#...i think i might need to lower the eyes? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

clownprincesshq · 2 days ago

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the unmasking pt1

"You've got the costume. You've got the power. You're Spider-Woman. Act like it."🕷🕸️

Main!Mark Grayson x Spider-Woman! Reader

warnings: angst, hurt some comfort, murder, cecil is his own warning, mark is such a caring ex bf

w/c: 7.5k

a/n: next chapter is gonna be so fluffy and smutty since its a flashback chapter. yall deserve a break!!

The camera feed shakes before it stabilizes. In the backdrop, studio lights hum softly; the distant noise of disorder from the city outside these walls seeps in like a ghost. Before the picture even comes into focus, you are familiar with the voice, booming, self-important, and clearly gravelly.

Already mid-rant, J. Jonah Jameson, mustache bristling and suit wrinkled in a manner that shouts "I didn't sleep last night and I like it that way,"

"This city is rotting," he shouts, waving angrily to some off-screen picture that, minutes later, shows in the upper-right corner: a murky snapshot of an alley roped off by NYPD tape. The corner's timestamp says 5:02 a.m., yesterday morning. “And while our so-called heroes prance around in spandex like it’s Comic-Con every damn day of the week, innocent people are dying in the streets.”

He pounds the desk with his palm. Papers shake. Somewhere, a struggling intern winces.

“Three corpses. Three. Mutilated. Torn apart. Half-eaten.” He leans in like he’s daring you, daring the city, to look away. “These weren’t gang hits. These weren’t carjackings gone bad. We’re discussing something different. Something inhuman.”

He shifts now, snatching a remote and pressing a button like he’s intending to put a hole in it. The screen behind him flashes again, a shadowy form from a shaky mobile phone recording. A gigantic, enormous figure bulging amid buildings. Its body gleams moist and inky black under faint streetlights, and for a brief instant, white eyes sparkle in the gloom. The vision is grainy, the audio worse, panicked yells, distant sirens but it's enough.

“There!” Jameson stabs a finger at the screen. “That thing. That’s not a man. That’s not a mutant. That’s not some ‘enhanced vigilante’ playing hero.”

He pulls a breath. “That, ladies and gentlemen, is Venom. And it’s real.”

His voice lowers low, heavy with dramatics. “For weeks, I’ve been warning you. And for weeks, you’ve dubbed me a conspiracy nut. A crackpot. Said I needed to ‘chill out’ and ‘touch grass.’ Well, you can keep your grass, since the truth is right in front of you.”

A pause. Just long enough to let everything sink in.

“And don’t even try to tell me it’s a coincidence this monster shows up right when our dear Spider-Woman goes radio silent. Disappears for days, then reappears, violent. Unhinged. More aggressive than ever before.”

He smacks another button. Footage plays on the side screen now. Not shaky mobile phone footage, this is security cam. Spider-Woman lunging down from a fire escape, a guy screaming underneath her. She doesn’t murder him, no. But she doesn’t exactly hold back either. The screen hides the worst of it, but you can still see the blood spattering on the sidewalk. Her outfit is odd, too. Darker. Shinier. As if something’s covering it, something living.

Jameson doesn’t even blink. “Tell me that’s the same girl who used to pull kids from burning buildings. Who waved at news helicopters. Who posed for photographs with kids. That thing isn’t Spider-Woman. That monster is a threat.”

Another slam. Another graphic. This time, side-by-side images. One of Spider-Woman from a few weeks ago, bright and clean-cut, mask curved in a loving smile as she presented an autographed poster to a Make-A-Wish kid. And beside it, the vision from yesterday’s chaos, sharp fangs bared, a tongue snaking out of the shadows, claws curled and slick with someone’s blood.

“She’s changed,” he growls. “Or maybe, this is who she’s been all along.”

He leans forward, palms splayed over the tabletop, gaze keen as broken glass.

“Think about it. Who else might be lurking behind that mask? Someone the public trusts. Someone who knows how to influence the press. Someone who’s had you all eating out of the palm of her hand since the day she showed up. Always smiling. Always rescue cats from trees. Well guess what?”

He jabs a finger toward the screen again. “Kittens don’t leave half a corpse in an alleyway.”

A moment, then he sneers.

“I warned you about Iron-Man, and look how that turned out. And now we’ve got his warped little female protégé wandering about like she’s auditioning for a horror flick. Let’s call it what it is, folks. Venom is Spider-Woman. Or worse, Venom is within her.”

The studio gets colder with his stillness. He lets the sentence hang there like a guillotine ready to descend.

“She’s hiding something. And I guarantee, when we get the truth, when the mask eventually comes off, it’s going to be worse than anything we’ve seen before.”

He takes up a sheet of paper, hardly glancing at it before slapping it back down. “Sources close to the NYPD are already saying the alley killings show signs of predation. Bite marks. Human tissue missing.” His lip curls. “We’re not talking about a mugging. We’re talking about feeding.”

The studio displays another image, a crime scene shot blurred to hell and back. Just enough to make it safe for television. But even blurred, it’s apparent. The contour of a jawbone stripped clean. Fingers severed off the hand. Clothes torn like tissue paper. There’s a blood trail that goes for a whole city block.

Jameson leans back, voice now low and iron-hot. “And still, no one’s talking. No statement from the mayor. No news announcement from the GDA. And don’t even get me started on Cecil Stedman. You believe he’s not connected somehow? Every time something incomprehensible happens, there he is, smiling behind the curtain.”

He moves again, gaze cutting straight through the camera like he’s gazing directly at you.

“You want to know what’s worse than monsters in the shadows? The individuals who guard them. Who enable them. Who call them heroes.”

A lengthy beat. One more image flashes behind him, this one isn’t from the alley. This one is just… a frame. Mid-leap. Spider-Woman silhouetted against the moon, web trailing behind her. For a minute, it’s gorgeous. Then the eyeballs flare white again.

“I see what’s coming,” he adds. “And it’s not salvation.”

Jameson straightens his tie. Brushes a hand down his lapel. The fire in his chest doesn’t dim, it never dims, but for now, he coaches his face into something frigid. Certain.

“I don’t care how many kids she’s saved. I don’t care how many photogenic moments she’s had with the press. If she’s part of this, if she is this thing, then she doesn’t deserve our quiet. She doesn’t deserve our faith. She doesn’t deserve our forgiveness.”

He punches the air once more, his voice booming:

“She deserves to be unmasked. And held accountable.”

The screen rushes back from commercial with no dramatic music, no anchor-friendly grins or warm welcomes, just frigid haste and Jonah’s silhouette already mid-turn in his seat, mouth tense. There’s something unsettling about seeing a man like him calm. Not because it’s pleasant, but because when J. Jonah Jameson is quiet, it implies the storm has already passed furious and settled into something far more dangerous. Conviction.

“Let’s talk about patterns,” he begins, voice like gravel scraped against metal. “Because Spider-Woman didn’t just change. This didn’t come out of nowhere. The signs were there. The escalation was right in front of us, and we looked the other way.”

Behind him, new footage plays. A montage. Grainy security recordings. Blurry street cam pictures. Cell phone captures, most ending suddenly in screaming. The camera portrays you like a shadow dashing through alleys, plummeting from roofs. Some clips conclude with a haze. Others stop exactly as you knock someone into concrete, shoulders, necks, ribs splitting like twigs.

“People said she was getting more efficient.” Jameson doesn’t look at the screen, he stares right into the camera, into you. “More ruthless. Less chatter, more takedown. And certainly, the city adored it at first. Crime reduced in such communities. Until the bodies started piling up.”

A fresh headline appears across the screen in blood-red font:

SPIDER-WOMAN “CROSSING THE LINE”? LOCAL MAN IN COMA AFTER ALTERCATION WITH VIGILANTE.

“Twenty-three-year-old Jamal Reynolds,” Jameson reads, his voice harsh. “Minor drug possession. Not trafficking. Not armed robbery. Just a kid with a couple priors and a rough night. What does Spider-Woman do? She tosses him through a windshield. He's currently in a coma with severe brain damage. Doctors claim the swelling on his brain didn’t originate from the impact, it came from many fractures.”

Another image. A hospital bed, a young man’s face bloated beyond recognition. His mother crying at his side.

“No charges filed,” Jameson replies, teeth clinched. “No accountability. Because once upon a time, she smiled at a fireman’s fundraiser and kissed a baby for a photo op.”

The screen switches again. Another name. Another face.

"SHE NEARLY KILLED ME." — FORMER GANG MEMBER DESCRIBES TERRIFYING RUN-IN WITH SPIDER-WOMAN.

“She doesn't talk anymore,” the man adds in a weak interview, his voice barely audible. “Doesn't say anything. Just… hisses. You don’t even notice her approaching. There’s a sound, like something wet dragging across metal, and suddenly she’s on you. You blink, and she’s in your face. She bit my shoulder. Bit it. Through the jacket.”

A still shot reveals the wound. It's ragged, tattered. Not a clean strike, like an animal had gnawed at him, mouth unhinged.

Jameson doesn’t blink.

“And we’re supposed to believe this is the same girl who handed out teddy bears and webbed up purse snatchers like some neighborhood mascot?”

He leans forward, fixing his tie like the activity is keeping him linked to something other than primal wrath.

“They’re calling it ‘lethal restraint,’” he scoffs. “The NYPD has at least seven ongoing investigations into incidents where her methods were described as ‘borderline fatal.’ At least three others are under review by the GDA itself, and you know how infrequently they even admit anything’s under review.”

Footage plays of a warehouse bust. Flames lick at the edge of the screen, and through the smoke, she flows like liquid shadow, silent, scary, unstoppable. You watch the silhouette of her arm jerk as she smacks someone against a steel beam. The scream breaks off midway.

“She isn’t arresting these people,” Jameson continues. “She isn’t dropping them off in front of police stations, gift-wrapped and webbed. She leaves them broken. Bruised. One of them has spinal injury. The other suffers lung trauma. One of them, God help us, was missing a bit of his thigh.”

And yet, every time they bring this up, someone’s always ready to leap to her defense. The same justifications, again and over again.

“But they were criminals.”

“She saved a bus full of kids last week.”

“She’s just going through something.”

“She’s a hero.”

Jameson laughs, harsh, humorless.

“I don’t care if she cured cancer and kissed Mother Teresa on the mouth. If she’s stalking people, if she’s feeding on people, if she’s hurting more than she’s helping, then she’s not a hero. She’s a threat.”

The screen flickers to one last picture. A hazy close-up from a drone, captured the night of the alley killings. A streak of white, fanged and grinning, splattered with blood. Your eyes are pitch dark, your stance hunched and horrible. Your mouth is wide open and her tongue is exposed, unusually long. You can’t even tell where her flesh finishes and the suit begins.

It’s not Spider-Woman.

It’s something donning your face.

“Ask yourself,” Jameson adds, gently now. The words felt weighty. Almost like a plea. “How long until she stops pretending to protect us at all? How long till she turns that hunger on the people who used to root for her?”

He sighs. Tired. Angry. Certain.

“They used to say power corrupts. That total authority corrupts absolutely.” His eyes narrow. “But no one ever tells you what happens when the corruption feeds back. When it becomes something else. Something alive.”

His last remarks seem like a final verdict.

“She’s not the hero anymore.”

The camera cuts to black.

But you can still hear it.

That thin, moist, slithering sound.

Something slithering beneath the quiet.

Something waiting.

The fluorescent lights in the GDA war room buzz above like they’re anxious too. The air within the steel cylinder is tight with tension, filtered and recycled and antiseptic in a way that makes you feel more like a weapon than a human. On the main display, a blown-up still frame of Spider-Woman looms above them all, fangs bared, mouth split too wide, eyes like polished obsidian. It seems more like a mugshot of a monster than a hero.

Cecil Stedman stands at the head of the table, hands planted on a holographic display throbbing with red-lit data. For once, he isn’t grinning beneath his constant five o’clock shadow. He looks… weary. Even behind the tiredness of his eyes, there’s something empty about his countenance. Like he’s staring at someone already gone.

"She’s crossed the line."

His voice isn’t elevated, but it doesn’t need to be.

All around the table, the Guardians of the Globe sit stiff. Or restless. Or both.

Bulletproof’s jaw is tense, a vein flickering in his temple. Dupli-Kate stares down at her own hands like she’s trying to press away the shame that’s started to fester beneath her skin. Black Samson is inscrutable, arms crossed over his chest like a wall, yet even he’s breathing deeper than normal. Shrinking Rae, poised on the edge of a chair far too big for her, mutters something that’s cut short by a quick flick of Cecil’s hand.

Robot talks first.

"Has she communicated at all since the incident in Queens?"

Cecil’s cybernetic lens flickers. “No. We’ve had no contact. No sightings in twenty-four hours. Which is… even more frightening, given what she did the last time she was seen.”

Another display lights up with blurry imagery. The alley. The three victims.

There’s quiet.

Eve glances aside, jaw gritted. “This can’t be her. Not the girl who dragged a kid out of a burning apartment with a smile on her face. Not the girl who-”

“is now tearing men in half like wrapping paper,” Cecil cuts in, forceful. “We don’t have the luxury of sentimental denial right now. This isn’t a PR disaster. This is an increasing bio-threat with extraterrestrial origins and unexpected neurological influence.”

“She’s not an alien,” Mark adds from where he’s standing at the back. He’s not sitting. He can’t. His hands are clinched at his sides and his voice is gruff, laced with something just shy of rage. “She’s not one of them. It’s… something else. Something that got into her.”

Cecil turns to him, slow. “And how do you know that, Grayson?”

Mark doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t need to.

The way he’s holding himself, shoulders pulled in like something is clawing at his ribs, it’s enough. It’s written all over him. There’s history here. Personal. Messy.

The type of stuff that gets people killed if it’s let to cloud judgment.

Robot’s mechanical voice crackles again. “The symbiote shows signs of parasitic bonding. If the host’s intellect is weakened, it’s not an issue of identification anymore. It’s an issue of containment.”

"And if containment fails?" Bulletproof asks bluntly, arms crossed, muscles tight and stiff.

That’s the question that’s been sitting in the center of the room like a ticking bomb.

Cecil breaths out, then hits a switch on the display. New slides replace the footage. Strategic layouts. Names. Resources. Weapon kinds. Containment levels.

And finally, at the bottom of the file. TERMINATION PROTOCOL. SUBJECT VENOM: STAGE 5 INFILTRATION

“She's not just killing,” Cecil explains. “She’s feeding. We found tissue samples from the alley. Not just blood, saliva. Digestion enzymes. She’s metabolizing human materials. That’s hardly a tactical error. That’s not adrenaline. That’s predatory adaptation.”

"She's not that far gone," Mark snaps. “I know her. This isn’t her. We can fix it.”

“She bit someone’s face off, Mark,” Samson grinds out. “At what point do we stop calling it a misunderstanding?”

“Is there a way to extract the symbiote?” Eve asks, turning to Robot, her voice tinged with the same frantic note Mark had, but better concealed behind the trained calm she’s learned over years of losing people.

Robot pauses. “Not without risking the host’s life. The link appears to be neurological, not just physical. Attempting forceful separation would certainly result in significant brain harm. Possibly death.”

“Then don’t force it,” Mark replies, coming forward. “Let me talk to her.”

“No,” Cecil replies, and this time his voice slashes the air like a knife.

Mark rounds on him. “You don’t even know what you’re dealing with-”

“I know exactly what I’m dealing with. I’m dealing with a ticking bomb in a skin-tight outfit that’s already blown up three bystanders and is revving up for more.”

Cecil moves closer, his tone low and lethal.

“You think this is about trust? About friendship? You think if you talk to her, she’ll suddenly snap out of it? This isn’t an teenage drama, Mark. This is war. And if she’s already attached to that thing, if she’s already begun changing, then she’s not your friend anymore.”

Mark flinches. Eve stares between them, like she’s ready to jump in, to stop anything before it breaks wide open. But she doesn’t. No one does. Because the truth is festering in all their stomaches. They don’t know what you are anymore.

Kate eventually speaks, her voice quiet. “So… what’s the plan?”

Cecil glances back at the files. Two folders are lying on the screen. One green. One red.

“Plan A. Containment,” he says. “We isolate the subject. Use sonic weapons and electromagnetic pulses. Designed by Robot, derived from Kree tech intercepted last year. We subjugate the symbiote. Secure the host.”

“And Plan B?” Bulletproof asks, already knowing.

“Plan B,” Cecil replies coldly, “is we take her out. Clean. Fast. Before she can spread it. Before the creature inside her finds a new host.”

Silence deepens again.

Robot’s optics flash. “I recommend both contingencies be prepared simultaneously. Deployment time may be the determining element in casualty prevention.”

And Mark? Mark merely stares at the picture still shining behind the display. Not the monster. Not the swirl of black and fangs. But the one before that. The woman who laughed with him under a streetlight. Who joked with him like he was the only thing preventing her from plummeting over the edge of the planet.

“Don’t do this,” he says. It’s scarcely more than a whisper. “She’s still in there. I know it.”

Cecil doesn’t answer.

The red folder remains on the screen.

Unopened.

For now.

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

The sofa lowers slightly beneath your weight as you move, drawing one leg up and resting your elbow on your knee. One of Harry’s hoodies drapes off your frame, sleeves bunched over your wrists. There’s dried blood on the hem. You haven’t attempted to disguise it. You haven’t even glanced in a mirror.

The place smells like that expensive fragrance he wears, warm and clean and chemical. The sort that clings to a person like they’re attempting to keep a mask on even while they sleep. You wonder if it’s soothing to him. If it helps him imagine he’s still a normal guy.

He hasn’t talked anything since you got here. He didn’t inquire why you showed up without notice, or why you looked like you crawled out of a murder scene. He simply opened the door. Let you in.

Now he’s standing at the window, arms crossed, gaze on the skyline like it’s got the answers he doesn’t know how to ask for.

“You gonna say something?” you mutter.

Harry turns slightly, his features crisp in the faint light. “I’m trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to say.”

You extend your leg out, kicking off your boots. “ Try opening with, ‘Damn, you look good. Did you lose weight?’”

Harry’s jaw tenses. “You look like you killed someone.”

You gaze up at him. Smirk. “Three someones, actually.”

His eyes narrow. “Jesus.”

“Relax,” you murmur, reclining back. “They were assholes. Caught them trying to pull a girl into a car. No masks, no weapons. Just normal, scum-of-the-earth trash. I handled it.”

“You didn’t just ‘handle it,’” he snaps. “You ripped them apart.”

You gaze at him. Then shrug.

“They got off easy.”

There’s a long quiet.

Harry runs a hand through his hair and mutters, “You don’t even sound like yourself.”

“Maybe this is me.”

“No.” He approaches over, laying his hands on the back of the recliner across from you. “This is you with a parasite talking in your head twenty-four-seven. Don’t pretend like that doesn’t matter.”

You snort. “Does it? I feel clearer now. Stronger. All the noise, the second guessing, the self-hate, it’s just gone.”

Harry observes you for a beat. “So you’re fine with it? The voice? The black goo taking over your body? You’re just alright with it now?”

You smile. “Well, it is flattering.”

‘We are flattered,’ the voice hums, warm and smug in your mind.

You roll your eyes. “See? He appreciates me.”

Harry blinks. “He?”

‘We like this one,’ the voice purrs. ‘He smells… expensive.’

You moan beneath your breath. “Don’t be weird.”

‘We’re not being strange. He’s lovely. He doesn’t yell. He has hair like a golden retriever.’

Harry’s eyebrows raise gently. “It’s… talking to me now, isn’t it?”

You groan and climb to your feet. “Yeah. You’re its new favorite person. Try not to let it get to your head.”

Harry doesn’t flinch as you stroll past him, barefoot, hoodie hanging just slightly off your shoulder. He watches you pace, silent.

“How long’s it been like this?”

You shrug. “Since the alley. Since before that, maybe. It’s hard to tell. Some nights I feel like I’m still dreaming. Other nights I’m fully awake and just… watching myself from across the room.”

He steps forward. “That’s not nothing. You’re still in there. That part of you, the one watching, it means you haven’t lost yourself.”

You give him a peek over your shoulder. “Don’t give me a pep talk, Harry. I didn’t come here to be saved.”

“You came here because you don’t want to be alone.”

You blink.

You turn, gently.

And instead of rejecting it, you remark, “It’s quiet here.”

Harry walks over. Not fast. Just enough to be near. “You’re safe here.”

You chuckle, low and bitter. “I’m not.”

“You are to me.”

‘We should say something,’ the voice pushes. ‘He needs to see us. The real us.’

You tilt your head, contemplating.

Then you announce, without warning. “It wants to meet you.”

Harry hesitates. “I… what?”

And then, the darkness spreads.

Not brutally. Not in an eruption of fangs and tentacles. But like a darkness pouring from your flesh. It crawls across your shoulders, up your neck, out from your jaw. The room goes still. The symbiote rips away just enough to develop its own shape, attached to you, but clearly its own. Heavy. Massive. Towering.

Harry doesn’t run. He doesn’t yell. He just watches. The monster standing in front of him opens its eyes, unimaginably wide. Then smiles.

“HELLO, HARRY.”

Harry stares. “Right. Yeah. Definitely not weird.”

“WE HAVE BEEN WATCHING YOU.”

“Uh-huh.”

“YOU ARE VERY… LOYAL.”

Venom leans in. You remain still behind it, expression unreadable.

“WE LIKE YOU.”

Harry blinks. “I don’t know whether to say thank you or start praying.”

Venom laughs. A deep, moist, rumbling thing that resonates in your chest.

“WE DON’T WANT TO HURT YOU. YOU ARE IMPORTANT TO HER.”

You speak out again, voice still part-morphed. “It means you’re off the menu.”

“That’s… reassuring.”

Venom’s grin doesn’t fade.

“YOU MAKE HER FEEL SAFE. SHE WON’T SAY IT. BUT WE KNOW.”

You close your eyes. Just for a second.

Because it’s true.

Because it’s always been true.

Harry watches you as the blackness begins to creep back into your flesh, like smoke reversing course.

And when you’re standing there again, fully yourself, at least on the outside, he advances closer.

“You could’ve gone anywhere tonight,” he says. “But you came here.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I won’t,” he says. “But I’m not going anywhere, either.”

You gaze at him. “Even if I screw this up?”

“Especially then.”

You pause. Then mumble, “You’re loyal to a fault, y’know that?”

Harry grins. “Yeah. But I make great eggs.”

You grin, tiny yet sincere. And when the calm comes back, it seems a bit less weighty. Because you’re not alone. And neither is it.

The eggs are cold by now.

Your fork hangs loosely in your palm, forgotten. Across from you, Harry’s abandoned his plate altogether. You’re both leaning on the kitchen island now, hoodie sleeves bunched over your wrists, a dull ache growing at the base of your brain. Venom is silent. Watching.

You haven’t talked for a few minutes. And that’s when Harry breaks it.

“So…”

You don’t look up. He clears his throat. “Are we gonna talk about it, or do I have to say his name first?”

You blink carefully, then raise your eyes to meet his. “Depends. Which name are we talking about?”

“Mark.”

You squeeze your lips together. A beat.

And then you respond, “Of course we are.”

Harry rests on his elbows, expression inscrutable. “He hasn’t called, has he?”

You shrug, nonchalant. “Haven’t exactly been glued to my phone.”

“He used to call every night.”

You gaze at him. “That was before I got a little murdery.”

Harry doesn’t flinch. He only tilts his head slightly. “You think that’s why he hasn’t checked in?”

You chuckle, bitter. “No. I guess he hasn’t checked in because something’s wrong with him.”

Harry’s stare sharpens. “You noticed that too?”

You nod slowly, eyes distracted. “It’s subtle. But… yeah. He’s different. The way he looks at people now. Like he’s trying to measure them. Or categorize them. Like he’s always one step out of the room, even when he’s standing right in front of you.”

Harry frowns. “He used to be so-”

“Present.” You complete it for him. “Yeah.”

‘He is not like us,’ the voice says. ‘But he is not human either. We do not trust him.’

You brush your thumb across your temple. “The suit doesn’t like him.”

Harry blinks. “Seriously?”

You nod. “Every time I see him, it tenses. Like it’s on alert. And it never does that around you. Even when you were poking at me like I was a science fair project.”

“I was gentle.”

You grin faintly. “Barely.”

Then your grin fades.

You gaze into your water glass for a time. “There’s something he’s not telling me.”

Harry’s voice is soft. “You think it’s about you?”

“No,” you answer, shaking your head. “It’s not about me. It’s in him. Something deeper. Something he’s burying. But the craziest part? I think he’s scared.”

“Of what?”

You glance up. “Of what happens if I find out.”

Harry exhales. “That’s… a hell of a thing to feel coming from your boyfriend.”

You snort. “Was.”

“You’re still calling it quits?”

You shrug again, like you don’t care. “We haven’t even said it out loud. Just stopped talking. Like the universe hit pause.”

Harry studies you. “So what happened? Really?”

You push your nails into your hand. “I think he knows who I am.”

Harry leans forward, frowning. “You mean-?”

“I think he knows I’m Spider-Woman.”

The words weigh thick in the air. You wait for Harry to speak, but he doesn’t. So you keep going.

“The last time I saw him, I said something…something I said once, back when I was on patrol. When I fought the Flaxans.” Your voice lowers. “Mark’s face changed. Just for a second. Like he connected it. Like it all clicked.”

Harry breathes out slowly. “And he didn’t say anything.”

“Nope. He just… looked at me. And I felt like I was being studied.”

‘He hides too much,’ the voice hisses. ‘We should break him open. Find the truth in his bones.’

You shake your head.

“It’s not that he doesn’t trust me,” you remark. “It’s that he thinks he does. But he’s lying to himself.”

Harry sits back. “You think he’s dangerous?”

You pause. Then.

“…I think he’s trying really hard not to be.”

And somehow, that’s worse.

Harry’s eyes flick to yours. “Do you still love him?”

The question hits you harder than you anticipate. You swallow. Look away.

“…I think I miss what I thought we were.”

Harry doesn’t push. Just sits there. Steady. Like he usually does.

You look at the window, eyes unfocused. “You ever get that feeling that someone’s not who they say they are, but the second you ask, you know it’s all gonna fall apart?”

“All the time,” he says. “I lived with Norman Osborn, remember?”

You puff out a faint chuckle.

He nudges your elbow. “If you want my advice, which I know you don’t, you should talk to him.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe he needs you too. Not Spider-Woman. You.”

You go silent. Venom stirs beneath your ribs.

‘We do not trust him. But if you must communicate with him… we will observe. Closely.’

You sigh. “Maybe.”

Harry leans back in his chair. “Whatever happens, just don’t let him convince you that you’re the problem.”

You gaze at him.

“Because you’re not,” he adds. “You’re… surviving.”

You grin faintly. “You’re too nice.”

“No,” he says. “I just remember who you were before the black goo. You were strong. Scared out of your mind, yet powerful. And I think that girl’s still in there. I guess she’s got teeth now.”

You laugh. Not bitter. Real. For once. And when the calm falls again, it’s not heavy. It just feels like breathing.

The closet light hums above you, dull and warm. It casts a faint golden glow across the scattered mess of your gear, gloves slung over a dresser handle, boots half-zipped, the half-shredded sleeve of your old Spider-Woman suit still hanging like a ghost from a chair you haven’t sat in all week.

You move like muscle memory’s all you’ve got left. Black leggings. Reinforced boots. Sleeveless compression shirt pulled over your ribs like armor. And the hoodie, Harry’s, still smelling like him, gets tossed to the bed in a heap.

There’s a mirror near the corner, but you avoid it. You always do lately. You know what’s in it. The way your reflection twitches sometimes, even when you’re standing still. The way your eyes flash black when your thoughts stray toward hunger. Toward rage. Toward him.

Mark.

God. Just thinking his name makes your jaw tighten.

You reach for your gloves and tug them on, flexing your fingers. The material’s reinforced now. Not like before. Before, you still cared if people saw bruises on your knuckles.

Not anymore. Not when the people who used to hold your hands don’t call anymore.

‘You think of him too much,’ Venom murmurs. ‘He hides things. He lies. We could take the truth from him.’

You sigh through your nose. “Yeah. That’d go over real well.”

‘You protect people. He watches you. Pretends not to see.’

You walk to the window and crack it open. The city roars beneath you, traffic, sirens, a thousand lights flickering in a thousand different apartments. All of it humming, alive, dirty. Just like you.

Harry’s voice floats in from the hallway. “You sure you want to go out tonight?”

You glance over your shoulder as he steps into the room. He’s barefoot, wearing a threadbare shirt that clings to his ribs. The kind he used to wear to crash on your couch when life got too loud. You don’t answer right away.

Then. “Yeah.”

Harry leans against the doorway, watching you grab your mask off the dresser.

“It’s just…you’ve barely slept. You haven’t even let the bruises on your back heal.”

You smirk. “And here I thought you liked seeing me like this. All battered and emotionally unavailable.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Don’t deflect.”

You pause mid-motion. Lower the mask.

“…I have to go.”

“Why?”

You swallow. Because you don’t have an answer that makes sense. Not out loud. Because you don’t want to sit here waiting for Mark to show up. Or call. Or say something that makes it all make sense again. Because the voice in your head only grows louder when you’re still. Because some part of you still believes that saving strangers is the closest you’ll ever get to saving yourself.

“…Because someone out there might need me.”

Harry’s face softens.

“You ever think maybe you’re the one who needs something?”

You walk toward him, slow, the mask dangling from your fingertips.

“I need to feel useful,” you say. “I need to hit something that deserves it. I need to stop thinking about him. And you—you need to stop looking at me like you’re afraid I’m not coming back.”

Harry doesn’t flinch. “I’m not afraid of you not coming back. I’m afraid of who’s gonna walk in if it’s not you anymore.”

That hits harder than you expect. You look down. Then back up.

“…I’m still me.”

“You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

You step closer. So close you can smell the coffee on his breath. “If I wasn’t me, I wouldn’t still be here.”

Harry’s jaw works, but he doesn’t speak. He just… nods. Like he’s not sure if he believes you, but he’s willing to pretend for your sake. You pull the mask on. The fabric’s softer now. Adjusted. Redesigned to flex when the symbiote moves beneath it.

It covers your face, but not your eyes. You can still look him in the eye. And you do.

“You see something weird on the news,” you murmur, “call me.”

He nods again. “I always do.”

You turn to the window. Venom shifts under your skin, stretching like a cat preparing to pounce. Eager. Restless. Almost… happy to be moving again.

‘Finally. We hunt.’

You step onto the ledge. The air bites your skin. The wind claws at your arms. The city opens up below. And somewhere out there, Mark is still lying to you. Or hiding. Or watching. You don’t know which one hurts more. You take a deep breath. And jump.

The wind snaps at you as you swing across rooftops, momentum carrying you forward in long, soundless arcs. The suit crawls over your clothes, to you, alive and fluid, catching you when you falter. Enhancing your reach. Strengthening your muscles.

Every shadow feels like a warning. Every heartbeat feels like a countdown. You hit a rooftop and stop, crouching low, eyes scanning the streets. You can feel it, even before you see anything. Trouble.

A robbery two blocks over. Two masked men dragging a shop owner by the collar. One of them shoves a pistol into his chest. You grin beneath the mask.

‘Let’s play.’

You launch forward again, silent and smooth. And as you descend on them, you stop thinking about Mark. Just for a moment. You stop feeling anything at all. Except power.

Blood on pavement. Not yours. The two muggers are down, breathing, twitching, but barely. One has a fractured wrist and a web cocoon attaching him to a trash. The other is suffering from a dislocated shoulder and what could be two fractured ribs. You’re standing over them, gathering your breath, chest heaving. The mask’s mouth pulled apart just enough for you to breathe through your teeth. Venom is calm, contented, vibrating through your limbs like an engine still idling.

‘They will not try it again,’ the voice replies, amused. ‘We taught them a lesson. We are teachers now. Educators of pain.’

“Could’ve left a little less blood,” you whisper.

‘We could have eaten them.’

You roll your eyes. “We’re not eating anyone.”

‘Just a bite?’

“No.”

You turn away from the alley, vault up a fire escape in two leaps, and land on the rooftop like you were born with talons. The moon casts silver lines over the buildings, making the shadows long and sharp. You squat low on the edge, looking for more action, more crimes, more reasons to keep going.

But your neck itches. You feel it before you see it, like a gut-deep tug behind your ribs. A presence. No, not one. Several. You twist just in time to hear the quiet whirr of hovercraft turbines.

Shit.

A spotlight flashes on overhead, nearly blinding you. You slip backward, shroud of darkness fading under white-hot artificial light. Reflexively, the symbiote surges up your spine, curving over your neck and mouth like a shield. A voice resonates from above.

“Spider-Woman. Stand down.”

You don’t recognize it. But you don’t need to.

GDA.

You’re already moving.

A shock round smacks into the rooftop behind you. The concrete splinters. You leap from the ledge, web-line grabbing a rusting balcony across the alley. You swing hard, make it halfway before a second shot blasts past your ear.

‘They are not here to talk.’

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You land on a rooftop two buildings over, roll to your feet, speed for the next ledge, and run right into a containment net that wasn’t there a second ago. It bursts open around you, sticky with electromagnetic pulses that flare and hiss the instant the symbiote touches it. You scream through clamped teeth as anguish floods your nerves.

‘GET US OUT!’

You press your claws into the roofing and rip through the mesh with a blast of venom-black muscle. The net shreds like wet paper. You stumble, panting, and spin. Three GDA officers are waiting at the far edge of the roof. Full tactical gear. Visors down. Sonic weapons aiming at your head.

The one in front advances forward, voice calm through his helmet. “You need to come with us.”

Your eyes narrow under the mask.

“I don’t take orders from guys who sneak up on me like cowards.”

“Directive came from high command. You’re a threat. We’ve been given two options, confinement, or neutralization.”

You tilt your head. “You really gonna try both in the same sentence?”

“We’re not here to kill you.”

You smile behind the mask. “Sure sounds like you’re not not here to kill me.”

Venom snarls in your throat. Black mass flows across your arms, your fists, your shoulders.

‘We kill them now. Rip and scatter. They will learn.’

You grit your teeth.

“You’re not gonna take me in. You know that, right?”

“Then you leave us no choice.”

The first one shoots. You move. Too quick. The shot grazes your shoulder but the suit absorbs most of it, crackling. You leap, flip, drive your heel into the nearest one’s jaw before he can react. His visor cracks. He stumbles backward.

The second one swings his weapon like a club. You dive under it, throw your elbow into his belly, turn him around and web his feet to the ground. The third attempts to backpedal. You’re already there. A black tendril comes out from your side, snatches his weapon, smashes it in your palm. Then you take him by the vest, shove him into a vent.

Hard. Not enough to kill. Just enough to hurt. He moans and crumples. You step back, breathing hard, heart banging into your ribs.

‘You should’ve let us finish it.’

You bend over the unconscious officer, checking his pulse.

He’s alive. Barely. But that’s enough.

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

‘Next time, they won’t offer us an option.’

You lurch backward, eyes leaping to the roofs above. More drones. Two, maybe three. Watching. Recording.

You curse under your breath. You know you’ve been tagged now. This wasn’t a warning. It was a test.

The new wave had no idea what hit them.

They came fast, black vans, VTOLs, ropes dropped from rooftops like spider silk, armed to the teeth but empty of insight. You were already moving by the time the first one fired. Reflex. Rage. Instinct. Now, ten minutes later, the rooftop is a graveyard of broken armor and half-conscious groans.

You walk through the smoke.

Boots crunch over shattered visors, bent batons, and puddles of someone else’s blood. You don’t speak. You don’t need to. The symbiote vibrates across your back, alert, humming like it’s waiting for the next hit of violence.

‘They didn’t bring fire. Didn’t bring sound. Just bodies to throw. Like kindling.’

“They thought they were hunters.”

‘They are meat.’

You crouch beside the last one twitching, helmet cracked, armor splintered across his ribs. You tap his chest once with your finger. Hard enough to sting. Not hard enough to kill. Yet.

He flinches anyway.

“They send you out here without knowing what I am?”

No answer. Just a groan. You lean in closer, voice low.

“They want to box me up. Cage me. Figure out what makes me tick.” You pause. “Tell Cecil something for me-”

‘Tell him we’re awake now.’

You web him to the floor with a flick of your wrist and turn away. The suit ripples, climbing up your arms, muscles tightening under your skin like drawn cables. You stretch your fingers, black claws emerging at your knuckles.

‘More coming.’

You stop. Beneath the rhythm of your own pulse, you hear it.

‘Boots. Fast. Heavy.’

A new wave.

You smile.

‘Round two.’

They hit harder this time.

Rappel lines cut into the wind. A fresh drop team lands across the opposite rooftop, spreading out in a practiced formation, twenty, maybe thirty. Snipers take up perches above, laser sights combing the smoke.

And for a heartbeat, everything holds.

Then you run straight at them. A flash of black. They shout orders, rifles up. But they’re slow. You’re already inside their ranks, slamming one into the rooftop hard enough to crack the concrete. Another swings his baton, you duck under it, uppercut with a tendril-wrapped fist that sends him flying into a wall.

Three more surround you. You twist, grabbing the first by the collar, lifting him over your head and hurling him into his teammates like a wrecking ball of bone and armor.

Someone yells, “Pull back—SHE’S IN THE AIR-”

You launch yourself upward, tendrils bursting from your back mid-jump, slamming into a sniper tower and ripping the guard rail free. One sniper fires as he falls. The shot grazes your shoulder. Pain slices through you. And it feels good.

‘Let us show them real pain.’

You drop down in a full-body slam that cracks the rooftop beneath your feet. Debris flies outward. The nearest six agents are thrown back instantly. You grab one as he tries to crawl away, web him to the ground, then rip his rifle in half and hurl it off the roof.

Another squad closes in. They never touch you. You shift mid-run, Venom spiking into armored plating across your forearms, your fists becoming clubs. You hit two with a wide sweep, helmets crunch, visors explode. The third grabs your arm. You let him. Tendrils spiral up your elbow and snap his wrist backward, then toss him like trash.

‘Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Getting bored.’

You spin midair, webs catching the edge of a billboard, swing, twist, land hard on another rooftop where reinforcements are already waiting.

This time, you don’t pause. You leap into them like a warhead. Someone screams as a tendril wraps around his neck, yanking him into the air.

“Wait—WAIT—she��s not supposed to be this-”

You silence him with a palm to the face, slamming him into the concrete with a wet crack. Someone else runs. You web his legs, yank him backward, drag him screaming through broken glass.

‘No more games.’

You stand there, heart pounding, surrounded by the fallen. Fifty, at least. They came with gear. With numbers. With orders. But they didn’t come ready. You’re not breathing heavy. Not anymore. The suit is still pulsing. But slower now. Resting.

‘They’ll send more.’

You whisper, “Let them.” Then something changes. A low hum fills the air, not mechanical. Turbines. Big ones. You look up. And there, cutting through the dark, a ship.

Not a van. Not a drone. Not GDA. You know the silhouette. Your body shifts without thinking, mask sealing fully, tendrils rising. Another shadow passes overhead. You feel it. A presence. Weight. Power.

‘Guardians.’

You take a slow step back.

A shadow descends through the clouds, broad-shouldered. Gleaming. Bulletproof. And where he goes, the others follow. Dupli-Kate. Black Samson. Shrinking Rae. Shapes slicing through the fog like knives.

Your jaw tightens.

‘They sent heroes.’

“They’re late.”

‘They’ll learn.’

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

“Fifty confirmed incapacitated,” a tech reports. “Eighteen with critical injuries. Some are missing.”

Cecil doesn’t blink. He watches the feed from a drone barely clinging to the skyline. The image is shaky, but it’s clear enough. You. Standing over the wreckage. A god in black. Breathing. Waiting.

“She escalated.”

“No,” Cecil murmurs. “We did.”

He reaches for the comm.

“Status on the Guardians?”

“They’re en route now. Two minutes out.”

“Tell them…” He hesitates.

Then. “Tell them this isn’t a takedown. This is a test.”

The tech blinks. “Sir?”

“Find out if she can be stopped,” Cecil says quietly.

“And if she can’t?”

Cecil watches you leap off the rooftop like gravity means nothing. Then he turns.

“…Then we pray she doesn’t decide to burn the rest of the city down.”

ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙

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dramagodesss · 1 day ago

Text

ten : halloween night

playin' the players

a/n: there's text inbetween images + pls imagine jj is by y/n's side on topper's story— enjoy! (specially winscam fans...)

the night's been crazy.

and lets admit it, you're drunk. pretty damn drunk.

so drunk that, somehow, you've ended up dancing. the kind of dancing that’s just movement and tequila and bass so loud it vibrates your bones. your angel costume’s hanging on by pure intention at this point — glitter on your collarbone, skirt bunched up, wings half-detached.

you’re giggling, flushed, already several shots deep.

jj’s right there — cowboy hat tilted, belt buckle catching the light, hands grazing your waist like he’s daring himself to touch more.

“you always dance like this, or just when you’re trying to kill me?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear.

you toss your head back with a laugh, cheeks burning. “you gonna whine about it or keep up, cowboy?”

he smirks, pulling you in, and the two of you are moving — close, messy, way too flirty. you let your head fall back, arms looping around his neck, and he spins you right into him. chest to chest. thighs brushing.

but then—

you feel it. like static. like heat from across the room.

you look up.

rafe.

leaning against the wall in that devil costume, horns perched perfectly in that tousled blond hair. red silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled up, jaw clenched tight.

and he’s watching you.

not the crowd. not the party. not the girl talking to him with her hand on his bicep.

just you.

his eyes dark, unreadable, trailing over the way jj’s hand slips just a little lower on your back. over the way you laugh, loose and tipsy. over the sway of your hips and the way jj’s mouth gets dangerously close to your neck.

and you don’t look away.

you meet his stare.

and smile. sweet. wicked. drunk on attention and fire.

jj leans down again, mumbling something about getting another drink, but you barely hear him — not when rafe finally pushes off the wall, brushing off the girl beside him without a word.

and starts walking straight toward you.

you’re in the middle now. cowboy at your side. devil on the approach.

heart pounding.

but at some point you need to go to the bathroom, and thats when john b and pope catch you near the staircase.

john b looks like he just committed tax fraud. pope’s sweating like he’s about to deliver a ted talk. you? you’re sipping tequila punch out of a red solo cup with a loose smile on your lips.

“hey—hey, y/n,” john b starts, voice a little too serious for a party this loud. “can we, uh… talk to you for a second?”

you blink slowly, like the request’s in slow motion. “you are talking to me. congrats.”

pope forces a nervous laugh. “privately. please.”

you raise a brow but let them tug you toward the hallway by the coat closet. the music dulls just enough for serious vibes to settle in.

john b takes a deep breath. “okay, so this might sound bad. like—really bad. but we think you should know…”

pope finishes for him, quick and hushed, “jj and rafe made a bet.”

you blink again.

“a bet?” you echo, tilting your head.

“about you,” pope says. “whoever got to sleep with you first would get the lake house for spring break.”

there’s a pause. a long one.

and then—you giggle. a soft, drunk, dangerous sound.

“oh my god. that’s what you’re all panicked about?”

they both stare at you like you just admitted to murder.

“you’re… not mad?” john b asks slowly.

you smile, bright and wicked. “babe. i already knew.”

they blink. once. twice.

“wait—since when?” pope demands.

you shrug, casual as hell. “since the first night. when yall were talking about it in the kitchen— you guys really suck at whispering, by the way.”

john b groans, dragging a hand down his face. “shit.”

you grin wider. “i figured if they wanted to play a game… i’d just play it better.”

with that, you take a long sip from your cup, adjust your crooked halo, and toss your hair back like you’re on a runway. then you turn, sauntering back toward the music.

over your shoulder, you throw them a wink. “appreciate the concern though. y’all are cute.”

later that night, you’re on the floor in the middle of a half-circle of frat couches, glitter stuck to your collarbones, costume wings long gone. there’s a bottle of tequila spinning on the floor like it’s about to choose your fate.

cleo’s lounging with a smirk, cheeks flushed and eyes sharp. “truth or dare, t/n?”

you squint at her through mascara-heavy lashes, sipping whatever’s left in your solo cup. “dare. obviously.”

cleo’s grin goes nuclear. “take a body shot. from rafe.”

you blink. your heart hiccups.

the group lets out a collective “oooohhh” like a sitcom laugh track. someone hoots. someone else drops their drink.

you shoot cleo a look. “you’re evil.”

“and yet you love me.” she winks, then gestures behind you. “come on, devil boy’s waiting.”

you turn.

rafe’s already leaning back on his elbows, smug as hell in that stupid red button-down left mostly unbuttoned, horns perched in his hair like he was born with them. he raises a brow, waiting for your reaction. expecting you to back down.

you crawl over, straddling his hips with a giggle you try to bite back. your hands settle on his chest. you can feel him tense—just a little—beneath you.

“you good?” you murmur, voice low.

he nods, pupils blown wide. “i’m great.”

someone hands you the lime and salt. someone else tops off the tequila in a little shot glass.

cleo pipes up, “don’t forget the rules! salt, shot, lime—in that order!”

you glance at rafe. “may i, your magesty?”

he smirks, lips twitching. “go ahead, angel”

you lick a line across his collarbone before your brain catches up with your body. you sprinkle the salt. he shivers. so do you.

cheers erupt around you.

then—shot glass in hand—you lean down, lips brushing just over his chest as you lick the salt, toss back the tequila, and press the lime between your lips before leaning in, teeth gently pushing it past his.

it’s not a kiss. not really. but it’s close enough to feel like one.

and rafe? he doesn’t move. doesn’t blink. just stares at you like you’ve rewritten the rules of gravity.

you pull back, lips wet, eyes sparkling.

“so close and so far at the same time” you murmur sweetly, only for him to hear, climbing off him and sinking back into the circle.

jj is very, very quiet across the room. he downs the rest of his drink in one go.

cleo cackles like she just won the lottery. “your turn, t/n. spin the bottle.”

you smirk, fingers already reaching.

a while later, after the game has ended, a hand closes around your wrist.

warm. confident. familiar.

you turn, blinking up — it’s rafe.

his eyes are dark under the red glow of devil horns, pupils blown wide, jaw tight like he’s holding back something dangerous.

“come here,” he mutters, voice low, brushing just under the music. “need you for a sec.”

you blink. “i was gonna—”

“trust me,” he says, already tugging you up, weaving you past sweaty bodies and sticky floors until you’re pressed into the shadowy side hallway near the laundry room.

a door swings open.

a coat closet.

he nudges you in, follows, and closes the door behind him with a soft click.

you’re squished between rows of jackets and the hard press of his chest, your back against the wall. the music is muffled now, like the whole world got dipped underwater. it smells like old cologne and cedar and him.

“rafe—?”

“you look,” he breathes, voice ragged, “fucking dangerous in that outfit.”

his eyes trail over your costume — the shimmer on your skin, the curve of your mouth, the way your skirt rides up just slightly. he lets out a quiet groan and presses his forehead to yours.

“been trying to be chill all night,” he murmurs. “but you? dancing? those shots? that fucking body shot?”

you smile, slow and wicked. “jealous?”

his laugh is more like a growl. “starving.”

and then he kisses you.

hot. messy. all tongue and teeth and low groans against your mouth. his hands bracket your hips like he needs to anchor himself, like if he doesn’t touch you harder he’ll combust.

you gasp into him and he takes it as invitation — mouths slanting deeper, heat rolling off him in waves. his hands are under your thighs before you register the lift, and suddenly you’re perched on top of a pile of folded towels, legs wrapped around his waist, breaths tangled like smoke.

“you drive me crazy,” he mutters, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your shoulder.

“good,” you whisper, tugging at his shirt collar. “drive better when you’re desperate.”

he laughs, a sound low and wrecked, before catching your mouth again — and this time, it’s slower. deeper. like he’s trying to remember the shape of you with his lips.

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woozinhos · 1 day ago

Note

Mingyu request where reader has been mean to him all day despite him being such a sweet heart regardless and she starts feeling bad and they have soft sex?🤲🥺

So much better than yelling|| Mingyu

Notes: also can I just say I can’t believe the ice bucket challenge has come back I’m scared fr also enjoy!!

You're still in a bad mood, your anger directed at Mingyu now. His sweetness and gentle touches only seem to make you more frustrated, and you snap at him. "Why are you being so nice to me when I'm clearly in a bad mood?" you ask coldly, crossing your arms. Mingyu's face falls, his expression hurt. "I'm trying to make you feel better," he says quietly. "But I guess I'm just making things worse."

He moves away from you, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back turned. His shoulders slump, and you can see the pout on his face even from behind. You soften slightly at his sad demeanor, feeling a pang of guilt for being mean to him. But your anger still bubbles beneath the surface, and you find yourself speaking harshly again.

"Maybe you should just leave me alone," you say, regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. Mingyu's body tenses, and for a moment you think he might actually get up and leave. Mingyu turns back to face you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "No," he says firmly, though his voice trembles. "I'm not going anywhere." He scoots closer to you, despite your harsh tone. "I know you're upset, but I care about you too much to just walk away."

His pout deepens as he reaches for your hand, holding it tightly in his own. "You can yell at me all you want, but I'm not leaving your side." Despite your anger, you can feel your heart melting at his determination. His sweetness and stubbornness are a deadly combination, and you can't help but feel guilty for being so mean to him.

You look away, unable to meet his eyes as you mutter, "Fine, do whatever you want." Mingyu looks at you with his big puppy eyes, his lower lip quivering slightly. "Please stop being mean to me," he says softly, his voice pleading. "I just want to help you feel better."

His expression is so sincere and vulnerable that it tugs at your heartstrings. You know you've been treating him unfairly, but your anger still simmers just below the surface. You look at him for a long moment, torn between wanting to apologize and holding onto your anger. Finally, you sigh heavily and say, "I'm sorry. I know I've been awful today."

Mingyu's face lights up with a small smile, and he squeezes your hand. "It's okay," he says, his voice gentle. "I forgive you." He leans in and kisses your forehead, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. Despite everything, you can't help but melt into his warmth and kindness.

Mingyu makes cute kissy faces at you, his pout now replaced by a playful grin. "Give me attention," he whines, giving you his best puppy dog eyes. You can't help but chuckle at his antics, your anger slowly dissipating. "You're such a needy baby," you tease, ruffling his hair affectionately.

He leans in closer, his lips hovering just above yours. "But I'm your needy baby," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. Unable to resist any longer, you close the distance between you, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. He hums happily against your mouth, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer.

"See? This is much better than yelling at me," he murmurs between kisses, his hands roaming over your body with renewed confidence. The kiss deepens as Mingyu's hands slide under your shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. You can feel his desire growing as he presses against you, his body responding to your touch. He breaks the kiss for a moment, his eyes dark with need. "I want you," he says huskily, his voice low and rough. "I want to make you forget about everything else."

You nod, your earlier anger forgotten as desire takes over. Mingyu pulls off your shirt, revealing your skin to his hungry gaze. He kisses a path down your neck and chest, pausing to tease your nipples with his tongue. His hands work on removing the rest of your clothes, his movements becoming more urgent. As he undresses himself, you can see the evidence of his arousal, his cock already hard and throbbing.

"Let me take care of you," you whisper, your hands running down his chest and abs. "Let me show you how sorry I am." Mingyu's breath hitches as you touch him, his body responding to your words. "Y-you don't have to..." he starts, but you cut him off with a gentle kiss.

"I want to," you insist, pushing him down onto the bed and straddling his waist. "Let me make you feel good." You can see the surprise and desire in his eyes as you take control, your earlier anger now transformed into passion. He grips your hips, watching intently as you grind against him.

"Show me how sorry you are," he says, his voice husky with anticipation. "Show me how much you want me." You position yourself above Mingyu, feeling his hard cock pressing against your entrance. He groans as you tease him, sliding the tip through your folds but not letting him enter just yet.

"Please," he begs, his fingers digging into your hips. "Don't tease me." You smirk down at him, enjoying the way he's falling apart beneath you. "But I like seeing you desperate," you say, circling your hips in a slow, torturous motion.

Mingyu's eyes roll back in his head as you continue to tease him, his body trembling with need. "You're going to be the death of me," he gasps, his hands moving to cup your breasts. Finally, you take pity on him and slowly sink down onto his cock, inch by inch. The feeling of being filled is intense, and you let out a low moan as you adjust to his size.

Mingyu grins up at you, a hint of smugness in his expression despite his desperate state. "Did you forget how big I am, baby?" he asks, his hands moving to grip your thighs. You nod, biting your lip as you adjust to his girth. "I always do," you admit, starting to move slowly on top of him.

He watches you with dark eyes, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You're so tight," he groans, thrusting up to meet your movements. "So perfect for me." The feeling of him filling you completely is overwhelming, and you lean down to capture his lips in a heated kiss. Your bodies move together in a slow, sensual rhythm, both of you savoring the moment after the earlier tension.

The room is filled with the sounds of soft moans and whispered praises as you and Mingyu make love. His hands roam your body gently, mapping every curve and dip as if committing you to memory. You ride him slowly, savoring the way his cock stretches you open with each thrust. His fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls you down for another kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a tenderness that makes your heart swell.

"I love you," he murmurs against your lips, his eyes full of adoration. "No matter how mad you get, I'll always love you." You smile at his words, feeling a sense of warmth spread through your chest. "I love you too," you whisper back, your movements becoming more urgent as your orgasm builds. "So much." Mingyu's hands grip your hips tighter as he senses your approaching climax, his own body tensing with the need to release. "Cum for me," he urges, his voice low and rough. "Let go."

You lean down to kiss and suck on Mingyu's neck, knowing how sensitive he is there. He lets out a low moan, tilting his head to give you better access. His fingers dig into your back as you continue to mark him, his hips thrusting up faster now. "You're going to leave a mark," he says breathlessly, but there's no protest in his tone.

"Good," you reply, nipping at his earlobe before whispering, "I want everyone to know you're mine." Mingyu's eyes darken at your possessive words, his grip on you tightening. "I am yours," he growls, his hips bucking up harder. "Always." You can feel him getting close, his cock twitching inside you as he struggles to hold back his release. "Let go for me, baby," you encourage, reaching down to rub your clit. "Cum with me."

Mingyu's body tenses as he feels your fingers on your clit, his breathing becoming erratic. "Fuck, I'm so close," he gasps, his eyes squeezing shut. You ride him faster, your movements becoming more frantic as you chase your own release. The feeling of his cock pulsing inside you combined with the sensation of his hands on your body pushes you over the edge.

"Mingyu," you cry out, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your body clenches around him, milking his cock as he spills deep inside you. He groans your name, his hips jerking up as he empties himself completely. His arms wrap around you tightly, holding you close as you both come down from your highs.

For a moment, there's only the sound of heavy breathing and the feeling of sweat-slicked skin pressed together. Mingyu presses gentle kisses to your forehead, whispering sweet words of love and devotion. Mingyu continues to hold you close, his cock still inside you as you both bask in the afterglow. He runs his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle and loving.

"That was amazing," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "You always know how to make me feel better." You smile against his chest, feeling content and happy in his arms. "You're the one who makes me forget about everything else," you say, nuzzling closer to him. He chuckles softly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Well, I'm glad I could help you relax," he says. "But next time, maybe we can avoid the angry part and just skip to the sexy part."

You laugh at his comment, playfully swatting his chest. "You're impossible," you tease, but there's no denying the warmth in your voice. Mingyu grins and pulls you in for another kiss, holding you tight as if he never wants to let go. "Only for you," he whispers against your lips.

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epelletea · 2 days ago

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♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

Showering with Pure Vanilla & Stardust !

A/n: I have brainrot of these two and it can only go up from here. Also my god there is like 0 Stardust cookie content. Gang what the flip!!!

Content Warnings : Nsfw + Suggestive Content near ends of both parts! Might be OOC for Stardust, but we live we love we lie 🙏💗

Pure Vanilla

When you bring up to him, he’s actually quite touch that you even ask to do something that’s so intimate and close with him.

For the first time, he’s quite bashful. He even looks away when you strip as if he hasn’t seen you naked before plenty of times. He’s even shy to strip in front of you.

Once in the shower together, he relishes in the close proximity. It’s quite nice. He helps you wash your body and even washes your hair if you are cleaning it that day.

He’s so red when you do the same to him. Your hands roaming his body as you wash him. He can’t help but be extremely flustered.

After the shower, he’s the first to exit to help you wrap into nice fluffy towel. Expect nice cuddles afterwards!

Now after the few other times, he’s much more comfortable now. He doesn’t look away anymore and isn’t as flustered. He sees it as a normal couple activity now.

If you’re in a mood and want to get intimate with him all you have to do is start kissing on him and he’ll get the memo.

You can lead or not. It’s really up to how you’re feeling.

If he’s leading, he’s very sensual and slow with you. Kissing your neck softly , as his hands reach to your lower regions. His fingers pumping in and out of you , until you cum all over his fingers. That’s when he’ll insert himself , his face snuggled into your neck as his soft moans fill your ears. Praising you for taking him so well. He goes at a slow pace , simply enjoying the feeling of being inside you until he can’t take the slowness anymore. He’ll thrust faster and messier until he finally cums.

He’ll kiss your forehead and laugh between ragged breaths.

“Looks like we’re gonna need to clean up again.”

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Stardust

He’s actually the one that asked. He suggested the idea after looking up ways to be more intimate with your partner. He’s been in the stars for the majority of his life , can you blame him for not having a lot of knowledge on it.

He strips first with ease but his eyes cannot leave you as you strip as well next to him. You’re just so mesmerizing to him, everything you do. When you enter the shower together. He’s pretty awkward first. I won’t lie, you both kinda battle for the correct water temperature but soon agreed on something.

You suggest to help him wash up. He agrees but his breath keeps hitching in his throat every-time you touch him especially when your hands even roam lower and close down there.

He tilts his head at you when you look shock to see his hair wet. Yes it’s quite made out of magic and cosmos but it’s still hair and possible to get wet. Did you think it would go out or that something will happen?

He would immediately start assisting with helping you wash up after you finish with him. He’s very gentle almost as if you are very delicate item. He wants to make sure you are comfortable and most certainly cleaned.

Once you two , get out. He comically does the animal thing where they shake the water out of their fur, I guess in this case feathers. He doesn’t do it anymore after the glare you gave him. He wraps a towel around you and himself. The cuddle sesh was divine as he coddle up next you with his warmth.

Showering together him becomes a basic norm. To the point that if you are showering alone, there’s a guaranteed chance he’ll appear to join you. He cannot get enough of you at all.

He’s most definitely the one that usually initiates to be more intimate. His hands roaming over your body as he pulls you close to him , his cock poking behind you. His soft “Please..” and whimpers into your ear.

Once you given him consent, he already has you hoisted up against the shower wall. Messily yet greedily making out with you. His claws digging into your hips. He’s already lined himself up as he buries his cock into you. A hiss escaping his lips feeling you tighten around him. His thrusts are slow at first so you can adjust until he picks them up and he practically fucking you against the wall with your hands clawing at his back. He bites into your neck when he finishes , keeping himself inside just for a little bit longer loving the feeling of filling you up.

He officially lets go and cleans you up once more. When you two get out he carries you off into the bedroom since he accidentally took ur walk ability.. (again actually) to cuddle and rest afterwards.

“I got carried away again.. sorry..”

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

#cookie run x reader #cookie run fandom #cookie run headcanons #cookie run kingdom #cookierun #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla x you #pure vanilla x reader #pure vanilla crk #stardust cookie #headcanons #fanfic

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buck-star · 3 days ago

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So strong and yet so broken

He works for the omega rescue, and while you think these are organisations that are darker than they say they be, you never considered to ask them for help. Only when you see the other side of the omega rescue, you finally let go of your former alpha.

Pairing: Alpha!Chris x Omega!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 5.026 Words

Warnings/Tags: hurt/comfort, alpha/beta/omega, domistic abuse (not Chris), collar, spitting, lot of crying, angst, trust issues, lies (not Chris), mention of violence and cages, lots of fluff

Authors Note: Shout out to @thenameswinter99 for the encouragement and letting me rant about the idea! Divider made by me.

Events: Missy's writing challenge [Destroyer!Chris | Alpha/Beta/Omega | @saiyanprincessswanie]

Masterlist | Destoryer!Chris Masterlist

🎵You took my soul and wiped it clean.🎵

The slight sun breaking through the clouds doesn’t help much to warm up the freezing breeze that’s blowing through the streets of New York. The loud cracking of the nearby door makes you flinch, fingers wrapping tighter around the bag you’re holding between your shaking fingers as a strong, muscular frame appears from the inside of the building.

“Where were you so long? Didn’t I say, come home after work immediately?” His rough, angry voice breaks through the otherwise quiet, dark alley.

You’re not allowed to use the front entrance of your apartment building. You’re an omega, and omegas don't have privileges, so if you want to get inside, you have to be there on time when your alpha opens the back door of the apartment building.

“Do you need me to spell it for you? Maybe it would help to bruise your sorry little ass, letting you spell out every word why you’re late and spanking you for every single letter you say,” he suggests, his voice low and rough as he keeps standing in the doorframe. His eyes are cold as he looks down at your smaller, shivering frame. “No more little trips with ya little friends then.”

Your eyes widened slightly; it wasn’t just the promise for spanks but also that he doesn’t even allow you to go out with friends any longer. It wasn’t even your fault that you were late — half a minute too late for his liking.

“Don’t look at me like that and move your fuckin’ ass inside. Now,” he growls, annoyed, as he steps out of the doorframe and lets you walk inside. For a moment you hesitate, knowing what’s to come when you walk into your shared apartment.

You may be an omega. But it doesn’t mean he’s allowed to treat you like his property, right? On the other hand, you never learned anything else other than that. John's the first and only alpha after your father decided you’re old enough to belong to an alpha. You learned to love how to behave, how to submit even when everything inside of you was screaming that you should just punch him and run. But you never did — except in your wildest dreams, where you weren’t just a little doll for the alpha.

“A—“

“Shut up!” His voice was dripping with anger as he cut you off. One of his big hands moved to wrap around your neck, pulling you against his firm chest as he spit into your face with a wide grin. “Don’t you know better than to discuss it with me, pet?”

It isn’t Omega. It isn’t any kind of nickname he gives you. No, it’s pet.

And even that nickname isn’t a nickname. It shows your place, lower than it would be as an omega. You’re nothing but a pet for him. Good for pleasure, to pet and to feed as long as you do as he says. And if not…? Then you will have to learn that everything he doesn’t like has to be punished.

“Come on, use your words, pet,” he says, snarling as you dare to look in another direction. John doesn’t care who might see you; no one would say anything because you’re his. Marked. Claimed. He spits down on your face once again, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest as his eyes flash with a hint of pleasure and darkness. “Cat got your tongue?”

You shake your head, looking down before you can catch another glimpse of a thick alpha walking through the hallway. His scent is musky, mixed with sandalwood and something sweet — not too strong. You don’t really know him; he sometimes visits one of your neighbors, a young omega who moved into the building a while back.

You barely see her; she’s more of the shy one or something. And the alpha who’s visiting her comes like twice a week, but he isn’t claimed, and neither is the omega he’s visiting. Maybe they are just dating, or they are friends?

“Don’t fucking look at him; he’s not your alpha,” John barks at you, slamming the door shut as he tightens his grip around your neck and pulls you with him through the hallway. You whimper when his fingers dig further into your soft skin; for a moment, he chases your oxygen to be cut off until he changes his grip slightly. “And now you’re whining, stupid, fucking pet.”

You immediately press your lips tightly together, trying to stop every sound that’s threatening to fall past your lips. John is already mad; you don’t need him to be even angrier just because of that.

“S-sorry. A-alpha,” you whisper quietly, trying to take a deep breath. You stumble after him, trying not to fall. John doesn’t really care as he pulls you with him through the hallway, walking past the other alpha who’s still standing in the hallway and watching the two of you from the corner of his eyes.

Chris, who noticed your distress the moment he entered the building, your sour scent filling the hallway, his nose scrunched instinctively. He listened to John’s words and noticed your submission as he walked past the two of you. But before he knocked at the omega's door, he stopped himself and waited for the two of you.

While he was used to the scent of fear due to his work, your scent made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His eyes darkening as he suppresses the low groan in his chest.

“Hey!” He says loudly, making you flinch. Your eyes squeeze shut and your breath gets heavier. Your chest tightens, making it almost impossible to breathe properly. Your fingers clutch the worn-out fabric of your shirt, a soft whimper leaves your lips as your body tenses.

Next to you, you can feel John tensing too, ready to fight against the other man if it’s necessary. He turns his head to Chris, raising an eyebrow to wait for the other alpha to say anything. The grip on your neck is unyielding and firm, leaving another pair of marks on your neck.

“Is that how ya treat ya omega?” Chris asks, nodding at you as his ocean blue eyes remain on your Alpha. John huffs, shrugging as he keeps you close to himself. Your lips are trembling when his fingers tighten further around your neck – you're sure he will leave bruises all over your neck. Chris raises his eyebrows, his blue orbs flickering to you for a moment, taking in your expression. “You hurt her.”

Three words said so casually, but they carry such a weight that your legs buckle underneath you. While you hope that his words mean anything for John, he thinks the opposite and only tightens his grip, making it impossible for you to breathe. A high-pitched whine escapes your lungs with the last bit of oxygen before you try to gasp for the tiniest bit of air in your burning lungs.

“You think I care?” John asks with a smirk on his lips. And damn, that hurts. Chris sighs deeply, taking a step closer to the two of you, his chest heaving with every deep breath he takes. You see the muscles in his body tensing, ready for any fight that may come. “Now excuse us. My pet needs to spend a bit of time in her cage to know who’s in charge.”

You shake your head as best as you can. All but not the cage. It's not just way too small for you, but it only includes one small blanket. And since the floor cools the metal of the cage even more, you leave it always underneath you and try to roll yourself as small as possible together. John hisses, scrunching his nose in disgust when more of the sourness in your scent fills the floor.

“Get your shit together, pet. You stink, and we don't need the whole house to stink like your sorry ass,” John groans, annoyed. You try to swallow down all your feelings, not wanting to make him even angrier, but somehow it only causes the tears to well up in your eyes.

“Let her go now, or I will make you,” Chris says with a low growl. His eyes darken, and he takes another step closer. The sweetness in his scent is almost completely gone, and you can feel the dominance radiating off him. John keeps his hand where it is, not budging. But you can feel the twitch in his fingers, the slight tremble that gives him away, and not only you notice it — Chris does too.

But instead of laughing about John, like your Alpha would do when he would scare another Alpha, Chris keeps his cold expression, only walking with slow and steady steps closer to you. His scent is surrounding you almost more than John's as he stands only a few feet away from you, your eyes on his firm chest. Chris's shirt is tight, leaving not much to your imagination— though you have different thoughts than his muscular chest.

“Now.”

“Or w-what?” John growls, trying to keep his tough facade. Within a moment Chris wraps his hand around John's lower arm, squeezing until his fingers loosen around your neck. You gasp loudly, falling down on the ground between the two. Chris twists John's arm, turning him around before pressing him against the wall of the hallway.

The taller Alpha leans closer to John, his voice rough and dangerous. “You keep your dirty paws off her, got it?” His fingers dig further into your Alpha's arm, twisting it until you hear a whine coming from John. A sound you have never heard before unless it came from you. “Now get out of my sight before my patience snaps.”

And with that, Chris pushes the other man away. John stumbles through the hallway, muttering threatening stuff under his breath, but he doesn't dare to look back at Chris. The Alpha turns to you after a moment, his gaze softening as he notices your curled-up form on the ground, your hands clutching your neck and softly stroking the soft skin.

“Hey, shhh,” Chris tries to soothe you. His eyes narrow as he notices your body shaking, but there isn't the smallest noise coming from you. You're so trained to keep all the pain to yourself that only the trembling of your body and the scent coming from you give your fear and your discomfort away. He takes a deep breath, not sure how to get your attention; he doesn't want to call you ‘Omega’ — unsure how much you connect that with John. So instead of trying to get you to pay him attention with words, he sits next to you on the floor and purrs softly.

Your eyes widen slightly as you turn your head to look at the tall alpha. He sits next to you with his back pressed against the wall, his blue eyes focused on you, while the softest purrs rumble through his chest. You feel your whole body relaxing slightly until he pushes his hand in his pocket to pull something out. You flinch immediately, whimpering quietly.

“Shhh, just get my phone out. I have to message the Omega Rescue—"

“P-Please, no… I-I don't want to go there,” you whimper, shaking your head while you pull your legs even closer against your chest. “P-Please, I will be good for him, but don't bring me to a shelter… or a—”

“Shhh, can you let me finish my sentence, please?” He asks softly, a soft smile causing his lips to curl upward. You nod, trying to keep the tears at bay while you think about all the places he could put you as an abused and abandoned omega.

John told you a lot about these ‘omega rescues’; they are all but a rescue for the omegas. They keep the omegas in cages, selling them to alphas, who are way worse than John. Or they will force the omegas into breeding programs to mate — or not mate, whatever they want — with an alpha only for the pups.

“I won't bring you anywhere. I work for the Omega Rescue, and I'm here because in the door opposite us, there lives an omega who got abandoned, and after a while in the Omega Rescue, they wanted to move here. But they are still part of the rescue program, and I'm here to check on them. But you need my help more than they do, so I wanted to call a colleague to tell him to look after them,” Chris explains and holds up his phone with a name, number, and picture on the screen. “So, do you let me call my colleague?”

You nod, still wary of what he says and even more skeptical of his profession. You keep your mouth shut, though, keeping your eyes on him as he smiles and makes the call. Even though you're still sure he's calling them to get you into one of these programs, you stay quiet and still.

During Chris’ call you only hear his part of the conversation; you don’t pay too much attention — or you try — but there isn’t another noise for you to concentrate on except his soft voice. So, while you try to steady your breathing, you pick up some of the things he says.

‘Yeah. No. It’s none of ya business.’

‘She’s fine. But we said we would come around to make sure she’s fine.’

‘Send Lee— No. Yeah, they both have a thing for one another. Send him; he’s good for her. Bet he’s pacing in his office with her self-made cookies.'

You almost smile at his words. That Lee guy has to be really head over heels with the Omega who’s living here. Chris puts his phone back in his pocket and looks at you again. You’re still curled into yourself on the ground, shivering slightly but not as much as before.

“I will take you home, omega,” he says softly, watching your body language. You’re tensing further when he says that; he might be nicer than John so far, but he could show his true colors once he has you in his home. Or once he has you at the shelter, at the Omega Rescue, to sell you or breed you.

“N-no. I will stay here,” you mumble, clawing at your legs. Chris sighs softly, knowing that John fed you lies to make sure you never ask for any help at an omega rescue. He has worked with omegas who were told these lies before, omegas who were abused by their alphas.

“You can’t stay here with him. He’s abusing you. I won’t bring you to the omega rescue, and I promise to let you leave the apartment of mine whenever you want,” Chris promises. You look into his ocean blue eyes, searching for anything that could give away that he’s lying, but he’s looking at you with such softness and sincerity.

You shake your head once more, not moving an inch though. Chris sighs, considering the options in this situation. You don’t trust him, so telling you more about the omega rescue wouldn’t help; the lies you were told stuck in your mind. Picking you up and carrying you to his car would make him even less trustworthy. So, the other option is to keep sitting there in the middle of the hallway and talk to you.

“What if I promise to give you the keys and promise you a room just for yourself?” He tries again; it isn’t even a lie. Chris owns two keys for his apartment, and the guest room is free anyway. “We could make some pizza and watch a movie, or you say you want to be on your own and read a book.”

“But you work for the Omega Rescue,” you whisper quietly. There are still a few tears in your eyes, and Chris has to push away the urge to lean closer and wipe them away. But at least your scent isn’t as sour as before; a sweetness mixed with lavender fills the air.

“I do. But we are going to my home. It’s a small apartment, just me and you. I won’t hurt you, and I will not take advantage of you,” he assures you. The alpha isn’t even sure if it works, but it’s the only option he knows where he doesn’t scare you off. “I have a few books and lots of soft blankets. You could build yourself a nest in the guest room, eat, and read if that’s what you would like.”

You’re still not trusting him; you both know that, but you nod your head. He won’t let you go back to John, and you don’t want to. You push yourself up, knees still pulled against your chest as you lift your fingers to stroke the collar that’s sitting low on your neck, hiding your untouched mating gland.

John never wanted to mate — not yet, at least. And to make sure no other Alpha tries to mark you, he makes you wear the collar. It’s nothing you like, but you know better than to discuss it with your Alpha.

“What’s with the collar? Do you want to take it off?” Chris asks, his eyes moving to the fabric of your neck, watching your fingers stroke over the rough fabric.

He knows you’re not mated; he has seen these collars. You can’t get these in a normal shop; for that kind of collar, you have to have contacts in the underground, on illegal sides.

The nod you give him causes him to sit up straighter. His movements are thoughtful and not hectic as he leans closer. “Can I take it off? I won’t touch you more than necessary. I have to tighten it a tiny bit to open it, but I will be careful. I know you don’t trust me, and I understand it. Inhale deeply.”

You're not sure why you do what he says, but you do. And before you can exhale again, the collar is off your neck. You didn’t even feel him tighten it around your neck, his skilled fingers holding the collar between the two of you. Your eyes drift from his to the collar, and you swallow thickly as a few more tears roll down your cheeks. This is the first time in ages that you're not wearing the collar, and the feeling of the hard, hurtful fabric finally being taken off your neck makes your heart ache further.

John had such control over you that you never considered taking the collar off. No matter how hurtful or wrong it felt, you kept it where it was. With the removal of the fabric, it doesn't only feel lighter around your neck, but all the emotions you held at bay are suddenly crashing over you, pushing you to the ground. First a few tears, then a soft sob before your fingers claw for anything that gives you halt, anything that could keep you steady.

Chris places the collar on the ground, inching closer to wrap his strong arms around your shaking form. Sob after sob wreaks through your body, making you almost scream out loud. You bury your face in his firm chest, taking in his comforting scent with every breath. No matter how much you hate yourself afterward for trusting someone from the Omega Rescue like that, he takes away the weight you carried for years because of John.

“Shh, let it out,” he mumbles softly against your hair, kissing your hairline. You should hate it so much, but you can't bring yourself to hate something so soft and loving. You just can't bring yourself to hate him.

You sit there, wrapped in the strong alpha, for minutes while he doesn't once laugh or mock you. His hands are soothing up and down your back, the soft purr from earlier rumbling through his chest. Your fingers are tangled into his shirt, keeping him as close as possible while you let out all the emotions you didn't even know you held back.

The front door of the building opens, and you flinch, afraid that John called his friends, but instead you hear a happy whistling from there. Your face is still buried in Chris's chest, but you can feel his muscles relaxing — he must have thought the same about John's friends. You listen to the footsteps; they stop close to you, but you don't hear keys or a knock anywhere.

“Chris, whatcha doin’ here?” The man — who must be Lee — asks as he watches the two of you sitting on the ground.

“Nice to see you too, Lee,” Chris says with a hint of amusement in his voice. His fingers keep moving along your back, soothing you further while the purr softly fades. “You should ask her out; she's always excited when your name is mentioned in any conversation.”

Instead of answering Lee's question, Chris only smiles and nods toward the door. Lee hums and nods, knocking at the door. It doesn't take long until you can hear the door open, a surprised gasp leaving the omega's lips, and you can immediately smell her joy, which makes her scent smell like cherries and chocolate cake… or it's the chocolate cake she's baking.

After sitting a few more minutes, Chris tried again to get you to allow him to bring you home, and you agreed. Tired and exhausted from all the emotions and feelings, you let him carry you to his car and drive you to his home. He didn't try to touch you otherwise than just to carry you or buckle the seatbelt. Other than that, he offered his hand for you to hold if you wanted to, and after a while you took it.

So, that's how you find yourself in the entrance of his apartment; your eyes widen as he steps in and waits for you. But you just stare at him, then into the apartment. “D-Do you want me to kneel? T-To undress?”

You're grateful that he didn't bring you to any of these breeding or shelter places, so you can at least show him that you have manners. Manners that were taught by John.

“No, you can just come in. I just ask you to take off your shoes, but other than that, you can keep your clothes on. And kneeling?” He shakes his head once again. “Neither. We are equals.”

Equals. You heard of that, some pairs look like equals outside the house — that’s what John always said. When you watched other Alphas interacting with their omegas outside, they never meant it. They were just playing the role of a nice Alpha, but John always told you they weren't as loving and understanding as he was.

“John said there are no equals between alphas and their omegas,” you mumble quietly, taking off your shoes before standing straight with your hands behind your back, head lowering to face the ground and not be rude.

Chris sighs softly, nodding. He takes a moment to think about how to approach you without making you feel like he's lying or that everything you know from John is not true at all. It isn't, but it wouldn't help you to find out about that after the earlier breakdown.

“I know you learned that. And for John it was what he wanted to believe, what he might have been taught. But there are actually Alphas who treat their omegas as equals. Because that's what we are — equals. I'm not more worthy than you,” he says softly, bringing his hand to your chin to lift your head softly. You look at him with widened eyes, listening to every word he says. “So, I might be stronger, but that’s just to protect you. Not to use it against you, never to use it against you.”

You nod, watching a soft smile spreading on his plump lips. Chris’ blue eyes light up in the most ocean-blue eyes you have ever seen. The color and the shining remind you of the one time years back when John and you went to the beach. It was the rising sun that was brightening in a light yellow, and somehow it made the ocean glisten so blue that you had a new favorite color after that.

“Do you like pizza?” Chris asks after a moment, letting go of your chin and walking a step back to give you some space.

Is that a joke?

John never offered pizza; it’s not good for you. Not even during movie nights, where he stuffed himself full with fast food. You had your salad; he never asked if you wanted the salad or something else — you just got it. And he didn't offer you any of his food either, not even the leftovers; they were a no-go for you.

“Pizza…?” You ask quietly, narrowing your eyes. “For you?”

“And for you.”

“Salad.”

Chris chuckles softly, not mockingly, but you're too cute to not smile. He shakes his head, pointing at you, then at himself. “No, pizza for you and for me. If you like pizza. Otherwise we can get you a burger, fries, or a salad.”

“But I'm not allowed…?” You whisper, tears filling your eyes once more. Is that a stupid test to see if you're good? “D-Did I pass the test? I don't want to go into the cage, p-please.”

Chris's eyes water as he looks at you; he can't help it. The amount of cases with abused omegas he worked on where nothing compares to you. They were abused, they were afraid, and they needed time to trust. But he never met an omega who was so strong and yet so broken. He tries to wipe them away before you can see them, but you already had a glimpse at the tears.

“W-Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?” You ask, shivering slightly. Chris shakes his head immediately, almost choking on his tears as they fall down his cheeks. You have never seen an Alpha cry, especially not because of a salad? “D-Do they only have one salad, and you wanted that one? I-I don’t need one then; maybe a-a water then?”

A sob escapes his lips, his eyes are teary, and there are tears leaking down his face without a break. His fingers dig into the hem of his shirt as he feels his heart being ripped out of his chest. It's like someone smashes it on the ground and stomps on it until it's broken in small pieces.

“Y-You didn't do anything, I promise. A-And you c-can have all the salads, water, pizza, and ice cream you want,” he whispers, his voice broken and hoarse as another sob wrecks through his body. You nod, watching him as he doesn't even try to hide his emotions; he's standing in front of you, crying. An alpha stands in front of you and cries.

“C-Can I hug you?” You ask quietly. Something about him being so hurt for whatever reason — it can’t be because of the salad — makes your inner omega want to hold him and comfort him like he did earlier. Chris nods, holding out his strong but shaking arms. “I'm sorry I made you cry.”

Chris shakes his head. You take a step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. And somehow it helps, not just him. You feel him calming down slowly, his arms holding you tightly while he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“You didn't make me cry. I—It's just—” he interrupts himself and pulls his head back to look at you with a soft smile, though the strains of the tears are still visible on his cheeks. Without thinking twice, you lift your hands and wipe them off his cheeks, causing his smile to widen. “I had so many cases with abused omegas before, but it was never an omega so strong and so… hurt like you. Every other omega would have been broken beyond belief, but not you. You're standing here, so full of love, and yet… John took so much away because of his behavior, because of his abuse.”

You listen to his words, letting them sink in. All you ever thought was just a play was the truth. And while you thought that your alpha was a nice one, he was the one who fed you with lies. He made you believe that everyone is worse than he ever could be.

“So… we can both get a salad, and there is no cage?” You ask softly, searching his blue eyes for anything that might give him away. But the only thing it gives away is the understanding, the softness, and the love he shows you.

“Promise!” Chris says, running his finger over your cheeks as well. “You will never be less than an equal. I only ask you for one favor, please: give me the chance to show you that the world has more to offer than what John showed you.”

You nod, feeling still wary, and he knows. But who would he be to judge you? His heart flutters at your nod, and in your eyes he sees the slight excitement of his promise. Maybe you will be able to see more than the darkness you were offered with John as your Alpha — even when unclaimed — for all the years.

“I would like to try a salami pizza, please… or one with—”

“We can get all the pizzas you want. But there will be lava cake as dessert; they have the best.” Chris says, smiling as he leans down to kiss your forehead. The feeling of his lips against your skin makes you giggle softly. A sound he will cherish like it's the laughing of a child — because somehow it’s your smaller self that is finally able to discover not just herself but the bright side of the world, of an Alpha. Your Alpha, someone who chose you when he didn't have to, but he did it. He didn't choose anyone but you as his omega.

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#missy's writing challenge #destroyer!chris x fem!reader #destroyer!chris fluff #destroyer!chris angst #destroyer!chris comfort #destroyer!chris x reader #destoryer!chris #destroyer chris x reader #destroyer chris #destroyer!chris #sebastian stan characters x fem reader #sebastian stan characters x female reader #sebastian stan character x you #sebastian stan character #sebastian stan characters #Chris (destroyer)

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thatnightlamp · 3 days ago

Text

I want to try something a little spicy. Lorgar.

The catechisms were clear - desire without purpose was weakness. Passion unmoored from devotion was heresy. He had spoken those very words from a thousand pulpits, carved them into stone and soul alike. And yet, Lorgar Aurelian, the Voice of the Emperor, felt himself trembling in his own sanctum, blood still fresh from his most recent penance.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this.

He knelt in silence, robes clinging to sweat-slicked skin, baring a chest marked by fresh lashes. His hands shook, not from pain, but from restraint. He needed this control, this ritual. It was all that stood between him and the thoughts that refused to leave.

The thoughts of you.

Of the way you spoke his name, not Primarch, not my lord, just… Lorgar. As though the syllables themselves were holy.

That was where the heresy began.

Not with lust. Not with longing.

With intimacy.

He could resist temptation of the flesh. But not the idea that you saw the man, not the Primarch.

And the man… was weak.

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. His breathing was uneven. Each inhale brought the scent of blood, incense, and candle wax. Each exhale carried your name like a prayer he had no right to speak.

His back ached from the lashes, muscles twitching with each subtle movement. He should’ve stopped after the third strike. Instead, he’d gone on until his knees were slick with crimson.

Because thinking about you, about your touch, your breath, your voice in his ear, was worse than sin.

He needed pain to remind himself what he was.

But it wasn’t enough.

His hands moved lower, fingers dragging across the bloodied curve of his abdomen, down over the firm lines of his body. The flesh shuddered beneath his own touch, not from agony, but from something worse.

Something sweeter.

He bit down on a moan.

"No," he growled to himself. "I am the Word. I am the flame. I am loyal."

But his body didn’t care.

The sanctum felt hotter now. The flickering candles seemed to press in closer, shadows dancing like specters. His breath caught as he imagined, not even your hand, no, that was too far, but your eyes. Watching him. Seeing the sacred, broken mess of him on the floor, covered in blood and need.

Would you look away?

Or worse, would you touch him?

The idea made his back arch, a gasp escaping his lips before he could crush it down. His hand moved, unthinking now, slick with blood and want, moving lower still.

He tried to pray.

"Emperor, my strength. Deliver me from-"

His fingers wrapped around himself.

The prayer died.

He bucked forward slightly, forehead pressing against the cold altar, shame dripping from his lips in broken breath and muttered words. His hips rocked subtly, slow and desperate, each motion tainted with guilt. His mouth opened, and your name slipped out again, soft, reverent.

He imagined your hand guiding his. Your breath at his neck. The way your body might press against his, trembling just as he was, lips parting with the same kind of desperate holiness that he now offered to you.

Lorgar moaned again, this one unrestrained.

He shouldn’t feel this way.

He shouldn’t want this.

But Emperor help him. He did.

The pain wasn’t enough anymore. The scourge had drawn blood, but it couldn’t cleanse the image of your hands running across the script carved into his chest. Couldn’t silence the imagined sound of your voice as you whispered praises, not to the Emperor, but to him.

He pumped faster now, breath ragged, the sanctum echoing with the wet, shameful sounds of his need. The heat in him built to something unbearable, something that no amount of scripture could suppress.

“Forgive me,” he whispered into the floor. “Forgive me, but I want them.”

His body tightened, his back arching once more. And then he broke.

He cried out your name, raw and choked, as pleasure tore through him, sacred and profane all at once. His body spasmed, his fist clenched, and he collapsed fully, cheek pressed to the floor slick with sweat and blood.

Silence fell.

For long minutes, he lay there, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest, lips parted, eyes wide. Not with lust.

With fear.

What had he done?

He had touched himself like a base creature. He had moaned like a heathen. He had called your name like a prayer, and meant it.

Lorgar’s body trembled anew, not from pleasure, but from horror.

He rolled to his knees slowly, blood and seed staining the floor before the altar. His hand reached once more for the scourge, but it felt… hollow now. Like a lie.

The damage was done.

He had surrendered, not to Chaos, not to doubt, but to you.

And worse… he would do it again.

#warhammer 40k #primarch x reader #warhammer 30k #warhammer 40k x reader #lorgar x reader

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deezee112 · 2 days ago

Note

Hey deezee, I hope I’m not bothering you with a request for our fae boys x Yuu/Reader.

Slight Spoiler for the movie Maleficent

In the movie a human throws away his iron ring (his most valuable possession) without a second thought, because it was hurting Maleficent. Could you write a scenario where the reader does the same for our fae boys, please?

A/N : Of course! But I might not be able to write it exactly the way you want since I’m kind of out of ideas right now 😔 But if you end up liking it, that would make me really happy.

Sorry it turned out bad...I just...haven’t felt inspired lately.

The first time I wrote about a character whose name I kept forgetting.

Title : The Ring You Cast Away

Pairing : Yandere!Malleus Draconia x Reader

Word Count : 3200

Warning : OCC??? , I can't think because I'm sick.

Summary : You fled into the forest, wearing iron to keep Malleus away even if it hurt. But when you realize the pain cuts deeper for him than it does for you, you make a choice. One that binds you to him forever.

English is not my first language.

The forest was thick with thorns and silence. You hadn’t meant to walk this far, but something about Briar Valley’s woods always drew you in like the trees whispered secrets only you could hear.

The sun had fallen behind the hills long ago, casting the world into shadows thick as oil, and the wind bit at your skin through your coat.

You stopped walking.

The stillness wasn’t just silence anymore.

It was presence.

He was near.

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t need to.

Malleus did not sneak. He did not stumble. He appeared like mist through cracks in the world, slow and graceful and eternal.

You spoke first.

“ You followed me again. ”

A pause.

“ You knew I would. ”

His voice was velvet and winter, soft and cold in the same breath. Familiar now. Too familiar.

You turned. He stood just a few paces behind you, tall and regal even in the half-light, like the forest was his court and every thorn bent for him. His eyes glowed faintly, green fire flickering beneath the darkness. The sight of him used to startle you.

Now, it just made your chest ache.

“ I told you I needed space. ” you said.

“ You did. ”

“ And yet... you’re here. ”

Malleus tilted his head, as if the concept itself was strange. “ I am always here. ”

You tried to ignore the way your pulse spiked.

“ Because you’re watching me? ”

“ Because you are precious. ”

You flinched.

There it was again. That possessiveness wrapped in silk. That terrifying gentleness. Malleus didn’t yell or demand or trap you with chains. He trapped you with devotion. The kind that suffocates slowly.

“ I wore this to keep you away. ” You said as you grabbed your ring.

Iron.

It was a simple thing. A ring, old and blackened and heavy with heat. Humans told stories of how it repelled fae kept their charms and dangers at bay.

You weren’t sure if you believed in old tales.

But you believed in Malleus.

He stiffened.

“ You still wear that…thing. ”

“ I didn’t want you to follow me. I didn’t want you to come. ”

A long silence. The kind that drags your breath out of your lungs.

When he spoke again, it was lower.

“ You would rather hurt yourself than be near me? ”

You look down the ring has slipped into your skin as you walk. The burn marks are just starting to spread, red and searing beneath your collarbone.

“ I didn’t know it would do that. ” you muttered.

“ I did. ”

Malleus stepped forward once. Then stopped. You saw it the way his fingers twitched toward you, then curled into a fist instead.

“ I felt it burning. ” he murmured. “ From the moment you left the castle. It is agony. ”

You looked up, startled. “ You…you felt it? ”

“ I feel everything when it comes to you. ”

Your throat dried.

That should’ve terrified you.

But instead…it just made you want to cry.

“ I don’t hate you, Malleus. ”

That earned a flicker in his expression. The slightest shift in those ancient eyes.

“ But I don’t want to be your prisoner either. ”

“ You are not. ” he said, too quickly. Too gently. “ You are mine, yes. But not a prisoner. Never that. ”

“ And yet I’m afraid to breathe the wrong way. ”

He stepped closer again. This time, he didn’t stop.

You stood still, barely breathing as he approached one slow, reverent step at a time. When he reached you, he didn’t touch. Just stood close enough that the heat of him tangled with the cold of the air.

“ You are wearing something that causes you pain. ” he said softly. “ Because you thought it would drive me away. ”

You looked away.

“ I wanted it to. ”

Malleus didn’t speak. Not right away.

Then, in a voice that trembled like candlelight.

“ Then why are you crying? ”

Your fingers touched your cheek. Wet.

You hadn’t noticed.

You shook your head, voice cracking. “ I didn’t want to be afraid of you. I just wanted to be normal. I just wanted a walk. I just wanted...to breathe. To live. ”

“ You think life exists without me? ”

That should’ve sounded cruel. But it didn’t.

It sounded broken.

“ You could’ve taken it off days ago. ” he whispered. “ You could’ve burned it. Yet you didn’t. ”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.

Because you’d felt the weight of it every day.

The sting on your skin. The barrier between you. The wall you didn’t even understand. And now, standing here in the dark, you realized something horrible.

You didn’t want that wall anymore.

Even if it meant falling.

Even if it meant drowning in him.

You reach for your finger the chain is so hot it’s almost blistering. It digs into your skin as you struggle with the lock, but you don’t stop. You take pleasure in the pain.

And then, with a snap it fell away.

The ring hit the ground with a dull, lifeless sound.

And the world changed.

Malleus exhaled like he hadn’t breathed in a hundred years.

His hand shot forward.

Not to grab you.

To catch the ring.

You stared as he held it in his palm burning, still glowing faintly with his magic. His expression unreadable.

And then he let it fall through his fingers like dust.

The chain turned to ash before it even hit the dirt.

“ You threw away your protection. ” he whispered.

You couldn’t look at him. “ It was hurting you. ”

Something shifted in the air. Like the forest bowed in reverence.

And then

His hands were on your face.

Gently.

Trembling.

Like you were made of glass and every part of him wanted to shatter you but only so he could piece you back together and keep you forever.

“ Do you know what you’ve done? ” he murmured.

You nodded. Barely.

His breath touched your skin. “ You cannot take that back. ”

“ I don’t want to. ”

His eyes closed. As if he’d been waiting a lifetime to hear that.

And when he opened them again, they burned with something ancient. Something dangerous.

His lips hovered over your forehead. Close enough to feel.

“ I will never let you go now. ”

You didn’t answer.

Because maybe, deep down…

…you didn’t want him to.

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst x reader #yandere malleus x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere twisted wonderland x gn reader #gn reader #man reader #boy reader #Readers are gender-neutral

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cup1drul3z · 3 days ago

Text

★ — MY BLOODY VALENTINE | Ch 5

3ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋᴇʀ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW: Stalking, Angst, Smut, TOXIC yuri, death, murder, 1980s, mention of blood, depression, homophobia, masturbation, dub-con, size kink if you squint, mommy kink, corruption, virginity, fingering, this shit is dark - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

A/N: something something knife kink something something

The loudspeaker crackled during homeroom. Everyone groaned, assuming it was another “anti-smoking” PSA or announcement about the canceled pep rally.

But this time—

“All students and faculty, please remain in your classrooms until further notice.”

Your stomach twisted immediately.

Whispers broke out across the room.

“Do you think it’s another lockdown drill?”

“No way. They never do those during first period.”

“Is it a bomb threat?”

You didn’t say anything.

You were too busy feeling it again—that pressure in your chest like someone was squeezing your heart between their fingers. You looked out the window and spotted the red-and-blue flashes of police lights flickering just beyond the school’s main entrance.

Then a voice behind you said, low:

“Who was it this time?”

You turned. Vi was sitting two rows back, her expression unreadable.

You shook your head. “I don’t know.”

You hoped that was true.

Mr. Viktor, the guidance counselor. Found in his office. Dead.

No one knew how. No one was saying anything official. But someone claimed they saw a janitor crying. Someone else said there was blood all over the walls.

And someone—you weren’t sure who—mentioned something that made your stomach drop:

“He was talking to a student all week. A girl. Said he was worried about her. That she might be being followed.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Because that had been you.

2 days eariler

You hadn’t even realized you were zoning out again until the soft knock on the classroom door pulled you back.

Your teacher glanced up from the whiteboard, then motioned toward the hallway. “You’re needed in the office.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Don’t look so guilty,” he said, half-joking.

You stood slowly, heart thudding a little harder than it should. Your legs felt heavy as you walked out into the hall, where the school’s guidance counselor—Mr. Viktor—was waiting.

Late thirties. Wire-rimmed glasses. Always smelled faintly like coffee and old books. His smile was kind, but his eyes? Concerned.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Just want to check in.”

His office was tucked into the corner of the administrative wing, cozy and a little too warm. Posters on the walls. Inspirational quotes. That fake fern he kept forgetting to water. He offered you a seat across from his desk, where a small tray of Halloween candy sat. You didn’t take any.

He gave you a moment to settle in before he spoke.

“I’ve been hearing some things,” he said softly, folding his hands on the desk. “From teachers. From students. And I’ve been noticing things myself.”

You stiffened. “I haven’t done anything.”

“I’m not saying you have,” he said quickly. “You’ve just been… off. Tired. Jumpy. Distracted. And I know that’s not who you usually are.”

You didn’t respond.

“I also noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with Sevika,” he added carefully.

Your throat went tight. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” he said slowly. “Not unless you feel like it is.”

You finally looked at him.

His voice lowered. “Has anyone made you feel unsafe lately?”

The words hit like a rock in your chest.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to say no. You wanted to cry, scream, run.

Instead, you whispered, “I’m just tired.”

He gave you a long look.

And maybe he knew then that you weren’t telling the whole truth. But he didn’t push.

“I’m here,” he said finally. “Whenever you want to talk.”

You nodded, stood up.

And left.

That was the last time you saw Mr. Viktor alive.

You didn’t even eat dinner.

You barely said a word to your mom. Just mumbled something about a headache and went straight to your room, shutting the door gently behind you.

The room felt colder than usual. Still. Too still.

You dropped your bag by the door and collapsed onto your bed without bothering to change. The second your body hit the mattress, it felt like the weight of the day pinned you in place.

The news was spreading like wildfire. Mr. Viktor. Dead.

Your phone rang a few times throughout the night

Suicide. No way, he was murdered. You heard about the blood, right?

But you didn’t read them.

You just laid there, staring at the ceiling, blinking slow, shallow breaths. Your chest felt tight and hollow at the same time.

You knew.

You knew this was connected. You knew who did it.

And yet…

You reached for the phone. The old landline on your nightstand. You turned the receiver over in your hand for a long moment before finally punching in the number by memory.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then her voice: smooth, low, like nothing was ever wrong.

“Hey.”

You didn’t even say hello.

“…Do you have any more weed?”

A pause. Then—

“Are you sure?”

Your voice cracked. “Please.”

She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to.

“Be there in twenty.”

Click.

You set the phone down and stared at the bear on your wardrobe.

Still. Silent. Watching. Always watching.

And a part of you hated that it made you feel safe.

She moved fast—grabbed the tin, flicked her lighter into her coat pocket, tucked a fresh roll in the container. She already knew what you liked, what you’d need. Already pictured you curled up in your bed, face flushed, waiting for her to make it all go quiet again.

She pulled on her boots, slung the jacket over her shoulder, and made it halfway down the hall when—

“Where the hell are you going?”

She stopped.

Her spine tensed before her eyes even rolled. She turned slow, careful, as if she wasn’t in the mood to break something—yet.

Her father stood near the entryway, arms crossed, one brow lifted.

Still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled up, cigarette tucked behind his ear like always. He wasn’t a big man, but he had a presence. That weight you feel when someone doesn’t need to yell to break you in half.

“You think you can just come and go when you want now?” he asked.

Sevika didn’t answer at first. Just stared at him.

“Your not like other kids” he added, voice lower. “You’re not some dumb teenager trying to sneak out for a party.”

“I’m not sneaking,” she said flatly.

“You don’t have to. We all know where you’re going.”

That was enough to make her jaw twitch.

His eyes narrowed. “She’s got you whipped like a damn dog. I didn’t raise you to chase after girls like you’re some—”

She cut him off, calm and cold.

“You didn’t raise me.”

He stepped forward. “Excuse me?”

“You raised fists,” she said, voice like steel. “Not people.”

The silence that followed felt like a string pulled tight between them.

But Sevika didn’t back down.

And he didn’t push.

Instead, he sneered. “One of these days, she’s gonna see what you really are.”

“I hope so,” Sevika said. “So she’ll stop fighting it.”

Then she walked past him, slammed the door behind her, and disappeared into the dark.

She still had a promise to keep.

And a girl to ruin.

You sat on your bed, legs curled up, your hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over your hands. The lights were low, the room lit only by the soft blue glow of your lava lamp and the flickering streetlight outside.

The phone still rested beside you on the comforter. The call had ended over twenty minutes ago, but your heart was still racing like she might not come.

But she always came.

And sure enough—

Click.

The sound of your window sliding open. Soft. Familiar.

You turned just in time to see her silhouette climb through like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jacket first. Then boots scraping the sill. Then Sevika herself, dropping into your room in one smooth movement, closing the window behind her with a practiced hand.

She didn’t say anything right away.

She didn’t have to.

Her eyes met yours across the dim room—calm, steady, hungry in that quiet, bone-deep way that always made your breath catch.

She dropped her bag beside your desk and walked toward you like she’d done it a hundred times. Like this room belonged to her as much as it did to you.

You watched her in silence.

Then you whispered, “You came.”

Sevika knelt in front of the bed, eye-level with you now, her hand already reaching for yours—slow, deliberate.

“‘Course I did,” she said. “You asked.”

Yesss we’re back in it—tension wrapped in smoke, movement that feels both clumsy and charged. Reader's high is building, everything's hazy and warm, and Sevika’s presence is like gravity—pulling, anchoring, and quietly overwhelming. Let's keep that seductive slowness:

You took the first hit slower this time—learning. It didn’t burn like the last. It moved through you like smoke curling around something soft. You exhaled with a little giggle you didn’t mean to let out, and Sevika’s eyes followed it like it meant something deeper than it was.

She sat cross-legged at the edge of your bed, her jacket tossed onto the floor, sleeves rolled up, joint balanced easily between her fingers like she’d done this a thousand times. Like this was the only place she ever wanted to be.

You reached for the joint again, and she handed it over without hesitation, fingertips brushing yours just a little longer than they needed to.

You inhaled. Exhaled. Laughed again.

And then— You shifted wrong.

Your leg slipped off the mattress and suddenly you were falling—off balance, limbs scrambling—and hit the carpet with a muffled thud.

“Shit—” you gasped, laughing.

Sevika leaned over the edge, smirking. “You good?”

You rolled onto your knees, still giggling, hands pressing into the floor for balance.

Your hoodie had ridden up a little, your hair falling into your face as you pushed it back with slow, high hands.

You looked up at her through your lashes, smile lazy. “That weed’s stronger than last time.”

Sevika placed her feet on the floor, manspreading “Or maybe you’re just letting go more,” she said, her voice dipping low.

Your eyes flicked up to hers.

And in that haze of smoke and heat and everything unspoken between you—

You didn’t want her to stop watching.

Not ever.

You stayed there on your knees, swaying slightly, warm all over—inside and out. The smoke hung in the air between you like a secret neither of you had to speak aloud. The lava lamp behind you cast slow-moving ripples of color across the wall, bathing the room in pulsing red and violet.

Sevika hadn’t moved.

She just watched you from the edge of the bed, head tilted slightly, her expression unreadable—hungry, maybe, but not in the way that scared you. In the way that made your heart stutter.

Then—

Her hand reached out. Slow. Careful.

Like you were something she wasn’t sure she deserved to touch.

Her fingers brushed along your jaw first, then slid to cradle your cheek, her thumb resting lightly under your eye. Her palm was rough, warm, steady against your skin.

You closed your eyes for a second.

You leaned into it.

Then, without thinking—without questioning—you turned your head and pressed a soft kiss to the center of her palm.

Sevika went still.

Her thumb twitched slightly, brushing across your bottom lip like she couldn’t believe what just happened—like she needed to feel it again.

You opened your eyes.

And whispered, barely audible, “You always make me feel safe.”

You didn’t see her jaw tighten.

You didn’t hear the silent, possessive scream that echoed in her chest.

Because all you saw was her hand, still cupping your face.

“Sevika..” you whisper, gripping her wrist

She hums tilting her head. Still manspreading

Your hand rested on her knee. Leaning more into her palm. “Fuck me” you look up at her with that same innocent look in your eye

“What?” her brows furrow. she wanted to, sure. But if this happens she doesn't think she'll ever let you go

“Please” you beg and pout and she just cant resist that face.

Your moan as your face is squished into the mattress. “Fuck-” you whimper

Sevika chuckled, her strap pounding in and out of your needy cunt, her hand slid down the arch of back. She had you in a face down ass up positon.

You looked up at her through the corner of your eye. A tear sliding down your cheek. She smirked sadistically, leaning down and licking it off

You closed you eyes and leaned into her touch. Back arching more the harder she pounded into you. “God i wish i could get you pregnant. Everyone would know your mine inside and out” sevika whispered into your ear

You hated that the thought of being full of sevikas babies excited you. Ever since she stepped in your life youve decided if she asked, you would give up everything and be her house wife. A part of you knew this women was dangerous, you just didnt want to admit it

“Fuck-” sevika said pulling out for a second, you whine at the loss and your hole was squeezing around nothing. “What- what are you-” you whimper trying to look at her

She flips you suddenly, you were on your back looking up at her now. She slams back into you, “i needed to see you…” her hands run over the sides of your body. Gripping your hips and pulling you into her with each thrust. “God- i can fucking feel you.”

Your hands cup either side of her face. “I love you” you whisper out. Her eyes widen as she looks down at you “say it again.” sevikas thrusts slow down for a moment

You smirk biting your bottom lip “i love you” you say again, wrapping your arms around her neck. She speeds up her pace “i love you, i love you,iloveyouiloveyou” your back arches as she bites down on your neck. Marking you as hers.

Sevika looks at her pocket knife on the floor, an idea popping into her head as she helps you lay back down. She smirks leaning across the bed to grab her knife. She flicks it open, before looking you in the eye as she pressed it into your lower stomach

Blood began to drip down your stomach and stain your sheets. You whine and squirm. “Shhshhh” she presses her hand into your shoulder, eyes flicking down to the symbol shes imprinting on you. Your breath hitches once you realize

Shes carving her initial into your hip along with a heart around it. “Nobody is gonna fucking mess with you when im around.” She whispers and leans down to lick the wound, cleaning it.

You were at your locker, swapping out textbooks with Sevika leaning casually beside you—one boot propped against the locker row, hands stuffed into her jacket, like she lived there. Like she belonged beside you.

She didn’t say much—she never really did in the halls. She didn’t have to. Her presence spoke for her.

But then—

“Hey!”

You turned.

Vi.

She strolled up with her usual easy confidence, denim jacket slung over her shoulder, a few band buttons pinned to her backpack. Her grin was warm, a little cocky, like the two of you had some secret no one else did.

Your heart fluttered. You smiled back, already opening your mouth.

“I was gonna introduce you—”

But Sevika had already pushed off the locker.

She turned toward Vi with a slow, predatory step. Eyes narrowed. Smile dangerous.

“Oh, we’ve met,” Sevika said before you could even finish.

Vi’s grin tightened—just slightly.

She tilted her head. “Really? Don’t remember that.”

Sevika stepped closer, close enough to force Vi to stop walking.

“You were talking to her at lunch,” Sevika said, low and smooth. “Under the tree.”

Vi arched a brow, smile sharpening. “You keep tabs on everyone, or just the girls who don’t look scared of you?”

The air snapped between them.

You blinked, caught in the middle.

“Okay,” you said quickly, “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to sit together at lunch—”

But Sevika didn’t look at you.

She was still watching Vi.

Vi didn’t flinch.

And you?

You could feel it in your bones—

This wasn’t the first time Sevika had sized someone up.

But it might be the first time someone looked back and didn’t look away.

The bleachers were packed, but no one was really cheering.

What was supposed to be a pep rally—banners, balloons, clumsy mascot dancing—had been swallowed by grief. The band still played, but softer now. The cheer squad didn’t perform. The principal stood center court behind a rickety podium, microphone crackling every few words as she tried to hold back emotion and hold it together at the same time.

You sat near the middle of the bleachers, arms crossed over your knees, head ducked. Sevika was next to you, her shoulder warm against yours. She hadn’t said a word since they called the assembly.

Not that she needed to.

Her presence was always louder than her voice.

A photo of Viktor sat on an easel at the edge of the court—framed in a halo of wilting white carnations, a few cards taped around the base.

You felt Vi shift behind you a row up. You hadn’t turned around. You couldn’t. Your chest was already too tight.

“And so,” the principal said, voice trembling just slightly, “we honor Mr. Viktor’s memory today. Not just as a counselor, but as a person who saw the good in everyone… especially our students.”

You blinked hard.

Your fingers clenched your hoodie sleeve.

You could feel Sevika’s eyes on you.

She leaned over, close to your ear. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“You okay?”

You nodded, even though you weren’t.

Not even a little.

Down on the court, a moment of silence was announced. The room went still.

And Sevika reached over—

Took your hand.

Held it tightly, possessively, like a vow wrapped in skin.

And behind her, Vi watched. And said nothing. But her jaw was tight.

Because you weren’t crying.

But Vi could tell you wanted to.

And Sevika?

Sevika was smiling.

@glittzygorilla @vxtanne31 @leeidk87 @spinback-kiva @half-of-a-gay @alessabriel @h3rprinc3zz @koralinebox

#arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #sevika x reader #wlw #lesbian #wuh luh wuh #sissormetimbers

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evylss · 12 hours ago

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I heard from a little birdy that you make hsr smut soooo~ ANAXA SMUT PLEASE so basically we have been bothering him all day saying how we want to cum on his dick so as punishment he ties us to the bed and use a vibrator to our pussy, overstimulating us and he is talking dirty like GOOD LAWD.

a/n: OMG FIRST ASK!! 🩵AND HELLO?? ANON I LOOOOVE HOW U THINK I SAT DOWN SO FAST TO WRITE THIS (⁠>⁠0⁠<⁠；⁠) i might get a bit carried away with this..

images and borders from pinterest, credits to the owners (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

cw: nsfw, meannn/sadist anaxa, him thinking he's better than u tbh, brat and brat tamer, fingering, orgasm denial (once), overstimulation, vibrator, it's messyyy, bondage, degradation and praise, clit slapping, lowk manhandling.. lmk if i missed anything!!

Anaxa was a relatively patient man, with you at least. He appreciates silence, and despises being interrupted or disturbed. What he wasn't though, was anybody's slave, and he'll do as he pleased.

So when you've been nagging him all day, whining about how badly you want him, how badly you need to cum on his cock-- he can't help but find himself irritated as you mindlessly beg with no concern for how you're disrupting his focus, just like the dumb thing he knows you are.

"Come on! I'll be quick- just wanna cum- then I'll leave you alone!" You whine up at him from where you're seated on the floor, right between his legs as he sits at his table, resting your cheek on his thigh and giving him the best doll eyes you could. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sliding a hand into your hair, he grips it at the roots. Not tight enough to hurt, but enough to be a warning. He lifts your head off his thigh, offering you a questioning look with one slightly raised brow.

Anaxa's eyes narrow at you as his hand tracing from your nape and down your jaw, till he was holding your chin delicately between his fingers.

"How many times have I told you that I'm busy? All this nagging is enough, but also proposing to just take what you need and leave..? All high and mighty, are we?"

And you did.

His voice was low, soft, but incredibly dangerous- laced with a threat. Daring you to challenge him.

That's how you find yourself in your current situation-

Clothes peeled off you expertly as he takes you to the bedroom, panties unknowingly stuffed into his pocket. Rope being tossed into the bed, being pushed down roughly into the mattress, a hand against your lower back, firmly pinning you down.

God, you shouldn't have pushed him this far.

Or maybe that's exactly what you wanted.

You feel him grab your wrist, then your calve, folding your leg up till your ankle meets your wrist. With no hesitation, he ties them together. He watches as you start to squirm in protest, but all you're met with is a sharp "Hold still."- and you don't dare disobey him this time. He ties up the other side, tugging on the ropes as if to test the hold, then letting out a satasfied hum as you hear him start to walk away from you.

Where was he going? Surely he wouldn't just leave you there.. right?

But now you almost wish he did.

A moment passes. Another.

You hear him come back behind you, and he places something down on the bed next to him. Silence.

"A-anax-" And he shuts you up promptly.

"Quiet." He huffs, landing a sharp swat! against your achy clit, making you yelp out and jolt, which only subjected you to a few more of the mean slaps, smearing the wetness of your puffy folds onto his fingers. Your thighs eager to close shut as you struggled against the rope, hoping to escape from the sharp and almost overwhelming pleasure.

'Tch. You're still misbehaving, slut?" He scoffs. Pushing two of his fingers in at once, he relishes in the way you squeal at the sudden stretch. He gives you no time, incessantly hooking his fingers meanly into that familiar spongy spot with frightening precision, uncaring of the way your thighs tremble and press against the ropes. He presses his thumb right into your clit, rubbing tight and harsh little circles around the throbbing nub, finally showing it some attention.

"Please- that's t'much..!" You protest, trying your best to lift your head off the pillow to look back at him, but he isn't even looking at you. His eyes are fixed between your legs, his gaze intense, watching as he slowly rubs up and down your slit, neglecting your clit entirely before coming to circle around your weeping hole, not missing the way your breath hitches and you gasp.

"Too much? You were just begging for more but now it's too much? You don't really want me to stop though do you? I can feel you dripping onto my fingers. Filthy girl." He practically scolds you, pressing his fingers against your fluttering entrance, just enough for you to feel the pressure, but not enough for them to slip in, making you whine and writhe defiantly.

You can feel your orgasm building all too quickly as he expertly works his fingers inside you the way he's come to know, your whines and moans turning into whimpers and intelligible pleas for release.

"Why'd you d-do that?!" You cry out, and if you weren't tied up, he's sure you'd be kicking your feet against the bed like a child having a tantrum- maybe even landing a few hits on him.

"'m so close..!" You warn, but you don't need to. He knows your body well enough, maybe even better than you, and easily identifies the squeezing and clamping of your drooling pussy around his fingers. He doesn't reply to you, giving you the chance to enjoy the feeling before abruptly removing his fingers from your cunt, immediately landing a smack on your pulsing clit for good measure. Making sure you really felt the loss of your climax.

He ignores your whining and you hear him take ahold of something, you're about to look back until you hear an all too familiar buzzing.

"Please make cum..! Been waiting for so long- and I promise I'll be good!" You're spouting out whatever comes to mind, whatever you can say to convince him, and he just huffs out a dry chuckle at you, knowing that promise won't last long at all.

"Do you want to cum? Say please." He demands so meanly and to his pleasure, you don't even have it in you to resist.

"If you say so," and his nudging the jittery head of the vibrator right up against your clit.

The vibrator hums to life the second it meets your clit, and your entire body jolts, arching into the sensation with a gasp. Your wrists strain against the ropes as your thighs try to clamp shut out of instinct, but the way he has you bound denies you any kind of escape. You’re completely exposed, and the worst part is—

You know that’s exactly how he wants you.

"That's it. Cry for me," He murmurs, almost lovingly. Almost. But there’s nothing gentle about the way he rolls the toy in slow, torturous circles, keeping it just off center from where you really need it. You sob into the sheets, rocking your hips the little you’re able with how you're bound, desperate for friction. Desperate for any relief.

"Still think you’re in control?” he scoffs, fingers splaying across the swell of your ass as he watches you shake. “Begging like a little bitch in heat… I should’ve stuffed your mouth before starting—at least then you'd be less of a nuisance."

Your vision blurs with tears, but you can’t even bring yours to care. You’re too lost in the incessant onslaught of pleasure, your clit raw and twitching under the relentless pressure of the vibrator, which he now pins in place with the flat of his palm. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge again, the coil in your belly tightening too fast, too tight.

"I-I can’t—" you choke out, voice wrecked.

"You can, and even if you can't, you will," He hisses, his voice sharp against your ear as he suddenly leans in close. “You're not allowed to cum until I say so. Not a second before. And if you do? I'll make sure your hopes of cumming disappear.”

The warning sends another shiver through your spine, making your cunt clench helplessly around nothing. The vibrator doesn’t stop—not even when your body starts to tremble violently, not even when you scream his name like it’s the only word you know.

He leans back, admiring the slick mess between your thighs, how helpless you look tied up and ruined before he’s even touched you properly.

Your first orgasm rips through you before you even know it’s happening— your body convulsing, toes curling as you sob into the sheets. You’re so pent up, so painfully needy, that the release hits you like a truck.

But Anaxa doesn’t stop.

He presses the toy harder against your clit, dragging it side to side as your thighs shake violently and your back arches off the mattress.

“Already? That fast?” he mocks, voice dripping with cruel delight. “Didn’t even give me time to enjoy it.”

Your voice cracks on a scream as the vibrator keeps working your sensitive bud, no time to come down, no reprieve.

Your second orgasm builds soon after, harsher and sharper than the last, your whole body twitching in protest as your hips twist helplessly against the restraints.

"A-Anaxa please—too much—too much!" you cry, tears hot on your cheeks.

“You said you wanted to cum,” he reminds you, utterly unbothered. “I’m just giving you what you asked for.”

He adjusts the angle, catching your clit just right, and you wail. He grinds it down meanly onto your pulsing little clit- relishing in the way you squeal and cry so loudly. He keeps up the firm rutting of the vibrator until he can see the tell tale signs of you getting close. The way you grow louder, more breathless, the way you go limp as you're right at the edge--

And then you snap. Tensing up completely as you cum.

It hits you like lightning. Your breath stutters, your body locks up, and your vision floods with white. You’re sobbing now, reduced to nothing by the raw sensation, drool smearing the pillow beneath you.

"Messy little thing," Anaxa hums, almost amused. "Look at you—crying from getting exactly what you begged for."

Your cunt clenches uselessly around nothing, dripping and overstimulated, your thighs twitching uncontrollably as he finally eases the vibrator off. You’re trembling, body completely limp, barely holding it together—and that’s when he speaks again, so casually it sends another tremor through you-

"You wanted to cum on my cock, didn't you?" he taunts, dragging the toy down slightly to tease your entrance, already fluttering and soaked. “That’s what all this fuss was about. And yet here you are—haven’t even been fucked, and you’re already this pathetic.”

You sob his name again, nearly delirious, the pressure unbearable now. Your whole body feels like it’s about to snap in half.

"Alright, slut. You’ve earned it." His voice drops, gravelly and dark with promise. "But I really hope you've learnt your lesson."

You hear the rustle of clothing—his belt unfastening, the soft clink of the buckle, fabric shifting as he strips. It’s slow, deliberate, like he wants you to feel every second of anticipation. You can’t see him, but you feel it—the moment his warmth returns behind you, the weight of his body settling between your thighs. One hand grabs your ass, spreading you open for his eyes.

And with that, he finally slides the vibrator away—and thrusts into you in one brutal, fluid motion.

This was going to be a long night.

a/n pt 2: HII SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I WROTE HALF OF IT THEN LITERALLY ALMOST DIED BUT I'M OK NOW SO HERE WE GO!! HOPE U LIKE IT 👉👈😊😊 I REALLY ENJOYED WRITING THIS

#hsr anaxa #anaxa smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #anaxa x reader #hsr #honkai star rail

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httpisuneh · 3 days ago

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i almost ascended in real time when i saw that you write for ice!! could i please request ice x reader where reader tends to be a little mean to ice bc that’s her humor but it highkey turns ice on LMAO i saw a comment on tt that was like “never not had a crush on a girl i hated” and i can’t stop thinking about it. ty for even reading this!!! sending you so much love mami <333

𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘—you're jokes come off as mean but ice doesn't mind.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀��𝐍𝐒—mentions of y/n like once, self explanatory cliffhanger, uhhh idk

𝐑.𝐃.𝐍.—i got this request like...way too long ago. i hope i did it justice and i MIGHT make a part two 😞

anyone who didn’t know you and saw you around your friends would probably think you hated them. but anyone who’d been friends with you would simply just know that’s how you acted.

they all grew accustomed to responding back with something just as funny or brushing it off, but there was one friend who had a different reaction to it all. ice brady.

she never yelled at you or took it to heart, no. never that. her reaction was undecipherable, almost like she got a kick out of it all. you didn’t really notice until one day you found yourself going back and forth with kk.

“kk, the food isn’t going anywhere.” you muttered, face scrunched up as the girl next to you ate her food like it was running. “girl boo, i’m hungry!” she waved you off. “you’re eating like you had to work for it.” you pointed out.

“like you didn’t fight me for your fries!” kk exclaimed, mouth full of food. “because they were mine, fat ass.” you gestured towards myself while the girl simply rolled her eyes.

“sharing is caring, bro!” ice’s laugh took your attention away from her. “isuneh, i know that’s not you i hear laughing.” you stated, turning to face the girl. with a swipe of her tongue over her lower lip she spoke up, “and if i am?”

it’s almost like she wanted you to continue, enjoying it maybe. and you were never one to shy away from friendly banter which caused you to forget all about kk and your fries and start going back and forth with ice.

for every smart remark, she seemed unphased and replied just as quick, grin widening.

eventually, your mouth began to grow dry the longer you argued and you realized ice wasn’t giving up. “shut up.” you huffed, shaking your head. “make me.” you kind of set yourself up for that.

“oh, you got y/n giving up!” aubrey called out, laughing as you stood up to throw your trash away. “please, i could go for hours.” you stated, silently hoping she wouldn’t take you up on it because your mouth felt like a drought.

“careful, i might take you up on that.”

“pause?” paige spoke, raising her eyebrows. “your face is literally red from laughing so hard, shut up.”

from there, you started to develop feelings towards her. you weren’t sure what they were, but (like any other person would to keep the plot rolling for this fic to be at least a thousand words) you ruled them out as hate. it was better than talking about them and you didn’t plan to.

but ice made that really fucking difficult. she was always openly staring at you or making dirty jokes that seemed too detailed to be for laughs.

you could recall the time you were arguing about who would sit next to caroline who was sleeping peacefully and not next to kk who was snoring and would be full of energy later on a flight.

you’d won the argument of course, ending it with something along the lines of “you run your mouth too much.”

and like other times, ice just smiled before leaning down even though she didn’t need to—constantly holding the fact that she had a few inches up on you over your head—before whispering “i can do a lot of other things with my mouth.”

she laughed in your face once she saw your impression in which you shoved her shoulder and moved away.

it was then you noticed, ice didn't get a kick out of you arguing with her—instead, she was visibly turned on by it. it was small things, like the glint in her eyes that resembled excitement and something else or the way she'd have to bite back a grin.

but then it was the way she'd grip the closest object near her or squeeze her thighs shut like if she didn't have any restraint and decorum, she'd take you wherever you were in front of whoever you were with.

things didn't change until a celebration between the team that'd happened in you and azzi's dorm. bottles of alcohol and faint smoke exiting through the window that was slightly ajar floated through the room and one of paige's playlist played loudly on the TV.

vibes were high, you were higher, and suddenly starting to question every feeling you had. ice looked good—too good, and the influence you were under had you criticizing your own thoughts and everything she did.

your spot on the couch seemed to be enveloping you as you leaned further into the cushions. ice plopped next to you and usually paige would've pointed it out, but she seemed too busy rapping along to the music with kk to even notice.

“why aren't you up and having fun?” she questioned, just slightly loud over the music but it's not like anyone was sober enough to comprehend what she'd said to you.

“i am having fun.” you shot back quickly. “no, you're being boring.” she corrected as if she had all the answers, and with the way she was staring at you, she might've.

“and you're being fucking annoying.” there it was. she shifted in her seat, legs spreading a little more in a way that had heat coursing through your body. “yeah?” she questioned, glancing from the once clear liquid in her cup now doused with orange juice to you.

“tell me more.” her tone was something between a breathless whisper and a husky statement and it made you ultimately sit up. and you did, tell her how she aggravated you sometimes and others you tolerated her.

you told her how mad it made you when she was being smug, like she knew you inside and out like your life was some shakespeare play that she'd watched, studied, and enjoyed all day.

you didn't tell her about the warm feeling she created that wasn't the result of blushing but instead something more lustful. you didn't tell her how good she looked even when she was fresh out of sleep. you didn't tell her how seeing her in little to no clothing in the locker room had you ready to see more.

but she stared at you like she knew.

one by one, your teammates began to leave. kk, kaitlyn, and sarah were first to go. sarah happened to be ultimately tired and kk’s words were beyond slurred, kaitlyn took the initiative of deciding to leave.

aubrey, morgan, jana, and allie were next—aubrey suddenly remembering she had an assignment nowhere near done that was due the following night, morgan tagging along because they'd planned to watch movies that happened to be the highlight of their childhood while trying to at least get started on said assignment.

jana and allie found themselves with them because they'd noticed the lingering stares between azzi and paige that let them know if they went back to their shared dorm they were getting absolutely zero sleep.

carol, ashlynn, and ayanna were next, simply just tired. then as expected, azzi and paige could no longer take it and decided they needed each other right then, speeding out of the dorm and eventually, the only two left were you and ice.

“so you really hate me?” ice asked, a smirk dancing on her lips. “call it what you want.” you shrugged, shoulder brushing against her own which made you notice just how close you two had shifted towards one another.

“what if i called it a crush?” she asked, making you turn towards her quickly. “what?” you questioned and her smirk widened. “you heard me. i think you have lil’ crush on me.” she admitted. you didn't answer and silently hoped your heartbeat that sounded a little too loud wasn't actually audible.

“you’re delusional.” was all you said. you think it’s one of the first times ice has left you speechless. you couldn’t think of a response if you tried—the idea of even liking ice stripping every thought from your brain.

“am i really?” she asked. you didn't answer and that was enough of a response for her. you're not sure who leaned in first, or if it was both of you, but somewhere in that split second your lips met.

messy, intense, and you're pretty sure it's more tongue than lips touching. ice tasted like desire and something sweet and her grip on your waist seemed tighter than a corset’s.

you pulled back first to catch your breath but you were back on her in seconds, catching you and her off guard. it was like the denial of thinking you could never want ice left your body as you made out. the move from the couch to her lap was sudden, but you definitely weren't complaining.

the scene was mouthwatering and the burst of sensuality had you feeling bold. your lips moved from her own to her jaw, kissing at a rate that was too slow to be rushed but too fast to be hesitant.

ice's breath hitched as you moved further down her neck and she gasped once your teeth grazed over a certain spot. “you're full of shit.” she mumbled making you pull back. “you tried to say you didn't like me, now look at you.”

you let out a groan, reaching for the hem of your shirt. “would you shut up?” ice didn't answer immediately, smiling as she did the same. “nah, i like pissing you off.”

#ri writes 🖨️#ice brady smut #ice brady x reader #uconn x reader #uconn wbb x reader #wbb x reader #wbb #uconnwbb #ice brady fic #ice brady #wbb fic

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