#I just heard this from the other room and thought I should come back from the dead to post it

[societyfolklore]

Just Competitive  

Title: Just Competitive  

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  Sam’s new gf keeps waking you up

Word Count: 2.5k  

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, Established relationship Light possessiveness / dominance, Noise kink elements, Bucky gets competitive, fingering, unprotected sex

A/N:  Ok so the other night I woke up at 2:30am and this is what happens when you ask the group chat what to do. @azriona This was your idea! (also sorry for everyone else who got edged in the chat)

Bucky rolled over, eyes still heavy with sleep, only to find you already wide awake- eyes on the ceiling, brows pinched in irritation.

“What’s wrong- ”

He didn’t even finish the sentence before he heard it.

Moaning. Loud, exaggerated, and frankly theatrical moaning. The kind that bounced off the thin apartment walls with no shame.

From the other side of the wall, Sam’s room.

Sam’s new girlfriend.

Bucky blinked at the ceiling, then turned toward the wall with a mix of annoyance and reluctant admiration. “Jesus,” he muttered. “She’s still going?”

You groaned, rubbing your face. “Twenty-five minutes. She’s been going off like a broken wind-up toy for twenty-five minutes, Bucky.” It was all too much right now.  “It's 3 a.m.,” you whined, dragging a pillow over your face. “Why does everyone have to be loud now?”

Bucky chuckled, soft and gravelly, then pulled you into his chest, spooning you close. One arm wrapped around your waist, petting gently over your stomach.

“We knew it was gonna be an adjustment moving in with Sam,” he said, trying to soothe you.

You nuzzled in, only to freeze when the sound of the headboard started thumping against the wall.

Again.

“Oh come on,” you hissed. “What’s she trying to prove? She always gets like this when she knows I’m home.” A beat. “Tell me I don’t sound like that.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He just started kissing the side of your neck, slow and deliberate, his hand sneaking a little lower under the sheets.

“No, doll,” he murmured against your skin. “You sound so much better.” Another kiss, hotter now. “Prettier. Real.” His hand gripped your thigh and pulled it over his hip.

You squirmed, suddenly more awake, heat creeping up your cheeks.

He smirked. “Wanna put on a show of our own?”

You were about to swat him away, really, you were, but Bucky’s fingers were already sliding lower, finding that soft, puffy spot between your thighs, circling your clit with lazy precision. It wasn’t fair how practiced he was at this. How well he knew your body.

Your breath hitched, hips twitching back into him before you could stop yourself.

He snorted softly into your hair. “That’s it, sweetheart. Knew you’d warm up to the idea.”

You tried to sound annoyed. “I’m not trying to compete with her- ”

But your words dissolved into a soft gasp as one thick finger slipped inside you. The stretch made your back arch into him, thighs instinctively squeezing together around his hand.

“Oh, come on, beautiful,” Bucky drawled with a grin you could hear in his voice, “we can get you to do better than that.”

Your hand grabbed the edge of the blanket, already flushed with heat, trying not to give him the satisfaction. But then his thumb started stroking again, gentle, taunting circles on your clit, and your body betrayed you with a whimper.

“That’s better,” he cooed, finger curling just right. “Thought you said you don’t sound like her.” Another stroke. “But this? Baby, this is music.”

“Bucky- ” you tried to whisper a warning, but it broke apart halfway through, breath catching in your throat as he added a second finger, his arm tightening around your waist to hold you still while he played your body like a favorite song.

“Y’know,” he murmured into your neck, lips brushing your skin, “if she wants to perform, she should hear what a real show sounds like.”

His fingers plunged deeper, curling just so. You moaned, louder this time and Bucky groaned behind you, rutting his cock against your ass through his boxers, hard and throbbing.

“Fuck, that’s it. There’s my girl.”

He bit softly at your shoulder, then licked the spot to soothe it. “Think I could make you cry for me before she hits round four?”

You turned your head slightly, breathless and hot all over. “You’re awful.”

He grinned, kissing your cheek. “M’just competitive.”

“I think someone’s holding back…” Bucky murmured, voice all sweet mockery, hips grinding slow and deliberate into your ass while his fingers pumped inside you, unhurried but ruthless.

You whimpered, clutching the sheet with one hand and his metal wrist with the other, thighs trembling as he twisted just right, making your muscles clamp tight around his fingers.

“Ohh,” he laughed softly, low and warm in your neck. “There it is. That little clench- mm, yeah, you’re gettin’ close, huh?”

His thumb rolled over your clit in a tighter circle and your whole body jerked, a desperate moan catching in your throat.

You squeezed his wrist hard, but it wasn’t enough.

“Bucky- Buck, wait- no- ”

He knew what that meant. Knew you didn’t really want him to stop. That you were right on the edge. Which is exactly why he did.

He pulled his fingers out slow, wet and glistening, and you made a pitiful noise of protest that only made him smile wider.

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he said, already rolling you onto your back like you weighed nothing. “Don’t look at me like that.” He slotted himself between your thighs, pushing his boxers off. “You know I’m just tryin’ to help you live up to your potential.”

You glared up at him, flushed and needy, hips trying to chase his even before he lined himself up. But he didn’t push in right away. No, Bucky had to tease.

He ran his cock through your slick folds, tip dragging lazily up and down, tapping against your clit until your whole body twitched.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, voice suddenly tight. “You’re already soaked. It didn’t take much- never does with you.”

He held your hips still, teasing the head of his cock along your slick folds again before finally giving in, slow, steady, thick. The tip nudged at your entrance before gliding up and down to smear your wetness, until your hips arched up in silent plea.

Then, finally, he pressed in just the tip, thick, hot, stretching you just enough to make your breath leave your chest in a broken gasp.

You arched, clutching his bicep. “auhh- ”

Bucky grinned.

“Better.”

He pushed in another inch, then another, groaning at how tight you were around him, your body pulling him deeper with every inch.

“You gonna give me those pretty sounds now, doll?” he whispered, rolling his hips just so. “Or do I gotta work for ‘em?”

You didn’t even get the chance to answer.

Because that was when the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of Sam’s headboard started agai Harder this time. His girl’s voice climbed an octave, all high-pitched gasps and theatrical moaning, just shy of pornographic.

And then- fuck- you heard Sam.

A low groan, unmistakable.

You buried your face in Bucky’s shoulder with a miserable whine.

You were screwed now.

Even in the near-darkness of the room, you could feel Bucky’s expression change, could sense his tongue poke into his cheek, his jaw flexing as he stared at the wall like he was personally offended.

“Oh, hell no,” he growled, pulling his hips back and snapping them forward, burying his cock deep, all the way in, dragging a sudden, guttural cry out of you before you could stop it.

“Bucky- !”

“That’s better,” he grunted, hand sliding under your thigh, hitching your leg up so he could angle himself deeper. “You let them have their noise. You’re gonna sing for me now.”

He started to move, slow but powerful thrusts that punched little gasps from your throat with every roll of his hips. You clung to his shoulders, eyes wide, trying to hold back, but it was useless. Every thrust forced a sound from you, each one a little louder than the last, your body unraveling beneath his.

You were already soaked, already there, and the feeling of him dragging along every nerve-ending inside you made you tremble. He was so deep, so heavy inside you, his hips grinding with purpose, like he was sculpting those sounds out of you.

“Not gonna let ‘em win, baby,” he whispered, breath hot against your lips. “Gonna fuck you so good you forget your own name. Let her try to moan louder than you- I dare her.”

His metal hand gripped the headboard behind you for leverage, and you swore it was about to start banging against the wall too. The creak of the bed and slap of skin echoed through the room.

“Bucky, fuck- ”

“There we go,” he praised, fucking into you harder, rougher now, each thrust rocking you up the bed. “That’s my girl. Soundin’ so pretty for me.”

You moaned helplessly, arching into him, fingers digging into his skin, and he was relentless, devoted to making you cry out louder than whatever was happening on the other side of that wall.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” he groaned, dragging his cock out slowly before slamming it back in, harder than before. “That’s it, let them know how good we fit. Let them know who’s makin’ you feel like this.”

You tried to answer, tried to form anything like a thought but it all shattered as he slammed into you again, grinding deep, and your breath hitched into a needy, helpless cry.

Your fingers clutched the pillow beside your head. Your legs trembled. You could barely keep your eyes open.

“Bucky- ”

He growled low, loving the way you moaned, loving the way your body trembled under his. Every sound you made spurred him on, every breathless whimper, every little hitch of your hips. He was drinking you in like he’d starved for it, worshipping every flutter and squeeze you gave him.

The girl next door let out another dramatic scream, the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall, but all you could focus on was the way Bucky filled you, every inch of him, thick and hot and perfect inside you. The pressure of his cock dragged against that spot that made your spine bow, your thighs clenching around his hips instinctively.

Bucky grinned into your neck, not slowing. He fucked you through it- deliberate and deep, his hand sliding between you to circle your clit just to hear you sob again. The world was narrowed down to just the heat of your bodies and the slick slide of him inside you.

Nothing else mattered. Not the noise. Not the neighbors. Just the man above you, within you, around you, driving you out of your mind.

“That’s it, baby,” he panted, mouth against your throat. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you. Let her hear you.”

You did.

You couldn’t not.

He was grinding into your spot now with every thrust, dragging his cock against it until your toes curled and your nails scraped his back. Your moans started coming louder, broken, desperate, real. It wasn’t a performance. It was a surrender.

“Ohh, fuck, you feel good,” you sobbed, voice high and shaky.

Bucky’s head dropped, his breath stuttering. “God, you sound so good.”

His voice cracked slightly as he rutted into you, deeper and harder, his grip tightening on your hip. "Fuck, baby... you’re squeezin’ me so tight- keep that up and I’m not gonna last."

His mouth found yours, messy, hungry, claiming you completely as his hips snapped faster, harder, losing the rhythm as he chased both of your releases like he needed them to win. Like it was a goddamn competition now.

And maybe it was.

His chest was heaving, breath ragged, as he braced himself above you, each thrust more urgent, more desperate than the last. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, swallowing each other's whimpers and gasps as he fucked you through the mounting tension building between you.

You cried out into his mouth when he hit just right, your back arching off the mattress, thighs shaking around his waist. Your whole body tensed, every muscle winding tight like a wire ready to snap.

“There. There- fuck, baby, I’ve got you- let go,” he rasped, holding you tight, grinding deeper, determined to take you with him.

And then you broke.

Your orgasm ripped through you with devastating force, your mouth falling open as a high, raw moan spilled out, his name dragged from your throat again and again. Your walls fluttered around him, soaking him as your thighs quivered, toes curling tight.

Bucky wasn’t far behind.

“Shit- fuck,” he gasped, hips stuttering as your body milked him. “Gonna fill you up, baby- fuck- take it- ”

With a shuddering groan, he buried himself to the hilt, cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled, filling you with hot pulses. His muscles tensed, arms locked tight around you, and he stayed there, shaking against your chest while your bodies trembled together.

The bedframe finally banged once- twice- against the wall, a perfect echo of your cries, before stillness settled over you both. Bucky sagged against you, chest heaving, lips brushing your jaw as he caught his breath, his body pressed so close it felt like you were still one- joined and molten and weightless in the aftermath.

Both of you were drenched in sweat, your skin sticking where it touched, the heat of your bodies radiating between tangled limbs. Your heart pounded against his chest, and his matched it beat for beat, steady and grounding as your fingers lazily traced the back of his neck.

You clung to him, dazed and utterly spent, your body still humming with the ghost of your climax, little shudders twitching through your thighs. You let your cheek rest against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering shut, the silence around you ringing like an echo chamber of the storm you'd just ridden together.

You were both loud, breathless, fucked-out messes in the dark- hair mussed, voices hoarse, sheets soaked beneath you.

And you didn’t care.

You didn’t care if they heard.

Hell, you hoped they did. Let Sam and his girlfriend have their act.

You had something better. Something real.

Bucky was still inside you, his cock softening but not leaving you, like even his body refused to let go. He nuzzled your cheek, one arm wrapping more tightly around your back, the other brushing his fingers gently through your hair. A tender kiss pressed against your temple as the muffled sounds from next door finally gave way to silence.

“Think we won that one,” he murmured, smug and sleepy.

You let out a breathless laugh, still shaking a little. “Think we both lost our minds.”

His arms tightened around you, possessive and soft all at once. “Worth it.”

You tilted your head up, eyes meeting his in the dark. “Think we woke Alpine?”

He snorted, mouth curving into a tired grin. “Probably." 

You both chuckled quietly, your legs still wrapped around his hips, unwilling to break the closeness.

And then, in the stillness that followed, came the faintest sound, soft little wails starting up from the hallway. Mournful, high-pitched, and thoroughly dramatic.

“Speak of the devil...” you murmured against his shoulder.

Bucky huffed a laugh, burying his face in your hair. “Alpine’s filing a noise complaint.”

Neither of you said anything else after that. You didn’t need to. Not until you both heard the telltale noise of the little queen scratching at the door. 

[dilfluvrgirllxoxo]

temptation - o.t

summary: your youth pastor, owen, finds himself outside of your cabin window at summer camp, even though he knows it’s wrong.

pairings: darkish!owen taylor x fem!reader

warnings: reader is of age!! i was imagining 18-19 but honestly you do you, slight degradation (owens thoughts go crazy), voyeurism (reader isn’t aware), masturbation, owen lowkey gives joe goldberg vibes, teeny little corruption kink, id say he’s out of character but he’s not really…?

A/N: this was so rushed and is lowkey terrible but i needed to write it because the idea would NOT leave my mind

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owen doesn’t know how he ended up here, he really doesn’t. he was walking through the trees, on his way back to his cabin because he finally finished choosing verses to go over tomorrow, when something, no, someone, made him stop in his tracks.

he heard something coming from your cabin, loud, shaky breaths. normally, if it was any other day, owen would pretend he didn’t see it and just carry on walking, but for some reason he couldn’t. his feet stayed planted on the muddy ground, concern beginning to creep into his head. what if you were in pain? he couldn’t have his best helper hurt, right?

after what felt like an eternity, he finally managed to get himself to move, shuffling over to the side of your cabin, peeking in through the slightly open curtain. it’s okay, he kept telling himself, it’s okay, you’re just making sure she’s okay. but when he focused his eyes to the dim light in your room and saw what he did. owen knew he was done for. he knew that he should walk away from this sin, this depravity that he was witnessing, he was your pastor for crying out loud!

but even as he reminded himself how wrong, how disgusting this was, he found himself inching closer to the window, getting a better glimpse into your room.

he let out a groan at the sight before him, you, shirt pushed up over your tits, hair stuck to your forehead, fingers in your pussy as you shifted your face to the pillow to muffle your sounds. who knew his favourite church girl was actually just a little slut? what in the world? why was he thinking like this? he shook his head, trying to tear his eyes away from you.

he told himself it was the devil, that satan himself had to have been tempting him, keeping him stood here to test his faith. but really? he knew it wasn’t the devil, it was the hand he had wrapped around his cock as he watched you.

he kept telling himself it was against his ways, that it was wrong even as he tugged at his aching cock. but all those thoughts came to an end when he heard you, crying out loudly and babbling a ‘ ‘m cummin’, owen, fuck!’

and holy shit, the fact that you thought about him when you were knuckle deep in your cunt? that was enough to push him over the edge, his fist coming up to rest on the wooden wall as he came into his hand with a strangled moan.

he quickly tucked himself back into his jeans and took one last glance at you before he walked away, already planning the next time he’d ‘accidentally’ see you. he’ll take a video next time. not only so he can get himself off when he’s alone but so he can blackmail you, corrupt you into being his good little bitch whether you like it or not…so what if he loses his faith in the process?

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[beast3end]

Hey if it's not too much to ask may I please request a part 2 of the Happy birthday, My dear Fic? Like the aftermath of what happened to the reader when the Virtues corrupted and after the corruption after all the souljam was split in two by the witches

With love, your best friend

Summary: You were with them when they were first baked. You were with them when more and more cookies followed them. You've seen their beginning, and naturally you'll see their end. Right? Characters: platonic!shadow milk & reader; platonic!burning spice & reader; platonic!mystic flour & reader; platonic!eternal sugar & reader. WC: 3k CW: gn!reader; there may be mistakes in the text because English is not my native language; Virtue calls you by an affectionate nickname ("My angel" - eternal sugar; "Dear/Sweet" - shadow milk) (mystic flour does not call you by an affectionate nickname, because she treats you respectfully and politely) (Burning Spice's only affectionate nickname is "Splinter"); a small mention of the missing limbs in the Flour part. A/N: Not exactly what you asked for, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! (I made a bet with my friends that nobody wouldn't ask me for the second part. I lost, haha!)

Shadow Milk:

You're sure it's your fault.

It was so absurd. Who would have thought that Shadow Milk would be attacked? It only lasted a second, but it felt like an eternity to you. The head, now severed from the body, rolled across the floor as panic and turmoil began in the room. The screams merged into a solid white noise, but you clearly heard the words of the attacker: "Liar! You are the worst liar in the world!" Fortunately, cookie does not have time to escape in the confusion, and the guards detain them.

You can only thank Witches that Virtues are immortal. It would take anyone else's life, but Shadow Milk is fine. It's difficult to control his body, you stumble and even fall, but you get to the head of the Fount of Knowledge. Crossing his legs on the floor, you take his head in his hands.

"Shadow, how are you feeling?" "I… don't know. I don't understand. Did I do something wrong? Why did they call me a liar…?" "That's okay, Shadow. I'm at a loss too. Sometimes cookies… They may misunderstand what we teach them. Or cling to the teaching that we taught them before, until there are changes and a new discovery. But such a reaction is abnormal." "So I'm not a liar?" "Shadow, you're a Virtue of Knowledge. Knowledge is not a lie, but it is not the absolute truth either. Not black and not white. Knowledge is always teetering somewhere on the edge. We should accept this situation as an unpleasant experience and be more careful. I don't think anyone else would think of attacking you, but you should be more attentive to others, okay?"

Perhaps if you had chosen other words at that moment, everything would have been different. Perhaps instead of talking about your nature and giving advice, you should have supported Shadow Milk. Hug his head while you had the chance and cheer him up. Don't leave him thinking.

These changes occurred slowly and smoothly. You didn't even notice what was happening, not really interested in the outside world and the rest of the cookies outside the learning framework. But one day something made you come out of your shell.

"What in the name of Witches did you just say?" "Is something wrong, dear?" "You lied to them. The Garden of sweet Delights is located in a completely different direction. There's… there's a swamp! They're going to die!" "Did I lie? Oh, darling, your words hurt me so much! It's just a little social experiment." "Ex-xperiment?" "Right~! Don't worry, one of my students, Black Sapphire, will be waiting for them at the border, remember that one? He will stop them from acting rashly." "If you say so…"

But time passes. You catch yourself thinking that this experiment is still spinning somewhere in the back of your mind. There was something wrong with him, but you couldn't figure out what it was. Until the news reaches both of you: cookies have been found in the swamp. Not a single survivor.

Something snaps in you. This realization is so stupid that you feel like you're cracking. And what was the essence of the experiment? You didn't ask yourself that question, trusting Shadow Milk. Emotions overwhelm you so much that it even affects Shadow Milk—the tears flowing from the heterochrome eyes were yours, not his.

From that moment on, he stopped hiding his inclinations. Manipulation, lies… one day he started a rumor in some kingdom and a civil war broke out there. Instead of exploring the world and teaching cookies to explore this very world, the one you loved most in the world caused disasters.

"Come on, Sweet!" Shadow Milk reaches out to you, but you remain silent. Only timid tears sometimes blur his view of the splendor of the carnage caused by his words. "Open your eyes to the truth: for too long we have been led by fools who did not want to listen! They're just getting what they wanted so badly!"

Truth. Lie. Knowledge that balances on the edge of these two concepts. Your precious, best Virtue has been corruption, and so have you. You can no longer bring knowledge into this world with him...

"Don't you dare!" Cornered, shaking with rage, Shadow Milk covered your body with his palm, squeezing it so hard that if you were an ordinary jewel, you would have broken long ago. "I won't let you take my soul jam!"

But there's nowhere to run. Forks block the escape routes, and the Witch of Life, your creator, stretches out her palms to you.

You feel like you're cracking. Now, not figuratively, but literally. It hurts like hell. But it's so peaceful in the hands of a Witch...

If the situation were different, you would have laughed. You should congratulate Shadow Milk: You've changed your mind! As he wanted, you will no longer remain neutral.

You're two halves of the same whole, right? You complement him, and he complements you.

And if it has become a Deceit, then you will become the Truth.

Eternal Sugar:

You were doubtless blind to many of the changes in Sugar of Happiness.

It doesn't seem so bad: instead of waiting for the new residents of the Garden of Sweet Delights to arrive, she goes to look for them herself. The lyre in her hands sounds sweet and soothing, luring tired cookies. They fall asleep right at her feet. You ring softly when her hands gently touch these poor cookie, gently and tenderly.

"The happiness for cookies is such a fragile thing," Sugar of Happiness sings thoughtfully one day, contemplating the night view of the Garden. "They so easily throw it away for the sake of some trivial things, exposing themselves to pain and suffering, right, my angel?"

You're not really sure what to say to that. Mortal cookies fascinated you: no matter what happened, no matter what pain they endured, there were always those among them who stubbornly got up and went to their goal. It didn't matter that it was a goal — it could be something great, or it could be insignificant.

But you still say, "Yes, Sugar of Happiness". Because it was she, Bringer of Happiness, who was the one who had to instill this happiness into other people's hearts by any means. Your mission is not to let the spark go out in her heart.

The inhabitants of the Garden of Sweet Delights are slowly becoming different. Sometimes you're surprised to see how the one who cared the most about flowers sleeps in the sunlight. Another who could knead dough from morning to night to bake sweets and distribute the rest of the cookies did the bare minimum to eat everything himself.

There were smiles on their faces, weak and lazy, as if woven from dreams and lyre melodies. You think they look weird, like they're drunk, but it's okay, right? Sugar of Happiness is trying so hard to persuade everyone else to the same lifestyle. Perhaps, you think, this is one of the forms of happiness.

Therefore, those who try to escape from the Garden are strange. Poor, unhappy, lost cookies, Sugar of Happiness hugs one of them as if they were just fragile porcelain. The wings enclose their wounded body in a snow-white cocoon.

It doesn't matter that they return to the Garden in such a state because of the Sugar of Happiness. All their cracks can be repaired: sweet honey will fill their chips and in the light of the bright sun these cookies will shine again like the most beautiful of treasures. It's just a little lesson that it's dangerous outside!

Isn't that right?

Sugar of Happiness will never do anything that would be truly terrible towards others. There are still fresh moments in your memory when the Virtues parted and only you remained with her. A young, inexperienced cookie who was looking for her own ways to make others happy.

…maybe you're a little biased. But you can't be blamed for that. Each of the soul jams is biased, whether they want to admit it or not.

But at some point it became simply impossible to close my eyes. The garden became… quiet. Serene. The notes stopped. The grass, which had been heavily crushed under someone else's feet in the rhythm of the dance, recovered. The loud laughter turned into a blissful giggle in the wind.

Isn't that wrong?

But you don't say anything.

"Happiness is such a fragile thing, isn't it, my angel?" Yes, you think it's always much easier to break than to create.

You're a lousy Happiness.

"For what?!" shouts Sugar of Happiness, clinging to the forks. Tears flow from her eyes, blurring the view of the Witch of Light, and her body trembles slightly. "I'm not like them! I didn't do anything wrong! I did everything for the mission that you assigned me!.. Why?! The cookies are happy!"

You couldn't even save her heart.

Now you realize that you have not been able to cope with your role as a guiding light. Sugar of Happiness got lost on a path that you couldn't light up for her. Instead, you hid in the curls of her hair, shimmered between her fingers, giving her the right to decide everything alone.

It's all your fault. That's why you decide to sing. For the last time. This is your little apology.

"What are you trying to do… no! Don't you dare! Don't take my angel!"

And your attempt to say goodbye.

You sing until Sugar of Happiness voice disappears into the noise; until her heart, thrashing in fear and agony, stops.

Even at the very end, you couldn't give her any comfort.

Happiness is such a fragile thing. And you're so clumsy for that. You just hope that next time… You can protect the next heart better. Perhaps not as happiness, but as passion, something that mortals have taught you. Something that the old you couldn't exist without.

It's a pity that you realized this so late.

Mystic Flour:

You couldn't tell her anything. Not after that.

You knew that time passes differently for mortals. They are born, grow up and die — it's such a fast process. One has only to distract oneself, as the youngest of the temple servants become easily crumbled old men. You knew that when Mystic Flour decided to retire into a cocoon, there probably wouldn't be a single familiar face around.

That's why you're not at all surprised by the crowd of unfamiliar cookies. What you're surprised about is this rude way of interrupting Mystic Flour's privacy. The sight of the temple servants, crumbled into crumbs, pierced with pitchforks, and some even missing body parts, makes you feel sick.

Madness. The new generation, who have never seen Mystic Flour, must have gone crazy!

"It's… not a treasure, is it?" an uncertain whisper sounds between the residents.

Your Mystic Flour is the best of treasures! Unfortunately, you're smart enough to know that's not what they mean. Maybe gold and jewelry. You know, there are things that modest and ascetic temples are famous for.

Mystic Flour is silent. You can see her slender fingers digging into the chocolate tile of the floor, scratching the surface. Her hands are shaking a little. Was your soft, kind, timid Mystic Flour… scared?

"Her looks like an ordinary cookie" "But why was her in a cocoon?" "Oh, I know, I know! Grandma told me that this temple used to be run by a cookie who could grant wishes!" "It's even better than a treasure, the harvest this season was so poor."

Absolute disrespect!

"Mystic Flour, we should… Mystic Flour?" You speak first, but then you realize you've been isolated. You do not hear the thoughts of your Virtue, nor do you catch the echoes of her feelings. You reach out to her, but you run into a barrier separating you from her.

At the same time, Mystic Flour does what you least expect it to do — it turns the inhabitants into flour. It's a fast, painful process in which cookies start coughing up flour. Panic is rising. You can clearly hear someone shouting, "She's a demon!"

This day breaks something inside the Mystic Flour.

She doesn't get in touch with you either the next day or the following days. What an irony: You, who contacted her only when necessary, could only watch in silence now.

Because Mystic Flour will never answer you again.

The White Plague is destroying one kingdom after another. Unlike that day, it's a little… more merciful. Cookies turn to flour more slowly, more painlessly… But you can see their tired, scared faces when Mystic Flour is next to them in their last seconds of life.

You think Mystic Flour is still the same kind, soft cookie it used to be. It's just hidden somewhere deep inside, crushed by debris. But there's nothing you can do. You don't decide anything here.

When the Witch of Life traps them all, you only look at the Mystic Flour. She holds you in her palms, runs her fingers over the frames. But she still won't let you get close. Is she saying goodbye to you?

"I was never able to protect you. I'm sorry."

Perhaps the volition is too high and heavy an ideal. You've already seen how cookies break trying to withstand it. And if so… You should take a step back. To become something more mundane, something more attainable. Perhaps the Resolution won't push so hard?

It's a pity that for the sake of this realization you had to watch the self-destruction of someone you loved so much.

Burning Spice:

You've been trying to fight him almost from the beginning.

When he breaks the table in anger, you don't pay much attention to it. When he irritatingly shrugs off words of gratitude and gifts cookies, which he protected once again, you don't pay attention. When he doesn't respond to your teasing, you still don't pay attention to it.

But at one point it becomes simply impossible to ignore what is happening.

It was a routine training session. Sparring sessions. Burning Spice is so strong that it is impossible to fight one-on-one with him, so more than ten Wild Spices come out against him. You always follow the process closely — through Burning Spice, you give advice to his young soldiers. But today… something was wrong today.

The once peaceful surface of Burning Spice's emotions began to distort due to the ripples. The longer he sparred, the more and more excited he became. He had never been careful with his subordinates, but this was even worse.

The moment he raises the parashu over his head, a wall of earth is erected in front of the defenseless soldier of Wild Spices. Burning Spice just doesn't have time to react and the blade of the weapon gets stuck right in the barrier.

"May the witch put you in the oven again! What were you trying to do just now?!" you shout so loudly that Burning Spice winces from a headache. He snorts: "Just trying to teach them a lesson." "You almost killed them, you idiot!" "So what?"

Such an indifferent, casual answer shocks you. If you were a cookie, you'd be gasping for air with your eyes wide open. But you're not a cookie, so your shock turns to rage in an instant. She burns in Burning Spice's chest more fiercely than the fire in the furnace of the Witch of Life. Rubbing the place where you rest, he feels interest flare up in him, unnoticed by you.

Things get even worse after that day.

He single—handedly destroys an entire kingdom- what was once a small village that sheltered Burning Spice when the Virtues scattered all over the Beast-Yeast. The kingdom that he protected and nurtured with his own hands. The kingdom near which his very first temple was built. The cookies of this kingdom are so weak and fragile, so defenseless. After all, the wall behind which they had been hiding for generation after generation began to crumble inward.

It would hardly have pleased him.… But your attempts to protect others were so funny! You can't even fight against him—you have no arms, no legs, you have nothing but the bits of strength that you both inherited from the witches. Burning Spice thinks it's a fair deal — he uses only his body and weapons, while you, deprived of them, use the powers of witches against him.

"One hundred and seven," he thinks, turning the unfortunate resident into a crumb. "How many have you protected? I think it's sixty-seven, right?" You don't answer. The chapel nearby cracks and howls, but Burning Spice easily dodges the falling arrows and cuts one of the numbers with one blow. At the edge of my consciousness, he hear your disappointed clucking.

The old temples are emptying — no wonder, you think. Who would want to follow a mad Herald of Change? But very little time passes and little by little the temple comes to life again. Madmen, you think, sometimes seeing familiar faces in the crowd.

"I think I should say thank you," Burning Spice grins, standing in the center of a once prosperous, peaceful city. "You were once the one who tried to make me stronger in order to protect me. And now you're the one who can only flutter around trying to help others. It would be unimaginably boring without you!"

These words devastate you. You're almost ready to give up.… But you still try to resist him — even if it's useless, even if all your attempts are in vain.

Regret bubbles up somewhere inside you when you see the devastated and destroyed settlements. You want to imagine how carefree children run around here, how the market buzzes and whistles from the fervent laughter of the townspeople. How cookies live peacefully, not worrying about tomorrow, thriving in a happy routine. But all you see is fire, despair, and pain. What was once a natural cycle of change has become nauseatingly disgusting to you.

…so when a fork pierces Burning Spice, pinning him to the ground, you laugh. You're laughing so loud that Burning Spice can't even hear Sugar of Happiness and Shadow Milk's screams. Your laughter, full of despair, disorients him; you vibrate and hum in his chest so much that there are even small cracks around you. You don't hear him hissing, his fingers digging into the ground. You're laughing, even when you're shuddering in pain!

Never. You've had enough. You don't want to see death and pain anymore. Perhaps when you find yourself back in someone's arms, you will be able to see a kingdom full of abundance and a carefree world. You will save this kingdom, even if you have to stop time itself for it.

Just to spite him.

[lvrsturniolo]

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 -c.s

In which... You get in yet another fight with your boyfriend Matt, so you finally walk out—but before you can leave, his brother, Chris, decides to show you who the better brother is.

warnings: cheating(no). toxic relationship mention. SMUT. unprotected p in v(no). creampie. oral(f!receiving). fingering. nasty nasty.

The sound of the door slamming shook the middle floor with a thud.

You stood in Matt’s bedroom, arms crossed tight against your chest like it would protect you from his words.

“You’re so fucking sensitive. Every time we argue, you act like I’m the villain.”

He was pacing, voice low but sharp as a knife.

“You don’t listen. You don’t get me. I can’t keep doing this shit.”

You blinked fast, trying to keep the tears at bay, but your throat was already closing. “Matt… I’m just trying to understand you. I love you.”

He scoffed. “Then stop acting like I’m the bad guy all the fucking time. Jesus— I-i mean sometimes I just wish I never fucking met you.”

That twisted the knife deep. Your eyes stung, and your chest caved in like your ribs had turned brittle. For what felt like the thousandth time this week— you realized you were begging someone who didn’t care to try.

“I’m leaving,” you whispered, voice cracking. You stepped back, then turned to the door. “You won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

He didn’t stop you. He didn’t chase after you. He didn’t even call out for you to come back this time.

Your feet thudded down the stairs, one hand bracing the wall, the other wiping hot tears from your cheeks. You reached the bottom floor, already reaching for the front door when a small,“Y/N?”, pulled you from your thoughts.

Chris’s door creaked open, revealing him in sweats and a tank top, barefoot, eyes wide. His voice was soft but held a serious tone. “Hey… what happened?”

You froze. He’d obviously heard it—everyone in the house had. But his tone wasn’t judgmental.

You choked out a sob and shook your head, lowering it like you were ashamed to be caught crying. “I—I can’t—I can’t do this anymore.”

“Come here,” he said, voice low and coaxing. “Come here, baby.” You were crying so hard the nickname didn’t even register in your mind.

He made his way to you quickly, arms wrapping around you, pulling you against his warm chest. You let out a muffled cry into his shoulder, fists clinging to his shirt like it was the holding you stable.

He backed into his room with you in his arms and kicked the door shut.

“You don’t deserve that shit,” he whispered.

You collapsed onto his bed with him, knees tangled, his hand rubbing up and down your spine. His touch was comforting, but underneath it was something else too— like a heat coiling low.

He tipped your chin up to look at him. “You know that, right? He’s an asshole to you.”

Your throat tightened. “I keep thinking he’ll get better— like he used to be. Maybe m’jus too much.”

Chris’s jaw flexed. “No. S’not you. He doesn’t have a clue about how fucking lucky he is.

You searched his face. He was closer now. Closer than he should be— closer than Matt would ever allow.

“He let you walk out crying,” Chris murmured. “Y’know I’d never make you feel alone. I’d never let you go to bed upset.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Chris…” you’d been well aware of the boys feelings towards you, you knew exactly what he was doing, but maybe letting him wouldn’t be so bad after all. I mean, he’s always been here for you— and the way he’s looking at you right now makes your stomach twist into knots.

His fingers brushed your cheek. “Let me show you how it’s supposed to feel.”

Your lips parted just as his met them. It started soft, slow, like he was testing the waters—but when you didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, tilting his head and sliding his tongue against yours. His hand found your thigh, gripping gently as the other cupped your cheek.

You gasped into him.

“I’ve wanted to touch you for so long,” he whispered against your lips. “Every time I hear the arguing— I think about how I’d treat you. What I’d do to you.”

You whimpered, fingers curling into his shirt.

“Take this off f’me,” he said softly, tugging at your top.

You peeled it off slowly, nipples pebbling in the cool air. His eyes dropped to your chest like he was starved.

“Fuck,” he breathed, brushing a thumb over one of the hardened nubs. “So fucking pretty.”

He kissed down your throat, then lower—his tongue warm as it dragged across your skin, mouth closing around your nipple while you gasped and arched into him.

“Tell me you what you want,” he said, voice strained as he tugged your shorts down. “Say it, baby.”

“I w-want you, Chris,” you moaned. “I want you so bad.”

Your panties were soaked, sticking to your cunt, and when he peeled them down, he groaned.

“Oh, baby.” he muttered. “Look at you. Fucking dripping.”

He pressed two fingers through your folds, collecting the slick and spreading it up to circle your clit. You jolted, moaning. He leaned down, breath hot on your center.

“Can I taste you?” he asked, eyes flicking up.

You nodded frantically, as his mouth lowered onto you.

His tongue lapped at your cunt before he wrapped his lips around your clit— a deep groan bubbling through his chest— the vibration sending ripples through your entire body.

Your hips rocked against his face, whimper after whimper spilling out of your mouth. “Chris—fuck, fuck, that- mmm-feels so good.”

He pulled back just long enough to smile, “You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

You nodded frantically. “Please—I’m so close, I—”

He latched back on, tongue relentless, as you came on his mouth with a loud cry, thighs clamping around his head. He rode it out, humming against your cunt, licking you clean like you were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

When he crawled up your body, his mouth was slick, his lips shiny.

“You taste so sweet,” he growled. “Fuck if I was Matt, I’d be eating this pretty pussy every night.” He mumbles before pressing a kiss to your mouth, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He pulled his sweats and boxers down just enough to free himself, a gasp almost falling from your lips at the sight of his cock—long and thick— beads of precum collecting from his tip.

“You still want this baby?” he asked, voice lower now.

“Yes,” you whimpered, reaching for him. “Please— need you t’fuck me.”

He groaned. “Say that again.”

“I want you to fuck me, Chris.”

He kissed you hard, lining himself up, running his tip through your soaked folds.

“Shiiit sweetheart… you’re so wet,” he murmured. “Gonna slide right into this pretty pussy.”

And it did— his cock pushing into your sopping cunt inch by inch, your walls stretching around him— trying to adjust to his size. You moaned at the fullness, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Chris—!” you gasped, “you feel so—fuck—you feel so good.”

He slowly pulls back before pushing back in— slow but deep— grinding into you with each stroke. His forehead pressed to yours, breath heavy.

“Can’t believe matt doesn’t touch you like this instead of arguing with you,” he growled. “I’d always be— oh fuck— always be in this tight fucking cunt.”

You whimpered under him, legs wrapping around his waist. “No one’s ever m-made me feel like this.”

He picked up the pace, hips slapping against yours roughly. “No? M’gonna ruin you for him. For anyone else. Gonna fuck you so good you’ll never wanna go back.”

His hand slid between your bodies again, rubbing fast circles into your clit as he pounded into you.

“Let go for me, pretty,” he whispered. “Cum on my cock like a good girl.”

The knot that’d been forming in your stomach finally snapped as you shattered with a scream, walls clenching tight around him as your orgasm ripped through you. He groaned deep, hips stuttering.

“Fuuuckfuckfuck, baby— squeezin’ around me so good. I’m gonna cum—where do you want it? Tell me baby, cmon.. you got it— be a good girl n’ tell me where you want me.”

“Inside!” you moaned. “Please— please Chris! Fill me u-up!”

That pushed him over the edge.

His thrusts grow sloppy and uneven. Deep grunts spilling from his lips as he stills— hips pressed all the way to yours as his cock swells and he paints your walls white, hot and thick inside your pulsing cunt.

He collapses over you, peppering kisses on your neck, shoulder, then your lips.

“I’ve got you now, baby” he whispered. “And m’not letting you go back to him— never wanna hear you cry again.”

A/N: so so sorry for not posting recently, ive been really busy, but im trying to get my posting schedule back to normal!!

🏷️: @emely9274 @courta13 @sturniolo-szn2 @chrislover696969 @slvt4chriss @ivysturnss @riasturns @auttysturnz @lezleeferguson-120 @tezzzzzzzz @iloveduckssm @conspiracy-ash @mattslipfast

[solarstranger]

a/n. i really don't know where i'm going with this, y'all. but getting to role-play as a therapist (my dream job lol) and explore bakugou's psyche has been lots of fun, so bear with me. (1.1k)

navigation. part 1, part 2, (you are here)

“n-no.”

at that, the woman’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing underneath her fringe. “no?”

“you heard me,” bakugou spits instinctively, immediately regretting how hostile that sounded not even a second later. “i mean, no, i didn’t.”

his therapist, apparently unfazed by his show of aggression—she must’ve gotten used to it by now, although he still feels bad when he gets testy—only jots something down in her clipboard before looking back up at him, an inexplicable expression etched across her features.

“do you have any ideas, then, why, for the first time in seemingly forever, you’re fixating on a particular social encounter?”

bakugou barely manages to bite back a scowl.

he hates it—this part. the part where his psychologist obviously has theories as to why he’s acting a certain way or how he’s actually feeling but chooses to ask him instead, in an attempt to draw it out of him.

as if talking about difficult shit in the first place isn’t already painful enough.

and isn’t that what he’s paying her to do? give him answers? why’d he have to be the one to wrack his brain for uncomfortable answers to uncomfortable questions?

“do you?” he then challenges, emboldened by that train of thought just now.

“yes,” she responds truthfully and without missing a beat it somewhat surprises him. “but as i’ve explained to you before, i think it’ll be helpful for you if we try a more active approach on your end so that any insights gleaned from our discussions become more personalized and stick with you longer.”

well, then. fuck.

the lady’s got a point.

“so,” she continues when he doesn’t reply, annoyingly aware her little spiel got to him, “any ideas? working hypotheses?”

“uh,” he starts begrudgingly, eyes roving over the bookshelves lining the room’s walls as he struggles to come up with another angle. then it dawns on him, and he looks directly at the woman. “i didn’t expect to see someone in here, and when i did, it caught me off guard.”

“that may be because most of our clients opt for virtual consultations rather than face-to-face ones.”

“yeah,” he piles on quickly, admittedly thankful for the validation, and for the fact. the absolute last thing he needs is to bump into some extras before and after therapy. “that must be why.”

“but how does that explain your, and i quote, ‘dumb as shit reaction’?”

bakugou instantly feels himself flame. he clears his throat, “i told you, didn’t i? it caught me off guard. how the fuck did you expect me to react?”

that must’ve been a reasonable point, thank the fuck, because the woman pauses in thought before nodding slowly. “i suppose you’re right.”

he narrowly bites back an of course, i am.

but then she’s spouting off again.

“although it’s interesting to me how your immediate reaction was to say hi, when that’s not really…how should i say, your style, based on our prior sessions and your personality test results.”

a pause.

bakugou scrambles for a bulletproof rebuttal. he comes up short.

the lady cocks her head to the side, curious. “how often would you say you mull over social blunders?”

never, he thinks to himself. because they never happen.

“i figured as much,” comes her unexpected reply, and only then does it dawn on him that he said the last bit out loud.

“can we talk about something else?” he finds himself suddenly asking, totally over this entire conversation. he can worry about being a loser and pathetically begging for an out some other time. right now, he just needs a break.

“actually, you’re in luck,” she checks her smartwatch, “the session’s just about to end.”

at that, his shoulders almost instantly sag in relief, which makes the woman laugh. he shoots her a half-hearted glare.

they spend the next few minutes summarizing what has been discussed, as well as the arrangements for the following weeks, with bakugou eventually throwing his bag over his shoulders and bidding her a mumbled goodbye. he tosses her a nod over his shoulder as he crosses the threshold of her office, mind already drifting to what he’s going to cook himself for dinner.

and that, for a typical session, he’s walking out relatively unscathed.

but then he does the stupid thing of looking up from where he was studying his trainers when a door creaks open, and he freezes.

because standing a few feet away from him, right beside the entrance to the restroom, is you, equally frozen.

he doesn’t know how much time passes with him just staring at you like a motherfucking idiot, and you, strangely enough, peering at him back, but it’s you who eventually takes a hammer to the silence.

“h-hi,” you offer, voice soft and quiet, just like how he vaguely remembers it from two weeks ago.

“hey,” comes his gruff reply, which would’ve been immediately followed by a wince at how rough his tone was just now had he not stopped himself in the nick of time.

at least he didn’t stutter.

“…b-bakugou, right?” you ask after a moment of neither of you saying anything, confirming his earlier suspicions.

“right.”

you nod, a polite yet somehow stilted smile on your face, and suddenly he’s mentally slapping himself. since when was he fucking bound to one-word sentences?

he decides then and there that this shit won’t do.

in an attempt to convince himself that no, this is just a weird outlier of an encounter for him, and that no, he’s not a fucking idiot like dunce face, and that yes, he is and is being perfectly fucking normal, he resolves to ask you for your name.

and he was just about to do that—he swears he was—when someone from the other side of the door calls out a name, and you whip to face their direction, breaking eye contact.

“yes, doc!” you holler back, and he watches you as you hesitate in place for a second, before turning to face him with an awkward smile.

“nice meeting you, bakugou-san.”

and then you’re off and shutting the door behind you.

he stands there for what feels like a few minutes, just blinking at the door in front of him, what must be your name echoing—again and again—up to the far recesses of his mind.

then: fuck.

he may or may not have just lied to his therapist.

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[loceiswhereyouleastexpectit]

Soon enough - Chapter 6

Word count - 1.7K

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: Guys idk how some of these writers be putting out like 9k stories a day. This already felt like a lot for me. Sorry for the slow pace. I just like to give my heart to every scene. Hope you like it. LMK IF YOU HAVE IDEAS PLEASE!

Chapter 6 

Azzi POV

Once Azzi showered and got herself looking somewhat put together, throwing on one of Paige’s hoodies and jeans, she decided to head back to her room. She always had a habit of taking Paiges clothes, they just fit her better, felt better than her own, but mostly, they smelled like Paige. A thick aroma of vanilla and soap masked the clothes, making the girl feel warmth every time she wore them.

Their rooms were only a few doors away but as she approached her hotel room, there was already an abundance of noise coming from it. She noticed the door was unlocked. As she opened the door the first thing she saw was her agent, pacing up and down, clearly just as stressed out as Azzi. 

“Azzi where have you been, I have been calling you,” Azzi realized her phone had been dead for some time now and never got the opportunity to charge it. 

“Im so so sorry, I was just in Paiges room Maria, everything is ok. We still have so much time. If Paige isn’t getting ready yet then why should I?” Azzi claimed, trying to make sense of the situation. 

“Azzi, you dont understand, there’s so much we have to do, your hair, god thats already gonna take three hours, everyone is waiting for you, come on,” her agent said. 

“OK, im here.” Azzi sat down in the chair and immediately was surrounded by three women, already detangling and washing her hair. 

A few moments passed and she heard a few knocks on the door, hopefully it was someone to calm her down. 

Caroline and KK walked through the door, still in there sweats, clearly not close to being ready for the night. 

“HEYYYYYYY, whose ready for the biggest night of our lives!!!!!” KK exclaimed, clearly excited for her best friend. 

“Hey guys, why aren’t you getting ready?.” Azzi questioned. 

“Girly pop, we aren’t the ones sitting front and center with the star herself, we got more than enough time”. KK said. 

“How you feeling?” Caroline asked, already feeling Azzi’s nerves. 

“Im ok, I meann, look at me, clearly im not ready and idk if Paige is even back yet. I just feel uneasy.” Azzi finished almost feeling out of breath. 

“Azzi, you are gonna look beautiful as always. Don’t stress” Carol said. 

“Its not about that, its about Paige I guess” Azzi admitted, already feeling watched by the two girls.

“OK real talk” KK said, both girl sitting down on Azzi’s bed, “Your girl, she’s leaving, we all know it, are we all sad to see her go, ofc we are, she’s our star. But just enjoy it, enjoy her, because I know once she gets on that plane, there are gonna be some things you will regret not doing or saying, so just live these next few days with zero regrets, that’s all you can do for yourself.”

“And, imagine how Paige feels, she’s going to a new city, with people she doesn’t know, building a new life with a new organization. All she wants is comfort from her best friend, so thats all she needs from you.” Caroline finished. 

Azzi thought for a second, “best friend…, do you think thats all I mean to her?” Azzi asked both girls, trying to share some of what she had been feeling these last few months. 

KK and Caroline immediately stared at each other, knowing where this was going, however, they decided to play dumb. 

“Girl what do you mean?” KK asked.

“It’s just idk, sometimes, recently, Paige she just gives me different feelings. Like when we cuddle sometimes, I just feel different. It’s not how it used to be. At least not always. I mean yes she’s still my best friend, but I can’t help but notice how undeniably beautiful she is, especially fresh in the morning. I mean it's hard sometimes, the lines between friendship and more get a little blurry when I think too much about it. About her”. Azzi had been so lost in thought she didn’t even realize how her friends were looking at her. Even the women, brushing her hair, had stopped for a second. 

Caroline broke the silence.“Azzi, you guys clearly aren't just ‘best friends’. I mean look at it this way, who asks there best friend to be at there table. Literally no one, she had so many people to ask but she choose you. YOU. Not her dad, or drew or her mom. You. So, what does that say about your bond, its clearly more than a friendship”. 

“Carol, but how do you think she feels.”

“Azzi, no one can know how she feels for sure besides her, but the real question is how do you feel?”

And just as those last words left Caroline’s mouth the blonde walked in. Grey hoodie swallowing her thin frame and grey sweats. She had two bags of food in her hand, the scent filling up the room, making Azzi’s stomach grumble. 

“Oh, Hey guys, didn’t know you all would be here, would have brought more food,” Paige said looking at KK and Caroline. The her attention turned to Azzi. “I texted you but you didn't respond but I brought you a salad, I know you get nervous before big things like this, but if you want something heavier you can have some of my Canes.”

All eyes were now on Paige. Everyone could see her kindness for the younger girl. 

“Thanks Paige” Azzi said softly. But just as she was about to say something else, her agent walked back into the room. 

“Paige don’t you have to get ready? It’s your big day.”

“Nah, I got time, ill chill with Azzi for a bit.” Paige said, knowing she actually didn’t have time and her own agent would be hunting her down soon enough. 

“Well” said Carol, “we'll get out of your hair, literally”, pointing at the tangled mess of Azzi’s curls. “See you guys later ok” said said pulling KK away from Paige’s food, already attempting to steal a fry. “UH fine, have fun guys, you gonna kill it Paige” KK said, but just before Caroline and KK left the room Caroline whispered to Azzi, “not all best friends do all this, just saying”.

Azzi cheeks were a little flushed out of embarrassment. As the two left the room, it was just Piage and Azzi, Paige giving Azzi a confused look as she sat down in a chair. 

“What carol say?” The blonde asked. 

“Nothing nothing, she’s just being a smartass.”

“Right, sure. How’d you sleep, you were knocked when I left.”

Azzi gulped, “Fine.”

Paige got up from her seat and gave her her food, “Here eat”. She’s always taking care of me. 

“Im not that hungry, maybe later.”

“You sure, I know you get cranky.”

“Paige, im fine.” Azzi said maybe a little to sharply. 

“Ok, sorry im just making sure your ok.” Paige said. 

“Paige, im sorry, just a little out of it right now, shouldn’t you go get ready.” The curly haired girl said, eye already sad. 

“Yea, I wanted to soak up some time with you first, but if your not in the mood, ill leave”, Paige said already packing up her food, only taking a few bites from her chicken. 

Azzi suddenly remembered what KK and Caroline said, “no stay, please.” Azzi said, knowing that she would only get a few more moments like this with the blonde. 

“You sure, because I can go-”

“STay.” The younger girl said, almost like a plea. 

“Okay.”

The two girls quietly stared at one another which felt like hours but was merely minutes. Eventually Paige finished up eating her food, and by that time the women working on Azzi’s hair had it all washed and untangled. 

They decided to let her pick her dress before they blow-dried her hair, knowing it would get a little frizzy in the process. 

Paige was staring at her phone but as soon as Azzi tried on her first dress all her attention shifted towards her. 

Azzi tried on four different dresses, each one feeling more and more uncomfortable until she found “the one.”

At least that’s what Paige had called it.

As she slipped on the low v neck, almost see through black dress, everyone in the room stilled. 

She turned and looked at herself in the mirror and felt almost beautiful. It felt right and when she turned around to ask Paige what she thought, already vetoing the other options, the older girl looked starstrucked. 

“Thats the one Azzi.”

“Really, you think so.”

“Yes” Paige said as she slowly approached Azzi, gently as if she was approaching a real diamond. “You look wow, amazing, spectacular, all the words in the dictionary.”

Azzi giggled, feeling under pressure at all the eyes on her. But mostly the piercing blue eyes that belonged to the blonde. 

“Thank you, I think its the one, but im still gonna try on the others.” her indecisiveness getting in the way.

“No Azzi, im telling you this is the one, I feel it.”

“Your right” she said as she turned around to look at herself once again. This time though, the blonde peeped through and threaded her fingers around Azzi’s waist. 

She whispered in her ear, “You look beautiful,” and at those words, Azzi was weak in her knees, knowing that if Paige wasn’t right behind her, steadying her, she would have fallen. 

Azzi slowly turned her head towards Paige, making eye contact with her blue eyes. Please don’t leave. Thats all she was thinking. If you weren’t leaving soon I would kiss you right now and we would figure it out. The two girls were so lost in each other that neither realized Paige’s Agent had barged in. 

“PAIGE, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN. YOU HAVE TO LEAVE IN TWO HOURS.” Paiges agent yelled as the two girls quickly separated from one another. 

“Im sorry, truly, lost track of time. Don’t worry, we still have plenty of time” she said to her agent, then she turned to Azzi “I gotta go, but you look like a princess, ill see you in a bit okay” she said so softly only Azzi could hear. 

“Ok.”

Then Paige left, but before she disappeared through the door, she turned her head and gave Azzi a wink. Assuring her that everything would be ok. 

[rcvcgers]

Duty's Cruel Embrace, 4

Chapter Four: The Deep Blue Sea

account masterlist , series masterlist , ao3

previous chapter | next chapter coming soon!

pairing ; prince!xavier x princess!reader

synopsis ; you wake up ready to leave just to find yourself trapped between xavier and rafayel.

word count ; 8.4k words

author's note ; hi everyone! i am so sorry for the shorter chapter! there will be a time jump for the next one where we will finally be in philos! the next chapter will be much longer too i promise!! huzzah!!

trigger warning ; mentions of death, light suicidal thought towards the end, slight sexual tension, manipulation, let me know if i missed anything!

my ladies in waiting ♛ °˖✧ @velaenam , @schwnapps , @massivenutkid , @celestialforce , @exitingmusic , @zeskyzed , @eve-ishu , @underfcvcked , @duffyinwonderland , @hiqhkey , @dooopiee , @awkward-stierle , @justpassingdontworry , @queenkymmie , @miffysoo , @kazbrkker , @applepi405 , @flamedancer13 , @prplbunny , @loreleis-world , @animecrazy76 , @emo4r , @crazygirl3001 , @creator-freak , @spacenott , @luckypup0506 , @wltneko9006 , @wonys-won , @sh4do3 , @chi-the-moogle , @wakeupr41 , @iconoclastoc , @partycityyyyyyy , @maskedbunni , @clothespintal

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The fresh salty scent of the sea makes you happy. It is different than what you’re used to. Rosemary, saffron, and other floral scents always filled your bed chambers back home, the place you’re now traveling away from. The saltiness in the air puts you at ease as strange as it may seem. Perhaps it is because you know that your lifelong friend will be at your side for the last leg of the journey to the kingdom of Philos.

There’s a slight ache in the back of your head as soon as you sit up in bed. All you can do is pretend that the dull sensation is not there right behind your eyes, making you sensitive to the light that slips through the small crack of a widow. Perhaps you should have not drank too much wine the previous night.

Then again, if it weren’t for the wine, you would have never felt Xavier’s lips against yours, the faint taste of fermented grapes on his tongue, the way he was ready to devour you whole before holding back.

You miss the heat of his hands on your body. The way he took what he wanted. The feeling was intoxicating. Utterly captivating. His name still hangs on your tongue, ready to be spoken into existence as soon as you see him.

Does he also wish to see you as badly as you want to see him?

The colored glass makes the room feel lively. The thin sliver of colors cascading across the ground in pretty blues and purples with just a slight hint of red. It matches the dress that the maids of the home laid out for you on the foot of your bed.

“Mind the ropes, men!” Rafayel’s voice catches your attention.

You slip the new dress over your head, the fragrance of sea salt and aged wood filling your nostrils. It is the distinct scent of the Lemurians when they are away from home. You have heard plenty of stories and tales about how sweet their kingdom smells, the way desserts line up the streets at night with the warm glow of lanterns hanging overhead. You originally planned on it being your new home but now you’re preparing yourself for a life in a much colder place, one that supposedly lacks warmth with its castle tucked away in the mountains.

You watch Rafayel. He stands on the earth-made dock, the stone a light tan color beneath his feet. His long purple hair is pulled out of his face, held together with a thin strip of leather. He wears a loose white shirt, the top strings undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The shirt is matched with slightly loose black pants. You tilt your head to the side, amused by how he easily commands the people around them with a flick of his wrist, the occasional loud command leaving his lips.

The Abysswalker, Rafayel’s ship, rocks against the waves. The light wooden color of the ship — which you remember Rafayel describing as a crusades nava in his letters with you — its blue and gold flags, the dark blood red fish sat in the middle of the flag’s fabric. The wood is painted with a deep blue and purple color, streaks of red breaking through the other colors.

Stories of the Aysswalker have made their way behind Nabira’s walls. They have come from the Lemurians themselves, the merchants who have found luck in Rafayel providing them passage across the Mediterranean Sea. The prince knows the waters like the back of his hand and the stories from the naval battles on the sea added to his stellar reputation, making him one of the fiercest sailors on the waters. Other kingdoms along the coast fear him and his prowess on the sea, the way his fleet of ships can sail across the distance in a matter of days. Rafayel is the reason why Lemuria is a feared contender when it comes to war, their navy being able to block trade routes along the seas as well as their formidable armies on land.

Merchants and princesses alike should feel honored to even see the Lemurian prince in action, let alone have a space on his ship as a passenger.

That’s when he comes into view. Your newly betrothed. Your lips tingle at the sight of him, the way he lazily rests his hand on the hilt of his sword. His clothes have changed away from the silver armor that you have only ever seen him in. Even last night when his body was pressed up against yours, keeping you trapped against the door to the bed chambers.

He wears white clothing, the long robe split into two that hang behind his legs. A blue stripe crosses diagonally across his chest, pale golden metal decorating his body with a blue tassel ornament hanging from his belt. His pale hair looks like it had finally been washed and he fixes the black gloves on his hands, slowly approaching Rafayel.

Your heart pounds on the inside of your chest. You peel away from the window, finishing your appearance. Silver jewelry adorn your ears and neck, your fingers delicately decorated with Lemurian rings. You look the role as the future Lemurian princess, the shoes you almost filled if it weren’t for Philos’ philosophy of expansion and desire for the mysterious gold that evades the continent.

The window calls for you, the quiet hymns of the wind willing you back to the larger window that sits on the opposite side of the room. You push open the glass panels and overlook the lively scene below. You hold back the urge to call for your so called beloved’s name, to enact a scene from one of the chivalric plays you attended back in Nabira.

Which one would respond to you? Would it be Rafayel who answers your voice or Xavier to answer your call?

Just as you are about to step away again, ready to depart from your bed chambers, Xavier turns around, looking up at your window. A faint smile spreads across his face. The man turns on his heel, shifting his weight to his back foot, placing his hands behind his back. His royal uniform fits him like a glove. The gold is broken up with a black belt, the blue tassel swaying with the salty sea wind. You fight back the smile that forms on your face. You rest your chin on the heel of your hand, leaning forward, a silent challenge to see if Xavier will hold up his word on finding you in the morning.

Well, here you are. Ready to be saved by your knight.

When Xavier takes a step towards the building, Rafayel turns to look at you. With the prince of Philos now abandoning his side, Rafayel takes the time to look at you. He plants his hands on his hips, blue eyes trained on you from afar. You perk up at the sight of him. You hold up your hands, showing off the vibrant gold jewelry and the way you decorated your hair with pearls.

A vision, Rafayel thinks to himself, a siren that will bring me my end, I’m sure.

A knock on the door. A quiet gasp escapes your lips. Scurrying away from the window, you wipe your palms on the fabric of your skirt, the pale blue material thin and light against your skin. The color reminds you of the blue that Xavier wears.

“Enter,” you call out, taking your place in the middle of the room. You place your hands behind your back, your fingers lacing with themselves.

The wooden door creaks as it opens. Xavier steps through, closing the door behind him before turning around to look at you. A warm smile spreads across his face. His light blue eyes sink into your body, taking in your appearance. You look otherworldly, ethereal in his eyes. It reaffirms his decision to have chosen you as his bride. That, and he appreciates the way you have a mind of your own, giving him a break from the monotonous ways of palace life and the life of a knight.

Admittedly, Xavier loathes the sight of the Lemurian clothing on your body. He knows that he holds no control over what you wear nor does he wish to force you into garments that you do not wish to wear. He would also be a liar, though, if he were to say that he would prefer to see you in the clothes of his own kingdom, the fashion the ladies of Philos wear. He has seen the dresses at court. They are more conservative compared to the Lemurian eye, but Xavier knows that your beauty will shine down like sunlight from the heavens.

He hates that you wear his clothes. You dress the way he wishes. Xavier will never force you to do something you do not wish to do, but to see you willingly assimilate yourself to a culture and design that is not a part of your future — one that should remain deep in your past — angers him. He does not allow the anger to show, though. He remains silent, biting his tongue as he looks your body up and down.

You lower the bottom half of your body, curtseying to your future husband. You bow your head as a sign of respect. It was something that was ingrained into your mind ever since you were a conscious child, learning the proper manners and what to do when you were around other royalty and nobles.

Is it instinct? Is it the habit of bowing before a man whom you are to be subservient to? Your father wished for you to be a prize cow, one with actual skills but is still submissive for its new owner.

Who would’ve known that your price would have come from your brother’s blood spilled on the golden sand of Nabira, the man you’re forced to marry being the one to deal the fatal blow?

Xavier takes a step towards you. And another one. And another one. And another until he stands right before you. You suddenly feel so small compared to him, the way he casually towers over you, his formal uniform catching your attention. You reach out, the tips of your fingers grazing against the details of his collar. You fix one part of it, the way the two minuscule golden rods that connects his collar together. He lets out a quiet huff of air, his hand meeting your wrist, fingers curling around the joint.

“What is thou doing?” Xavier murmurs with a small smile.

“Fixing your uniform,” you quietly respond, flattening out the slight wrinkles that formed in the white fabric.

Xavier grabs your other wrist, stopping you. Your eyes meet his blue hues. Chills run down your spine, making themselves at home in the depths of your stomach. The prince leans in, his lips hovering over yours. You close your eyes, ready to accept his embrace if he so wills it.

“The prince’s uniform must be perfect, no?” you whisper, your breath hot on his face. A chuckle vibrates the back of his throat. You tilt your head to the side, confusion written across your face. “What amuses you?”

“I wished to look…good for you,” Xavier pulls away, his voice low and quiet as he speaks plainly to you. His hands drop from yours, making themselves at home on your waist. You pretend like it doesn’t make you want to melt into his embrace, to close the distance once again.

“You did?” you match his manner of speaking, turning off the formalities. “Why did thou…”

Xavier squeezes your hips, fingers digging into your clothed skin. He simply nods. A quiet chuckle leaves your lips. You keep your mouth closed, eyes looking at the embroidered designs that sit over his chest.

“I wish to thank thee for allowing me to join her…festivities last night,” Xavier says. You nod, mouth going dry yet you salivate at the thought of reliving the previous night’s adventure you went on with him. “I wish our bond to remain as…fervent as it was yestereve.”

A blush creeps onto your face, eyes widening. You divert your gaze, looking at the intricately woven rug on the floor, the way the candle’s flame flickers despite there being no wind in the corridor, just the passing servants who giggle amongst themselves while you and Xavier remain secluded in the safety of your temporary bed chambers.

Xavier presses his hand to your cheek. He gently turns your face back to his, the man looking down at the flustered expression on your face. He gently moves loose strands of hair out of your face. He truly thinks you are so beautiful with it natural. It is such a shame that you will have to hide your natural hair behind braids and intricate veils that the Philos princess will be required to wear.

“We are to depart for the final part of our journey,” Xavier’s voice catches your attention, cooling the heat in your cheeks.

He takes a step back, moving towards the door. He extends his gloved hand to you. Xavier’s smile remains on his face.

Your gaze drops to his hand. You hesitate to take it, unsure what is holding you back. Is it the thought of your brother’s death still on the back of your mind? How can Xavier, this kind man who stands before you, be the same ruthless Lumière figure that sliced his throat? The same one who has collected you like a prize to be won from the two years worth of battles.

“Domina?” Xavier switches to your tongue, his expression faltering. He closes half of the distance, worry written all over his face. “Is everything okay?”

How does one respond?

You force a smile across your face, something that has unfortunately become natural for you over the years. Xavier’s face softens. He reaches out, plucking your hand from its place. He closes the last bit of distance, lowering his gaze to look at your connected limbs. He takes his place at your side, your hand moving from his to the place right above the crook of his elbow.

“Do you wish to remain here for another day? We can delay the journey if you wish to stay,” the Nabiran language rolls off of his tongue with practiced ease. He never did tell you how quickly he picked up on the language during his time in your native kingdom.

“No,” you shake your head, tilting your chin to look up at the prince, “I am ready to journey to thy home.”

“Our home,” Xavier corrects you with a small hum.

He hopes that it helps you feel better about your odyssey across the sea, the way you have to begin the process of assimilation as soon as you step foot on the castle’s grounds. What Xavier cannot see, though, is the flash of disgust that strikes your face, ruining the perfect smile you put on. His words bring you no ease nor do they lighten the burden that rests upon your shoulders.

Xavier leads you out of the bed chambers, walking you down the hall. Whenever a servant passes by, the two of you nod your head in unison, sharing the same respect for the common people. Xavier’s palm is flattened against his torso and your hand remains draped over his clothes forearm. As soon as the two of you reach the stairs, the prince assumes the lead once again, removing your hand from his arm and takes it into his own.

He moves down the first step. He turns to look up at you, gently nodding his head. He moves backwards and you follow, stuck in a trance.

Should you feel safe with him? Him and his army have brought so much destruction to your land. He has destroyed the place you called home and has stolen you from it, a prize that was gifted to him with golden chains. Your eyes never leave each other’s. The air is slowly sucked out from your lungs, filling in the tiny staircase that you slowly traverse down the stone stairs.

What would your brother think? What words does he use in the afterlife as he looks down at you from the heavens, his soul forever attached to your own no matter where you are in the world. What would he think, the man that you shared a womb with, think of you feeling affection towards the enemy? He would have scolded you for being so reckless with him last night, the way you were so close to letting him taint your image of being untouched and pure.

You could have lost everything last night and yet…you still feel safe with Xavier. He could have been like any other young royal male that you have encountered in your life. He could have ran off and spoke of the tales of how your tongue formed against his, the way you pushed back into his body to feel the friction — the spark — between the two of you.

If your brother were here, he would have kept you far, far away from Xavier.

The Philos Prince. Lumière. A man who has slaughtered hundreds — if not thousands — of men on the battlefield, leaving no prisoners of war or survivors. Only his soldiers live to tell the tale of his conquests…does that same rule apply to you?

“Domina,” Xavier breathes out.

“Thou may call me princess, your Highness,” you respond once you reach the bottom of the stairs, “tis what I am bound to be.”

“But thou is not it right now,” Xavier says, reaffirming his choice of words, “and upon our sacred union—”

Xavier pulls you in. He wraps his arm around your waist and you lean your weight into his arm. His fingers graze along the side of your face, the man leaning in as the outside world moves in slow motion. The air leaves your lungs burning once again. You tilt your chin upwards, the tip of your nose just grazing against his. Unable to look away, you find yourself thankful for the lack of servants in the room.

“—I wish to call thou a different name. I wish to bestow upon thee a title, one that a noble husband might address his cherished wife,” Xavier tilts his head to the side.

His words send chills down your spine. You look away again, staring outside of the open doorway where a familiar face stands.

Rafayel.

A scowl is written across his face, arms crossed over his chest. His blue and pink eyes shoot into yours. That familiar feeling of uncertainty strikes you in the chest. You assume that Rafayel must feel some kind of way about the sudden change of your future marital status with the way he looks at Xavier with disgust and contempt.

How can you remedy this before things get out of hand?

You suck in a breath and step away from Xavier, heading towards the door with your head held high, hands folded behind your back. You glance at Xavier from over your shoulder, a ghost of a smile gracing your lips before you step out into the morning sun.

The sun hangs halfway up in the sky. You have slept though the early morning hours, unlike the rest of the men in your life, and Rafayel has already allowed for the delay in your travels to be forgiven. His eyes fixate on you as you step out of the inn designed for nobles.

A sense of pride washes over him. You have always looked wonderful in the vibrant colors of Lemuria, your skin complimenting the fabric like a painting he has seen around the halls of his seaside palace. Rafayel swears that you look like a never ending sunset. You ignite a fire in his heart that he always knew he had, the reason why he has become so victorious in his battles in the sea, sinking a multitude of ships knowing that one day he will rule his beautiful kingdom with a smart and beautiful woman by his side.

The two of you have exchanged letters with one another over the years. Ever since you were a child, you were forced to learn the Lemurian language, practicing your skills in writing to the boy you met at just the age of seven years old. Rafayel was eight, just a single year older than you, when you met at a ball held in Nabira. One of the summer traditions that your father invited them to be a part of.

While your brother ran off and played soldiers with the other Lemurian boys that were brought along for the journey, it was Rafayel who sat by your side, quietly speaking to you about the flowers in the garden and how he wishes to sketch them. You showed him to the secret garden reserved specifically for the royals eyes only — the same garden that you met Xavier in. Rafayel retrieved his sketchbook from one of the Lemurian aids who kept an eye on the two of you, a smile on her face while the Nabiran gala waged on in the background.

Rafayel plucked one of the flowers from the bushes, a light pink rose that you pointed out to him. He removed the thorns from the stem before placing it upon your ear. He remembered just how wide your eyes got, the way you erupted with giggles and laughs, thanking him for the gift. You sat down on one of the benches, the warm lighting from the overhead lanterns casting an orange glow across your young face.

The prince still has the sketch of your six year old self safety tucked away in a drawer in his bedroom in the Lemurian palace. Whenever he is home, he likes to gaze upon it and your numerous letters as you describe to him your life in Nabira while he speaks about his journeys on the sea.

Rafayel holds his arm out to you. The disgust on his face has vanished, replaced with a cheery smile. You take his arm and he gently pulls you to his side, the smell of the spray from the sea water crashing over the walls prominent in the air around him. It does not intoxicate you as much as Xavier’s musk does, though.

“Good morrow, domina,” Rafayel’s voice is as light as the morning breeze, “did your rest treat you well?”

“As well as it could have, my prince,” you respond, nodding your head in a greeting to the noble sailors you pass, the grins on their faces growing at the sight of you and your beauty. That and Rafayel glaring at them to be polite.

“Shall we drop the frivolous language?” he muses with a quiet chuckle, his purple hair picking up with the wind. “We’re delayed because of you.”

“You should have woken me then! Why should I bear the full responsibility of thine’s faults?” you smile up at him, your casual banter already kicking into full motion as you walk along the edge of the dock.

You look over the edge, the deep blue waves crashing into the side. Rafayel allows you to lean, his arm keeping you as steady as possible as you explore the world that surrounds you. He knows that this is a usual sight for him to see, an expected visual for the Lemurian’s Admiral to behold. For you, though, it is unexpected and wild, a rare occurrence that is a once in a lifetime opportunity fro you to embark on. Just beneath the surface, in the small breaks of waves when the water settles, you notice fish swimming about, minding their own business before disappearing underneath the shadow from Rafayel’s beloved Abysswalker.

You catch a glimpse of Rafayel’s men from inside the shop, their faces poking out of the holes where the oars sit.

“You always find your way out of tricky situations, domina, tis a skill that I admire about thee,” the prince hums with a smile, guiding you towards a more quiet part of the dock.

He aims you in the direction of a makeshift table, two wooden barrels acting like chairs as a rectangular box acts as a table. On the top sits saffron break from the night before matched with dry meat and nuts. The headache from before comes back at the sight of a wine bottle. Your stomach grumbles as Rafayel helps you sit down across from him, the man sliding over a silver plate that holds cheese and a simple flatbread on top.

“There is something I must call your attention to, domina,” Rafayel breaks his silence as soon as you bite into the bread, the grains tasting like home. Your eyes meet his, watching as his once vibrant hues darken as he leans towards you. “Your…betrothed has made me feel wary.”

“Wary?” your head perks up at his words, the way his tone sets your entire body on edge. You slowly lower the flatbread back onto the plate. You place your hands on your lap, fingers sliding in with one another. You set your gaze on him, slightly narrowing your eyes.

What kind of game could he be playing? Does he not know that starting drama such as this will be sure to harm your reputation before you even step foot into Xavier’s kingdom? Tension fills the air. It’s palpable, heavy. It weighs down on your chest. You swipe your tongue over your teeth, quickly getting out the leftover seeds from the bread and lean forward, resting your weight onto your knees, elbows poking into your bones.

“Speak, Rafayel, do not test me,” your voice goes low, dangerous.

“How can one already be so protective of him?” the purple haired man scoffs. He crosses his arms over his chest, eyes flicking to where the Philos prince stands, his blue eyes sharp on the pair. “Your prince accosted me yesterday—”

“Rafayel,” you shake your head at him. He has always been so sensitive, his ego easily bruised. He could barely handle it when he was immediately good at archery during one of his visits to Nabira, earning laughter from you as you stood in front of the statues of your great ancestors. “Thou dost not speak with true intent.”

“I do, my lady, I do,” he nods his head. “He spoke of your…encounter.”

“Our encounter?” you repeat, voice lowering as your eyes flit to the pale headed prince who remains far away.

“Aye,” Rafayel says with a nod. “He boasted of his kiss upon thy’s lips. He claimed that you yearned for more but he refrained from thy’s desires.”

The world around you goes quiet. You stare at Rafayel, beginning to slowly shake your head while he nods. You refuse to believe it. Could this man, the same one who was so gentle with you while riding across the long stretches of desert and sandstone roads. The same man who provided you shade while you read your ancestor’s journal, her wise words of wisdom from her own time hundreds of years prior ringing true in your ears. What was it that she said about men?

Right. They’re self serving assholes who wish to boost their egos and reputation over doing what is right.

You should at least hear him out though, right? You should find the other perspective to the story, to see what your future husband has to say for himself. You bite your lip, eyes meeting Xavier’s worried expression.

The pale headed man sees the disappointment on your face. The way dejection makes your shoulders slump. You angle your face away from him, swallowing the lump that forms in your throat. Your hands tighten around the fabric of your dress, bunching up the skirt ever so slightly.

“I detest thou’s words,” you look back at Rafayel, standing from your makeshift chair. He follows suit, quickly closing the distance. He places himself in front of you, purposefully making sure that you’re blocked from Xavier’s line of vision. “I loathe them.”

“At yet thou wears my clothes. She eats my food. She lives under my protection,” Rafayel breathes out, his anger getting the best of him. He looks around before placing his hands on your shoulders, his touch soothing your aching muscles. “You know that I would never lie. Not over trivial matters such as this.”

“I shan’t believe you,” you lower your voice, not wanting his sailors — or your ancestors for that matter — to hear you defend a man you have only known for a handful of days. “Xavier is kind and gentle. He would do no such thing to bring me harm!”

“And yet he speaks of your ventures with a smug smile. He speaks of thy like a trophy,” Rafayel’s face breaks. He looks away, a sigh flying from his lips before his eyes reconnect with yours. His hand moves to your face, gently cupping your cheek. You do not lean your head into his hand like you would with the man who quickly approaches. “I wish for nothing but the best for thou but I cannot go on protecting you like this is you add to the fire.”

“The fire? Rafayel, tell me, what do you truly speak of?” you step forward, your chest just about to touch his. His hand remains on your face, his gaze burning into yours as annoyance floods throughout your body. “Why must thou protect me if I am not his to be had?”

“I care for thou,” he sighs purple hair falling into his face, “I swore to protect thee. Thy’s brother—”

“My brother?” You’re breathless, eyes tingling from tears. Your body grows cold from underneath the hot sun. “Why dost you speak of him? Thou knows of his passing, do you not? Why must you—”

“Am I interrupting?” Xavier’s voice sounds from behind Rafayel.

You step to the side, his hand dropping from your face as Xavier’s dusty yet vibrant blue eyes meet yours. There is a snarl on his face, a look of contempt. His expression softens as soon as he notices the glossiness in your eyes, the way your fists are balled at your sides, fingernails digging into the palms of your hands. He removes his hand from the handle of his sword, a weapon he has fondly named Lightseeker when it was forged back when he was a teen.

“Domina,” Xavier breathes out. He takes a step forward, holding his hand out to you. “Come. Let us take leave.”

Do you take it? Do you take the hand of the man who was supposedly bragged about his conquest to the soldiers from his home kingdom. Did he speak of your kiss to the rest of the people? Did he run back to the heart of the village, standing atop the fountain as he proclaims his conquest of Nabira’s precious Domina?

Just the thought makes your heart drop into the depths of your stomach, plummeting to a darkness you never wished to take part of.

You reach for his hand, though. You have to. What other choice do you have? The other option is to stay with Rafayel, to continue to listen to the poison in his words, to allow his own prejudices to sway your own opinion.

Xavier’s fingers lace with yours. He is quick to bring you to his side, his eyes focused on your before he turns back to Rafayel. The Lemurian crosses his arms over his chest, approaching the Philos prince. He puffs his chest out, the light scarring displayed across his forearms. He tilts his head to the side, watching as Xavier steps in front of you. His eyes darken, a possessiveness taking over his body.

“What did you say to her,” Xavier does not mince his words, his tone and delivery blunt yet sharp all at the same time.

You grab onto Xavier’s arm, fingers curling around his tense bicep. You stare at the intricate design on his back, the gray thread fading into a shimmering yet pale gold. There are light blue jewels embezzled into the white fabric. You squeeze but your prince does not turn in your direction, his gaze focused on the man he now perceives to be an enemy.

“The truth,” Rafayel responds, “I spoke nothing but the truth. The domina knows I speak no falsehoods.”

“Xavier,” his name rolls off of your tongue.

It is sweet on his ears, the quiet flea now his battlecry if he ever has to leave your side for a war that his father wishes to wage…or perhaps one that he will enter into of his own volition when the King’s crown is placed onto his head. Will he even have the strength to leave for battle? Or will your teary eyes and quiet pleas cause him to remain behind the Philos castle walls?

“Yes,” he turns to look at you.

“Take leave with me,” your voice is barely above a whisper and yet it echoes inside of his ears, causing them to ring. Xavier nods and immediately steps into action, drawing you away from the Lemurian prince.

“Remember who thine enemy is, domina,” the prince calls out after you and Xavier. You flinch at his words but feel Xavier guide you towards the familiar faces of the Philos soldiers you traveled with, the men whom you have grown accustomed to seeing on your journey to your new home.

Rafayel watches as the pair steps away from him. His once desperate face turns ugly. He scowls at the sight of your connected hands, the way you cling to Xavier instead of him in your moment of need. Rafayel may not have been there for the first half of your journey to Philos, but he is here now. You do not need to seek comfort in the arms of your shared enemy. It baffles Rafayel that you do not see the villain who stands before you. It angers him beyond belief, causing him more discomfort than he ever imagined. He was so sure too that you would run straight into his arms, to find safety in a familiar face and scent instead of someone else.

The Lemurian prince steps away from the makeshift table. He dives into the crowd of sailors, the familiar scent of weeks of musk and unwashed skin catching his nose. He groans, waving at them to go clean themselves before they disembark in a moment’s notice.

“Your Highness,” one of the sailors approaches his side. Rafayel does not look at him, simply watching as Xavier and you vanish inside the depths of silver armor and white horses. “The ships are ready. We can set sail whenever you wish.”

“Good,” Rafayel nods. He looks around as the men begin to make their way onto the boats. He turns his attention to the Abysswalker, the boat’s sails tucked away. He sighs and signals for one of his men to come over. They salute to him. “The domina will sail with me. If the prince tries to stop this, remind him that I vowed to her father to keep her safe. Go,” Rafayel nods his head at the sea of white uniforms.

Rafayel walks across the wooden board, the bottoms of his boots meeting the unsteady familiarity of the rocking sea. He weaves through the men on the boat, their hands connected to the ropes of the sails, moving about their own business. A black headed gull swoops by, its wings flapping as its body is carried with the wind. The corners of his lips perk up, amusement picking up his shoulders. The bird flies around another, their bodies landing upon one of the spokes that connects lines together.

He wonders how you are taking the news. He wonders if you are going to come willingly or not. He has always been one to advocate for your own autonomy, one of the only men in your life who always takes the time to listen to you and your opinion. Hells, even your letters are filled with your own thoughts on how you would have made different choices.

Rafayel adores just how headstrong you are. He loves that you have forged your own path in this world dominated by men. Greedy and ruthless men. Even your father is like the men he thinks about. Ever since you left your mother’s womb, you were already being sold off to the highest bidder.

He was just happy that it was his family who secured it before anyone else could.

“Rafayel!” your voice is loud from behind him. He turns on his heel and looks down at you, tilting his head to the side so he can block the sun out of your face. “Why?”

“What dost thou speak of?” the smile remains on his face as he speaks. He loves the way your brow furrows, the line that ceases between them. You place your hands on your hips, the golden rings and bracelets reflecting through light of the sun.

“Why must you separate Xavier and I?”

“Why must you call him by his name?” Rafayel is quick to retort.

You do not even do that with him, always preferring to refer to him as ‘my prince’ or ‘your Highness’. Has he not made it clear that his heart belongs to you? That he wishes nothing but the best for you? He cannot fathom how you could come to trust a man as vile and obscene as the prince of Philos. You should know of Philos’ reputation, how their apparent kindness is a false, a facade that they put on so people do not see them as an enemy. Xavier is a murderer, someone who has slain the people of your kingdom — your brother — and has caused a line of destruction from his castle gates all the way to yours…and that is the man you wish to be near? To live your life beside?

Rafayel will be damned if it happens. He condemns the wenches named fate. The vile creatures that twist their threads into the quilt of life.

“Domina,” he sighs, “I hath done what was expected of me. I cannot allow a man like him to taint thy’s mind and hon—”

“Thou is listening to the likes of men right now,” your anger slices through the air, nestling itself into his chest. He sucks in a breath of air. “Dost thou expect me to listen to him as well? Or to ignore my future husband as a whole? Is thee expecting me to see him as a savior? Dost thou wish for me to hate him?”

“No,” Rafayel steps forward, his face falling. “No, I do not wish for this. I do not wish for your hatred.”

“You follow the command of a man who is dead, Rafayel,” you whisper. “You listen to the words of someone whose soul is no longer tied to this earth. He is with our ancestors, thou knows this. Why do you decide to listen to him?”

“Domina,” the Lemurian breathes out. He steps forward, closing the small gap. The wood creaks beneath his feet, the black sails of the Abysswalker flapping in the harsh wind. “My actions have been just in your name. I hath acted upon your honor, to keep it alive and clean. He will ruin it. I am sure of it.”

“Dost thou take me as a fool?” you ask, your tone both baffled and genuine at the same time. “Do you really think that I will believe in your words?”

“No, you are not a fool,” he sigh but you silence him by stepping forward. Your sandals glide against the weathered wood, smooth beneath your feet yet the boards creak with every step.

“Do you know what the soldiers and nobles who are here will think?” you lower your voice. All Rafayel can hear are your words and the squawks from the birds that sit with the large sails. “They will think that I am avoiding my betrothed,” you tilt your head to the side, narrowing your gaze at him. “They will think that I am abandoning him as soon as I departed Nabira. They will see how close we are. Rumors are bound to form, thou knows this to be true. Your attempt to save my honor will only result in its decay.”

Rafayel remains silent. You simply take a step backwards, hands clasped behind your back. The wind picks up your hair, the strands floating in the wind. The bottom of your blue dress skirt is wet from the sprays of the ocean, the wind making your ankles feel like ice. It is the coldest you have ever felt the wind on your skin. Your legs tremble at the feeling, unsure how to properly combat the chilly feeling.

“I do not think of you as a fool,” Rafayel’s voice is tender. He lets out a quiet sigh and steps around you, taking his place behind you. He offers you his arm and you take it, unsure of where it is he is going with his point. He begins to walk you to the stern where the full view of the Philos-dedicated ship sits. You can spot Xavier’s silver head of hair from the distance, your heart thumping against your ribcage. “I see you as someone who is attempting to make do of the situation they find themselves in.”

“Explain,” you say. The sailors of the boat part as you slice through the crowd. You walk up the steps and get the best view of the ocean and the dock. Your grip on Rafayel tightens as the Abysswalker sways back and forth with the waves.

“My lady is smart. Thou knows of men’s motives and the madness behind the decisions they make,” his words feed at your ego. You try to ignore it but his sweet words and tender voice lull you like a siren from his kingdom’s mythology. He leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You shiver. A gust of wind picks up your skirt, your hair now obscuring some of your vision. Rafayel’s breath is hot against your skin. “My domina…you are blinded by your grief. Thou seeks comfort in the unknown.”

Rafayel turns you around. Your back is pressed against the wooden railing of the boat, his hands pressed on the hard material, trapping you in. His blue and pink eyes are even prettier up close. You admire the way he does not squint with the sun right in his eyes, his demeanor remaining unchanged, unmoved. He tilts his head to the side, the purple strands of hair freed from its tie, flowing with the direction of the breeze. It is short around his ears but is longer towards the nape of his neck. It’s a good look on him, you can admit it.

“I am a man,” Rafayel leans in. His eyes darken. “I know men. I am around them every moment of the day. My only respite were your sweet words that you have written to me so, please, I beg for thee’s forgiveness if I hath crossed a line I shan’t but…when I look into his eyes, all I can see is a man who wishes to use you.”

“Xavier wouldn’t do that,” you whisper, shaking your head, wanting to believe in the sanctity of your shared vows of growth.

“Any prince would,” the man sighs. “He came to your kingdom with one goal in mind, domina. Never forget that.”

Rafayel turns you around in his arms. Your eyes meet Xavier, who stands on the opposite boat, his body aimed at you. Is he watching? What does he think? Rafayel leans down and gently places his chin on your shoulder, a familiar move you have shared during his visits to Nabira. He closes some of the distance, his chest now pressed against your back.

“I am on thine’s side,” Rafayel whispers into your ear. It sends chills down your spine. You close your eyes, unable to look at the vast sea and the disappointed look that Xavier is sure to have on his face. “If we are not to be wed, then allow me to protect you in your first days in court. Allow me to guide you as thou hath guided me. Allow me to fulfill the vow to your brother before he met his end.”

You remember your brother’s corpse. You remember the way you removed Xavier’s silver blade from his throat. You flinch. His skin was cold to the touch. He did not move nor did he breathe out a quip at your expense. It is another reminder of what was taken from you, the tip of the sand dune that you have been pushed down.

You open your eyes to look at the Philos heir. His hair flows with the wind, his eyes unable to leave yours. You tilt your head to the side, inadvertently making yourself look affectionate with Rafayel. Your mind runs a mile a minute, unable to decipher the truths of your circumstances versus the weight of the lies that have been fed into your ear ever since you left the palace gates.

The journey has been long and hard. Your mind surely is weak. You have been dehydrated most days and have barely eaten any food. There must be a reason as to why your actions have been so…reckless. Carefree. Filled with temptations of the warm touch of a man you should hate.

You do hate him.

It is just hard to allow the hate to grow into something worse. You know that it is an uphill battle with Xavier. You are to marry him, to remain by his side until he decides that he has had enough of you. The shared conversations with him, though, do not lead you believe that he has been saying to you. It makes the kisses you shared the previous taste like a bitter poison, one that you were unaware of taking.

Xavier is your downfall, is he not? He is the man who has taken everything from you and yet he has promised to return it tenfold. To treat you like a queen should be.

“Hast thou heard of the vile tale of Lumière?” Rafayel whispers in your ear. “A knight who kills with no mercy. He holds no prisoners. His kingdom fears him. The common people tremble for his succession. Lumière may appear innocent now,” Rafayel pauses. Your body tenses, nails digging into the wooden railing. “But they say his deadliest weapon is not his blade but his mind. A poison that turns man against one another…who is to say that he won’t do the same to you, domina?”

Rafayel pushes away from you. You listen to his slow footsteps, his leather boots dragging along the wooden floor. He turns to the men on his ship, the final wooden boxes — boxes that have been sent from your father — are loaded onto the ship. Rafayel nods to his subordinate officers.

“Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen!” Rafayel calls out to the men below. They chant a singular ‘aye’ in return, their voices sending chills down your spine.

The Abysswalker pushes away from the dock, the lines of rope being tossed from the boat to the pier. The world moves around you as you watch the other boat prepare for its own departure, the sounds of their voices echoing down the small channel.

You are frozen in time. Unable to move. To think. To breathe.

It feels as if there is a rope hung around your head, a noose that you have placed around yourself under the delusion that it was rubies instead. The invisible rope tightens around your neck. It gets harder to breathe as the boat leaves the close proximity of the dock, the wind getting caught in the sails as the plethora of men begin to row with their oars, gaining momentum by the second. You turn around and look at Rafayel, who stands over a map with a golden compass in hand.

His eyes flit to you for the briefest moment. He watches as the wind picks up your hair, revealing your face and slightly glossed eyes. The Lemurian straightens his posture, a frown fixing over his lips. He feels horrible about speaking those words to you, that he has become the very person you have always said you would never love.

“Pray tell,” the prince murmurs to himself, tilting his head to the side. You divert your gaze and turn back around, the sunlight resting along the shimmering material of your dress. “What doth occupy thine thoughts, domina?”

You stare at the sea ahead. It is big and vast. It terrifies you. For your entire life, all you have known was sand and dirt. In the last two years of your time in Nabira, you grew accustomed to the scent of smoke and death, the scent of rotting corpses under the intense heat causing nonstop nausea throughout the day. Now, you are overwhelmed by the power of the sea. The salty taste that hits your lips whenever the water crashes over the edge of the boat.

The ocean is deep. It’s dark. It is unlike anything that you have ever seen before. There are fish under the surface, swimming along their own current as Rafayel’s ship barrels through the water. What would happen if you were to jump in? Would the water whisk you away? Would Xavier jump in after you to save you from drowning? You can end all of your suffering before it even begins.

Everything that you are thinking right now are hypotheticals, events that will never come to fruition. Events such as Xavier binging your demise or being killed before even reaching the sandy beaches of Philos. You know that it is unlikely that you will meet your end any time soon. You hold too much power, unlimited wealth in the form of gold coins and a father who pretends to be scared for your future.

You can’t help but worry, though, and think about what lies ahead across this great blue sea. You do not know what challenges you will encounter nor are you aware of what waits for you in the castle in the mountains. Just like the ocean, there is a whole new ecosystem awaiting you in Philos. There are predators and prey hidden behind silk robes and glimmering jewels.

All that matters now is if you will allow yourself to become prey or if you will transform into a serpent among the predators that wish to see you leave.

as always: likes, comments, & reblogs are greatly appreciated! support your favorite writers! we <3 commenters

[onaswife]

Step by step

Couple: Kika x reader

Au!Omegaverse, Alpha x Omega

Note: I'll check the mistakes tomorrow. I'm almost asleep, but I wanted to upload this. I hope you like this honest work. I'll be working on Alpha Lucy's story and then Omega Alexia's.

From the beginning, you knew Kika was a cheerful, active person, so you were surprised to see how Kika seemed a little withdrawn during the presentation.

You had met Kika before, when you both had to play for your countries. That was a few months before Kika arrived at Barcelona, where you were a right back.

"You don't have to put so much pressure on yourself, Kika. The others won't outsmart you," you jokingly approached, placing your hand on her arm, gently squeezing. Kika had recognized you as soon as she entered the room, and all she wanted to do was hide by your side. You were the only person she knew, and honestly, she was quite scared of her new teammates, who were world stars.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I'm any less scared. It's a dream to play with people like Aitana and Alexia," she replied, her nerves showing. You simply nodded in understanding.

"They're still normal people at the end of the day, just like you and I, if that helps," you smiled as you moved away from her a little. "Besides, I have a feeling you'll get along well with the little ones, something tells me." You winked at her as you finished speaking and with a mocking smile, you headed to your usual spot, while Kika had to sit in front of everyone to be introduced.

Kika fidgeted in her seat throughout the entire hour-long meeting, seeming to be getting closer and closer to leaving the room, but not daring.

"So, with that said, I'll give you the floor to meet the new players who will be joining us this season, and if all goes well, the next ones. Ewa Pajor, Ellie Roebuck, and Kika Nazareth." As soon as Pere finished speaking, all the players present began to applaud the new players who were joining the team.

After that day, everything seemed to go very quickly. Kika was the one who got used to the group dynamics the quickest, and just as you said and thought, Kika fell into the so-called "our-mission-is-to-annoy-Alexia" group, being a new daughter adopted by your captain.

Plus, Kika was the one you'd started spending the most time with; her locker was right next to yours, so your connection had felt so natural. Every day, Kika would arrive 10 minutes ahead of you, sitting next to you like a chatty whirlwind, telling you a story about her trip to Joan Gamper, or about a dream she'd had, or a story she'd remembered. She always came back with something new to tell you, and you listened intently while wondering how she could talk so fast without stuttering, even though Spanish wasn't her first language.

"You know, I think we should create a shared playlist. We both have the same tastes and have been listening to the same artists lately. And also another playlist where we can put on music we recommend to each other." You listened intently while you put on your soccer cleats and nodded at her words.

"Uhh… sure, we could do it after practice."

"I've already done it. I knew you'd say yes." You stared at her, expressionless, watching her smile at you, her eyes shining brightly.

"I don't know what to expect from you anymore… or from the others. They surprise me more every day," you murmured as you stood up, ready to head to the field.

"Wait for me!" you heard Kika say as you turned around and looked at the clock hanging on the wall near the door. "I'm not going to get scolded by Alexia, good luck, Kikinha," you replied, amused yet scared of being scolded again for being late while waiting for Kika to change for practice.

You arrived, and in less than three minutes, Kika appeared running, barefoot, waving her boot in one hand. "I didn't come late this time. There's still one minute left until practice starts." She stood beside you, breathing heavily as she bent over, trying to catch her breath, and clutched your shoulder with her free hand. You looked at her sternly.

"I told you not to sleep for another five minutes; you'd be late," you said seriously, until you saw her make a funny face and then pout, staring at you. "I needed those extra five minutes. I fell asleep late."

"It's no way you went to sleep late if you went home early yesterday. You didn't even want to go out to dinner with us," Jana pointed out, confused. You continued staring at Kika, her blushing growing deeper with every word that left Jana's mouth.

"Okay, back to what we came for. You can find out more about Kika's private life later. Now, let's get to the important stuff, please." This time, Irene was the one who stopped the girls from making fun of Kika, while she continued blushing, refusing to look at you.

"Are you okay? Did what Jana said bother you?" you asked, confused by her sudden change of heart.

"Yeah… everything's fine," she smiled at you and ran over to where Aitana and Frido were, looking quite nervous as she took refuge behind them.

That same afternoon you all would travel to Sevilla, since a league match against the local team would be played in two days.

"Are you going with me on the bus? I don't know who I'll be paired with on the plane, and I'd rather save my energy for when we get to Sevilla." You looked to your side, where Kika was already standing next to her suitcase. She grabbed your arm, pouting tenderly, hoping that would convince you.

You were about to answer when a voice sounded behind you, "Girlfriends can't be apart for more than five minutes." Vicky walked past Salma, who had just said that, laughing. Kika automatically moved away from you and stood up straight, looking embarrassed at the girls already walking ahead of you.

"Are you okay?" you asked. She just nodded and quickly walked toward the bus already waiting in the parking lot, leaving you confused again.

You walked slowly, thinking about Kika's behavior, until Ona caught up with you and started talking to you. You both got on laughing after packing your bags. Ona was talking about her last trip to England to see her girlfriend, while you couldn't stop laughing at a rather funny anecdote that had happened to her.

You got on and unconsciously looked to see if Kika was waiting to sit with you. You were greatly confused when you saw that Kika was sitting next to Patri at the back, surrounded by the younger girls and Mapi.

You sighed, puzzled by her behavior. Every time someone made a joke about her closeness to you, she automatically moved as far away from you as possible, as if your closeness burned her.

"Hey! I was just talking to you, is everything okay, Y/N?" Ona asked you, and when you turned to look at her, she looked worried.

"I'm fine, just trying to remember if I left everything locked in the apartment," you smiled, trying to calm her down, which worked. "You'll sit in the back with the others," she asked, looking at you with that look you had called "the lost Bambi look." You and Ona had met when she played for United and you for City. Your closeness began because Ona hadn't managed to socialize very well with the girls on her team, only her Spanish teammate. And since you were Spanish too, the closeness and the future friendship were easy.

"You know you shouldn't ask to sit with me, Oni. I know you miss me," you said mockingly, seeing a smirk begin to appear on her face. She gently pushed you by the shoulder. You decided to sit in the middle, not too far back to get caught up in any nonsense the big dynamite group came up with, but not so far forward that you were bored with the older girls.

The way was peaceful. Ingrid was in front of you, busy on her tablet, Caro was dozing with headphones in next to her, and Ona was leaning on your shoulder, half asleep, watching the series playing on your tablet. Up until now, the girls in the back had been talking nonsense, until suddenly it turned into something more serious.

"So Kika… we heard you're dating someone, a girl who's not from Barcelona. Is she a cute omega? Have you had a chance to do anything else with her?" Patri asked, without any shame, while Kika was completely embarrassed by her question, although she thought it was entirely a joke.

"I… umm… I don't know if it's necessary to talk about that." Kika sounded quite nervous, trying to evade the question.

"Come on, we're a team, a family, we trust each other enough to talk about these things, right?" Patri stared at her, trying to get Kika to answer, because of course, she needed to know if the girl they were pairing Kika with was single or not, out of sheer curiosity.

You listened as the girls, not just Patri, pestered Kika to talk to them about her sex life, while you were starting to get annoyed.

"Stop pestering Kika if you don't want me to change your seats." Your tone was serious, almost bordering on angry, so they automatically shut up and left Kika alone. You remained in the same position, staring at your tablet.

Despite what many people outside the team said, the girls generally respected you a lot. You were one of the only Omegas they listened to so quickly. Not even Alexia could get them to listen to her that quickly, even though she was the Alpha of the pack.

The trip continued without further incident. Ona was now asleep on your shoulder, as was Caro, who was sleeping curled up next to Ingrid. She was looking at something on her cell phone. You were reviewing the reports the coaching staff had sent to better analyze the other team's players.

When they got off at the airport, Kika timidly approached your side. "Thanks for silencing them." You looked at her with a small smile, while gently caressing the top of her head. "Don't worry, Kika. Whenever you need it, I'm here to help you." You saw her about to say something else, but you felt someone gently take your arm. "We have to share a seat. Let's go so we don't arrive late, darling." You felt Alexia's presence next to you. You saw Kika frown as she looked at Alexia's hand still resting on your arm. You sighed in exhaustion at the situation and turned around to face Alexia, smiling at her. "Okay, I think I should sleep on the way."

Alexia laughed, as if you'd just told the best joke in the world. "If the girls even let you sleep, you know how noisy they can be," you growled at her comment, as you started walking toward the gate, followed by Alexia, who looked like a lost puppy trailing behind you.

Upon boarding the plane, Alexia took your bag and carried it upstairs, letting you sit first next to the window. When she finished, she sat next to you, already taking out her tablet to do her gaming homework. "So… we should talk about something, right?" You mentally cursed yourself for letting Alexia get to know you better than the others. She always knew when something was wrong, which sometimes bothered you.

"Nothing's wrong, just tiredness from the trip," you spoke almost in a whisper as you settled into your seat, looking for a comfortable position to sleep during the journey.

"I know you, and I know when something's getting to you, although, well, in this case, it's more like, someone's getting to you," you grunted at her words, not wanting to answer her questions as you watched the other girls from the team begin to board the hotel with the coaching staff. "We'll talk about it when we get to the hotel; we share a room."

"That's weird," you said sarcastically. It had been a year and a half since you and Alexia shared a room when it was time to play away games in another city or country, so it wasn't strange that you were sharing a room again. You sighed, hoping that would be enough of an answer for Alexia to calm down and let you sleep.

You woke up twice during the flight, only because Vicky and Jana were in the seats behind you and were laughing really hard, causing Alexia to scold them at least three times before you woke up. Between those times you woke up, you heard something that made you think more.

"Do you think Kika will tell her? I think it's getting pitiful to see how they both yearn for each other and neither of them takes the next step."

"I don't know, but I totally agree that it's getting sad to see how neither of them takes the next step."

"Although I understand Kika too. According to what she told us a few days ago, she'd never seriously dated anyone…"

"Is Kika even no longer a virgin?" Vicky asked mockingly, earning a laugh from Jana, followed by a smack.

"Of course, he's told us about his experiences, that time he got drunk, he told us he's slept with several girls in Portugal."

"A real heartbreaker," they both laughed as they now talked about something more absurd. While you were thinking about what you had heard, maybe that was the reason why Kika walked away when people bothered her with you, maybe she didn't want to give the omega she was liking the wrong idea.

As soon as you arrived at the hotel and Alexia dragged you to the shared room, you blurted out everything. Everything that had been happening since Kika arrived, and how now, after practically not wanting to leave your side at first, she seemed to want to stay away from you at all times, especially when the girls bothered her.

Alexia was clear and to the point.

"Y/N, Kika likes you, that's why she's reacting this way. She doesn't know how else to react to her feelings."

You stood there blankly for what seemed like an eternity, while Alexia stood in front of you, patiently waiting for you to react to her words. It took you about five minutes, during which you didn't speak and all you thought about was what Alexia had told you.

"It's impossible that she likes Ale. I think she's interested in a girl from Portugal. I heard something like that from Patri and the others."

"And you're going to believe Patri? I thought you were smarter than that, honey," she laughed and left you alone in your room, now unable to stop thinking about it.

The next day went by quickly. You wished you could say you barely even thought about Kika, but it was impossible when she seemed to be hovering around you. She brought you water bottles, occasionally paired up with you at practice matches, and during gym time, she followed your same routine. What made it more uncomfortable was that she didn't speak to you directly. She would talk and respond to the others, but not to you, which frustrated you even more.

It wasn't until training was over that you decided to clear up your doubts by talking to someone.

And who better than Aitana, who seemed to be Kika's best friend.

You approached after entering the large dining room for dinner, and found her alone choosing what to eat. You quickly grabbed an empty plate, filled it with a few things, and stood next to Aitana, who was startled to see you so suddenly beside her, making you smile.

"So… do you think we can talk about a little something?" You gave her the most inconspicuous smile you could muster, hoping she'd say yes.

"Does it have to be now, or can I eat first? I need to know if it's about some drama, because if so, I'd rather eat first," she answered without looking at you, quite focused on what she would eat, making you roll your eyes at her so focused on that.

"It's about Kika." She automatically looked you straight in the eyes, scaring you, so you unconsciously took a step back.

"What do you want to talk about?" You saw her raise an eyebrow and point her fork at you.

"About her behavior toward me… she's been weird," you heard her sigh as she returned her gaze to her food.

"Go to my room later. I don't think it's the right thing to talk about it in the middle of the dining room."

"Sure, thanks, Aita," you smiled, placing a kiss on her cheek before sitting next to Mapi and Ingrid, beginning to annoy Mapi, as usual.

You ate quickly, partly due to the anxiety Aitana had developed after leaving you waiting. You watched her eat slowly while talking to the others who were eating with her.

When you finally saw her walk toward the elevator, your nerves began to subside, knowing that soon you would be able to know the truth. You stood up when you saw Aitana waiting for you outside the elevator and almost ran to her side. You got on in absolute silence, both of you thinking about different things.

Aitana opened the door to her room and gestured for you to come in. She closed the door behind you calmly, as if she already knew what you were about to discuss wouldn't be easy or light.

"Do you want water or anything before I start talking?" she asked, leaving her cell phone on the nightstand.

"No, I'm fine… just, well, I want to understand what's going on," you said as you sat on the edge of her bed, nervously fiddling with your hands.

Aitana leaned on her desk, crossing her arms.

"With Kika?"

You nodded.

"Lately, she's been approaching me a lot, but she doesn't talk to me. She looks for me in the fields, at the gym, but when we're around, she seems… uncomfortable. As if I'm the problem. And I don't know if I did something wrong or if she just can't stand me or…"

"No, no, no," Aitana interrupted you with a soft smile. "It's not that I can't stand you. I'd say it's quite the opposite."

You looked at her, confused.

"So?"

"Look, I shouldn't be telling you this, but I also know what you're like, and I know if I don't tell you something, you'll go over it in your head. So…" she took a breath, "the thing about Kika is that she has no experience with this."

"With what?" You frowned, trying to understand.

"With all of this. With liking someone. With feeling something more than friendship. With not knowing what to do when her heart beats out of her chest just because you smile at her." Aitana shrugged. "She's never been in a relationship. She's never let herself feel this way about anyone."

You felt a slight tug in your chest.

"And she likes me?"

Aitana let out a short, tender laugh.

"Do you think someone starts copying your gym routine because they think it's fun? Kika is completely in love with you, and she's freaking out about it."

"But… why doesn't she tell me anything?"

"Because she's scared," she answered honestly. "Because people weren't always kind to her because of it. And because she cares too much about you. She doesn't want to ruin anything. Sometimes she thinks it's easier to pretend nothing's wrong than to risk telling you how she feels and… not having it be enough."

"Enough?"

"I'm not going to go into details. If Kika ever wants to tell you everything, she will. I just want you to understand that you're not doing anything wrong. It's not that she doesn't want to talk to you. It's that she doesn't know how to handle what's happening to her with you. She's learning. And she's scared of feeling so much, so quickly."

You remained silent for a few seconds, absorbing each word. You didn't know whether to cry, smile, or run to find her.

"And you think I should talk to her?"

"Only if you're willing to be patient," Aitana replied. "Because if you pressure her, she'll withdraw even more. But if you give her your time, your confidence… Kika will give you much more than you can imagine. Believe me."

You nodded, calmer. There was no longer so much fear in your chest. Only a strange warmth, as if you finally understood a language you'd been trying to decipher for weeks.

"Thank you, Aita."

"You're welcome. But if you make my Portuguese girl cry, I'll lock you in the washing machine in the locker room. And I mean it."

You burst out laughing through pent-up tears, knowing that, finally, you were a little closer to the truth.

The referee hadn't called anything. Not a foul, not a warning. He just let the Sevilla player push Kika from behind, straight into the turf. And you… you saw red.

Without thinking, you screamed.

It wasn't an insult, but it was enough to get you a yellow card, and then a red card, because you already had one for protesting before, so now you were sanctioned.

And although everyone assumed it was simple frustration over the poor officiating, Kika and Alexia knew there was more to it. That's why, after the game, as everyone boarded the bus to the hotel after the match, she stayed behind.

When you arrived at the hotel, she caught up with you in the hallway, as you were walking to your room, and gently took your wrist.

"Can we talk?" she asked, her voice more shaky than usual. You turned slowly until you looked her straight in the eyes. She was nervous. One of those times when she seemed like a little girl afraid of making a mistake and getting scolded.

"Of course, Kika."

They walked silently to her room. She shared it with Ellie, but you knew she wasn't there at that moment. You saw her linger in the hallway, chatting with Ingrid and Frido. They entered, Kika closed the door, and for a moment the entire world seemed to stop in that small hotel space.

"Why did you do it?" she asked suddenly. "What happened a little while ago, at the game. Why did you yell at the referee like that? Why did you take that risk?"

"Do you want the truth?" you said, crossing your arms, feeling the confession burning in your chest and throat, finally demanding to come out into the Light.

"Yes. I want to understand you." You took a deep breath. You couldn't take it anymore. Anxiety, confusion, the fear of losing her without ever having her, and the fear that Aitana was making a mistake hammered at your chest like a stone.

"Because I like you, Kika."

She She blinked.

"What?"

"I like you. I've been having feelings for you for weeks, and I don't know what else to do to make you see it. I like the way you smile when you think no one's looking, the way you bite your lip when you're nervous at practice, the way you're always looking for me without saying anything." You laughed humorlessly. "But you drive me crazy. Because I like you so much that it's killing me not to understand what's going on in your head. And if I did what I did a little while ago, it was because you were hurt, and I… I couldn't stand it. I can't stand watching someone hurt you, even unconsciously. I don't like seeing you hurt or sad. It makes me feel like my heart is being squeezed and ripped out."

Kika was still. Too still. "And you thought I didn't feel the same?"

"I don't know, Kika." You talk to me one day, ignore me the next, or walk away from me for no reason, like I'm burning you. You follow me around at the gym, but then you don't even look at me when I talk. I don't know if you like me or if you're just playing me.

"I'm not playing with you," he said quickly. I would never do that." You looked at her silently, trying to hold back your tears. They weren't tears of sadness, they were tears of everything you had gone through to reach that moment you had been waiting for.

"Then tell me. Tell me what's wrong." Kika walked toward you. Each step, a decision. She stopped in front of you and took your hands in hers, small, warm, trembling. "You scare me," she whispered. "I've never been with anyone. I've never… felt this way about anyone. I've never been in love. And you… you're so confident, so direct, so you. I don't know how to handle it. I'm afraid I won't be enough for you. I'm afraid I'll ruin it."

Your expression softened instantly. "You don't have to know how to do everything, Kika. You just have to let me be with you. Let me love you."

She looked at you, her eyes glazed over. "Are you staying with me tonight?"

"Always," you whispered before placing a soft kiss on her cheek, hoping your heart would stop hammering so hard against hers. your chest, although this time it was pure joy at finally knowing from Kika that your feelings were reciprocated.

Kika had sent a quick text to Ellie: “I need the room, please. I promise to tell you later.”

Ellie, who knew more than she let on, only replied: “I'm leaving now. I'll stay with Alexia. Have a good time <3”

The room fell silent. Just the two of you.

Kika approached slowly to where you were sitting, waiting for your alpha to join you, as if she were afraid you'd faint if she rushed. You took her face and kissed her gently, unhurriedly, not needing anything more than that first touch full of promise.

Her hands clutched at your shirt, gently pulling you closer. She pulled away for a moment, her breathing ragged.

“I don't know how to do this, my omega.”

“It doesn't matter,” you whispered. “We do this at your pace, however you want. I'm here, and I won't go anywhere without you, my Alpha.”

She leaned in again, and this time she kissed you first, with more confidence, with more need. The kiss became slow, deep, full of tenderness and restrained love. Your hands ran over her back, her neck, her waist. Every movement was a silent conversation: Are you okay? Do you want to continue?

And she responded with caresses, whispers, barely audible gasps.

You helped her remove her clothes, letting her do the same with you, guiding her with caresses, with sweet words in her ear. First, you removed her shirt, hoping she'd give you a positive response so you could continue touching her. Your lips wandered over her neck, her collarbone, every corner that trembled at your touch. You heard her gasp your name as she clung to your shoulders, feeling the pleasure course through her body, especially the places your lips and teeth captured, leaving small marks.

You watched her close her eyes as you whispered to her how much you loved her, how much you wanted her to feel loved, whole, enough.

And when the moment finally arrived, when you were lying on her bed, with her buried deep inside you, you couldn't help but melt for her again. It was clear this was her first time; the way she touched you betrayed a lack of experience as an Alpha, and that only made you feel better, seeing how she had blindly surrendered herself to you.

The process was slow. You both undressed calmly, leaving slow but loving caresses on her naked body before you. You left soft kisses under her breast, watching her tremble before you while she didn't take her gaze from your face. Blushing, she brought her hands to your cheeks, leading you back into a kiss that was messier than the previous ones, blinded a little by the pleasure of finally having her omega all to herself.

Her hands moved down your neck to your collarbones and then to your chest, where she began squeezing your breasts and tugging at your nipples, making you moan into her mouth, eagerly hoping to feel more of her.

You stood up and sat on top of her on the bed, feeling her prominent erection brush against your crotch, leaving you wetter than you already were.

"Kika... that feels so good, baby," you whispered against her ear as you gently scratched the skin of her back. You heard her growl against your neck, as she enjoyed leaving sloppy bites all over your neck. You felt her squeeze the flesh of your ass, moaning.

You moaned in response, "Please... my Alpha, let me feel you good." You felt her press her erection further between your legs. She gently pulled down your pants and your underwear, feeling your wet heat hit her thigh, making her moan in pleasure.

She shifted her position, now on top of you, looking straight into your eyes as she caressed your hair. She leaned down and kissed your forehead before returning her lips to yours.

She intertwined her hand with yours, while her free hand went to your crotch, where you were already a wet mess. She moaned as her fingers played with your clit, making you squirm beneath her.

"Are you okay? Am I... doing it right?" Her voice sounded so timid that you wanted to lick her. Your free hand went to her cheek, giving it a quick kiss before you lay back down on her bed.

You moaned as you felt her press against your nerve. "God, Kika... you're doing so well, baby."

She smiled triumphantly as she made you feel good.

She didn't last long with her fingers; she was desperate to feel you, but she was afraid of hurting you.

She first moved a finger to your entrance, looking at you, waiting for your permission. You kissed the side of your nose before feeling her slide a finger inside you.

She quickly began to move it, slow but deep movements, making you want more. Your free hand went to her back; you dug your nails in, hoping to receive more. Then a second finger joined you, now moving them faster, watching your face of pure pleasure.

You felt your orgasm approaching. Your breathing was now irregular, and you felt your whole body tense, from the tips of your toes to the muscles of your face, all due to Kika's great work with her fingers inside you.

It wasn't long before you came on her fingers. She seemed amazed at how you tensed around her fingers. Her gaze was now tender as she brushed away the hairs that had stuck to your forehead with sweat.

"I want to feel you, Alpha... inside me."

You saw her pupils dilate at your words. Your free hand snaked down her body until it reached her erection, which was constantly hitting your thigh and lower abdomen. You squeezed it, watching her eyes close. "Does this feel good? Or do you want me to stop, love?" You asked, waiting for her to give you the green light to keep touching her.

"Keep going... please." Her voice was now muffled as her hips began to grind against your hand.

You waited for her to feel comfortable before aligning her with your entrance, feeling her stretch you deliciously. "God... that feels so good, omega," she whispered against your neck as moans and gasps followed. You, on the other hand, had stopped understanding anything; you were calmed by the pleasure coursing through your body at the feel of your alpha buried deep inside you.

It didn't take long for Kika to begin moving her hips, her thrusts deeper and faster. You already knew she was seeking her release. Her hand rested on your lower abdomen while her mouth focused on your breast, sucking one and then the other. Her other hand was on your waist where your hand had intertwined with hers.

The only sound in the room was Kika's panting, your desperate moans to feel more of the alpha, and the wet sounds your bodies made as they connected in such an intimate way. Finally, Kika came inside you. You felt her semen shoot into you, finally bringing you to your second orgasm.

"Thank you... for loving me back, my omega," she whispered against your hair as she made you lie against her chest, rocking you gently until you fell asleep in her arms, feeling loved.

[sawsnsoft]

No Protection?

A/N: I did take a break from my other fanfic because I couldn’t think of anything for chapter two. So I’m doing this one shot.

Warnings: Talk of sex (Unprotected), Reader being freaky, Toji being smart???, idk anything else fr.

What song am I using???: CONDOM BY- AYESHA EROTICA

W/C: 875

Banner creds: @ithemes Ty for allowing this beautiful piece of art to be used!

Me and Toji have been seeing each other as fuck buddies for about eight months. I've been trying to get him to take off the condom for about three weeks now, I always ended up being fucked brainless and forgetting about the whole thing. Today I thought about it again. So I texted him about it. He declined the offer again but insisted on coming over to “distract me” from my thoughts “I never thought a guy would decline the offer to feel a girl raw!” I said tossing my phone to the side. I rolled my eyes and walked to my kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water.

[thirty minutes later]

I was in the living room sitting on the couch watching a show when I heard a knock on the door. I got up and opened the door. “Hey Toji.” I said with a smile. He smiled and walked over to the couch and sat down “What the hell are you watching.” He said looking at the TV , I looked at the screen. “It’s a documentary.” I said sitting on his lap with a smile. He puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes it. “You’re trying to do something?” Toji said, smirking. I nodded and smiled. “I need words mama.” He said, slapping my thigh. “Yes, I’m trying to do something,” I stopped for a moment before speaking again. “But I don’t have any condoms.” I said with a fake pout. He nodded with a smile. “I got some in my car, be right back.” He said taking me off his lap and getting up. I groaned as he walked out the door.

[The next day]

I was bored and still pretty spent from how hard Toji was fucking me. I looked at my phone and went through some people’s stories. I noticed it was like three in the afternoon. “Oh fuck…it’s so late.” I got up and took a shower. After my shower I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I put on a pair of panties and a white t-shirt. “I really wanna bake. I’m going to bake,and maybe call Toji.” I said to myself while I stood in the middle of the living room. I decided to make some peanut butter crunch cookies. After I made the batter I called Toji to come over for a bit, then I put the cookies into a heart shape. After I finished shaping them I placed them into the oven.

Toji came over ten minutes before the cookies were done. “I’m making some peanut butter crunch cookies. You should try one when they’re done.” I said, smiling at him. “So while we wait you should tell me about that job you and Shin were working on again.” I said laying my head on his lap looking up at him. He smiled and rubbed my cheek before he started telling his story. After ten minutes I heard the timer go off, I got up and walked to the kitchen. I opened the oven and saw the cookies come out okay. I grabbed a cookie and put it on a napkin and walked back to Toji. He took the cookie. “The cookie is hot Toji.” I said with a laugh. He took a bite out of the cookie and smiled. “It’s good mama.” He said taking another bite. I smiled and went to put the tray of cookies on the stovetop. I skipped back over and sat beside him on the couch. He put a hand on my thigh as we watched season three of Squid Game.

I started to get a bit handsy. I put my hand on his thigh and continued watching the show, then started to move my hand further up his thigh. He looked down at my hand with a sly grin. “And what do you think you are doing?” He asked, putting a hand on top of mine. I just smiled and continued my actions. After a few more small movements going up his thigh until my palm rested on top of his softened cock and squeezed it a bit. He let out a small groan as he felt me squeezing him. “Alright missy. I know what you're trying to do.” He said smiling and looking at me fully now. I sat there with a smile on my face and continued palming his cock until it was semi hard. I looked up at him before I started speaking. “Then, tell me what you think I’m doing exactly.” I said with a small mischievous grin. He smirked and grabbed my hand, pushing it down onto his cock more. “You are trying to fuck. And u know I don’t have any more condoms in my car.” He said, grabbing my face so I was looking at him fully. “Come on. We’ve been at this for months now, and I know you wanna feel outside of the plastic.” I said with a smirk. He smiled and pulled me into a rough kiss. “Fine if this is what you want so be it. We can do it. If I cum in you I’ll get u a plan B in the morning.” He said before he continued his rough kissing.

The end😋

(Sorry it’s short i didn’t know what do at the end…if you couldn’t tell I tried to bs my way at the end.)

!This is my work guys! Please don't kidnap it!! I SAW have written this story!!! You will be handled if stolen, with love!

[thatonegirlonhere]

Cipher & Flame

Han Jisung x Underground Rapper F!Reader

I realized I havnt written a single smut for Han yet!!!! As per usual, SLOWWWWW burn with eventual smut.

Content warning: fluff, angst, slowwwww burn, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks!!), fingering, jealousy

Word count:~6000

MDNI 18+ ⚠️⚠️

Master list

He should be asleep.

Han’s cap was pulled low over his face, hoodie zipped up, mask in place, phone off, and heart pounding.

It wasn’t his first time sneaking out. But it felt like the first time that something might actually happen.

He didn’t even know what he was looking for. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe the music. Maybe the thrill of blending into a crowd where no one cared about labels, contracts, or idol rules. Out here, it was just flow. Raw, unfiltered. Like the things he wrote but never dared record.

The basement was hot. Bodies crammed in shoulder-to-shoulder. The low ceiling vibrated from the bass thumping through the cracked speaker system. Graffiti bled down the cinderblock walls like veins. It smelled like sweat, smoke, and someone’s spilled cheap whiskey.

But it was alive.

The battle had already started when he slid in. Two guys going bar for bar, getting wild cheers from the front. It was impressive, but not new. He had seen better. He sipped his water, stayed low-key in the back.

Then the DJ spun again. The crowd roared like they already knew who was coming.

“Next up—Y/N, a.k.a. Hexa. Let’s see if she ends this fool before the third bar like last time.”

He hadn’t heard that name before. He didn’t think he had. But the crowd parted just enough, and that’s when he saw her.

You were a storm in a fitted jacket, black beanie, lips set in a deadly smirk. Your boots stomped onto that makeshift stage with the confidence of someone who owned the entire city. No theatrics. Just presence.

And then you spit.

Your first verse didn’t hit — it detonated. Wordplay carved like knives. Control razor-sharp. Your delivery was dirty and brilliant, clever and ruthless. She was the kind of rapper Han wanted to be when no one was watching.

He stood frozen, jaw slack, heat crawling up his neck.

The other guy didn’t stand a chance. He choked on his second verse halfway through.

When it was over, you nodded to the DJ, stepped down like it was nothing, and vanished into the back of the venue.

And just like that—Han Jisung was obsessed.

⸻

The crowd buzzed long after you left the floor. The DJ moved on like always—beats never waited for anyone—but for Han, everything blurred.

He barely registered the next battle.

Your voice echoed in his head like a sample he couldn’t remix right. The sharp consonants. The way your tongue flipped bars sideways like you’d swallowed the beat whole. You didn’t just rap—you commanded.

He scanned the room like a man hunting something he didn’t know how to name.

You were gone.

But you weren’t far.

You leaned against a peeling wall in the back corridor, arms crossed, hood up. You always slipped away after your battles. No mingling, no gloating. Just disappeared. A ghost with gold bars and steel in her spine.

You felt his eyes on you before you even looked up.

The masked boy. Still. Focused. A little too interested for someone pretending to be just another fan.

You let him watch. For now.

⸻

He left late. Later than usual. After the crowd thinned. After a guy with a face tattoo tried to freestyle in a language he didn’t even speak. After the neon outside buzzed dimmer than before.

He didn’t get your name. Not really. “Hexa” was just your stage name. Google turned up nothing but bad sci-fi and a defunct EDM project.

He needed more.

That night, he wrote.

You were there in every line.

A metaphor he couldn’t control.

Flow like fire in a locked room.

A voice like danger wrapped in velvet.

Every simile screamed her.

But he still didn’t know you.

⸻

Every night over the next two weeks he came back. Again. And again. Every time, hoping. Most nights, you didn’t show. Some nights, he thought he saw your shadow—but it never turned into a real body.

Then you did show.

Battle night.

Your opponent was cocky—some new guy from Busan with too much hype and not enough bars. You wiped the floor with him in two verses, ending your third with a low snarl and a smirk that split Han right down the middle.

You stepped off the platform. Straight into the crowd. Toward the back.

And this time?

You didn’t vanish.

You stopped in front of him. Close. Close enough to smell sweat, cedarwood cologne, and whatever mystery he wrapped around himself like armor.

“Been watching me?”

Your voice was low. Unbothered. Dangerous.

Han froze. He could barely breathe.

You tilted your head, eyeing him under your lashes. “You’re either a fan or a fed.”

He blinked.

“Which is it?”

He dropped his voice, pitched it deeper, his idol instincts screaming to keep it casual. “Neither.”

You raised a brow. “Then what the hell are you?”

He didn’t know how to answer that.

So you smirked again. Sharp. Knowing. You didn’t need his truth yet.

“Whatever. You’ve got good taste. You keep showing up, maybe I’ll teach you how to spit like that.”

You turned before he could say anything.

But your last words stuck like a hook in his throat:

“Or maybe I’ll just make you beg.”

⸻

He didn’t know how to sleep after that.

Your voice was stuck in his head again—low, teasing, laced with confidence that dug under his skin and stayed. The way you looked at him like you already knew what kind of boy he was, like you were daring him to prove you wrong.

And he couldn’t stop playing that moment over in his head:

“Maybe I’ll just make you beg.”

What the fuck did that even mean?

⸻

He went back.

Of course he did.

Same basement. Same pulsing crowd. Same scuffed walls.

You weren’t performing tonight, but you were there—posted up in the back like you owned the oxygen. You didn’t look at him. Not at first. But he felt you notice him the second he stepped in.

It was like that.

You liked power. And he had no idea what to do with it when you turned it on him.

“Didn’t think you’d show again,” you said eventually, brushing past him to grab a drink from the makeshift bar. “Figured I scared you off.”

He swallowed. Hard. “I don’t scare that easy.”

“Oh?” You turned to face him, sipping your drink, eyes dancing like you already knew he was bluffing. “Then prove it.”

He blinked. “Prove what?”

You took a step closer, the beat from the stage thumping behind you like a heartbeat.

“Spit.”

Jisung blinked again. “Wait. What?”

You grinned, slow and wicked. “You’ve been standing in corners watching rap battles like a kid in a candy store. Thought maybe you wanted a taste.”

He went cold. And hot. And then cold again.

Because yeah, he could write. His notebook was full of venom and metaphors and hooks tight enough to choke someone—but this was different. This was raw. In front of you. And you didn’t look like someone who’d go easy on nerves.

“I—uh—”

“Oh.” You leaned back, your voice dropping. “So you are scared.”

“I’m not.”

“Then rap.”

Jisung’s hands curled into fists in the pocket of his hoodie. He looked up at you, jaw clenched.

You didn’t look angry. Or cruel.

You looked curious.

But you weren’t going to wait forever.

So he opened his mouth.

And froze.

He didn’t choke. Didn’t stutter. He just… had nothing.

Not in front of you. Not with your eyes on him like that.

A beat passed. You arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. “Thought so.”

Then you turned and walked away.

⸻

He left early that night.

Heart hollow. Ego bleeding. Brain a mess.

He barely made it to the dorms before the guilt kicked in. Like he’d betrayed a part of himself. Like he was living two lives and failing at both.

But you?

You weren’t done.

Back in your apartment—a cramped one-room with a cracked mirror, soundproof foam peeling off the walls, and your mic stand like a second spine—you stared at your phone.

At his face.

Because after he left, something nagged at you. That voice. That hesitation. That tension.

So you’d snapped a pic while he was distracted. Uploaded it to a facial recognition app your friend used for marketing gigs.

And there he was.

Han Jisung.

Rapper. Idol. Stray Kids.

Stage name: Han.

You let out a slow breath.

“Well, shit.”

Suddenly, it all made sense.

The mask. The low profile. The way he watched.

He wasn’t just here for the scene.

He was here for you.

And now?

You couldn’t stop thinking about him either.

⸻

He didn’t go back for three days. He didn’t write, didn’t eat much, didn’t sleep right. His phone blew up with group chats and rehearsal reminders, but he kept thinking about the moment your lips curled and your voice dropped, all silk and challenge—

“Rap.”

And the way he couldn’t. Not in front of you.

He hated it. Hated himself for freezing. Hated that you got under his skin like a splinter he liked too much to pull out.

But even more than that—he hated not seeing you.

So on the fourth night, he showed up.

Again.

⸻

The basement wasn’t packed this time. No battles scheduled. Just open mic night and a few regulars hanging around like smoke.

You were there.

Seated on a milk crate near the back, black hoodie draped over your head, phone in hand, pen tapping your thigh as a beat looped faintly from your headphones.

You saw him the second he walked in.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just smirked and looked away like his presence was routine now—like he’d always belonged in your orbit, whether he earned it or not.

He stood there, awkward.

You didn’t invite him over. So he waited. Half an hour.

Then you moved.

No words—just a nod for him to follow. You led him through a side door, into the alley behind the venue. Graffiti everywhere. Trash bins to the left, silence above.

And the moon.

You leaned against the brick wall, arms crossed.

“So. You’re Han.”

He froze.

You looked up at him, face unreadable. “Didn’t take long to figure it out. Should’ve worn a better disguise.”

He stayed quiet.

“You’re not just some dude who likes the scene. You’re in the scene. Commercial. Global. And yet… here you are.”

He shifted, hands in his pockets, voice quiet. “I come here to feel human again.”

That surprised you.

You stared at him for a beat. Then gave the smallest, faintest tilt of your head.

“Prove it.”

His brow furrowed. “Again?”

“No. Not on stage.” You reached into your hoodie pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Write with me.”

He blinked.

You shoved the page into his chest. “You’ve got half an hour. One verse. On this beat.” You tapped your phone and let the track run—a raw, gritty loop with breaks made for bars.

“If you’re legit, I’ll know.”

“And if I’m not?”

You grinned. “Then you can go back to singing hooks for teenage girls and watching me from the shadows.”

That one stung.

He didn’t say anything. Just dropped to sit on the crate, took out a pen, and started writing.

⸻

The alley was quiet except for your beat and the scribble of ink.

Jisung didn’t look at you once. You didn’t offer him comfort.

You watched him.

Watched the way he hunched forward, eyes narrowed, chewing the edge of the pen cap between bars like he was bleeding the truth onto the page.

You’d seen a lot of fake in this city. But this? This was real.

And when he stood, eyes flicking up to meet yours, breath shallow—

He rapped.

Not loud. Not flashy. Just raw.

Each bar was a knife. Quick cuts, short bursts of rhythm and pain and hunger and confession. It was about pressure. About masks. About needing space to scream but not having the room to breathe.

He wasn’t just good. He was dangerous.

When he stopped, you were quiet for a long moment.

Then:

“…Damn.”

He looked at you, unsure.

You didn’t smile. Not really.

But your voice was warmer when you said, “You’ve got bite.”

He laughed, breathless. “Told you I wasn’t scared.”

You moved closer. Just a step. Just enough.

“But you were.” Your voice dropped low. “You’re scared of me.”

His breath caught.

You didn’t touch him. Didn’t lean in fully.

But your voice was at his throat now. “I don’t need fans. I don’t need idol boys looking for edge. If you’re gonna be around me, Han… you better be ready.”

He didn’t flinch. “For what?”

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “For the real shit.”

And then you turned around and walked off into the night.

But your voice lingered like a threat and a promise.

⸻

The beat looped again and again, but you didn’t hit stop.

You sat alone in your bedroom-turned-studio, headphones hanging loose around your neck, fingers hovering over your laptop keyboard.

He’d posted it anonymously.

Some SoundCloud account with no followers, no bio. Just a gray profile pic and a single track titled “Ashes (Verse One)”.

You clicked play the moment it popped up on your feed.

And when you heard it—when you recognized the cadence, the wordplay, the voice that had haunted your brain since that alley—you didn’t even need to guess.

It was Han.

But it wasn’t polished idol Han. It was the Han he showed you that night.

Unfiltered. Raw. Honest.

A confession wrapped in metaphor, and buried inside it—you.

Lines about watching from the dark. About a voice that made him forget who he was. About wanting to burn down two identities just to be someone real.

Your name wasn’t in it. But you were all over it.

And you hated that your hands were shaking.

⸻

You didn’t text him. You didn’t comment.

You waited.

And three days later—after another 1AM freestyle in an eastside basement—you found him again.

Same hoodie. Same pulled-down cap.

But this time, you didn’t wait for him to approach.

You cornered him outside.

“You dropped a verse.”

He looked at you, then down, then back up. “Yeah.”

“For me?”

He hesitated. “…Yeah.”

You stared at him, waiting for the smugness.

It didn’t come.

Just a nervous energy in the way he shifted, like he thought you might call him out for being soft.

But instead, you said, “Come to my studio.”

His eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

You turned. “You want to write with me, idol boy? Let’s see if you can hang in a real session.”

⸻

Your studio was a small square room in the attic of a friend’s house in Mapo. Low ceiling. DIY soundproof foam. Cracked window. A mic stand duct-taped to a boom arm. And a small table with two chairs. Tight space.

Too tight.

He stood in the doorway, looking around like he’d just stepped into a different world.

“I like it,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t kiss ass. Sit down.”

But the corner of your mouth twitched.

You opened your laptop, clicked open a beat. Dark. Moody. Slow.

You slid a notebook toward him. “Write.”

He nodded.

For thirty minutes, you wrote in silence.

The only sound was the beat loop and your pens scratching across the page.

At one point, you looked up—and caught him watching you.

Hard.

Like he was memorizing the curve of your fingers. The way your lips moved silently when you mouthed your lines. The way your brow furrowed when you restructured a verse.

You raised a brow. “What?”

He looked down. “Nothing. Just—watching your process.”

You smirked, but didn’t call him out on the way he said it.

⸻

When it came time to record, you nodded to the mic. “You first.”

He stepped up. Put on the headphones. Cleared his throat.

And spit.

The verse was sharp—cohesive, clean, with just enough grit to feel like it belonged to this space and not a polished studio two districts over.

You didn’t move.

But inside, something shifted.

Because now, he wasn’t just showing off.

He was talking to you.

Every bar laced with double meaning. Every line weaving a story you weren’t sure he’d ever admit face-to-face.

By the time he pulled the headphones off, the room felt smaller. Denser.

You stood. Walked up to him.

Close.

Not touching—but almost.

His eyes flicked to your lips.

And yours to his.

But you said nothing.

Just looked up and whispered, “You’re not faking it.”

He shook his head. “Never with you.”

The silence stretched.

You stepped back—barely. Enough to breathe.

“Come back tomorrow.”

He didn’t ask why.

Just nodded.

And when he left, you stared at the mic like it had caught something you couldn’t take back.

⸻

You didn’t expect him to keep showing up.

But he did.

Four nights in a row.

No questions. No excuses. No overcompensating ego. Just Han, hoodie pulled tight, notebook in hand, hunger in his eyes.

It wasn’t about impressing you anymore.

It was about something else now.

The space. The silence. The writing. You.

⸻

The sessions started at 10 PM and ran past 3 AM. He’d bring coffee. You’d bring fire.

You’d sit cross-legged on the floor, laptops balanced on your knees. Beats looping in the background like a heartbeat you both breathed in sync.

Sometimes you didn’t even talk.

Just… coexisted in the same rhythm.

It was dangerous.

And it was intoxicating.

⸻

On the fifth night, you brought a new beat.

Slower. Darker. Not aggressive—intimate.

Something people could fuck to.

Han raised a brow. “This for a collab?”

You didn’t look up from your notes. “Nah. Just something I’m working on. Solo.”

But he caught the change in your voice.

The roughness.

You hit play.

And when you stepped up to the mic—you didn’t rap.

You confessed.

Bar by bar, your words peeled layers back.

About nights spent screaming into pillows.

About betrayal that turned your ribs to stone.

About the industry trying to box you into something pretty and dumb.

About wanting someone to see you, not just hear you.

When you were done, you didn’t look at him.

Didn’t need to.

He was already staring.

“Y/N…”

You pulled your headphones off, voice low. “Don’t. It’s not a sob story.”

He stepped closer. “It’s not—pity. I just…”

He swallowed. “You’re brilliant.”

You scoffed. “Takes more than trauma to be brilliant.”

“I didn’t mean it like—” He stopped. Stepped back. Ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”

Silence fell heavy.

But not hostile.

You finally sat down again. Crossed your arms over your knees. Avoided his gaze.

Then, quieter: “You ever rap something and wish you hadn’t?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Every time I say something real.”

You looked at him then.

Saw the raw edges in his smile.

The way he’d been bleeding through every verse lately—but hiding it between clever rhyme schemes and metaphors no one else caught.

But you did.

Because you were the same.

⸻

You didn’t say goodbye that night.

You just sat there after midnight, side by side on the floor.

Not talking.

Not writing.

Not moving away.

And when your shoulder brushed his—

You didn’t pull back.

⸻

The next night he showed up earlier. No coffee. Just energy. Like he’d been itching to get back to that moment you’d almost shared.

You were already barefoot in your sweats, hair pulled up, sweatshirt riding one shoulder. Not thinking about how you looked.

But when he walked in and stopped just inside the door?

You noticed.

His eyes did a full scan. And lingered.

You didn’t say anything.

But later—when you handed him the headphones and your fingers brushed—you didn’t move away from the heat of him.

⸻

And then came the storm.

A Friday night battle. Loud. Packed. Sweat in the air.

You stepped into the ring, just to keep sharp. Just to stay known.

Some punk decided to come for you—hard.

Made it personal.

Dug into your style. Your flow. Your looks. Your reputation.

Your jaw clenched. Your pulse roared.

You obliterated him in three verses.

But after the battle, in the hallway behind the club, your hands were shaking.

Han found you there.

Silent. Back against the wall. Breathing too fast.

He didn’t speak.

Just stepped in front of you. Not touching. Just… anchoring.

And for the first time in weeks—

You let someone see you break.

You turned your head into his chest.

And he wrapped his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

No pressure. No rush.

Just warmth.

A quiet promise.

⸻

The hug wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

Just comfort. Just support.

That’s what you told yourself when you buried your face into Han’s hoodie, inhaled his scent—faint citrus, studio dust, and the ghost of stage lights.

You didn’t mean to melt against him.

Didn’t mean to curl your fingers into his side like he’d disappear if you let go.

And when his arms tightened around you, slow and careful, like he was trying not to spook you?

You closed your eyes and forgot how to breathe.

⸻

You pulled away first.

Too fast. Too sharp.

You didn’t meet his eyes. Just muttered something about needing air, needing space, needing to walk it off.

Han didn’t chase you.

He stayed leaning against the brick wall, hands in his pockets, watching you disappear down the alley with a look on his face like he’d just tasted something forbidden—and couldn’t stop craving more.

⸻

You didn’t message him that night.

But you posted a verse the next morning.

Just audio. No name. No tag.

But he knew.

“You smell like fire / talk like mercy / eyes like you’re scared to touch me first…”

“Want you out of my head / but you’re dripping in the ink / stuck between my teeth like a secret I can’t spit…”

Han listened to it on repeat. In bed. In the dorm bathroom. In his studio booth with the mic off.

It was you.

And it was about him.

⸻

He showed up to your studio that night on time. Earlier than usual.

You were already there. Sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, headphones around your neck.

You didn’t say anything when he came in.

But you didn’t tell him to leave, either.

He sat across from you.

Silence stretched.

Then:

“You dropped a verse.”

You didn’t look up. “Yeah.”

“It was about me.”

This time you met his eyes. “Yeah.”

Another silence.

He leaned forward. Forearms on his knees. “Why?”

You shrugged. “Because I write what I feel.”

He nodded once.

Then: “Me too.”

He pulled a folded paper from his hoodie pocket.

You raised a brow. “You came prepared?”

“Been holding this for a week.”

He handed it to you.

You read it in silence.

It wasn’t polished.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was longing.

Frustration.

Desire.

Bar after bar of a man caught between what he’s supposed to be and what he wants.

You felt your pulse pick up.

“This part—” You pointed. “‘Every time she says my name, it rewrites the beat in my chest’?”

“Yeah.”

You swallowed.

“You didn’t post this.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t want to share it with the world.”

You looked up. “So why show me?”

His answer came fast. “Because you’re the only one it’s for.”

Your breath caught.

And then—

He leaned in.

Slow.

Not touching. Just hovering.

Eyes flicking to your mouth.

Your heart thundered.

But he didn’t kiss you.

Not yet.

Not even when your knees brushed and the air between you shimmered with everything unsaid.

You leaned forward too, lips just shy of his.

Waiting.

And he whispered—

“If I kiss you, I’m not stopping.”

You blinked.

And whispered back—

“Then don’t.”

But still, he didn’t move.

Because this was more than tension.

This was pressure, breaking slowly.

Not fast.

Not yet.

He leaned back.

Your chest caved with the space he left.

He looked at you like you were the cliff he wanted to jump from, but knew he wouldn’t survive.

And then he said, voice hoarse:

“Next time.”

And you smiled—bitten, breathless.

“Coward.”

⸻

You didn’t write the next day.

You tried—sat with your notebook open, pen in hand, a beat looping endlessly in the background. But every line came out jagged.

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The way he leaned in, breath brushing your mouth.

The way his voice dipped when he said, “If I kiss you, I’m not stopping.”

The way he didn’t do it.

And that?

That made you want him more.

⸻

Han had a performance the next night.

Just a small guest verse on a friend’s underground set. No cameras. No press. Han still wore his mask, cap, and hoodie.

You came.

Not for the show.

For him.

You stayed in the shadows at the back of the venue, hoodie up, arms crossed, pretending you weren’t watching his every move.

But you were.

And he saw you.

Of course he did.

The second his verse ended, the moment the beat dropped and the crowd went wild—his eyes scanned the room.

Landed on you.

Held.

And you knew.

⸻

After the show, he found you in the hallway behind the stage.

It was dark. Warm. Quiet.

You didn’t speak.

He didn’t ask if you liked the set.

You didn’t pretend this was casual.

He stepped in close.

And this time—he didn’t hesitate.

His hands cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

And when his lips met yours, it wasn’t soft.

It was hungry.

Weeks of tension exploded in the space between heartbeats.

You pressed into him like you’d been waiting your whole life to fit there.

He groaned against your mouth, deep and low, one hand slipping to your waist, dragging you closer until there was no air left between you.

You kissed like fighters.

Clashing.

Desperate.

Alive.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, fisting the fabric as his tongue swept over your bottom lip, testing, teasing—and when you opened for him?

He devoured.

The hallway spun. Your knees nearly buckled.

He kissed you like he was writing a verse into your skin.

One syllable at a time.

And you let him.

⸻

When he pulled back, breath ragged, his forehead dropped to yours.

You were both shaking.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the alley,” he said.

You smiled, panting. “You should’ve.”

He laughed, hoarse. “Couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

His eyes searched yours. “Because once this starts… I won’t be able to stop.”

You pressed your fingers to his chest. His heartbeat was wild.

And your voice dropped to a whisper:

“Then don’t stop.”

⸻

You didn’t talk about the kiss.

Not the next day.

Not when you texted him the studio address like nothing had changed.

Not when he showed up with two coffees and a hoodie that still smelled like you.

But everything had changed.

The air was different.

Hotter.

Thicker.

Like someone had dimmed the world and turned the heat way up.

⸻

Tonight’s beat was smooth. Sultry.

Slow snare hits, heavy bass, warm synths that made you want to sweat through cotton and say things you’d only ever rapped in metaphor.

You perched on the edge of the couch, legs crossed, notebook balanced on your thigh.

He sat on the floor in front of you, back against the sofa, head tilted just enough that you could see the curve of his throat when he swallowed.

And he kept swallowing.

Because you weren’t wearing a bra.

And your tank top wasn’t subtle.

⸻

“Got something new,” he said, pulling out his phone.

You raised a brow. “Lyrics?”

“Yeah. For you.”

Your breath hitched.

But you didn’t let it show.

“Let me hear.”

He passed you one side of his headphones, slid the track into the playback window, and hit play.

You sat there, inches from him, the beat pulsing in your left ear, his presence thick in your right.

And his voice poured through the headphones like smoke—

“She writes like war / kisses like art / burns me alive / and calls it a start…”

“She don’t beg / she beckons / breathes in verses / bleeds confessions…”

“Touch her and it’s gospel / but God, I ain’t holy / I’d ruin her just to keep her lonely.”

You blinked.

The room was suddenly too quiet when the track stopped.

He looked up at you, eyes dark.

You stared back, still holding the headphones like they were made of fire.

“…You wrote that for me?”

He didn’t even blink. “I wrote that about you.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just leaned in.

You kissed him again—this time slower, deeper.

You shifted, straddling him on the floor, hands cupping his jaw, mouth parting as his arms wrapped tight around your waist.

He pulled you flush against him, and this wasn’t the same as the hallway kiss.

This was need.

Your hips rolled without thinking.

You felt him—hard and hot beneath you—and still you didn’t stop.

He groaned into your mouth, biting your bottom lip gently, hands sliding up your back under your shirt, palms broad and warm and starving.

“Y/N…” he breathed, head tilting back as you kissed down his neck, open-mouthed and hungry.

His fingers slid beneath the waistband of your sweatpants—just resting there, not pushing further.

But you wanted him to.

And then—he stopped.

Breathing heavy, pupils blown, lips swollen.

“I want you,” he said, voice raw.

You froze. Chest heaving. “Then take me.”

But he shook his head.

“Not like this.”

Your brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because once I have you, it’s never gonna be just sex.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that said he meant it.

And when you looked into his eyes, something shifted in your chest.

Because you felt it too.

It wasn’t just lust.

It was everything else that had been building in the bars and the silence and the looks you’d been avoiding for weeks.

You leaned your forehead to his, whispered, “Then stay tonight.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

⸻

You didn’t fuck.

But you touched.

Clothes stayed mostly on.

Shirts hiked up.

Sweatpants pushed low but not off.

Fingers dipped just far enough to tease.

Mouths explored like worship.

And when you came, you had his name on your tongue and his hand between your thighs—and he held you through it like he already knew you were his.

⸻

The next night at the venue, the heat was already building in your skin before you even stepped inside.

Not from nerves.

From want.

From knowing he was there—somewhere in the room—still tasting you from the night before.

You wore black tonight. Cropped top, chains at your waist, lips dark. And you knew the second he saw you.

His eyes landed on you across the crowd like a match finds gasoline.

But he didn’t approach.

He watched.

Like always.

You were about to move toward him—when he appeared.

Jae.

Your ex.

Cocky. Loud. Still trying to act like he had bars when all he had was ego and empty hands.

He slid up next to you like nothing had ever ended. Arm brushing yours. Grin sharp and greedy.

You didn’t flinch, but your jaw tensed.

Han saw it all.

Saw Jae lean close, saw his mouth brush your ear, saw your forced smile.

And Han’s hands clenched at his sides.

⸻

You walked off a few minutes later, brushing Jae off with a cool look and a mumbled “I’m not yours.”

But by the time you turned the corner, Han was there.

Eyes dark. Jaw tight.

“Was that your ex?” he asked, voice low and hard.

You blinked. “Yeah. Didn’t matter.”

He stepped closer.

“He touched you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Jealous, Han?”

His gaze burned. “Fucking furious.”

You stared him down, chest heaving. “Then do something about it.”

⸻

You didn’t make it to the studio.

You made it to your place. Barely.

The door slammed shut behind you and you were on him before it even clicked.

He kissed you like a man starved—biting, open-mouthed, greedy.

Your back hit the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist, and he carried you to your bedroom like you weighed nothing.

“Mine,” he growled into your throat as he kissed down your neck, sucking hard until your skin bloomed red.

You moaned, grinding against him.

“I’ve wanted this—” he ripped your shirt over your head— “since that first battle.”

You clawed at his hoodie, dragging it off, gasping when you saw him.

Slim. Cut. Perfect.

You licked your lips. “Show me.”

⸻

Clothes were everywhere.

Hands didn’t stop moving—gripping, sliding, pushing, claiming.

He kissed down your chest, sucking a nipple into his mouth until your back arched and you cried out his name.

Then lower. Tongue tracing fire down your stomach.

When he knelt between your thighs and pulled your underwear aside, you whimpered.

“Already so wet for me?” he whispered.

You nodded, breathless.

“Say it.”

You gasped, “I want you. I want you inside me—please, Han—”

That was all he needed.

He stood, shoved his pants down, and lined himself up.

You barely caught a glimpse—thick, flushed, leaking—before he pushed in slow.

Stretching you. Filling you.

You moaned, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottomed out, forehead pressed to yours.

“God, you feel perfect,” he groaned.

And then he moved.

Hard. Deep. Relentless.

You cried out as he slammed into you, hips snapping, his name tumbling from your lips like prayer and filth combined.

He gripped your thigh, lifting it higher, hitting deeper.

“You’re mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you choked. “Fuck—Han, I’m yours—”

His thumb found your clit and rubbed tight circles in rhythm.

You shattered.

Came hard around him, screaming, body shaking as he kept fucking you through it.

And then—

He growled your name, voice breaking, and came inside you with a low, filthy moan.

⸻

He collapsed over you, breathing hard, still inside.

Neither of you moved for a long time.

Just silence.

Heavy. Intimate.

Finally, he kissed your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then your jaw.

“Still jealous?” you whispered.

He smiled against your skin.

“Jealous. Possessive. Obsessed. All of it.”

You smirked. “Good.”

⸻

The sunlight spilled through the cracked blinds, painting golden stripes across your skin.

Han was still asleep beside you, tangled in the sheets, chest rising and falling steady and slow.

You watched him—peaceful, vulnerable in a way no stage or studio ever let him be.

Your fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

He murmured something low and caught you off guard.

“Morning,” you whispered.

He cracked one eye open, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.

“Morning,” he said, voice thick with sleep and something warmer.

⸻

Neither of you moved for a while.

Just lay there, words unnecessary.

When Han shifted closer, your heart sped up.

His hand found yours under the blanket, thumb stroking your knuckles softly.

“I don’t want to hide you anymore,” he said suddenly, voice honest and quiet.

You turned to him, surprised.

He caught your gaze, thumb still moving gently.

“This,” he gestured between you. “Us.”

“Yeah?” you asked, breath catching.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I want to be the one who shows you off. Who writes verses about you without hiding. Who holds you when the world gets heavy.”

You felt something warm bloom inside you.

Because you wanted the same.

⸻

You smiled softly, squeezing his hand.

“Then don’t hide me.”

His lips brushed yours in a lazy kiss.

The kind that promised more than just desire.

More than just verses and battles.

This was real.

And it was yours.

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

Could you write a smut with either a Macaque x reader or a Sun Wukong x Reader (kinda just one of them I’d like to maybe see how they both would play with reader like this but that’s a lot to ask!) he’s praising her telling her how good she’s being or how good she’s taking him, while they play with light bondage (like her hands being tide up or her being blindfolded or both lol)

Soulmate Au – Tricked

Glamours are easy for Wukong to make, but will it be the right decision to get into his soulmate's bed with?

TW: Dub-Con

He had been grouchy all day, ever since the incident with you last night. His clones had stopped you from finding another person to get money from. Fuck! He had made a total fool of himself for sure. His teeth dug into his lip.

"You should have know that she would reject you," Macaque spoke up, striding into the room calmly, at least he looked calm.

"Oh shut up, she didn’t have to! If she wanted money and a fuck so bad why not just come to us!" Wukong sneered as he stared at the ground. They could pleasure you better than some mortal or other lowly demon.

Macaque rolled his eyes and kissed his husband on the cheek, "We'll talk later, for now I'm off to see PIF. We wanted to talk about some unruly men who are starting to step out of line. Don't do something stupid to piss off Reader," Macaque's eyes gleamed dangerously as he turned to the door.

"Oh please, you're just afraid that I could get her in bed before you," Wukong snipped back with a smirk.

Macaque stopped and turned, raising an eyebrow. "The only way you could get her in bed after that last stunt is by shapeshifting, and I doubt you could stay shifted once your get," Macaque leaned close to him and trailed a finger across his jaw. "Excited."

"Is that a challenge?" Wukong growled, narrowing his eyes as his lips curved into a smirk. Macaque grinned back, "I guess it is. You can tell me all about your failed attempt AFTER I get back."

Wukong clicked his teeth, "What if I win?"

Macaque shrugged calmly, "Then I suppose you'll have to think of a reward."

Wukong stared after his husband in almost disbelief, his tail started thumping against the bed. He could totally get you in bed! He could show Macaque and prove him wrong.

>>>

The club lights were almost blinding as usual as you sat at the bar. After over two hours no one had approached you and you had even seen a few people turn the other way when you had tried to talk to them. Not a single person here was giving you the time of day. Your fist tightened around your glass, this was all because Wukong just had to get involved with your life and scare off everyone the day that he confronted you about sleeping around.

You weren’t even in a relationship with him or Macaque, you were a single woman who needed to take care of her mother’s medical bills and her newly acquired younger sister. But of course the mafia lords didn’t care about that at all, you gritted your teeth at the thought as someone sat down next to you.

Your eyes shifted to the side to see a monkey demon, clad in simple blue jeans and a black hoodie, sit down next to you. Your eyes narrowed for a moment before realizing he wasn’t one of the two who had been pestering you for quite some time now. Might as well see if he’ll be a client, it’s not like it would hurt. The worst you would get is rejected for the dozenth time tonight.

“Well hello there darlin,” You grinned with a seductive smile, smirking when you noticed the way his eyes widened and his tail flicked.

“I-I heard that you were taking… clients?” He responded, a fluster across his face as he looked you up and down.

His hand clenched and unclenched, the feeling of the bond between you two almost completely invisible to even him. The stone that attached to his watch pulsed and when you gave him that sly, seductive smirk he knew you couldn’t feel the bond at all.

>>> 

Fuck! He didn't think this plan would actually work! Wukong was starting to sweat as your hands trailed down his chest. His tail which he had changed color and made slightly less fluffy and shorter thumped against the ground. Hell he had made himself look like a drastically different monkey demon, mostly because he wanted to see you look at him with eyes other than hate.

His fur was a deep crimson now, with a brown, oval face mask and brown eyes. Nothing like his real, much more handsome and powerful form. But he made the switch to using this form for a reason, your hand slid up his thigh and close to his clothed crotch.

"So, about payment," You whispered seductively in his ear, fuck! He could just take you against the wall if you let him.

"Y-yes! How much for the night?" He asked, forcing his voice to be smooth but loud enough to be heard over the blaring speakers.

"Five hundred, up front," you responded oh so fucking calmly. If you knew it was him, would you be talking the same way? Probably not.

He easily pulled out his wallet, five crisp hundreds were given to you. You took them and inspected them before slipping them into your bag. He was about to say something cool when you grabbed his tie and started pulling him to a secluded room.

Sharp fangs dug into his lip as he followed you like a lost puppy. Your dark red dress hugged your curves perfectly, it barely reached passed your ass and showed off your cleavage right to him. And he was about to have you all to himself, lick that bright red lipstick straight off of your face.

The door slammed shut behind him to show off a single room, a small room with a single bed and nothing else. This was in the bar?

"The boss let's us girls have rooms to service men or women, it's less expensive than getting a hotel," You told him before he could ask.

The thought of other men doing something like this to you, sent his blood boiling. Up until the thought was thrown out the window when you dropped to your knees and hooked your fingers in the waistband of his pants.

Your gorgeous eyes looked up at him as you pulled down to expose his cock to you. Your lips wrapped around it and he held his breath trying not to moan. His hand soon found your hair and gripped it, when licked his warm cock up to the tip.

“I-I see," He stumbled over his words as he stared at you, your hands all over him. Damn, he wanted you out of that dress~

A part of him didn’t like it, the part that registered the brown shade of his fur and the fact he knew you thought he was someone else. This was trickery, but… you never did ask what his name was. His throat hitched as you bobbed your head, focusing your gaze on his cock.

Fuck you were perfect on your knees just for him, he had to stop himself from grabbing your hair and making you choke on his cock. When your lips left his dick he felt nothing but lust for you as his precum dripped down your chin.

“Aren’t you messy?” You asked with a smirk.

Wukong gulped as you stood up, hands reaching around to your back only for him to stop you. No he didn’t want to just watch you strip, no he wanted to be the one to strip that dress off of your delicious body. “Let me,” He purred.

Shocked you allowed him to do just that, the fabric sliding down your body when he pulled down the zipper. He couldn’t resist grabbing you by the waist and pulling you straight onto the bed even as you let out a surprised yelp. You shuddered as his teeth grazed your neck and he began to suck on your neck and along your collarbone.

“My sweet, beautiful darling~ Aren’t you just perfect,” he purred making you nearly clench your thighs at his deep, seductive voice.

You couldn’t help biting your lip as he flipped the two of you over, when did he even remove his shirt!? Your face burned, you didn’t know why. Trying to steal yourself you spoke, “Eager, are we?” You asked with a smirk.

“More than anything, damn you look divine like this~” He responded with a seductive smirk.

He reaches down and kisses you with his claws in your hair, all the while making out with you and grinding against your heating core. Wukong wanted more, more, more.

“A sweet talker I see,” You responded with a smirk before wrapping your legs around his waist and pulled him in closer, his cock pressed against your bare core.

“I know a way to make this even more exciting,” He purred, causing you to arch a brow as he tugged on his fur, creating a rope.

You freeze, your eyes widen at the ability. There was no way, you pushed the thought away.  If he was Wukong then you would have sensed it, you would know if it was your fucking soulmate.

“Bondage will cost more, double for the risk,” You respond with a fake giggle.

“Good thing I have more than double with me isn’t it,” His tail scooped up his wallet as he pulled out twice as much cash as the first time slipping it onto the nightstand before dropping the wallet. “You are worth far more than you charge~”

Rope slipped around your arms, tight enough to hold you there without hurting. Your hands rested against the headboard as he slid his hands down your body. You gasped as he gave you more open-mouthed kisses across your neck, biting down harder then he meant to when he entered you.

“Fuck you’re perfect. My perfect darling,” He groaned as he moved, listening closely to every gasp and moan that left your lips. At even the slightest sound of pain, he’d slow to let you adjust, his hands settling on your hips to stare at your face.

His teeth bit into his lip so hard it nearly bled, he had half a mind to shift back, to return to his normal form. To see your expression shift as quickly as he knew it would, to see the anger, the heat of your gaze on him. It was a terrible idea, one that would get him in so much trouble with you.

Instead, he leaned over you, his chest pressed to yours as he fucked you raw. You might get pregnant from this, he would love that. There wasn’t as single problem with that no, it would be perfect for him. To see you fucked hard, mated, heavy with child, HIS CHILD.

“You sound so beautiful.”

“Moan for me.”

“You look perfect like this~.”

He praised you, not caring what you thought of the words. They were nothing but the truth, he loved you so much. From your furious glare to the sweet look you would give to young children. Everything, he loved you, loved you, loved you, loved you, fuck he knew he was obsessed but he didn’t have the will or want to stop himself from trying to hold back.

Slamming his cock into you, he made you gasp in shock and moan in pleasure. He littered your chest with his fangs.

White painted your insides and your pussy as he thrust into you harder and firmer, holding himself there when he came. A low purr escaped his lips as he cuddled into your chest, not wanting to let you go.

You were a panting, sweating mess underneath him. Your eyes glossy as you laid there trying to catch your breath, oh you looked perfect like this. His gaze shifted to the ropes as he reached for them to undo them, he stopped halfway. Maybe he could leave them, maybe he could just cover your mouth… just long enough to get you home to the penthouse.

“Okay, that’s enough,” You muttered before yelping when you were flipped onto your arms, considering they were still tied together and on your knees. “What are you doing!?”

“Round two?” You were about to cuss him out for the audacity when he waved a second double payment in your face. You bit your tongue as you nodded, the monkey demon tossing the stack of cash onto the dresser next to the bed.

Slipping his cock back into your wet, dripping cunt he purred. You gasped at the sudden entrance, but you took it gracefully even as a scarf was pulled over your eyes. Damn this man was fucking cocky as hell. The scarf which was just thick enough to stop you from seeing the shift of fur color, the shift in his face too.

“You look so fucking good on your knees,” He purred, making sure to grind his cock against your ass as he fucked your pussy.

He let his lips bleed this time when he bit them, knowing that if by some small chance the scarf moved too much you’d see. Know that you’d figure out his deception, but at this point he couldn’t care less. He had you right where he wanted you, beneath him where you would spend many more nights if he had anything to say about it.

He could never force you to, he’d never do that but this trickery, this illusion was something he’d allow himself. He had no reason to other than his lust and his craving for your affection and your attention. Holding you up with one arm he groped your breast lightly with the other, pulling at your nipples and gently circling them with his fingers.

“My beautiful, darling, Rose~” The very word made you freeze up at his words as he kissed your neck and slammed into your ass to cum again.

Your knees gave out as he pulled out. He flipped you onto your back and covered his body in a glamour once again before poofing the ropes away. Your hands grabbed at the scarf so fast he thought you might dislocate your shoulder.

“What the hell did you just call me!?” You seethed furiously but was only met with a smiling face of the brown furred monkey demon.

He had that cocky smile, the same fucking one Wukong would make when he was proud of something. He was about to open his mouth when your palm slammed against his cheek and ripped the watch off of his wrist. The pull immediately slammed into your chest, the tiny rosebuds blooming across his chest and shoulders, proving who he was.

“What the fucking hell WUKONG?!” You shouted, damn near falling off the bed as you grabbed a blanket off the bed to cover your chest.

The monkey demon in question dropped his glamour with a pout as he held his cheek, rubbing it. He didn’t have time to say anything as you turned around still yelling at him.

“I fucking told you no you asshole! I should fucking charge you ten times the amount for this bullshit! I can’t believe you actually did this!” You seethed furiously as you looked for your dress which seemed to have vanished.

“Wait ten times the usual amount? Or ten times the doubled?” He dodged the shoe that you threw at him easily.

“All of it!” You screamed as you pulled on the dress and your heels.

Wukong noticed the pair of underwear on the ground close to him, using his tail he tossed it under the bed. As you continued to yell you grabbed your purse and the stack of cash, about to storm out when he took your wrist in his hand. “Wait, I can pay ten times if that’ll make it better?”

Wukong was actually starting to regret this decision. Seething in anger you whirled around and backhanded his face, hurting your hand more than him before storming out of the room all together. Wukong stood in the room alone, his ears and tail drooping… maybe he should have just handed you your underwear.

>>> 

“You fucking moron,” You seethed to yourself as you stormed down the sidewalk.

The first person to give you cash… the risky profession you chose wasn’t the best sure but at least it paid the bills. That is until your fucking soulmates had taken away your paycheck by scaring everyone off. Your bank account only had twenty bucks in it today… the payment he gave you was money though.

Taking a look in your bag, you looked at the two thousand dollars he’d given you. You were still furious about the entire thing… but he had made sure you had a good time. Most people would take their fill and then leave you, weather you climaxed, if you didn’t or hell even if you hurt during it they wouldn’t stop till they ‘got their money’s worth.’

With a grumble you pulled out your phone and opened your banking app. Was the bank open right-… what the fuck!?

Account Balance: $20,020.34

Your footing stopped. There was two notes attached to the 20,000-dollar deposit.

‘For our soulmate. We don’t want you needing for anything – Wukong and Macaque.’

‘Wukong is a dumbass, but if you need more just let us know – Macaque.’

You stood on the sidewalk for a long time just staring at the screen before turning off the phone. You… you could stay home with Bai He for months with this kind of cash, you could take care of your sister and pay for college and send money to your mother…

You felt your heart both swell with some sort of joy and anger at the thought of them thinking you needed to be bought… Soulmates weren’t to be trusted, fuck Wukong even proved that today, they deceive and they betray that is all they do. A chain holding you to someone who will inevitably hurt you in the end.

*Ding*

Glancing at your phone you read the text that they sent.

‘We’re going to the coffee shop this weekend. We’re bringing Mk, maybe him Mei and Bai He could have a playdate. You don’t have to talk to us, but the kids do like playing together.’ – Macaque

Mk, Wukong’s younger brother, the child he raised as a son. A shining young boy who had the brightest toothy smile. You didn’t want to let the little boy down, the little boy you met when he came running into Sandy’s café just a few days ago from a demon. Sandy had to scare the demon off, and you had to calm the young boy.

A lonely boy who didn’t have many friends besides the Demon Bull kids and… well Mei and Bai He who he got on with right off the bat. Letting out a sigh you closed the phone without responding and headed home. They would go weather you responded or not, you knew that.

[ningningwinning]

Nothing Dry Between Us (pt. 1)

Synopsis:

Steam curls in the air, heavy with something neither of them can name out loud. Winter pretends it’s nothing. Karina won’t let her. There’s only one bathroom, too much sweat, and way too much tension between Karina and Winter. (part 2 link)

Pairing: Karina/Yu Jimin x Kim Minjeong/Winter

Charms: smut, shower sex, grinding, fingering, cunnilingus, 69

Stats: ✧ my first fic evrrrr ✦ 4.6k words ✦ chapters 1 & 2 ✧ AO3 link

It was one of those nice little hotels in Amsterdam, a small cute living room with a kitchenette, 2  bedrooms with a queen mattress in each, but just one bathroom. It wasn't very efficient in processing 4 girls who just performed for over an hour— and in desperate need of showers. 3 of them exasperatedly collapsed onto the couch.

Giselle had been complaining all the way back to the room about how her clothing had too many layers, so out of respect all the girls came to the silent consensus that she should shower first.

After what felt like a lifetime, Giselle hurriedly emerged from the bathroom and said, to Karina and Winter’s dismay, “Sorry! You can use the bathroom now, Ning.”  

It was to be expected that she thought of Ningning first, but it still stung to hear when Winter felt the moisture from sweat on the back of her neck making her feel sticky. She needed a shower— soon.

Ningning let out an irreplicable gleeful sound as she left for the shower. Giselle was already in her room, probably getting ready for a long scroll fest on her phone. Winter looked over to Karina who looked like she’d been waiting for their gazes to meet.

“Maybe it would be best if we just showered at the same time.” Right as Winter began to inhale deeply at the thought, Karina said “…or I could just take off my makeup in the sink while you shower. I would really like to speed up this process of getting cleaned up.”

Winter’s heart slowed down with Karina's final suggestion and she giggled. “Yea, we can do that! Having 1 bathroom isn’t the greatest. They should've just booked us 2 separate rooms with 2 beds, like usual.”

“Yea they're treating it like they are booking a room for 2 married couples on a corny double date.” Karina remarked.

“Well they kind of are.” Winter and Karina smiled and giggled at each other. 

They usually joked like this. It was fun to play around and fuel the fans’ tendency to ooo and ahhh at pretty girls being close, but the way the giggles dissipated felt awkward this time.

They were just… alone in a room with the prospect of being naked together in the shower. She felt a fluttering feeling in her core.

It's not like that.

Despite her apprehension, she sensed something thick in the air between her and Karina in that moment that made Winter's body heat up all over again. She felt the restlessness to get in the shower grow even more, and retreated to her phone while Karina started doing the same.

Ok, so we have showered together before, but it was all 4 of us. It was to celebrate our debut as a group. It felt like a transparency exercise, but this doesn't truly feel the same. It’s very anxiety inducing and sudden for Karina to spring this on me. Actually, why am I still stressed? Karina said that she'd just take off her makeup in the meantime. She will give me time to shower so she won't have to shower with me.

Winter’s shoulders immediately relaxed.

Right as Winter made a silent vow to not think about what Karina said, she heard the bathroom door open. Their heads jolted up.

Ningning waved her skincare products at them. “I'll finish my skincare in our room, you guys can shower now.” She smiled softly at them then entered the bedroom.

Ningning’s gesture immediately made Winter perk up and she looked over to see Karina sucking in her lips as if to suppress a smile. 

“Awww. Ning is so cute and has such a good sense for our emotions.” Winter looked at Karina, expecting her to chime in, but she was already making her way to the bathroom. She instead heard an “Mhmm!” come from the bathroom. 

Winter reluctantly got up from the couch and felt an all-too-familiar nervous sensation from her lower body as she walked up to the bathroom. Winter came to see Karina was already prepping a washcloth to scrub her face.

Karina’s makeup at this show was smokey and made her face super striking. Winter realized this whole time she’d been avoiding looking too hard at Karina's eyes, lips, nose— basically everything on Karina's body that she finds nearly irresistible. At this moment, she could not resist staring as Karina removed her lipstick.

Karina’s eyes suddenly met hers in such a way that made her feel an embarrassingly visceral throb.

“Aren’t you going to shower? I might beat you there if you don't hurry.”

Karina’s pace immediately stole her away from her anxiety and she shut the bathroom door behind her. She's acting about the same as when we perform... Guess I'm stripping now.

She swiftly made her way around Karina to the shower door where she sensed Karina’s gaze behind her. She’s not going to watch me strip right now. That'd be crazy, there's nothing going on here. The sink is running and her eyes are literally in a rag. Shit, I need to hurry…

She unbuttoned her baggy pants and they fell to the floor with a thud, covered in all sorts of metal accessories. 

The sink was still running.

Winter suddenly became hyper aware that her panties might be affected by what she's feeling right now. She quickly took them off because being bare-assed seemed better than letting Karina know how wet she was just from the prospect of stripping in front of her.

The sink stopped.

Winter slowly undid her bra underneath her shirt and dropped it to the floor. She pulled the bottom hem of her shirt tight to her body and slid it slowly over her tits. When the hem made its way over the hump, her breasts dropped and bounced a little bit, but just enough for who may be watching.

Karina's voice from directly behind her made Winter jolt out of a trance. “You're moving very slow right now, Minjeong.”

Winter whipped her head around to see Karina still fully clothed and staring her down.

“Whatever, you still have to get out of those clothes anyway.” She quickly slid into the shower, shutting the door behind her and running the water as hot as she could stand.

She anxiously listened as Karina’s clothes dropped to the floor on the other side of the glass. She couldn't help but turn to look at Karina's foggy silhouette with no clothes. Apparently, the universe won't allow Winter to admire Karina’s body for more than 10 seconds without it being noticed because the door was already opening.

When Karina entered, she did it chest first into her, with little regard to personal space. Winter could barely even process Karina's booby-bang because she needed to turn around immediately and act like she's really into shampooing after seeing something like that. How can I even look at her right now? Her perpetual flirting is making it hard to see this situation normally. 

“Hey, I thought you wanted me to take my clothes off.” Karina laughed nonchalantly. When she met Karina with silence she heard, “Minjeong…Turn around.” 

Karina was holding out her hand for the shampoo bottle. She's my really good friend that needs shampoo.

As their bodies slid past each other to trade places in the water, Winter sensed Karina stare down her wet body and hum to herself in approval. 

Winter closed her eyes and focused on rinsing the shampoo out. When she opened them she was met with Karina’s. She was already naked, but it felt like Karina's eyes were undressing her. Like Karina couldn't have Winter more bare before her until her fingers unraveled her inside out-

“Hey, are you ready to switch?”

“Oh! Yes, my hair's rinsed now.”

Karina put her hands on Winter’s shoulders again and guided Winter around her like she was seeking an excuse to touch her. Karina tilted her head back into the water and did the same rising process Winter just did, but her full chest out for Winter to helplessly gawk at.  No shame with me I suppose.

That's when she realized, she truly is at Karina's mercy. Whatever Jimin does here on out, she’s either gonna be clueless to how i'm feeling, or i'll be giving her exactly what she wants. Following this train of thought, she couldn't hold back her heavy breathing any longer. 

Karina, as if she immediately noticed, slicked her hair out of her face and stepped forward. She put her hands on Winter’s hips and pulled her into the water. Her skin pressed against Karina’s with a shocking slap and she inhaled sharply.

“You looked cute tonight.” Even though Winter had not conditioned yet, she rotated them again, and Winter had to fully focus on following Karina's movement to not slip.

“You know,” Karina leaned into her ear, “Everything you wear leaves something to my imagination, but I love that I don't need to think when I see you like this.”

She huffed and flushed red immediately, “Haha, c'mon Jimin… we aren't on a stage right now.”

“I make you blush all the time,” Karina chuckled, “I didn't think you could get any redder.”

“Hush. It’s just the heat, and that was way too cheesy.”

Winter turned her head away to avoid Karina’s intense gaze. However, she couldn't ignore the girl any longer when she felt a hand slide slowly up her thigh and stop at her crotch. She felt a warm breath in her ear and Karina's low, sultry voice reverberated through her body.

“Which heat?”

Winter couldn't even gasp, instead, out came the most obvious moan at her sudden explicit touch. That was all Karina needed to hear to feel comfortable pressing down on her clit.

When Winter fell forward onto Karina and gave her ear a stifled moan, Karina stepped into her and pushed her back to the wall. Karina slid her finger over her wet slit and laughed.

“I knew it.” At this, Winter threw her arms around Karina’s neck and desperately sought her lips. 

When she pressed her lips to Karina’s, it was possibly the softest contact she'd ever felt with her. She felt the girl lose focus on her clit as she sucked desperately at her plump lips for reciprocation.

Karina was still, and right when Winter thought the girl was rethinking the situation, Karina gripped the back of her head and pulled her into a deep kiss. When Karina released her, Winter could only attempt to catch her breath.

“I’m so sorry I didn't kiss you first… I’ve been holding back for a while.”

“It's okay… I have been too.” Karina blushed upon hearing Winter’s verbal confirmation, and it was only further exaggerated when Winter plunged back into Karina’s mouth.

As Winter’s tongue danced against Karina’s, she felt the girl moan into her mouth and slide her tongue into her. Karina grabbed her ass and pushed her harder against the wall with her thigh pressed between Winter’s legs. Karina then gripped her hips and slid them back and forth against her thigh, nails digging into her ass.

Throughout this, there was absolutely nothing Winter could do to suppress her moans until she recentered her focus to the plump chest rubbing against her own. She let her arms down from Karina’s neck and her hands stopped at her nipples. She pinched them between her fingertips and was rewarded by Karina groaning into her mouth.

There was a sudden confidence that filled Winter's body as she watched Karina quickly unravel to the stimulation she gave her. Karina took Winter’s hand and slowly guided it to dip into her waist and slide over her hips. When she stopped at her cheek, Winter's breathing quickened again. She gripped it, not as rough as Karina treated her own, but enough for Karina’s face to express full arousal and give Winter a moan.

While everything was truly escalating fast between them, she shamefully realized she wouldn’t have this situation play out any other way. Winter had felt Karina’s hands on her countless times on stage, so anything short of that within the context of mutual attraction would drive her crazy. It made Karina’s plan for the shower just seem like the sensical thing for her to do.

Karina put her hands on the wall, her body trapping Winter against it. Winter pressed her tits further into Karina’s and moved her chest side to side.

“Hahh… fuck, Minjeong, you really do want me.” 

“Mmhm...” Winter whimpered.

She began to grind her hips against Karina’s thigh and moaned at the friction. Karina's lips crashed back into Winter’s, flexing her thigh against her sex harder. Karina's hands hungrily returned to Winter's hips and she helped her speed up the back and forth motion on her thigh.

Winter cried out from Karina making her clit melt with hot friction, the pleasure became overwhelming. As her sounds of pleasure became more rhythmic, Karina swiftly reconnected with Winter’s lips. It felt as though Karina needed to swallow every vibration from her voice into her body. She was desperate to devour her— or silence her. 

There was a banging on the door. Giselle's voice crudely pierced through the door and hiss of the shower spray, “Hey! You guys are either in immense pain or fucking. Either way it’s freaking us out!”

Karina squeezed her eyes shut, pulling away and cursing under her breath. Winter clapped her hand over her agape mouth, embarrassment swallowing her whole.

I was definitely the loudest… shit, but now we are way too quiet-

Karina stopped the water and projected her voice to the door, “Winter stubbed her toe then fell.” 

Another tense silence.

“Did you… have to pull out a splinter?”

“No. How would she get a splinter in the shower?”

Giselle shot back, “Maybe Winter could tell me?” 

“I will tell you later!”

The sound of Ningning suppressing laughter on the other side of the door told them they didn’t exactly pass. As Giselle’s laughter chimed in, it was quickly followed by their bedroom door closing shut.

I could've sworn their door was farther away from the bathroom than that…

Chapter 2:

Winter’s gut churned trying to guess what type of conversations with the other 2 girls would follow this. Or even more confusing— what conversations with Karina would follow this.

Karina turned the water back on, thankfully less warm than what Winter initially set it to. 

“Let’s just finish washing up and get back to the bedroom.” Karina sighed. “We should try to be quieter in the bedroom, though that might be even more difficult for you.”

“What do you mean? There’s even pillows to…moan into...” Winter got flushed having to describe it and think about having sex with Karina again. That's when Karina leaned in to say, “Well, I haven't even gotten to finger you yet.”

Winter shook her head and tried to suppress an excited smile as she went for the conditioner bottle. Even Karina seemed a bit bashful with that coy smirk plastered to her blushing face.

As she worked the conditioner into her hair, she felt Karina’s hands on her again. She looked down to see Karina’s hands leaving soapy trails all over her tits.

“Ahh…Jimin, we’ve already spent so much time in the shower doing this…please.”

“But this is the best part about showering with you…” She felt Karina’s hands tragically leave her breasts then return to her back with a washcloth. “If I do this while you condition, we can save time.”

“Not if nobody is washing you.” Winter turned around and rubbed her soapy tits against Karina’s.

“Mmnn,” Karina groaned, “Okay I understand… I’d just end up fucking you.”

----------------- When Karina shut the bedroom door behind them, Winter immediately felt the towel get torn from her body. Winter whipped around.

"Hey, I’m still wet!”

“Good. Are you ready to be super quiet?”

Karina pushed the center of Winter’s chest and she made a startled noise, falling backward upon the bed. Karina claimed the space over her. Right as Winter started getting wet between the legs, Karina’s fingers began tickling her sides.

Winter immediately bit down a squeal and felt her lower body tense as the uncontrollable laughter began. She flailed away, but Karina pinned her arms and forced herself between her legs to stop Winter from kicking her off.

“Looks like you might have a hard time being quiet,” she purred.

“Please, stop teasing me. You know I'll try my best.” Winter whispered to show her dedication.

Without any further questioning, Karina let off her arms and sucked her middle fingers. She coated them with her spit and plunged them in. They entered with an invigorating bite that dragged a soft whimper from Winter. This time, she was slightly more prepared to restrain herself by biting her bottom lip.

Karina slowly curled her fingers and Winter arched her back along with the motion. Karina’s eyes traced Winter’s bare body, marveling at the way her fingers coaxed it to move. She straightened her fingers and drove all the way to the heart of her throbbing.

When Winter arched even further, she ignited Karina to lurch for her chest, tongue teasing her hard nipples. Winter shivered as she felt Karina’s other hand glide up the curve of her spine to cup her exposed breast. As Karina’s fingers began to pump in and out of her wet heat, holding back whimpers became a thing of the past. The raw, electric pulse between them surged, dragging them deeper into fevered desire.

Winter rocked her hips into her fingers, whining for Karina to churn her insides as the pressure on her nipples built. Karina pulled away with Winter’s nipple in her teeth, watching it release from her grasp, red and glistening from her mouth’s worship. Karina’s fingers crudely abandoned Winter's pussy, but it was shortly greeted with Karina’s lips instead. The smack of her wet kiss echoed off the walls and Karina lustfully studied Winter's lower lips.

“Jimin, please… I'm so close I just need you inside again.” Winter watched helplessly as Karina smirked up at her.

“It’s so cute how I can still see it pulsing for me,” Karina murmured against her, watching Winter’s hips draw closer to her mouth in desperation. 

Karina relented to the girl’s desperate hips, swirling her tongue around her clit and pushing her fingers through the wet mess she created between Winter’s thighs. Winter’s jaw fell open and a ragged moan tore from her throat. Karina curled her fingers as she dragged out, grinding her palm against her clit as she drove in. 

As Karina made her mission clear, Winter frantically sought a pillow to absorb her chaotic expression— Winter couldn’t anticipate the embarrassing noises that would follow.

Karina started panting as she felt it clamp around her fingers and her lips came up to crash into Winter’s mouth before she could smother it in a pillow. The tension that built in her core was intense. Karina’s hand between her thighs was merciless, sending her over the edge and spilling muffled cries into Karina’s thirsty mouth. Winter’s body spasmed against the girl above as the climax of her pleasure pumped through her, fists gripping the sheets.

Her jaw was agape and broke from Karina's persistent mouth, chest rising and falling. Her body went limp onto the damp sheets below her. Karina retracted her fingers and greedily lapped up Winter’s juices while staring hungrily into her teary eyes. Winter burned the beautiful image of Karina on top of her into her mind and started whimpering through the afterglow. 

“That was so amazing…” Winter huffed, exasperated from the storm Karina summoned in her body.

Karina laid down beside her and draped her arm over her waist, her hand trailing along the slope of her hips. Winter shivered. 

“And to think I can make you feel like that again, and again,” Karina grinned and leaned into her ear, “and again, and again, and again…”

“Gosh, don’t say that so soon.” Winter said, recoiling from the vibrating sensation in her ear. “I'm still recovering.” Her thighs squeezed together reflexively, but she felt the warmth at her core react. She ached for more friction.

“Then why are your thighs twitching like that?”

“Recovery is a process,” Winter murmured.

Karina’s touch moved fast, going from her waist to caressing the soft skin of her inner thigh in a heartbeat. The girl inhaled sharply when she felt the sticky residue from the previous round.

“Wow… you got soaked all the way down your thighs. You really do have recovering to do.” Karina didn’t even try to hide her grin as she rotated her body and dove down to clean Winter’s thighs with her mouth. 

Before Winter could argue, she was struck with awe by Karina’s ass— entire lower body, actually. With thighs on either side of her head, the unsatiated mess between Karina’s legs looked insanely tempting.

Winter pulled Karina’s hips closer to her mouth and went directly for her clit. She felt Karina’s lips break away from her thighs and get replaced by the hot air of her gasping. Winter relished the sound of Karina’s control slipping echo off the walls as she drank the girl’s lust.

“Ah… Minjeong, your mouth is so soft…” Karina whimpered into her thigh, dragging her lips back to Winter’s crotch. Winter struck Karina’s ass with a light slap.

“Hey! Clean up the mess you made between my legs,” she instructed, tone soft but resolute.

Karina immediately began licking Winter’s inner thighs, tonguing the soft skin and savoring it like she spilt wine. As Winter focused on flicking her tongue rhythmically over Karina’s clit, she felt nails gently dig into her thighs, and the licking devolved into desperately sucking at her skin.

Winter didn’t stop. She was precise, torturing Karina with slow circles then rapidly flicking her tongue at it. Karina sucked like her thigh was the only thing connecting her to reality. She smiled into her pussy as Karina’s hips twitched in her face. She’s already close.

As Winter played with Karina’s clit, she inserted her pointer and middle finger— just enough to send Karina over the edge. Karina released her mouth from Winter’s leg, crying into the mattress while the climax shook her body.

Though it was still gushing, Winter licked up as much of the orgasm she could while caressing the girl's ass. Karina crawled forward and slowly sat up to practically mount her. She looked back at Winter over her shoulder, distraught hair and dazed eyes. Holy shit. 

"God Jimin, you look so fucking beautiful like that..."

Before Karina could say anything about what she just did to her, Winter sat up. 

Winter’s chest pressed against Karina’s back and her hands snaked up to grab Karina's tits. Karina tipped her head back releasing a shaky breath, taking Winter’s hands into her own. She guided one to her crotch, and the other to grip her tit harder. 

Winter willingly complied, this time going harder on her clit than the girl could anticipate. Karina lost her composure as Winter tore an embarrassing moan from her throat. Karina grinded her clit into Winter’s firmed fingers and whined.

Winter took Karina's wetness onto her fingers to create slick circling motions around her clit. Karina began jerking her hips forward. After letting Karina get addicted to the friction, she slid her other hand down to her ass, then settling over her wet mess from behind.

After feeling Karina shiver with anticipation, her fingers entered with no resistance.  She felt Karina’s pussy immediately coat her hand with juices and the girl’s body above her tensed. Karina's breathing hitched up and she squeezed around Winter’s fingers. 

That's when she realized, Wow… my fingers are going deeper at this angle.

Winter felt arousal well up in her core and she snapped— she started finger-fucking Karina, fast and deep, till her ragged breathing turned up to audible moaning. That’s when Karina started bobbing slightly up and down on her fingers, causing the creaky bed to get excessive, headboard knocking on the wall. 

The 2 girls, having been lost in a trance, suddenly jerked away to the opposite side of the bed as the wall aggressively knocked back louder at them. They heard a muffled yell that was either “Go to sleeeeep,” or “Stop pleaseee!”

Winter and Karina gave each other solemn looks, sighing shamefully, before reorienting to put their heads on pillows. They situated under the covers and snuggled in close.

Karina’s eyes were closed, her chin to her chest in shame and still breathing heavily. Winter put her forehead to Karina’s, looking at her smugly. As Karina raised her head inquisitively, Winter doubled down to cherish the vulnerable moment.

“And that’s how we know for sure that I made you as loud as you made me.”

“Ugh, that was the bed not me,” Karina’s head pulled back down to her chest and covered her face with her arms, “you know that.”

Winter giggled, parted Karina’s arms, and leaned in close. “Does that mean you want a second chance?”

Karina couldn’t suppress the devilish grin that spread across her face and she turned around onto her other side. Despite facing away, Winter felt the softness of Karina’s ass scoot back and press against her hips. Yea, she still wants it.

Winter and traced her fingers over Karina’s hips. She laughed under her breath, quiet and teasing, lips brushing the shell of her ear. Karina didn't make a sound, just wiggled her hips against hers and moved Winter’s hand to her pussy.

“Try me,” Karina challenged from over her shoulder.

Winter bit Karina’s earlobe and plunged back in. Karina exhaled heavily and arched into the touch, her breath catching as Winter’s fingers slid through her folds—already slick, already begging.

Karina’s pussy ghosted Winter’s fingers and postured herself with her ass up, looking at Winter with playful eyes. Her head is conveniently placed so she can moan into the pillows...

Winter sat up and smacked Karina’s ass before getting behind it. Karina looked back at her through needy eyes— the state of her pussy was proof enough of her arousal. She was dripping with liquid want, basically sucking Winters fingers in, a groan vibrating into the pillows. Winter picked the pace that made Karina bounce earlier and pumped her 2 fingers in and out of Karina’s slick, pulsing cunt.

Winter slid her other hand down the slope of Karina’s spine, fingers dancing on her skin and tracing their way back to her hips. Getting finger-fucked and felt-up: 2 things that make Karina squirm and fall apart under her like magic. 

Karina was whimpering into the pillows when Winter’s chest brushed against Karina’s shoulder blades, her breath warming the curve of her neck. She bit down on her neck and curled her fingers against the spot that makes Karina’s hips buck. 

“Listen to how wet you are,” Winter murmured, voice rougher as she huffed through her arousal.

Karina cried something that got muffled by sheets, but Winter’s fingers didn’t let up— the two of them pumping hard and precise, the slick sounds absolutely filthy in the silence left between gasps. 

Though she was falling apart below her, Karina was keeping the loud moans suppressed. Winter’s fingers kept working, curling deep and holding that maddening pace, but she knew Karina needed more. Winter pushed her knee between Karina’s quivering thighs, supporting her hips and pushing on the right spot.

That's when Winter felt it— a sudden pulsing squeeze around her fingers. Karina’s body quaked under her, hips pushing down against Winter’s now-slick knee.

Karina’s face was fully in a pillow. No gasp. No moan. Just the rhythmic clench of Karina’s cunt fluttering around her fingers. When her body untensed, Winter pulled her fingers out and laid down beside her. Karina’s bottom half collapsed onto the bed without her support. She flipped over face-up, chest heaving for air.

“Now they’re going to tell us to stop breathing,” Winter muttered, smirking as she sucked her fingers clean.

Karina let out a hearty laugh, contrasting with her silent orgasm, “I bet they’re fast asleep.”

Silence filled the room as the girls began to entertain the idea of sleep.

“Jimin,” Winter rested her arm over Karina’s stomach, “I'm glad we can get this close at night now.”

Karina closed her eyes and gave a low, pleased hum. She rested her forehead against Winter’s and their deep breathing intertwined. Winter tangled her legs into Karina’s and her mind dissipated into a blissful slumber.

part 2

[daemonbrain]

Part 2

1.8k, cw: ghosts a pervert, smut, readers husband is piece of work, not proofread.

Simon Riley who first saw you at the butcher's shop on the phone. 

You were a pretty thing. Wearing a pink little yoga set, one arm holding your mat and the other holding your phone to your ear as you wait for the butcher to bring out your cut of meat.

Which was taking a long time

Simon would’ve had it chopped and packed to go by now. Though, he can’t complain with the view he has of your ass- you. The man was touch starved. He hadn’t been back home in a while, back-to-back deployments keeping him occupied. His only company being his calloused and scraped hands roughly jerking himself until he came, bordering on unpleasurable. Not what some could consider enjoyable, but try being in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere for weeks on end and see if you care so much about gentle.

The borderline perverted look you were blissfully unaware of was tracking down your form. He stared at the way the material tightly clung on to every bit of you in a welcoming way, a second skin. The sweat on you from your little session.

Just how flexible does yoga make a bird like you?

It was only when he heard a grating sound come from your phone that he snapped out of his trance. Even with his bad ears from all the bullets whizzing past him, bombs going off within meters of him, and the usual shit show he did for a living he could hear the voice which bled through your phone's speaker.

"Get me a steak this time. Nonna that nasty shit from last time!"

You hurriedly turned your volume down as it blasted in your ear, startled by the voice. Chewing on your lip you pivoted towards the counter to see if your order had been brought out; the motion to no avail as the employee continued chopping away in the back room.

It was only when your other hand came into full view from the motion he noticed the absolute rock on your finger.

"Honey, I thought the salmon was pretty good." That prick clearly firing something back as you winced away from your phone once again. Gritting your teeth as if biting back your arguments, looking around to occupy your time as the man on the phone continues to speak. "I know... I'm sorry. Don't worry, it'll be ready by 7." You placatingly cooed.

"Listen, I have to go. I love y-" You began, but the moment the words tumbled from your lips you pulled the phone fully from your cheek to see a blank screen with the time staring back on you. The asshole hung up!

What a fuckin tosser.

Simon hears the butcher finally call your name with familiarity and with a sigh you step towards the counter. 

He leaned on to the wall further as he had been the entire time. Silent. Unsettling. A stark contrast to your bright appearance in the shop, the larger man brooded in his corner waiting his turn.

“See ya’ next Friday!” You still managed a bright smile at the butcher who handed you your meat.

A mild thing like you really shouldn’t be talked to so thoughtlessly, some guys are fuckwits though. He never liked the type. Why lock a bird down with a ring if you were gonna be mean to her?

“S’cuse me sir, i’m just gonna push past you here” You asked. With widened eyes, Simon gruffly mumbled a “Yeah,” out before creating a stupidly small space.

Maybe he really did want you to push past him. Or just push up on him but oh well.

Sweeping past him, you give him a toothy smile as you had so sweetly done to the butcher, as if you hadn’t got yelled at less than five minutes ago. God you really have no common sense, beaming up at the lurker in the corner at least twice your size. A girl as pretty as you should really stick to herself.

From that interaction on, Simon found himself being guided by the memory of you back to the butcher shop the next Friday.

And the next…

And the next.

Every week progressively standing closer and closer to you as you picked up your usual order. One day you had taken the liberty of starting small talk with him after recognizing his unmistakable stature. After all, there were only so many people you had seen in this shop and none so… large.

You could not deny you found this mystery man disquieting. Always dressed in dark colours, not so much as a word coming from him. Like clockwork you would come in after hot yoga, greet the butcher, he would come in, silence would ensue as you both waited for your meat, and you would leave with a quick smile.

It was rude. He had never even said a simple hello to you! Though, you suppose that it could be due to your own curt exits. The thought of the unkindness you might’ve exhibited subconsciously sent your mind into a spiral, leading to your abrupt introduction.

After all, who were you to judge! Kindness is and should always be the response in your books.

At this kindness, Simon swore he had to take a breath in as you politely outstretched your hand and spoke your name casually. Tilting his head down to your face he raises a brow skeptically, and then firmly shakes your head.

He failed to hide the shudder which wracked his body. The way your hand effortlessly slipped into his. Soft and manicured engulfed in his.

“Simon.”

“Well it’s good to meet you Simon” With the twinkly little smile you would grace him as you hauled it out of the shop. He felt the shiver go down his spine a second time when you spoke his name for the first time.

And then- it happened.

You giggled. A soft thing, no doubt intended to be small. It wasn’t to Simon though. It reverberated throughout the room, rang so prettily in his ears. Fuck. He would remember that sound later on tonight.

“Are you cold? You keep shivering. It’s pretty harsh out there right now.”

“Nah. Not really.” His accent thick as he shrugged.

Letting out a little “mhm” you nod and look back to the counter.

“I was freezing outside! Usually I walk home-” Simon already knew that “-but today I called my husband to come grab me! Way too cold!”

That visibly made him stiffen. Of course. Perfectly normal that guy is coming to get you, he’d be an idiot to leave you walking home alone in the cold.

If you were his girl, Simon wouldn’t have let you out of his sight. Fuck sakes you practically had “come mess with me” written all over you. There were creeps all over the place nowadays, (thought the creep).

He would’ve carried everything for you, scarfed down whatever the hell you had taken the time to prepare him. That husband of yours doesn’t like your salmon? Simon would. Hell if he didn’t, he’d cram it down his throat with gratitude anyways. He doubted anything could be worse than some of the rations he’s eaten on duty. 

That train of thought is pretty redundant when he takes note of how you wouldn’t be able to leave the bed to make anything.

Maybe you’d cram something of his down your throat in gratitude.

Shaking his head subtly, he hears the bells of the store door opening. He watched your face fall as you step away from him and it’s when he sees your husband's look of complete irritation he understands why.

You had grabbed your order swiftly and with a quick wave goodbye you were on your way back to your husband. Simon could only register your husband's whisper-yell as he disapprovingly glared his way. “The fuck are you doin talking to him?”. And with that you were hurriedly ushered out.

You deigned it necessary to continue greeting Simon, have little chats about the weather, any plans he had for the weekend. Tossing in your stupid jokes that he would laugh at. You interpreted it as something closer to a breathy snort-hopefully positive- and it went on as such for weeks

And every time he returned home Friday night, he came home with only one thought after. You.

As he laid in bed the same thought persisted as he slipped his cock out of his boxers, red and weeping for some sort of stimulation. He took to his usual harsh pace. You’d be so much softer.

You’d be so nice to him wouldn’t you? Coo some compliment as he lets you tug at him. Fuck he wouldn’t know what to take first.

Would you give him a blowie or a hand job? 

No. You wouldn’t be on your knees- not yet. If you’d let him have you, you’d be on your back in an instant. He’d rip the stitches of those leggings right down the middle, your panties next.

“Fuuuuuck” he moaned into the quiet of his room. He’d stick it in slow, he’d try. It would be torture not to ram himself right up to the hilt, but he’d do it for such a good girl.

That’s what you were, weren’t you? Always a nice word for someone? What would you say to him when he began to rut into you like a madman. When you would feel the pummeling intrusion, his head knocking into the deepest parts of you.

He’d be able bend you into so many different positions that you’d better hope that yoga has taught you well. Split your legs open to accommodate his imposing body size as he’d take purchase between them. Then you better hope your cunny can accommodate his other size when he spears you open on his cock.

Would you take it smiling? Would your tears roll down your cheeks, the prodding bordering too much? You’d take it either way, he knew you could. He’d rub at your clit with such tenderness he never afforded himself (as gentle as he could anyway). He’d make sure you begged to stay on his cock forever, fuck himself so deep you would be too stupid to pull away unknowing of where he ended and you started. Not that you’d have to care.

He’d flip you on to all fours and rip away your clothes entirely, pounding you from the back and instead of just his own labored breaths, the sound of skin slapping together would ring out.

In silent stoicism, he feels his balls tighten up at the thought of your perfect face stuffed into the pillows screaming your thank you’s. You probably were just as nice with someone stuffing themselves into your pussy.

At both his ruthless ministrations and boundless imagination, his release spurted all over his hand with a breathy sigh. When you were here he’d make sure to slam his hips to yours and keep them flush against you, coat your insides in hot cum better than your limp-dick husband ever could. That man wouldn’t be able to fuck you the way Simon knew he could. You deserve someone who could make you go stupid on his dick, not cry of frustration like you probably did everytime that knob who thinks himself a man rolled over after finishing himself off.

Not that you’ll have to worry about that soon

…

He wouldn’t be around for much longer anyways.

[windyremedy]

B-B-BOYFRIEND!

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

scenario: he wants that cookie so effing bad but reader is oblivious to it all.

clueless.

you were damn clueless about what you were so sure you wanted.

look. bakugou didn’t mean to overhear unlike other times (ehem the sports festival) but you weren’t really being quite about it. often complaining to the other girls about how you’re looking for a boyfriend, how you want someone to be there for you yet no one seems interested.

mina in particular would glance over where he sat, laughing at your obliviousness. pointing out your blindness to the fact that someone IS interested but you waved it off like a fool as if he doesn’t cook your favorite food each time when he’s assigned dinner duty, as if he doesn’t walk by the road so you’re on the safer side, as if he doesn’t let you ramble whatever it is you wanted to talk about listening genuinely and how if it were anyone else he’d walk away without a second thought. yet you can’t see all the lengths he’s going through just to show you how capable he is to fulfill that role.

it’s getting to the point where he thinks you don’t like him specifically because how can you not get it? are you avoiding him by pretending not to know on purpose to lightly let him down?

fuck, he even talked about his situation with his self proclaimed friends and they all told him to just fess up to you but damn it do you make him feel like a fool himself.

“dude why don’t you ask her yourself?” sero genuinely asked, wondering why his strong headed friend who doesn’t hesitate in the face of danger become so suddenly hesitant when it came to you.

“yeah! be a manly man and just do it.” the red headed boy spoke all fired up, patting the unshaken boy on the back whose face never seemed to cease from its frown.

“what? don’t tell me you’re scared kacchan?” kaminari teased and for what’s probably the hundredth time he got blown up by bakugou’s quirk, again, he really never learns his lesson.

so when the end of the year party eventually comes up you find yourself cornered by the explosive boy. dragged firmly away from the crowd of your peers, looking at you with angered brows and an upset pout. you supposed he tried to look indifferent and unaffected but he looked like anything but.

“what’s up bakugou?” you asked smiling up at his sharp expression.

“you’re blind as fuck.”

“what the— not even a hello???” you asked incredulously at his unprompted comment.

“shit. okay wait, let me think. you are unaware of things you should be aware of.”

…blink…..blink...blink

“is this about the homework I totally failed? I told you not to bring it up bakubro—“

“no and don’t call me that!” he shouted, popping a red vein.

“why??!”

“because I don’t want to be your ‘bro’”

“what. you don’t want to be friends anymore?” you wobbly asked, eyes watering like that one emoji you always fucking send him. for instance,

messages

you: can you help me prepare for the test plz

kitkat: where

you: wait actually I just remembered you and kiri were gonna study together

kitkat: we’re not

you: I heard you two plan it after class?

kitkat: he planned it

you: can you ask kiri if I could join then 🥹

kitkat: no because I’m coming to your room, get your shit ready.

you: so no kirishima? (➤)

you: so (➤)

you: kk pal!

kitkat: don’t call me that.

messages

kitkat: mina saw you.

kitkat: said you looked upset or something.

you: no I’m fine!!!

you: totally not crying over being stood up or whatever. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

kitkat: that business class hataro shitsuko was a loser anyway.

you: it’s shizuku lol

kitkat: just come over.

you: wait how did you know who (➤)

you: wait (➤)

you: wa (➤)

you: okay bae

messages

kitkat <3: I’m not getting you that mochi

you: please I want you

kitkat <3: what?

you: to get it for me PLEASSSEEEE 🥹 🥹

kitkat <3: …

kitkat <3: fine.

you: yayyyyyyyy

you: I want a specific flavor though.

kitkat <3: I know what it is dumbass, I’ll see you later.

you: can you look for (➤)

you: THANK YOU!!

and many more but none of that ever clicked in your mind and so here you two were.

“no I want to be more than that.” he spoke seriously, red eyes set firmly on yours.

“don’t tell me….” you looked to the side shedding a tear as you leaned behind the wall further.

finally you understood.

“you want to be best fri—“

“FUCK NO! WE’RE NOT DOING THAT SHIT SO I’M JUST GONNA SAY IT.” he exasperatedly yelled, grabbing both your shoulders. breathing in once and out he spoke loud and clear, the feelings he held close and dear.

“I WANT YOU, YOU DAMN IDIOT! LET ME BE YOUR BOYFRIEND!!!”

“what?” you stared at him all startled and wide eyed as your mouth pulled downwards and eyes squinted to tears as you began to cry.

“what the— why are you crying!? do you hate me that bad?” bakugou asked hiding his hurt by wiping your tears away with his thumb as he gently held your face.

“no I want you too!!!! I just never thought you felt that way about me.” you whined planting your face in his chest.

“yeah no shit.”

“what?” you asked, slightly pulling away.

“nothing.” he answered shoving your face back in his body with one hand, relived that you actually felt the same way all this time.

inspo: “don't be scared to come put your trust in me can't you see all I really want to be is your boyfriend.” — Big Time Rush

©windyremedy

[loceiswhereyouleastexpectit]

Soon enough - Chapter 5

Word count - 1.1K - ik this is short but i wanted to give yall something before the day ends; tomorrows should be longer.

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: I quite literally spent 3 hours on this and i still hate it. Hopefully someone likes it. Let me know what u think and were u want this to go or any other flashbacks u want to see. Thanks for all the support:)

Azzi POV

Azzi was struggling to fall asleep knowing that her best friend was not feeling well. To be fair she wasn’t feeling well herself, there was this tight knot in her stomach that just wouldn’t go away no matter what she did. Now, seeing Paige unwell on the biggest night of her life, made her feel more uneasy seeing that nothing was falling into place right now. 

After the natty win, there hadn't been much time for the two to spend together 1 on 1 and that distance definitely gave Azzi and uneasy feeling, knowing that there wouldn't be a ton of opportunities to visit the blonde during her season. 

As Azzi tussled in her sleep, she heard the water turn off, knowing that Paige would leave soon, she tired to make it seem like she was asleep, to not give Paige any reason to think that something was wrong with Azzi, knowing it was her day to shine and hope to not worry her best friend.  

As soon as Paige opened the bathroom door, Azzi closed her eyes, hoping Paige wouldn’t notice her uneasiness. There was a few moments of silence and Azzi thought Paige might have left the room, but she didn’t here any door shut, however, suddenly Azzi felt a pair of lips on her forehead, a slight pause in her breathing followed and then a pool of warmth flooded her body. Azzi didn’t realize how a forehead kiss from her best friend could make her feel so at ease with her self. Then the door opened and closed, leaving Azzi to herself, but not feeling quite so alone. 

Instantly, she fell asleep, knowing that subtle kiss from Paige brought some comfort to her tense body. 

A few hours had passed since the younger girl fell asleep. Suddenly she jolted awake feeling her food from the night before. She knew the worst was yet to come and ran to the bathroom. However the younger girl wasn’t as lucky as Paige and didn’t quite make it to the bathtub. 

“Fuck, Paige is gonna know.”

Azzi remembered the first time Paige had seen her vomit, it was her right before first game at Uconn, she had told Azzi that she would always be here to hold her hair back and give her everything she needed, and for the past four years that deemed true. Especially the night before the national championship. 

Flashback 

“Azzi, I got you ice cream from this spot across the street, I think you’ll like it, they had all these cool flavors,” Paige remarked as she walked into the shared hotel room. However, as she walked into the room, all she saw were two unkept beds, one for sleeping and the other for all there clothes, but no Azzi. 

Instantly Paige started freaking out, “AZZI, hello?, AZZI.” Azzi had never left without texting first. 

She reached for her phone from her pocket to to call Azzi when she suddenly saw a dim light coming from the bathroom out the corner of her eye. She barged in, hoping to find Azzi. To the blonde’s speculation, the younger girl was there, leaning against the toilet, heaving out her guts. 

“Azzi, what’s wrong” Paige said softly. 

All Azzi could do was wave off the blonde, tears in her eyes out of the disgust. “Im fine, Paige go”. 

But Paige was more stubborn then that and began to pull back Azzi hair, making it easier for her to see her face. “Hey what’s wrong Az, you barely ate your food at dinner, I know it wasn’t the food.”

Azzi had to recuperate for a minute, trying to make her thoughts clear. For one, she was terrified. She wanted this win so bad. Not for herself, but for the most deserving person on the planet, Paige. If they don’t win she knows Paige will be devastated and Azzi would blame herself everyday. 

“Paige im sorry, im sorry if I mess up tomorrow. Im sorry for whatever happens tomorrow.” Azzi pleaded. 

Paige looked at her with the upmost confusion, at first she didn’t say anything, instead got up and walked away. Azzi felt her heartbeat in her ears. Suddenly even more scared, but not even a second later Paige walked back into the bathroom with Gatorade, her favorite lemon gatorade, surely for tomorrows game. “Here, drink something,” she knelt down and uncapped the gatorade leading the top of the drink to her lips. However, Azzi was hesitant to drink. 

“Paige its ok, save it for the game” already pushing the drink away. 

“Azzi, drink,” however Paige didn’t say it this time with as much kindness, trying to get through to the stubborn girl. 

Azzi had no choice but to obey, the gatorade easing her stomach a little bit. 

“Thank you P.” Looking at the older girl, hoping to get a response from the girl about her earlier apology.

Paige sighed then said “Azzi, pressure is a privilege, I know I always say that, but the pressure is not all on you.”

Azzi wanted to believe her, but she knew that the fear of losing the natty had always been a constant battle for her. “Paige ik, but im your shooting guard, how can you win if your shooting guard can’t shoot.”

Paige pushed a hair away from Azzi’s face causing her to shiver and then said “Well thank god my shooting guard can shoot,” with a smirk on her face.

“Paige you know what I mean, some days im just off, what happens then”.

“Azzi, last time we played them you killed it. I think they are more afraid of you then are should be of them, you are gonna kill it”. 

“Ik Paige, I just never want to disappoint you” she admitted. 

“Hey,” Paige said softly, lifting her chin slightly, “The only way I would be disappointed if is you don’t give it your all, thats all I ask.” Paige declared honestly, staring at the younger girl. 

Both girls laughed a little, feeling that there was a bit ease of tension in the room. That night Paige had settled Azzi’s nerves and in change, they won the natty, maybe not because of Paige’s speech, but to Azzi that was all that mattered. 

Present Day

However now there was no Piage, no gatorade, no soothing words. Just Azzi, and thats how it would be for the rest of her life. No more Paige to save her from her spirals. She would have to work through it on her own. 

What am I gonna do without her. 

Azzi hadn’t realized how much time had passed by until her alarm went off. 

SHIT, glam will be here soon. Azzi had to clean up and shower, feeling that she smelled terrible. 

This day was going to be something for sure. 

[not-neverland06]

Kid?

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment. 

You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan. 

You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation. 

And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling. 

Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding. 

The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name. 

You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.

Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through. 

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected. 

He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head. 

Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”

Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit. 

You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles. 

Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?

You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout. 

You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it. 

You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.

You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”

The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean. 

There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly. 

You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.

You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, “Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath. 

“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something. 

Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check. 

You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.

“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull. 

You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott. 

“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger. 

You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps. 

Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him. 

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be. 

You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes. 

Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest. 

You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.

You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space. 

You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices. 

You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”

You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together. 

He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart. 

You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen. 

Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others. 

You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal. 

Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside. 

“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?

Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear. 

As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers. 

They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds. 

You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other. 

You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs. 

“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan. 

You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities. 

You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid. 

You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode. 

“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns. 

“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being. 

This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”

His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids. 

Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone. 

“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission. 

At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave. 

It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy. 

You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse. 

They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold. 

Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen. 

He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead. 

Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down. 

Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue. 

Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur. 

Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened. 

Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash. 

They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up. 

He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this. 

The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize. 

You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus. 

A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”

Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up. 

You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more. 

He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”

Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”

He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal. 

“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too. 

Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”

You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia. 

Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze. 

“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire. 

The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”

The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold. 

His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you. 

He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment. 

But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire. 

You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you. 

“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”

“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”

He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”

You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”

His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming. 

“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”

Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him. 

A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.