on Mira Island, a laid-back little place known for its wind chimes, lazy bars, and fishermen who talk too much.

You’ve been here two hours and already heard five versions of “a pirate with a black beard stole someone’s boat.”

Typical.

You’re sitting outside a bar near the water, boots up on the railing, pretending to enjoy a bland cocktail. The sun hits the sea just right, and for a second, you forget the bounty, the chase, the Marines...

"Nice poster, Sparkplug."

You freeze mid-sip. That voice again.

You lower the glass slowly and turn.

Ace stands there, grinning like always, flipping something between his fingers.

He slaps it down on your table.

Your new bounty poster.

It’s the same damn thing from Scorpio Island… but worse.

Now it says:

WANTED — Y/N Dead or Alive — 142,000,000 Berries

And the picture?

You groan “Where the hell did they even get this photo?”

Ace leans on the table, chin on hand “Looks like a surveillance shot. Pretty high quality for Marines, honestly.”

You glare “I look good in it. That’s suspicious.”

He snorts “Right? I mean, hair’s all dramatic in the wind, eyes glowing. You look like you're about to declare war on God.”

You squint at him “Did you come here to bully me?”

“Nah,” he says “Came here to drink. Saw your face first thing at the port. Figured I’d come ruin your day.”

You grab your glass “Too late, it was already ruined.”

Ace sits across from you and signals the bartender “Then let’s make it worse.”

Two drinks later you're both laughing. You’ve moved on to shots.

It turned into a challenge somewhere between the third insult and the first real smile.

You’re trying not to slur. He’s trying not to fall off his stool.

“This island’s too quiet” you mutter, pouring another.

“You’re just mad it doesn’t have Marines to shock.”

“You’re mad I can outdrink you.”

Ace points at you “That’s not true. You’re just shortcircuiting, so the alcohol hits faster.”

You gasp “Did you just insult me?”

He nods “Twice, actually. You missed the first one.”

You slam your glass down “One more round.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

You roll your eyes “Fine. One more round… idiot.”

He grins “There it is.”

Later on, you're both quieter. Buzzed, but not spinning.

You stare out at the sea, feeling the calm before the next storm. Because there’s always another storm.

You speak first “You know… maybe we should just make it official.”

Ace lifts a brow “What?”

You look at him, serious now “An alliance. You and me. Find Blackbeard together.”

He pauses.

Then he shakes his head, just once “Can’t.”

You frown “Why not?”

“He’s dangerous.”

You sit up straighter “You think I don’t know that?”

“He killed someone I cared about.”

Your breath catches “...Same.”

Ace doesn’t look at you when he says, “I can’t risk someone else.”

You stare at him, heart suddenly heavier “So what, all this time… you were just playing nice?”

He blinks “No.”

“Then were you feeding me fake info? Sending me in the wrong direction to keep me out of it?”

His expression hardens “I don’t do that.”

You cross your arms “Really? Because it kinda feels like I’m chasing a shadow and you’re chasing the real thing.”

“I gave you everything I had. Every rumor, every tip. That’s my style. I don’t lie to people I respect.”

You scoff “Respect?”

Ace leans in a little, face calm but serious “Yeah. You’re strong. Smart. Brave. You deserve better than chasing a monster into hell.”

You meet his eyes.

“I’m already in hell beacuse of him” you say.

Ace doesn’t respond. Just looks at you for a long time.

The silence between you is sharp. Electric.

And then he says, “...I’ll see you around, Sparkplug.”

He leaves before you can say anything else.

You sit there, staring at the table, fingers twitching.

The poster flutters in the wind, your own face looking back at you.

Wanted. Alone. Again.

It’s too damn hot.

You're holed up in an abandoned fishing shack on Gulliver Island, nursing a half-broken fan and peeling off your jacket like it’s trying to kill you.

Outside, the jungle hums with heat and insects. Inside, it’s just you, a damp rag, and one tall, shirtless idiot leaning against the doorway.

“Thought you’d be gone by now” you mutter.

Ace smirks. He’s barefoot, towel slung over his shoulder, sunburnt collarbone on full display.

“I was,” he says, stepping in like he owns the floor “But then I heard about a lightning girl terrorizing a squad of Marines a few miles up the coast.”

“I didn’t terrorize them,” you snap “They cornered me. Again.”

He raises both hands “Hey, I believe you. I just figured you might need a break.”

You glare “So you brought yourself?”

He grins “Thought you’d enjoy the view.”

Your eyes flick over his bare chest before you can stop yourself “Please.”

“Caught that.”

You toss your rag at his head. He catches it with one hand and chuckles.

Later, you sit across from each other at a short wooden table. There's barely enough space for two people, and your knees touch every time one of you shifts. You blame the heat for the sweat on your neck, not the way Ace’s eyes linger too long when you lean forward.

He slides something across the table.

Your bounty poster. Again.

You groan.

“They upped it,” he says casually “You’re at 170 mil now. Guess the lightning show made an impression.”

You snatch the paper “Why do they keep using this photo?”

“You look too good in it. Makes you more dangerous.”

You shoot him a look “I’m already dangerous.”

“Oh, I know.”

His tone is low. Too low. You feel it in your spine.

You set the poster down.

“So,” he says after a beat “What now?”

You shrug “Still chasing him. Still alone.”

Ace’s fingers tap the table. His knee bumps yours again and doesn’t move.

You meet his gaze. It’s hot in here, and not just because of the island.

“You ever get tired of being on your own?” you ask, voice soft.

He doesn’t answer right away.

“I’ve got reasons” he says eventually.

“I know. You told me.” You lean in a little “Doesn’t mean you have to like it.”

Ace watches you for a long moment. There’s tension now, real and pulsing. It builds between you like a charge in the air, like your own devil fruit is reacting to something deeper.

“I don’t want to see you get hurt” he says, quietly.

You look down, then back up at him “I don’t want to see you die chasing him alone.”

Your foot brushes against his under the table. Neither of you moves this time.

You could lean in. He could close the gap.

But neither of you does.

Instead, he stands, too quickly. His hand runs through his hair, like he’s shaking off whatever just passed between you.

“I’m sleeping on the roof,” he says “Too hot in here.”

You watch him leave, jaw tight, pulse racing.

The door creaks shut behind him.

You're left alone with the heat… and a storm you’re not sure you can keep holding back.

Weeks later.

The storm rolls in fast.

One second you're arguing with a stubborn trader about a Blackbeard sighting, the next you're sprinting through sheets of rain, your jacket clinging to your skin like a second, colder version of yourself.

Lightning flashes above. Loud. Familiar. Yours, or maybe not.

You duck under a hanging sign and shake out your soaked sleeves. Behind you, heavy footsteps squish through the mud.

“I told you to wait” Ace says, breathless.

You turn, rain dripping from your hair “I told you to keep up.”

His freckles are speckled with raindrops. His hair’s a mess. He looks unfairly good for someone drenched head to toe.

“Nice weather” you mutter.

“I swear, you summon this stuff on purpose.”

You smirk “Oh? Fireboy scared of a little water?”

He gives you a look “I’m not scared. I just respect the enemy.”

“What's that even supposed to mean.”

Thunder cracks above. You flinch slightly, but Ace notices. He steps closer, that infuriating grin back on his lips.

“Shouldn’t you be used to this?”

“Not when I’m stuck in it with you.”

He gestures to a shed nearby, half-hidden behind a fruit stand “There. Shelter.”

You glance at it. Small. Barely big enough for one of you.

“Great” you deadpan.

Inside the shelter it’s even worse than expected.

Dark, creaky, barely more than a shack. But it’s dry. Mostly. Except the roof drips in two places.

You stand awkwardly close. Too close. The space smells like rain and sweat and wood. His arm brushes yours when he adjusts his belt. You try not to react, but your skin’s already warm from the charge of the lightning earlier.

“You’re shivering” he says quietly.

“No, I’m not.”

He looks at you. Long. Serious.

“Come here.”

You stare “What?”

“I’m warm,” he says, and yeah, his Devil Fruit does give him an advantage here...

You hesitate. Just a second.

Then you sigh and step closer. He pulls you in gently, an arm around your waist, casual like it means nothing. But it does.

His skin radiates heat. His breath brushes your temple. You stand there, half-mad from how close his mouth is to your ear.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod, voice low “Yeah. It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

You feel his smile before you see it.

Then, softer “You know… I wasn’t trying to push you away. Lat time we met.”

You glance up.

“We’re not allies” you say.

“We’re more than that,” he answers “Aren’t we?”

The silence grows thick. Your heart pounds so loud it nearly drowns out the rain.

You tilt your head “You always this forward when you’re wet?”

He chuckles, low and slow “Only when I like the person I’m stuck with.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

Your lips are inches apart.

And still… neither of you moves.

Not yet.

But the storm isn’t the only thing building.

The rain pounds the roof, wild and heavy. The wind howls through the cracks in the walls, but inside the shack it’s still.

Your breath hitches.

Ace hasn’t moved and neither have you.

Your fingers curl slightly into his shirt. He’s too warm. Too close. Too good at looking at you like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“Say something” you whisper.

His voice is rough “You want honesty?”

You nod.

“I think about you too much.”

You blink “That wasn’t the kind of honesty I was expecting.”

He grins but it's softer than usual “Then maybe you should stop expecting the worst from me.”

You don’t have a smart reply this time.

You tilt your face up. You’re done pretending the heat between you is just because of your devil fruits, or the jungle, or the shared goal of revenge.

This is different. And it’s real.

You lean in.

So does he.

The kiss is slow at first. Testing. His lips brush yours like a question.

Then it deepens.

Your fingers fist into the front of his shirt. His hand finds the back of your neck, thumb grazing your skin in a way that sends a sharp bolt of need straight through you.

You shift, pressing closer... hips brushing, mouths moving. The shack feels smaller. The air tighter.

You gasp when his teeth graze your lower lip.

He pulls back just enough to speak, voice hoarse.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first island we met at.”

“You’re late” you murmur, tugging him back down.

This time, the kiss is rougher. More desperate. His hands on your waist now, yours sliding up under his shirt, fingers trailing over warm skin. He swears under his breath when you do.

You only break apart when a roll of thunder shakes the shack.

Your foreheads stay pressed together.

You’re both breathing hard.

Still wrapped around each other.

“Storm’s not letting up” he says.

“Guess we’re stuck.”

A small smile “Yeah. Real shame.”

Time pass and you’re curled up beside him, his jacket draped over you both like a blanket.

You trace a small burn scar on his shoulder lazily with one finger.

“You still want to find Blackbeard alone?”

Ace’s jaw tightens for a second.

Then he exhales “I don’t know anymore.”

You nod. You understand.

But for now, in this moment, neither of you are alone.

Weeks pass.

You and Ace keep crossing paths. At first, by accident. Now? You’re not so sure.

You bicker like rivals. Fight like friends. Flirt like something more.

“Lightning for brains” he mutters when you zap open a locked door instead of picking it.

“Matches-for-hands” you snap back, shoving past him.

But you don’t go separate ways this time.

It’s hot again. The island of Kota is all red dust and thick air. You’re sitting outside a half-crumbled tavern, nursing something too bitter to drink, when a kid, skinny, sunburned, eyes too sharp for his age, runs up to your table.

“You’re the lightning girl, right?”

You pause “Who’s asking?”

He glances around, then whispers, “I got news. About the man you’re hunting.”

That gets your full attention.

Ace looks up from his drink across the table. His whole body shifts, not much, but you feel it. Tension behind the ease. He’s worried, and trying to hide it.

“What kind of news?” you ask the boy.

“Blackbeard passed through Southshore two days ago. They say he’s headed to the mountains on Harka Isle. Big crew. Real big.”

The kid slips a folded paper into your hand and bolts before you can ask more.

You stare down at the message. Your pulse picks up. The handwriting is frantic. Names you recognize. Places that weren’t supposed to exist anymore.

“Let me see.” Ace says, reaching for it.

You snatch it away “No.”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know if it’s real—”

“I’ll decide that.”

He leans back in his chair, jaw tight “You’re not thinking straight.”

You stand “And you’re not listening.”

The fight doesn't end when the sun sets.

You’re pacing your rented room above the tavern, lightning buzzing faintly under your skin.

Ace leans against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“You’re acting like you’ve already decided to die.”

You spin “And you’re acting like I don’t have a reason!”

He walks toward you “I never said that.”

“But you think it.”

Silence.

His voice drops “I think you’re carrying something too heavy. Alone.”

You look at him.

And something breaks open.

“You want to know exactly why I’m doing all this? Fine.”

You walk to him close, but not touching.

“He killed my brother,” you say “During the raid on Drum Island. Not with his own hands... Blackbeard’s a coward. But it was his chaos. His madness. My brother bled out in the snow, calling for me, and I was too far to reach him.”

Ace’s eyes darken. He doesn’t move.

“I don’t care what it costs,” you whisper “I don’t care if I burn out, or if I die with him. As long as I take that bastard down into hell with me.”

He exhales slowly, like your words hit something deep.

And then he steps forward.

“I hate this,” he says quietly “Because I get it.”

You don't say anything else.

You just reach for him.

Later on, the sheets are twisted. Your skin still hums, but not from lightning. You’re pressed against Ace, legs tangled, his hand stroking slow circles on your spine.

Neither of you says much.

You don't need to.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t fast. Not this time.

It was everything unsaid, poured out in touches and breath and the way he looked at you like you were more than vengeance.

You break the silence.

“You really think I can’t do it?”

“I think you can,” he says softly “I just don’t want you to lose yourself doing it.”

You stare at the ceiling.

Too late for that. But you don’t say it.

You just stay there, in the dark, skin on skin.

Storms can wait. But not forever.

The sun is cruel when it wakes you.

You turn over, reaching across the bed.

Cold, empty sheets.

Your stomach drops.

You sit up, frowning “Ace?”

No answer.

You scan the room. His shirt is gone. So are his boots. His dagger. His hat.

You rush downstairs barefoot, wild with sleep and fear “Ace?!”

The barkeep doesn’t even look up “Left before sunrise. Didn’t say much.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears “Left where?”

No answer.

You push out into the sun-drenched street. A headache builds behind your eyes “Damn it. Damn it, Ace—”

“Hey” a voice says. It’s the kid from yesterday, standing near the edge of the alley. Same nervous energy. Same sharp stare “He left you something.”

You rush over “Where is he?!”

The boy just hands you a folded piece of paper.

You open it with shaking hands.

I had to go ahead. I know you’ll try to follow me. I hope you don’t. If I can end this, maybe you won’t have to. Don’t hate me for this. I’m not trying to leave you. I’m trying to save you.

You reread the words five times.

They don't sink in.

You press the page to your chest, breath shaking. But your mind grabs onto one thing.

He didn’t say goodbye.

He didn’t say he wouldn’t come back.

You chase every whisper. Every rumor.

Lightning burns under your skin as you cross sea after sea.

Someone saw smoke on Banaro Island.

Two men, one made of fire, one of darkness.

You go there.

You go to Banaro.

The island is scorched, like lightning and death danced a waltz across its surface.

Ash coats the wind. Trees splintered, rocks cracked down the middle.

Your stomach twists but your hope is louder.

“Ace won,” you whisper to yourself “He had to.”

There’s no body.

No blood.

You search until your knees ache. You find his hat, not burned, just buried under some rubble. You hold it to your chest and close your eyes.

Maybe he left it on purpose.

Maybe he’s coming back for it.

You smile.

You believe that.

You have to.

Three Days Later

You're in a small port town, hair damp from rain, scarf pulled tight as you sit in a dusty inn with a cup of bitter coffee.

There’s a newspaper crumpled on the table beside you. You’re not even looking at it.

Until you see the name.

“Portgas D. Ace: Captured. Now held in Impel Down.”

Your chest goes cold.

The mug slips from your fingers and shatters.

People glance over, but you don’t notice.

You just stare.

Captured.

Alive.

But for how long?

The newspaper says nothing about the fight. Nothing about what’s coming next.

But you know.

The World Government has him.

They’re going to make an example out of him.

You press your palms to your face and sit still for a long time.

Hope is still in your chest... But now it’s shaped more like panic.

You have to get to him.

You have to do something.

You will.

Because you can't be too late this time.

But you might be, if you don’t move... now.